When Doc clasped her hands together, settled them on her belly, stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankles, Ash sat on the end of the sofa furthest away from the chair. She glanced around the familiar room with its gentle, muted green walls, calming seascapes, and the simmering potpourri pot scenting the air with the soothing aroma of the lavender oil that always quieted her nerves.

  Not sure where to begin, Ash absently twiddled her thumbs, a nervous affectation that only seemed to emerge when she sat on this sofa being dissected by those shrewd, knowing eyes. “Where should I start?”

  “The beginning always works for me.”

  Doc routinely slowed the cadence of her voice when she spoke to her, and Ash idly wondered if she did that with all her patients or just her. “Um. Well. I…never…we…I mean, you and me, we…” Her breathing was labored even though they were sitting in Doc’s office, surrounded by comforting, lavender-scented air.

  “Ash?”

  Ash’s gaze shot to Doc’s face.

  “Close your eyes for me and just breathe a while. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t have any more clients coming in.”

  Closing her eyes, Ash did as she’d been told.

  “Now, you never what?”

  When she started to open her eyes, Doc said, “Keep your eyes closed, Ash, and just talk to my voice. Diva is leaning into your legs. Do you feel her?”

  Ash hadn’t realized Diva was pushing against her shins, and she gently stroked her head and tried to begin again. “Doc. I never told you. When I was… I was a kid, and…” They’d been easing up on talking about her childhood for almost a year now, but every time, Ash ran away. In fact, that was the main reason she’d stopped coming so many months ago. She couldn’t get the words past her lips, but now, it seemed the universe was going to force it out in the open. Maybe not today, though. “Anyway. I left when I was twelve, and no one looked for me, but now he’s dead, and the attorney found me, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “The bastard.”

  “The bastard is dead. What attorney found you?”

  “Allegra Saint-Germaine.” Allegra was a safer topic than the bastard, and Ash leapt on it.

  “Allegra Saint-Germaine found you. Why was she looking for you?”

  “She’s the executor.”

  “Of?”

  “The bastard’s trust.”

  “So, was the bastard your father?”

  Blackness fell over her eyes, and the deafening roar of anger shot through her head. Ash growled as she leapt up and pointed a stiff finger at the woman, who didn’t so much as flinch when Ash yelled, “Don’t call him that! Don’t you call him that!” It took everything she had not to run out of the room because she could take almost anything except Doc calling the bastard that. No one could call him that, especially not Doc, who was one of the support walls keeping away the insanity threatening her life.

  “Did you like Allegra Saint-Germaine? I’ve heard she’s quite a formidable woman. One of the best civil law attorneys around.”

  The low, measured cadence of Doc’s voice helped ground her like it always did. Ash had been coming to Doc off and on for several years now, and she suspected Doc didn’t care whether Allegra was a good attorney or not. She was simply using her voice to help her calm down. Ash nodded and dared look into her eyes. They were a deep green, like the ocean, and sometimes Ash felt like she could get lost in them. Or, maybe found.

  Several paintings around the room called to her, but the one she was always drawn to was of an ancient clipper ship being tossed about on a sea covered in white, foaming waves. She walked to it and lightly ran a finger over the ship’s prow. The artist had somehow used thickly textured paint, and the ship felt real and alive beneath her touch. She knew she’d overreacted, knew that was the old Ash reacting, not the one they’d worked so hard to rebuild. She covered her eyes with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry. A lot’s happened. Yes, I like Ms. Saint-Germaine.”

  “What did she talk to you about?”

  “She took my DNA.”

  The room was quiet, and Ash waited for the next question. When none came, she turned to see why Doc hadn’t said anything.

  With her head tilted to the side, Doc Harrington studied her before finally saying, “Ash. I really do think it would be better if we started at the beginning.” She held up her hand when a panicked look flashed in Ash’s eyes. She chuckled softly, “No, not that far back. I’m just a little lost, is all. You mentioned earlier that Diva has had a rough few days. Can you take me back to that beginning? To the beginning of those days?”

