“But you’re such a charmer.”
“That’s what they say,” Damian drawled.
Ace settled deeper into the sofa. “Speaking of which, any luck finding your wife?”
Damian’s nostrils flared with a rare show of irritation. “No. She wouldn’t have come to town in the spring if she didn’t want something. She’ll show up again, no doubt.”
That had to be driving the man crazy. Ace looked around again. The office carried a quiet, high-level tension with glass surfaces and steel edges. “Why did you ask me to drive out here today?”
Damian reached for a stack of file folders resting on the glass table between them. The movement was smooth and controlled. Like Damian himself. “I did some research on your doctor and Kyle Mercer.”
Ace leaned forward as the folder changed hands. Paper whispered against paper. “Did you find the domestic violence issue from Mercer’s college days?”
“I did.” Damian’s tone flattened. “The reason it never went anywhere is the accuser died.”
Ace froze, fingers tightening on the folder. “She died?”
“Yeah. Car accident.” Damian gave a small shrug. “It looks legit from the file. Everything’s in there.”
Ace flipped the folder open, his pulse kicking harder. “What were the allegations?”
“He was in college and she was a waitress from the college town.” Damian’s gaze stayed steady. “They apparently got into an altercation one night at a bar. Police were called.”
“What about her injuries?”
Damian tapped a finger once on the table. “I couldn’t find much. It looks more like an allegation without a lot of physical evidence. The woman died three days later. The accident report’s in there.”
Ace scanned the pages, a cold awareness settling inside him. The air in the room felt heavier now, pressing against his ribs. “You think it’s legit?”
“I don’t know.” Damian checked his watch. “I don’t see anything in Mercer’s past suggesting he could have someone taken out. However, his father’s a hedge fund manager at Red Mot Holdings out of New York. We’re talking serious money. So, it’s possible.”
Ace closed the folder halfway, his mind racing. “Did you find anything else?”
“Yes.” Damian gestured toward the file. “Two other domestic violence calls after college. Different women. Both still alive. Cases didn’t go anywhere. First one, the woman wouldn’t testify. Second one, same thing. Prosecutor tried to move forward anyway, then it was dropped.”
“Was this before or after he became a senator?”
“The second one was after. But timeline-wise, it was before he dated May. If you go further in the file, there are pictures of them together at different events in D.C.” Damian smoothed his perfectly pressed pants. His expression shifted subtly. “They don’t fit. They don’t look right together.”
Ace slid out a photo from the folder to see May in a sparkling silver gown at a fancy celebration with champagne and chandeliers. “The doc looks stunning.” He studied the image, uneasiness sliding under his skin. “She doesn’t look like she belongs in Knife’s Edge.”
“She’s gorgeous.” Damian pulled a lighter gray file from beneath a notepad and tossed it across the table. “I have a background on her too.”
Ace caught it but didn’t open it. His eyes lifted slowly. “You ran May.”
“Of course I ran May.”
“What’d you find?”
Damian’s gaze drifted briefly toward the window. “Not much. She grew up in a small town in Maine, which is probably why she likes Alaska. Parents, both deceased. No siblings. She worked her way through college and medical school while picking up scholarships. She doesn’t have much of a dating profile, but I imagine she was busy working two jobs and going to school. The pictures with Mercer are the first real public ones.”
Ace listened without opening the file yet. Hearing it out loud made it feel different. The office stayed quiet except for the faint rush of air from the vents.
“I did find two small newspaper articles,” Damian added. “She won awards for wildlife photography in high school. There’s another from between college and medical school.”
That tracked. She loved taking photographs. “You have pictures of her early work?”
“Yeah. Bottom of the file.”
