She closed her eyes, made her breathing deep and even. Maybe she could fall asleep before Jasper woke up and left her and she had to spend another day walking around, alone.
***
Jasper was stepping out of the shower when he heard the door. His brows came together. Keyne called for him when she woke up, she didn’t leave. He tucked the towel around himself and cracked the bathroom door. Keyne was still asleep; he could hear her quiet snarfling. When she was deeply asleep, she sounded like a piglet. He imagined Gavin propped on an elbow beside her, waiting for her to wake up so he could pounce on her and love her like a puppy.
But if Keyne was slumbering in his bed . . . Fuck. He stalked across the room and eased the door open to step into the hall where he was met head on by a mad-as-a-hornet Deja.
“What the fuck is Keyne O’Connell doing in your bed?”
“Sleeping.” He hoped his deadpan delivery would speak louder than the fact that he was standing in the hallway barely clothed with an underage girl in his bed. Not likely.
“Jesus H. Christmas Tree, you—”
Jasper cut her off because he knew what was coming next. The same thing any sane person would say: you can’t do that. “I know. But she wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and she’s afraid to go back to sleep. What am I supposed to do, send her away?”
“Yes, you are. Because if Judge Judy gets wind of this—”
His stomach bottomed out at the idea of Keyne getting sent away because of his lack of discipline. He closed his eyes and raked a hand through his damp hair but all he could see behind his eyelids was Judge Angela Pollard on his doorstep with a warrant and a SWAT Team. “I can’t leave her alone, Deja. She lost everything. I can’t take anything else away from her.”
“You better figure out whether a few nights of creature comfort are worth her getting sent to Miami and your reputation getting dragged through the mud. You’re not exactly a golden boy and if this gets out, you’re never going to get her back.”
He would and Deja knew it, but she also knew what it would cost him: everything. Well, everything that hadn’t been squirreled away in offshore accounts for just this eventuality. Damn woman knew his vulnerabilities and wasn’t shy of exploiting them. One reason he trusted her so much. But as much as he did, she didn’t understand the position he was finding himself in.
“What am I supposed to do when she shows up at my door in the middle of the night in tears because she has nightmares of being abandoned because her whole fucking family died?”
“I don’t know, but you need to figure it out sooner rather than later.”
They faced off in the hallway. His brows creased as something occurred to him.
“You don’t think I—”
“No, I don’t.” Deja shook her head, her long braids rubbing against each other. “I know you better than that. You look like a wolf, walk like a wolf, talk like a wolf but you would sooner step in front of a bus than take advantage of that girl.”
He dropped his chin in grateful acknowledgement. He didn’t give two shits about what most people thought of him, but Deja’s respect was important. The moment he lost that would be the moment he was well and truly fucked. “What did you come here to talk to me about?”
Because it sure as fuck wasn’t to yell at him for letting Keyne sleep in his bed. She would’ve come over the second she got wind of that and dragged him out by the ear if she had.
“It can wait.”
“If you were knocking on my door at six o’clock in the morning, it—”
“Jasper?” Keyne’s muffled voice drifted through the crack under the door.
“Duty calls. It can wait.” Deja’s wry smile didn’t inspire confidence but there wasn’t anything to be done. If she said it could wait, it could. She’d manage the situation until he could.
“Jasper?”
“I’ll be right there, Keyne.” He hated the building anxiety in her voice, like she wondered if he’d left her. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Not her, but the nagging, uncomfortable, would-rather-slit-his-own-wrists-than-hear-it-again feeling. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah. Give me a call when you’re free.”
He found the time while he paced the waiting room of Keyne’s counselor. The guy had made some noise about Jasper coming to his own sessions, but Jasper didn’t have time. He barely had time to bring Keyne into the city, but he’d been told this guy was the best, and she’d have the best.
He pressed one on his speed dial, and didn’t bother waiting for Deja’s greeting. He rarely did. “What’s going on?”
“The financials for the O’Connells came through.”
Good. They’d been waiting on those for too long. It should’ve been straightforward but for reasons he couldn’t bother spending too much time on, the O’Connell’s attorney had been dragging his feet, making excuse after excuse to avoid giving him the information. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t like he needed the money to take care of Keyne. He had more than he knew what to do with.
“And?” That didn’t seem like the kind of thing Deja would’ve busted down his bedroom door for at six o’clock in the morning. She’d done it before, but for a crisis.
“And there’s nothing there.”
His pacing came to an abrupt halt. What the hell?
“What do you mean there’s nothing there?”
“Okay, not quite nothing, but not nearly the amounts there should be. Maybe we should talk about this in—”
“No, we’ll talk about it now.” He resumed stalking his way across the posh waiting room, careful not to bang his shin into the Lucite coffee table that dominated the seating area. He glanced over at the receptionist, but she was busy clicking things on her desktop. Probably playing solitaire.
“You’re the boss. Like I said, there’s nothing there. No retirement accounts, small investment portfolio, no real estate holdings except the house. A bunch of their accounts are overdue. At the end of the day, I’m guessing their debts and assets will just about cancel each other out.”
