The phone slid from his hand, dropping halfway down to the chair before Damon slapped at it, stopping the descent by pinning the cell to his chest.
He went motionless, holding the device in place while keeping his heart in his rib cage at the same time.
What. The. Hell.
"What kind of joke is this?" He knew Caroline couldn't be out there. He'd hired private investigators to find her. He'd paid a ransom to someone claiming to have kidnapped her. He'd searched half the world for her himself, convinced something had happened to her even though her wealthy and powerful father insisted Caroline had simply found Damon unsuitable and no longer wished to be married.
Stephan Degraff had said Caroline wished to travel and was entitled to her privacy, a story that was upheld by the occasional hits on her credit card. An apartment rented briefly in Prague. A used car purchased in Kiev.
Damon had never bought it.
He shot to his feet.
"No joke, sir." The housekeeper's voice was cool and modulated, as if she'd grown accustomed to disagreeable clients long ago. "She has a marriage certificate with your name on it and she looks like the photograph I'm staring at over the mantel. Shall we open the gate?"
Caroline on his doorstep after her father insisted she'd seen the error of her ways in marrying Damon and had walked out on him for good? Not damn well likely.
"I'll be right there." Damon was already charging toward the door. He shoved his way through with one shoulder. "Find the number for the local police, in case we need to send this crackpot a message about what happens to people who play pranks like impersonating my wife."
Cold fury roared through him. Caroline had been gone for ten and a half months. He'd chased false leads all over Europe, tracking withdrawals from her bank account and use of her credit card, trying to find her. All the while her father insisted she'd left her marriage and wished to be left alone. But then a ransom note had shown up weeks later, which he saw as proof she'd been kidnapped. But the police had never believed the kidnapping theory, insistent the ransom note was sent by someone who took advantage of her disappearance by demanding cash for her safe return.
Damon had gladly paid, transferring money to an offshore account on the appointed day. He'd never heard from the so-called kidnappers again.
Pounding his way up the stairs to the main floor, he couldn't wait to see who would have the nerve to pull a prank like this. He barreled through the handcrafted double doors that had delayed their move-in date by two weeks and stalked down the stone walkway covered in dried leaves that led to a fountain imported from India.
He hated all of it. And he rarely had an outlet for any of the fury that had seethed in him for weeks-fury that was a welcome change from the old fears for Caroline, the guilt that he hadn't done more to find her and the stark sense of loss …
Holy. Hell.
He stopped on the stone driveway leading down to the wrought iron gate.
A woman stood outside the heavy bars, her fingers clutching the filigree that surrounded the house number in the center of the entrance. She was the right height. Even from this distance, he could recognize those dark brown eyes. The delectably full lips. The hair that had once been sun-streaked blond was now a shade of honey gold and pinned back in a way that showed hollows under cheeks formerly rounded with good health. Her frame was thinner. Her skin paler. And her expression was wary, lacking the vibrant self-confidence of the capable businesswoman he remembered.
Yet there wasn't a single doubt in his mind.
Caroline Degraff had blindsided him the first time they met, igniting an incendiary passion that made him overlook every need for caution. Her father coveted Damon's company, but it didn't matter. Stephan Degraff had sent his smart, exquisite daughter to spy on Damon's operation, possibly to undermine him and oust him from his own company. But who cared? Damon would have given up everything-everything-to have Caroline.
Just when he'd thought he'd won her forever, after a honeymoon so beautiful that it hurt to recall, Caroline had vanished. She took her wallet and her car, a bag of clothes and a few prescription pills, all signs that, according to the cops, meant she left of her own volition. Her powerful father had convinced the police his daughter was entitled to her privacy and that she would file for divorce in her own time. The fact that Caroline left behind her wedding ring seemed to support the theory. Local law enforcement refused to file a missing person report, leaving Damon on his own to locate her. He'd been advised by multiple private investigators and the police not to talk to the media, so he hadn't. A story had been leaked to the press at one point, but her father had forced the news outlet to print a retraction. His lone effort to reach out to the public-discreetly asking for any information about her from the employees who had worked with them both at Transparent-had resulted in that ransom note.
Yet he never saw Caroline again.
Until now.
It occurred to him he'd stopped moving toward her. That he'd been staring at her like he'd seen a ghost for long, drawn-out moments, his head flooding with memories while his fingers ached with the need to touch her and see if she was real.
"Caroline." He forced himself into motion again, even though he had no idea what to say. Had she left him? Was she here for that divorce her father promised she would one day demand?
She backed up a step from the gate as he neared. She wore jeans with threadbare knees and faded thighs that hugged her subtle curves. A gray wool sweater with fat toggle buttons kept the chill out; the temperature was in the midfifties, with a cold breeze blowing off the bay. She wore no makeup, her face looking younger even as the expression in her eyes seemed far older than he remembered. She looked wary. Cautious.
And, if he read her expression correctly … confused. She appeared bewildered by his appearance even though she was the one who had shown up on his doorstep.
"Damon McNeill?" she asked, her arched eyebrows knitting together as she pursed her lips.
Just what the hell was she asking him? He noticed that one of the guys on the landscaping crew was hovering nearby, a crinkled piece of paper in his hand.
Damon pressed a button on his phone to open the electric gate and stared down the gardener while the bars slid silently to one side. "You can leave now. Water the roses or whatever."
"Sure thing." The guy nodded fast and seemed grateful for an excuse to leave, but first he ambled closer and handed Damon the faded, worn paper. "She said she found this."
Damon would have stuffed it in a back pocket to focus on Caroline, but the gold seal in one corner caught his eye.
Their marriage certificate.
"I don't understand." He moved closer to the wife who had once held his heart. The woman who now stared at him like a stranger. "Why did you bring this?"
His pulse pounded hard. He braced himself to hear the words he dreaded. The news that she wanted to end their marriage legally. Forever.
Alone on the private road that led to the mansion, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of the oversized sweater she wore, the fabric hugging her body tighter at the movement.
There'd been a time when he would have picked her up off her feet and wrapped her in both arms. Even not knowing where she'd been, what had happened or why she'd come back now, Damon still wanted to kiss her more than he wanted explanations. Something about her body language, so hesitant, restrained him.
"You're Damon." She seemed to seek confirmation, her brown eyes flecked with gold scanning his face, as if calculating the sum of his features. "I saw your photo online, but you look so much like your brother. Cameron."
Half brother, he silently corrected her while his brain tried to make meaning out of the nonsensical words.
"It's been less than a year since you saw me last. Do I look so different now?" He'd kissed her for long minutes in the airport in Florence, hating to part from her after the honeymoon. Their home in Los Altos Hills-this house-hadn't been completed yet. So she'd gone to see a friend in London while he flew back to the States for business that couldn't wait. Business he'd come to regret sorely in the last ten months, especially since they'd argued during the time they'd been apart and he'd always wondered if that had been the reason she left.
As it turned out, she hadn't just been seeing her friend, after all. She'd gone to the UK to make amends with her father, who would give anything to take control of Transparent. Stephan Degraff's plans to oust Damon were about to come to a head one week from now at the final board meeting before the product launched.
Had Caroline been helping her father take over Damon's company from the start?
"I don't remember." Her eyes were haunted. Scared. Unsure. "I've been in Mexico. With amnesia. I remembered my name two months ago, but it's taken time to recall more than that." She glanced up and away from him. Shut her eyes for a long moment before she began again. "I've had this paper ever since I woke up in a fishing village on the Baja Peninsula. But at the time, I didn't even know that name was mine."