Saints and sinners the d.., p.14
Saints & Sinners: The Devlin Saint Trilogy, page 14
Since he’s dead now, I’m assuming nobody’s going to bother.
I grab a seat at the counter near the package and mutter, “Coffee?”
Brandy laughs, then taps the side of her mug. “Herbal tea.”
I groan. “Remind me how we’re friends?”
“Because I’m going to start boiling water for your coffee. What’s in the package?”
“I called Roger before the gala and had him get in my apartment and send me my mom’s diaries.”
Her brow furrows. “Nostalgia?”
“Uncle Peter,” I say, and she tilts her head, looking at me sympathetically.
“You think he really might have been dealing.” She says it as a fact, not a question. “And for a long time.”
“Wow. It’s like you’re my best friend or something. You know me so well.”
I’d brought her up to speed after the gala. Well, up to speed about Peter. I hadn’t known what to say about Alex. I still don’t.
She points a batter-smeared spatula at me. “And don’t you forget it. What are you wearing for your trip to Vegas?” She moves to the sink, drops the spatula, and starts to fill the kettle. “Have you decided?”
“I told you yesterday. It’s not a date. It’s work.”
“Are you sure?” She waggles her eyebrows. “He followed you to the bar, remember?”
I sigh, wishing I’d bit the bullet and told Brandy about Alex when we’d talked Friday night. But I didn’t know how to start, and it had seemed like too much drama on top of the Peter revelation.
And even though I’d resolved to tell her last night after he invited me on this trip, I’d stayed late in the Research Room long after Doyle had gone. Brandy’d been wiped by the time I got home, and so I only told her about the Vegas jaunt.
Or, hell, maybe I’d just been making excuses.
No time like the present…
“Listen,” I say, as I circle the island, aiming for the instant coffee jar. “This is kind of—ah!”
I jump back at the same time I realize that the form lying headless on the floor is Lamar.
He slides out from under the sink his brow furrowing as he looks me up and down. “Where are you going? And do I even have to guess who supposedly isn’t a date?”
“Objection, your honor. Badgering the witness.”
He scowls, but I turn away, busying myself with pouring boiling water onto coffee crystals as I breathe a sigh of relief that I hadn’t blurted out the truth about Devlin to Brandy.
I frown at Brandy. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
“I did. I called out to you when he got here. What’s the big deal? It’s not like you came prancing out of your room naked.”
“More’s the pity,” Lamar says, and I shoot him a scowl as I load the coffee up with cream—always in the first cup of the day so that I can ingest it as quickly as possible—and take a long, delicious swallow of the magical elixir.
“What are you doing on the floor, anyway?” I ask, once that first hit has my brain cells firing.
“The disposal’s not working,” Brandy says. “I asked him to refer a plumber, and he’s who showed up.”
“Very chivalrous of you,” I tell Lamar, turning and glancing down to where he’s now sitting upright on the ground.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Before I can tell him that it’s none of his business, Brandy chimes in. “She’s going to Vegas with Devlin Saint.”
“Oh, Jesus, Ellie.” Lamar wipes his hands on his jeans as he stands. “Have you got issues with your hearing? Or are you just filtering out what I say?”
Brandy looks between us. “What’s he talking about?”
“At the gala,” I explain. “Mr. Chivalry here told me that he’s concerned that Saint has one of those reputations. He fears I’ll be scandalized and end up a spinster living in a house filled with twenty-seven cats if I associate with him.”
“He fears,” Lamar begins, “that Saint is the kind of man who takes what he wants.”
“So do I,” I remind him. “And the bottom line is that I’m going with him to see the work the foundation is doing in Nevada in person. It’s my job, remember? As simple as that.”
“Nothing is simple with that man.”
“Fine. Consider me warned. But it’s not your call to make, is it?” My words are harsh. Cold. And very slowly, Lamar shakes his head.
“No,” he says, “it isn’t.”
My gut twists. Technically, I’m not lying to either one of them. But Brandy knew Alex and deserves the truth.
And as for Lamar … well, he’s worried about me being too close to a guy like Devlin Saint. And maybe he’s right. God knows Devlin has the power to hurt me.
They’re both looking at me expectantly, but I don’t know what to say. So I take the easy road and tell them once again that it’s only work. Then I mentally cheer when my phone rings, giving me an excuse to move into the living area.
“Ellie? It’s Anna Lindstrom.” Her crisp, efficient voice comes across loud and clear, as I imagine it always does. She doesn’t seem like someone who would let crappy cell service diminish her authority.
I wince, ashamed that I’m heading toward cattiness. After all, I have no real reason to dislike her other than the fact that she looks far too good on Devlin’s arm. And, of course, the fact that I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping with him.
“I understand you’ll be joining Devlin today on the flight to Vegas.”
I swallow. “Yes. I’ll be working on my article.”
