Devin didn’t like to think about Steve’s cousin Lucas. He was a Demarco through and through. And that meant he was devastatingly handsome, sexy, self-assured and powerful. The combination should have been annoying. It was annoying. But it was also arousing in a knee-jerk, anthropological sort of way, and Devin found herself having to guard against a sexual attraction to the man who was growing more aggravating by the day. She thought about her overworked, sole proprietor lawyer down on Beach Drive. Hannah was wonderful. She was bright and hardworking, and she’d cut her fees considerably for Devin. But she wasn’t a family law specialist.

“You can always say no to me inside,” Steve offered reasonably.

Devin glanced at Lexi. The woman gave a nearly imperceptible shrug, and Devin decided to take a chance. After all, Steve was right about one thing. She could say no to him in her living room as well as she could say it on the porch. There seemed little risk in listening to what he had to say.

Lucas knew that LoJacking Steve’s car brought him dangerously close to the line ethics-wise. But when the device went still for half an hour out at Lake Westmire, he knew his suspicions were confirmed and his actions justified.

He left the mansion through the front foyer, crossing the driveway turnaround to the garage that housed his jet-black Bugatti.

He cut the hour-long drive down to forty minutes, passing the blip that signaled Steve’s Porsche coming the other way along the interstate south of Seattle. His GPS took him down the winding, beachfront road of Lake Westmire, unerringly to a gravel driveway behind a compact, white cottage that obviously fronted on the lake.

He yanked the parking brake, killed the engine and exited the low-slung vehicle.

The staircase was short, and it brought him to a narrow wraparound deck that most likely led to a veranda overlooking the lake. Facing the road, there was a painted, blue door. He knocked.