Nash held up both hands. "They're not here for you. We've explained things."
"You did it! You shot him!" Charles shouted.
Nash didn't flinch. "They know."
"You don't need to yell, Mr. Ashworth. We'll be leaving soon." Jason turned to Nash. "I'll let the police in."
Nash nodded, and Jason left the room.
"At least take these cuffs off! Get me away from him! Are you insane, cuffing me to a dead body?"
Nash bit back his response. But he did remove the handcuffs.
The police arrived, took statements, loaded Emil's body, and left. All in about ten minutes. Which was ridiculous, but Nash wasn't surprised. This small, non-extradition island country was run by the wealthy resort owners—not the puppet government. And the wealthiest resort owner was Drakos, who happened to feel indebted to WhiteRock for their help on previous occasions. So, even though Nashshould have been questioned more, Drakos wasn't going to allow the police to give him any trouble.
Ed Chester, however, would face charges. As well as Frank, Manny, and Delphine. Nash wasn't sure how competent the local judicial system was, but the two murders, fire, and theft of the jewels from Emil's house all took place on Isadora Island. There were no grounds to get any outside authorities involved.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, for Charles Ashworth, the theft he committed took place in Houston, in addition to the crimes he likely committed in his business, according to Lena. So, he would be unleashing his expensive lawyers on the American justice system. Nash didn't envy any of them.
When they arrived at The Mandeville, Jason waited in WhiteRock's conference room with Charles while Nash headed to Lena's room.
He dreaded the conversation ahead of him. There was no easy way to tell her.
Acid pooled in his stomach.
God, give me some wisdom here. Give me the best words to say. And please protect Lena from as much pain as possible.
He knocked once, and her door flew open. She held Nutmeg with a sweet smile on her face.
He hated that he was about to make that smile disappear.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He walked in and shut the door behind him. She'd showered and changed into a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. Her damp hair and freshly washed face made her look younger somehow. And more innocent. And beautiful.
None of which helped him form the words he needed.
Best to just get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage. Or duct tape. Right?
"Lena, I haven't had a chance to tell you everything that happened between the time you left Emil's house and when I arrived at the cottage."
She tilted her head. "Okay? What did I miss?"
Nutmeg squirmed in her arms, so she set him on the floor. She stared at him for a couple of seconds while he made one last attempt to find the best words. "Nash, you look worried. Just tell me. What happened?"
"The first thing I should tell you is that Emil is dead. He pulled a gun on me. I had to shoot him."
Her mouth fell open. "Dead? You had to . . . " Her hand flew to her chest. "Wow . . . I can't . . . Oh, Nash, I'm sorry you had to do that. I'm so, so sorry."
Her concern for him . . .for him. . . was so genuine. She wasn't angry. Or scared of him. Or judgmental. She understood.
He seriously might be falling in love with this woman. But now wasn't the time to tell her that.
Her eyes narrowed at him. "You said, 'the first thing.' What else do you need to tell me?"
He took a deep breath and tried to deliver the news as gently as possible. "After you and Cassidy left, your father showed up at Emil's."
Confusion contorted her face. "My dad? How . . . Are you sure?"