“What about Keyne’s trust? I know she has one.” They all did. He’d gotten access to his when he’d turned twenty-five. He’d been a week from getting his MBA and used the lion’s share of it for seed money for his company. His father had chastised him for taking such a big risk, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was Jasper’s money.
Gavin had a trust, too, one he wouldn’t get to use now, and his parents had left behind considerable assets. He’d assumed the O’Connells would’ve as well.
“There’s nothing there, Jasper. After probate settles the debts, there’s not going to be anything there. Your little orphan hasn’t got a penny to her name.”
His eyes darted to the door, behind which Keyne was likely sitting on a couch and playing along with the therapist. He wasn’t sure how much good these sessions were doing, but at least Mr. McCarthy could rubber-stamp they’d gone through the motions. And on the off chance they were doing more good than Keyne would let on, he’d keep bringing her.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There would be time to get to the bottom of this later, but there was an immediate symptom he could treat without curing the disease. “Fine. That needs to not be true anymore. You get a trust set up in Keyne’s name right away. Move whatever amount was in Gavin’s trust into it. Get it done quickly and quietly. I don’t want a word of this getting out, especially not to Keyne, and you get ahold of that lawyer. I want to know what the fuck happened to all that money.”
“I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
“And Deja?”
“Yeah?”
“Any news in from the Coast Guard?”
“Only that they’re still combing through the wreckage. Takes time to get any information out of a blast like that, like finding a needle in a haystack.”
; More like pulling a suspect out of frigid oil-slicked ocean waters and twisted metal, but the result was the same. Nearly impossible.
“You’ll let me know if that changes.”
“Of course.”
He clicked off his phone and stopped himself from chucking it across the room. What the hell? But the truth was, whatever had happened, it didn’t matter. If the money was gone, then it was gone. He’d keep that knowledge from Keyne, though. She didn’t need to know. She didn’t need any more on her slim shoulders than she already had.
He’d sit down with Deja tomorrow and dig through whatever documentation she’d gotten her hands on. He trusted her to keep quiet. He trusted her with everything.
Deja was his Jiminy Cricket in some ways, pushing back when he was going too far. He didn’t always listen to her, sometimes made choices that made her swear like if a cross-country truck driver and a merchant marine produced an exponentially foul-mouthed offspring, but when she put her foot down and threatened to quit he’d give in. She wouldn’t let him go too far.
She’d also understood when he called her in the middle of the night a month ago to tell her what had happened. It had been her first question: “Where’s Keyne?”
And now she was telling him Keyne essentially had nothing. What the hell had happened to all of that money?
Chapter Six
August
The next week was horrible. He’d kept his word to Deja and refused to let Keyne sleep in his bed, despite the cost. And there was a cost; it was wearing on them both. He could see it in the shadows under her eyes, the bags under his. His temper shorter than usual with the people who worked for him, and Keyne was more skittish than usual during the day, no small task.
The first night had been the worst. She’d sobbed and clawed at him, but he’d held firm though it killed him. He’d gotten her as far as her bed and then she lost it. Fell to her knees and clutched at his trousers with her small hands burying her face in the wool. For a second, there was something her pleading posture and the heave of her shoulders as she cried that piqued something other than misery.
That was when he knew he couldn’t give in. Because he couldn’t even afford a hint of wanting her. And what the hell kind of sick bastard wanted a girl who was trembling in fear anyway? Not him. Role-playing with willing partners or tears from begged-for pain were one thing, but actual fear made his stomach riot.
He gripped her by the shoulders and hauled her up, shook her. Shook her harder until she looked at him, face a mess with tears and wild hair plastered to her cheeks. She was so . . . so . . . needy. She needed him. No one had ever needed him, Jasper.
Despite being a rule-bending borderline fuckup, he’d also tried to be the kind of guy who would bust up a fight before the cops got called, and step in between drunk, rude jackasses and the women they wouldn’t leave alone. He’d tried to teach Gavin that those were things a man should do.
This was different though. He’d always picked partners who would demand the bare minimum from him, but there was something about how intensely she needed him. Despite the exhaustion and the marrow-deep wish she wouldn’t be so miserable, a part of him relished being the one who could help her, provide comfort. It was satisfying in a way he wanted to push from his head, because it felt too close to when he coaxed a partner through a deep scene. Not always, but most of the time, those scenes had ended with forceful sex and mind-blowing orgasms for all involved. The thought made anger flood him, rage.
What the hell kind of god would do this? Take everything from this girl and then shove her into his life, into his lap? It was torturous for both of them. Was this a test? Had he really done so many horrible things in his life he deserved to be tortured like this? To have this beautiful, needy girl in front of him and not be able to handle her the only way he knew how?
Sarah’s petty whines and petulance had grated on him in the end. She could replace him with any given peg, hire someone else to play the role. The difference was clear: Keyne needed him, Jasper. No one else would do. But no matter how much that got his motor running, flushed his system with this sick pride, he wouldn’t impose his needs on her. He would put her above himself, always.