  Ash turned back to the painting and nodded. “A week ago, I saw an advertisement, or a notice, I guess, asking a…certain woman to contact a private investigator. Darby knew the guy and said she trusted him. So that woman wrote to him—”

  “You wrote to him….”

  Ash nodded because there wasn’t any reason to pretend she wasn’t the woman. “I wrote to him and asked him where we could meet yesterday at ten o’clock. He said to meet Ms. Saint-Germaine and gave me her office address.” She turned around and grinned. “I meant to get cleaned up, but it was cold, so I punched a cop so I could kip in the warm jail, and I got out too late to shower and clean my clothes, so I really smelled like shit when I showed up. My clothes did, too.”

  Doc raised her brows and smiled back. “I’ll bet.”

  “Well,” Ash held out the bottom of her new white shirt. “That’s where these clothes came from. Phyla sent her assistant, who’s a real bitch, by the way, to go buy me new clothes because she didn’t want to smell me during the meeting.” She grinned again, “And she had her stylist cut my hair. She said it was her contribution to beautifying the city.”

  “Phyla?”

  “Phyla McGuire.”

  The only sign that Doc knew the name was a slow nod. “And Phyla McGuire was there because?”

  “That’s later in the story.”

  Doc drew out the word, “Okay.”

  “Anyway, you know Ash isn’t the first name I had, so they took DNA to prove that I was the person named in the trust.”

  “Were you?”

  “Yes. I knew I was. So, now, I don’t want the bastard’s money and businesses, except I want to get them so I can tear apart everything he spent his life building.”

  “And?”

  “And it got complicated, and he replaced me with two half-brothers who died.”

  Doc held up a hand. “Whoa. You’re skipping ahead. Who replaced you?”

  That was a stupid question, and Ash’s eyes darkened, “Who do you think?”

  “Who is he, Ash?”

  Fear washed through her, and whenever that happened, Doc had trained her to talk about it immediately, not to bury it and let it fester until it came out in destructive habits that blinded her to the realities of the world around her. She closed her eyes to center herself and then opened them again so she could stare into Doc’s sympathetic face, willing her to understand. “I’m afraid if you know, it’s gonna change you and me. You’ll change, and I can’t—” She choked on the words and ground her teeth to hold back the sudden onslaught of tears. She wouldn’t survive if Doc pulled away because of who she really was. Because of the filthy secrets she’d kept buried for years.

  An unexpected humor lit Doc’s eyes as she caught and held Ash’s gaze. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “How long have you known me, Child?”

  Ash studied the face of the woman who’d painstakingly brought her out of madness one word, one breath at a time. She tried to remember when they’d first met. It hadn’t been here in this office. Darby had brought Ash back to Code One from her shack in the swamp, into her own office, and then, the woman who was right now looking at her with such affection had sat down and said, “Ash, I’m Doctor Harrington, and you’re safe with me.” And she had been. And if she lost her now…. “Three or four years.”

  Doc didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. Ash realized how foolish she was to worry that this woman would ever walk away from her. It was Ash who always walked away. Never Doc, who’d stayed when she’d described in detail finding bloody body parts and having IEDs blow her friends to pieces in front of her eyes. She hadn’t blinked as she told any number of stories that made most people turn away in disgust. “His name was Harcourt Langdon.” There was an anticipatory stiffness to Ash’s shoulders as she stared at her, daring her to react.

  The only response was a raised chin and a quiet, “Ah. That explains the need for the DNA and why one of the most powerful attorneys in the country was looking for you. It doesn’t, however, explain the presence of Phyla McGuire.”

  After that anti-climactic response, Ash felt all of the tension drain out like air flowing out of the neck of a taut balloon. There was a weakness in her muscles she couldn’t explain, and she returned to the sofa, suddenly wanting to tell this woman everything that had put her so off balance. And so, for the next hour, they sat while Ash told the tale of her last few days.

