"Yes, I'm great."
His grin widened, unspoken emotion churning in his gaze.
She could relate. A plethora of emotions paraded through her as well. And she didn't think she could voice any of them if she tried.
With almost comical timing, Chester started grumbling at Delphine, triggering a shouting match between all four conspirators. Clearly, now wasn't a good time for a conversation about their feelings for each other.
But she welcomed his embrace as he tucked her against his chest and rested his chin on her head.
His steady heartbeat provided a comforting soundtrack while she attempted to process the drama of the last few hours.
God, thank you . . . thank you . . . thank you . . .
Chapter 24
Momentary relief flashed across Charles Ashworth's face when Nash and Jason returned to Emil's study. He'd probably worried no one was coming back to uncuff him from Emil's corpse.
When Lena's father registered Nash's cold glare, the relief evaporated. Replaced by beet-red fury.
"You can't keep me here! You have no right to hold me against my will! Do you know who I am? You'll regret this! I promise you that!"
Nash wondered if Charles was promising he would regret killing Emil or cuffing him to Emil. He suspected it was the latter.
Jason stood at his side, hands on his hips, and lifted his chin toward Nash. "You want to explain things to him? Ordo you want me—"
"I'll do it."
Nash leveled a cold glare at Charles Ashworth, tamping down all the emotions the man's indignant scowl elicited. He wanted to hit something. Or someone. But that wouldn't be professional.
"We know who you are, Mr. Ashworth. And you're correct. We can't hold you here. Not for long, anyway. But I'm going to explain two things to you before we release you."
Charles gritted his teeth, a large vein pulsing on the side of his neck.
Nash held up his phone. "I have your entire conversation with Emil recorded, and copies were sent to the authorities in Houston a few minutes ago, so save yourself any effort to cover your tracks in the theft of the jewels."
A disturbing grin crept across Charles Ashworth's face. "I have excellent lawyers, whoever you are. Nice try, but you're out of your league."
The man has no idea.Nash cleared his throat, refusing to argue. "The second thing I have to tell you—not that you asked—is that your daughter, Lena, is safe at The Mandeville Hotel now."
A hint of remorse played on Charles's face, but soon evaporated. "I don't know what she's doing here. If you're trying to use her againstme—"
"No one is using your daughter." Nash growled the words. "She came here looking for Cassidy. She doesn't know you're here. She doesn't know you're even involved . . . yet." He pocketed his phone. And held up two fingers. "You have two choices. I can take you to her now, and you can explain your involvement, or I can explain it to her."
Charles's eyebrows hiked up. "Why do you care what Lena knows? Leave her out of this."
"Your choice."
Confusion etched deep furrows on Charles's forehead. "I don't know why it matters to you. But I'm not going to let you turn her against me. Take me to her. I'll explain. Then I'm going to the airport."
"Don't worry. We'll make sure you get on a flight tonight." Even if WhiteRock had to arrange a private charter, which was likely at this late hour, they wanted Charles on a plane to Houston before he realized how much trouble he was in. Nash didn't lie. He told him he'd sent the recording to the authorities. But reality hadn't set in. Charles's faith in his lawyers was too strong.
The doorbell rang.
"Who is that?" Charles asked, his voice louder than necessary. What little patience he'd started with was long gone.
"Local police," Jason answered. He pointed to Charles's late partner in crime. "They're here for Emil."
Charles poised, looking like he intended to sprint for his life.