“Keyne. Listen to me. Listen.” Her eyes went wide at his sharp tone, his fingers digging hard into her biceps. She sniffed and stared at him with those big, olive eyes. “You cannot sleep in my bed anymore. It’s not going to happen. I shouldn’t have allowed it in the first place.”
“But—”
“I know it’s hard—”
“Jasper, please . . .” Her chin trembled and she tried to reach for him. “Please, Jasper, I need you, pl—”
Hearing that kicked him in the head, and he was so close to giving in so she wouldn’t be so godawful sad anymore. But then images of McCarthy showing up on his doorstep to put her on a plane to Miami or to place her with a foster family followed by an investigation into him for sexual abuse which would of course be covered by all the papers because when you had as much money as he did, shit like this was news. He wouldn’t do that to her, any of it. No matter how much she hated him in this moment, it would be better in the long run. At least that’s what he told himself so he could find the strength to refuse her.
“For Christ’s sake. Keyne, I said no. That should be enough for you. But in case it’s not, do you understand if someone finds out about this and it gets back to Mr. McCarthy or Judge Pollard, they’re going to take you away from me? They’re going to come here and drag you out of my house kicking and screaming and there’s not going to be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’ll get you back one way or another, but god, don’t make me do that. For once in your life, stop being so fucking stubborn and do what you’re asked.”
She went pliant in his arms, tears rushing down her face. “I didn’t think,” she muttered.
“I know you didn’t, sweetheart, I know.” He let go of her arms, grimacing at the red marks circling them, not far below the scar Dr. Ettleson had assured them would fade. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to mark her. Fuck knew that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Instead of being accused of sexual misconduct, he’d get nailed for beating her. What a goddamn mess.
He took her in his arms and held her close while she sniffed. I know you didn’t. I have to think for both of us right now. When she’d calmed, she climbed into her bed and let him tuck her in, quilt up to her chin while her red hair splashed across the pillow.
They couldn’t keep doing this because it was killing them both. He had to think of something else, and fast, before she ended up in his bed again. That was something he needed to stop from happening at all costs.
***
Bedtime. It was the best and worst part of her day. Best because Jasper would sit with her, sometimes read to her or pet her hair. The closeness reminded her of Gavin, but Gavin had been a restless, light sleeper though fast to fall asleep. He’d never eased her to sleep this way, instead she would spoon him and he would kiss her wrists while he threaded their fingers together in front of him.
Their families had been so close, sleepovers had been a fact of life for as long as she could remember. While some parents would’ve forbidden it after their kids reached a certain age, theirs never had. The O’Connells and the Anderssons had been casual about sex, probably because they expected Keyne and Gavin to be with each other. The first time she’d had a prescription for birth control, she’d been fourteen. Everyone had just assumed.
So many nights she’d lain awake next to Gavin, her mind whirling, wishing for him to turn around and hold her, maybe keep the thoughts at bay so she could rest. Though she’d been tempted to wake him—it wouldn’t take much and he wouldn’t have minded—she never had. He’d be there in the morning, waiting for her, excited about the day.
She loved that Jasper shepherded her to sleep, took her mind off all the bad thoughts and distracted her until the tiredness overtook her. I
t would be better if she could stay with him. She missed sleeping in his bed so much, his steely warmth surrounding her, the way his arm curled around her possessively. But when he’d pointed out why that couldn’t happen anymore, she couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. Not being together to sleep was bad, but getting taken away from him would be a thousand times worse. She could behave, she could be good for him. She would do that, and he would keep her safe and that’s how things would be.
She made her way from the den where she’d been curled up in one of his big chairs to her room, peeking in the library and the office, looking for Jasper. But he wasn’t there. Her heart started to race and she pinched herself in case she was already having a bad dream, but she wasn’t. She was awake and she couldn’t—
When she rounded the corner, there he was. Standing in front of her door with a box in his hands. A jewelry box if she were a judge of such things, and she was. Gavin wasn’t much for expensive presents. They were rich kids and money meant essentially nothing. Time and effort, things you couldn’t pay someone else to take care of for you, that was the currency they traded in. Silly notes, playlists, a potato shaped like a poodle; these were the ways they said I love you. But her mom had loved jewelry and her dad had loved her mom, so jewelry boxes hadn’t been uncommon in the O’Connell household.
“What’s that?”
He held it out to her and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say Jasper looked sheepish. Jasper! But his voice was its familiar, workaday gruff self when he said, “It’s for you.”
She took it from him, brushing his blunt fingertips with hers, noting how small her narrow fingers and nails looked next to his. Why had she never noticed how big Jasper was? Maybe because he’d kept his distance. Not just from her, from them all. He was like a planet with an erratic orbit.
She blinked up at him and he nodded. Given permission, she cracked the box and inside was a bracelet. A star dangled off a thick chain. And the star was engraved—with her name.
His Custody Page 7