  Doc retrieved two sodas from the small fridge she kept near her desk. She handed one to Ash and kept the other for herself. “So. I’m very proud of you for taking a step back and giving yourself time to process everything that’s happened. You referred to the man who left you his estate as Harcourt. Is that what you’d like me to call him as well?”

  Ash nodded.

  “Knowing you, Harcourt’s manipulation is what’s confusing you the most. I’m going to recap what I heard, and I’d like you to correct me if I’m wrong. We’ll untangle all those threads you were talking about together. Is that okay?”

  A bit more tension left Ash’s shoulders. Doc had a clear head and was good at quieting Ash’s chaotic, jumbled thoughts until they were hushed and calmed enough for her to figure things out. “Yeah.” Ash jabbed her temple with a stiff finger. “It’s all firing too fast.”

  “That hasn’t happened to you in a while, so you’re frightened. I get it, but Ash, it doesn’t mean you’re healing is going backward. It means a lot has happened in the last two days, that’s all. Most people would be reeling after what’s been thrown at you. So, let’s sort everything out, shall we? Your first reaction was to walk away. Your second was to take the inheritance so you could destroy everything Harcourt spent his lifetime building. Your third reaction, when you heard you’d have to work with Phyla McGuire for a year, was again to walk away until you heard the consequences of doing that. I have several questions I need to ask. Would it bother you if his sperm was used to impregnate some woman’s eggs?”

  “Yes! That fucker’s genes need to die with me!” Her voice jumped on the last word as she violently punched herself in the chest with a closed fist.

  “That’s pretty definite. The thing is, Ash, you and I could work through your feelings about that if we had to. It wouldn’t be easy, but we could deal with them. In fact, I believe once you open up to me about your childhood, we’ll be dealing with those deep-seated feelings, whether the sperm is made viable or not. So, let’s take that part of the manipulation off the table. Could you work with Phyla McGuire if you had to?”

  “She thinks I’m a piece of dog shit attached to the bottom of her designer heels.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “No, but she looks at me with, I don’t know, a coldness behind her eyes.”

  “And yet, she lowered the blinds in her office and later accompanied you into the bathroom when you first heard about your stepbrothers.” She paused to let Ash think about that. “From what I’ve seen and read about her, she’s cold to everyone, Ash. You’re projecting your insecurities onto her. You can’t make decisions based on incomplete information. Coldness is quite often a defense mechanism some people use to hide their true feelings. So, if we set aside your preconceived notions about her, could you shadow her and learn from her for a year?”

  It took longer for Ash to answer this time. “I think as long as she keeps the blinds down in her office, I could.”

  “Good. Here’s the difficult question, then. Somehow, Harcourt blackmailed those two women into helping you, and you believe that if you step back, something extremely hurtful will happen to each of them. Something very personal to each woman. How do you feel about giving in to Harcourt’s final manipulation? Can you live with, as you say, him turning the knife in your gut from beyond the grave?”

  “I wish I knew why they were doing this. What would I be unleashing on them if I walked away?”

  “Not you, Ash. It’s Harcourt who’d be hurting them. Not you. The only part you should concern yourself with is whether or not you want to walk away.”

  Ash shook her head. “No. If I don’t accept my inheritance, something horrible will happen to each of them. It’s more than just saying Harcourt is hurting them.” She grabbed her hair and pulled, hoping the pain could help order her thoughts on what she was trying to explain. “Yes, he’s hurting them. But he’s dead, and I’m not. Does that make sense?”

  Doc sighed and bit her bottom lip. “There’s the rub. If you can’t separate the consequences of Harcourt’s actions from your own, then he’s successfully manipulated you and them into doing exactly as he wanted. He was renowned for his ability to back people into corners where there was no way out. I read both his biography and his autobiography because his sociopathy, coupled with his monumental success, fascinated me. The crux of the problem is that hurting people isn’t part of your core personality. If you believe you have to shoulder the responsibility of his actions—”

  “Harcourt hurt people. I don’t because I’m not like him. I’m not a monster.”

