Lucas watched while two members of the household staff lugged the last of Devin and Amelia’s belongings up the wide, curving staircase that rose from the octagonal entry foyer of the Demarco mansion. It was completely dark now, and Devin had tartly informed him a few minutes ago that it was past Amelia’s bedtime, before pointedly closing the nursery door in his face.
“Told you not to trust him,” Byron Phoenix said as he ambled into the two-story foyer from the hallway that led to the great room and the study.
“I never trusted him,” Lucas responded, turning to face his deceased mother’s second husband, Byron, who was dressed in his usual blue jeans and Western-style shirt. His trimmed brown hair was streaked with silver. He had a highball in his hand—cola and something. His custom-leather tooled boots clicked against the tile floor.
“He shelled out for her lawyers?” Byron came to a halt, his broad shoulders squaring, thumbs hooking into his belt loops while his gaze followed the stairs to the second floor where Devin and Amelia had been given adjoining rooms with a shared bathroom.
“Probably should have seen that one coming,” Lucas admitted. At least it explained why Steve had gone out to Lake Westmire, and why Devin had at first denied the fact that he’d been there. “At least she’s finally home.”
“But so is that mama bear Devin Hartley,” Byron pointed out.
“She is a problem,” Lucas admitted. He’d won today, but then so had Devin.
Byron puffed out his broad chest. “We shoot intruders back in Texas.”
“If we shot intruders here in Seattle, you’d have been dead years ago.”
“You know I loved your mama.” Byron’s words weren’t defensive, he was simply stating fact.
It had taken Lucas a few years, but he’d come to respect that the rough Texas cattle baron made his mother—Crystal—happy.
“Back then, everyone called you an intruder,” Lucas pointed out.
“Are you defending Devin? “
“No.” Lucas hadn’t meant to take up Devin’s side. She was a very big problem for him. She obviously wasn’t going to disappear easily, and now she had Steve to bankroll her efforts.
Lucas glanced at Byron’s crystal glass and decided a drink was a good idea. He started toward the great room, which was accessed by a wood-panel and portrait-lined hallway. Byron fell into step.
“What’s your next move?” asked Byron.
Lucas had been thinking about that. “Since she just matched my biggest advantage over her—legal resources—I suppose I’ll have to match her biggest advantage over me.”
“You going to put on a wig and an apron?”
“Funny.”
The big man grinned. “I thought so.”
“Amelia adores her.” Lucas knew he had to make certain Amelia was comfortable with him, too.
The amused grin grew on Byron’s face as they entered the softly lit room. “Lucas Demarco, Uncle of the Year?”
“How hard can it be?” Lucas paused. “I mean, I’ll hire a nanny for the sticky stuff. But I can read her a book, build her a castle or play catch or something.”
“That little gal can’t even walk yet.”
“You know what I mean.”
Byron turned thoughtful. “You do know that Bernard and Botlow have had past dealings with Pacific Robotics, right?”
“I’m aware,” said Lucas, his gaze going to the bank of picture windows that looked out over the concrete terrace, the sloping lawn of the estate and the lights of the ships on Puget Sound below.
“If you were to ask, the court might just declare that a conflict of interest.”
“Or they might consider me an obstructionist for trying to block Devin’s legal support.”
“And give little ol’ Devin the sympathy vote,” Byron concluded.
“Sweet young aunt,” Lucas mused out loud, a picture of Devin’s fresh, girl-next-door beauty flashing in his mind as he poured himself two fingers of Macallan. “Self-employed and making ends meet at a lakeshore cottage in a bucolic little community with pets and picnic tables. I’m sure she attends town hall meetings and bakes cookies for good causes. Amelia clearly adores her. I tell you, the last thing we want to do is turn her into even more of a sympathetic underdog.”
“A sympathetic underdog?” It was Devin’s surprisingly sharp voice.
Lucas set down the Scotch bottle and turned.
She started across the room, stride confident, shoulders squared. She wore a baggy T-shirt and some kind of clingy slacks topping white running shoes.
“At least you didn’t call me pathetic,” she challenged.
Byron recovered first and stepped forward, extending his hand. “Byron Phoenix. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Lawyer?” asked Devin, eyes narrowing as she gave him a brief handshake.
Byron scoffed out a laugh. “Extended family.”
Devin raised her brows in an obvious question.
“He was married to my mother,” Lucas explained.
“You have a stepfather?” Devin was clearly surprised.
Byron chuckled heartily at that one.
“I was twenty-two when they got married. We hardly played catch.”
“My mistake,” said Devin.
“Could’ve taught you to rope steers,” Byron remarked.
“Care for a drink?” Lucas asked Devin, his manners belatedly kicking in.
“No thank you.” She peered through the wall of windows and out into the yard. “And I don’t need the sympathy vote. I’m planning to beat you fair and square. Is there someplace out there I can go for a run? “
“Hear that?” Lucas said to Byron. “She’s going jogging. The woman appears to be a paragon of all virtues. I suppose you’re a vegetarian teetotaler, as well.”
Devin shot him a look of disdain. Then she caught him by surprise, snagging the glass out of his hand and downing a healthy swallow. “I’m not a paragon of anything,” she told him, handing the glass back to him, voice only slightly wheezy from the straight Scotch.
Byron couldn’t seem to stop himself from chuckling. “The woman definitely has spunk. Too bad there, Lucas. A shrinking wildflower would have made your life a whole lot easier.”
“I sleep better when I run,” Devin told him. “And since I don’t have the luxury of my own bed, and since Amelia is likely to be up at 4:00 a.m., I’d like to take a quick jog around the grounds if that’s all right with you.”
“One of the housekeepers can get up with Amelia,” Lucas offered.
Devin widened her stance and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not staffing out my niece.”
“I retract my earlier criticism,” said Lucas, holding her gaze. “You’re not a paragon, you’re a purist.”
“I’m only trying to survive.” For a split second, a flash of unvarnished hurt traced through her eyes.
Lucas felt a shot of empathy. Devin’s sister might have broken his brother’s heart, and Devin might blame Konrad for Monica’s death, but they’d both suffered a terrible loss. They shared that much.
Then