  Doc leaned forward, “Listen to what I’m saying, Ash. If you believe you have to shoulder the responsibility for his actions because, as you say, you’re not a monster, something I wholeheartedly agree with, by the way, then with all the other obstacles out of the way, it sounds like you already have your answer. You already know what you’re going to do.”

  With Doc laying things out logically, the choice did seem obvious. They sat in silence while Ash thought about the ramifications of accepting the conditions of the inheritance. “Everything in my life will change.”

  “Yes.”

  Ash pulled in a breath. “You know how sometimes the world throws you in the deep end, and you can’t swim, but drowning’s not an option either?” When Doc nodded, Ash said, “How many more times am I gonna be thrown in without a life vest, Doc?” Those damn tears felt like they were creeping up the back of her throat again, and she swallowed them down. “I don’t know how much more—”

  Doc shifted over to the sofa and put her fingers beneath Ash’s chin. She gently pushed up, making her look into her eyes. “Ash, I’m a life raft, as is Darby. You’re not in this alone. I’m always here for you, and so is she.”

  “I thought I was getting better, but then I lose time, or I panic because I’m up high in a fucking building, or my head roars, and I lose it and go off on you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again, Doc.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek.

  The hand moved from Ash’s chin to her shoulder, where Doc’s thumb moved back and forth in a comforting caress. “Maybe the universe is forcing you to come to terms with your past and forge ahead into the future. You’ve been stuck, Ash, neither moving forward nor dealing with what’s behind you. You live on the streets. You eat sporadically. You isolate yourself. But, if you put on your warrior persona again and grapple with the changes the universe is throwing at you by fulfilling the terms of the inheritance and by consistently coming in for counseling with me, well, to be perfectly honest, I’m excited to see what’s coming next in your world.”

  Doc grabbed both of her shoulders now and shook her gently. “There’s a warrior inside you, Ash. There always has been. You lost her for a while, but it’s time to find her again. Pull your shoulders back, lift your chin, and fight for yourself with everything you’ve got because, yes, the universe is throwing you into the deep end again. But damn it, answer the challenge, don’t shrink from it.”

  Ash chuckled at that. “Yes, coach.”

  “Now.” Doc sat back, pulled her knee up onto the sofa so she could better face Ash, and rested an elbow on the sofa’s back. She leaned her head on her hand and looked directly into Ash’s eyes. “Let’s talk about how you can handle the paparazzi and all those flash bulbs going off around you.”

  Ash’s bark of laughter followed Doc’s words. “What?”

  Doc lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Think about it. Harcourt Langdon’s long-lost heir is teaming up with the indomitable Phyla McGuire. Either one of those stories would be front-page news. Together, they’re big-time international news to both the tabloid presses and to the financial news sources. I’m afraid you’ll be ambushed whenever you step out with Ms. McGuire, whether it’s to a business function, a fundraiser, or a late evening cocktail party where she teaches you to network. And that will continue to happen until something bigger comes along to catch their interest.”

  Ash blinked several times and sat back into the cushions. “I can’t, Doc.”

  “Well, you can and you will. Tell me what happens when you picture crowds of men and women holding cameras in your face. Most probably, flashes will be going off, and people will be yelling your name, telling you to look their way or give a comment. What are you feeling right now?”

  Diva rose from where she’d been napping and sat sideways to Ash’s legs. She leaned in and pressed hard until Ash began rubbing the silky hair on the top of her head.

  Doc watched Diva and then nodded, “Okay. I want you to set in your mind that what you’re seeing are only flashes from the cameras. Nothing else. There is nothing in a flash from a camera that can hurt you, is there?”

  Still, Ash didn’t answer.

  “Ash?”

  Ash turned her head in Doc’s direction but didn’t look her in the eyes.