“What a terrific opportunity for you. I wanted to let you know that he’s requested that we send a car to take you to the airport. It will be there by one. You’ll arrive at The Phoenix before four. Devlin has a dinner with some representatives of the Beyond Project, and he hoped you would join him. I’ve dined with them several times, and the whole team is excellent. I’m sure you’ll learn a lot for your article.”
“That sounds great,” I say as I tamp down that damn jealousy. “Thank you.” The Beyond Project is the organization the foundation funds that is doing the hardcore day-to-day work with the trafficking victims, so the chance to meet some of the reps who are supported by DSF dollars is definitely something I want in on.
About the time I end the call, Lamar heads for the door. “I have to get to work,” he says. “Be smart, okay?”
“I am smart,” I tell him.
“Too smart for your own good sometimes,” he mutters.
“I love you for worrying,” I tell him as I walk him to the door. “But there’s no need. Really.”
He makes a noncommittal noise as he leaves, and as I’m shutting the door, I hear my phone chime with a text. It’s Millie.
Found someone for you. Think I can arrange an interview. A lifer in Delano. Phone okay, or will you want in person?
I’d prefer in person, but I know from experience that sometimes takes longer to arrange.
Whatever’s fastest.
She replies with a thumbs-up emoji, and I grin as I head back into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
Brandy’s behind the counter now, her hand in an oven mitt as she pulls out the muffin pan. Immediately, I start to salivate.
“Good news?” she asks, looking at my face.
“Looks like I may get an interview soon with one of The Wolf’s higher-ups.”
She frowns. “Do you really think Peter was working for him? I read some stories on the web last night, and this Wolf guy sounds super scary.”
“I honestly don’t know.” I sip my coffee as I move around the bar and climb onto one of the stools. “I just want one,” I say, nodding at the muffins. “Only one.”
Her brows rise. “First, they have to cool. Second, who said I was offering?”
“You love feeding me,” I tease. “Unless…” I trail off and lift my brows. “Are you perhaps putting together a basket for that special someone?”
Considering the color that floods her cheeks, I know that’s exactly it. “Oh my God, you are. Who? And why didn’t you tell me last night?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I met him at the gala right after we talked. It felt—I don’t know—like a gift after how cruddy I was feeling. He’s nice, and he’s not pushy, and he’s cute. I guess telling would have been like getting my hopes up.”
“Okay. That’s fair. Tell me the rest, though. How did you get to the muffin stage so fast? And give me one before Mystery Man gets them all.”
“Do you really want it now? You’ll burn your tongue.”
“You know me. Never one to shy away from risk. Besides, they’re best when the chocolate’s gooey.”
She pops one on a plate and slides it across the bar to me, whereupon I proceed to burn my fingers in the process of taking a bite. “This is amazing,” I say, talking with my mouth open to try to cool the hot muffin that’s burning the shit out of my tongue.
“How we’re friends…”
“Yin and yang,” I remind her. “And because we’ve always had each other’s back.”
She lifts her hand and does a high five with the air since she’s back across the kitchen. I lift mine and reciprocate.
And, once again, I feel guilty.
“Bran—”
“I know. I know. The story. That’s pretty much it. I gave him my number and last night he called, and we went for a walk on the beach after dinner. We got to talking, and…”
She trails off with a shrug. “Well, he’s sweet. We had coffee and he drove me home.”
“And…”
“He kissed me goodnight. That was it. Total gentleman. I told him that I don’t move fast, and he said that he’d move at a snail’s pace for a woman like me.”
I put my hands over my heart. “I don’t know if that’s a line, but if it is, it’s a good one.”
She laughs. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I guess I wanted to see how it went first. I’m tired of calling you up to tell you I met a good one only for it to turn out that his manners had an expiration date, and he morphed into some porn star wannabe. But,” she adds with a hard look at me, “I should have.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I get it.” I signal for another muffin, because to hell with my jean size.
She passes one over, and I pick at the top, trying to gather my thoughts. Trying to decide what to do or say. Or, for that matter, whether I should do or say anything at all.
After a moment of unusually awkward silence between us, she comes around the island and climbs on the stool next to me. “Do you remember when Daddy packed us up and moved us to San Diego?”
I frown. “Well, yeah. Of course.”
“And I didn’t say a word to you about why. Or I did, but I lied.”
“You said your dad got a new job. I remember.” I reach out and cover her hand with mine. “It’s okay. I was a little butthurt in college once you finally told me about the baby and the adoption, but I understand why you didn’t at first. I know how hard it must have been for you.”
“Yeah,” she says. “It was brutally hard. But that’s the point.”
“I don’t follow.”
She runs a finger through the tangle of blond and pink strands. “The thing is, I should have told you sooner. I was carrying this massive weight, and you would have helped me. But—I don’t know—I guess I was ashamed.”
“Ashamed! Some asshole college boy drugs you at a party and—”
She squeezes my hand. “That’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is that I was dealing with all this stuff about the baby and my parents not believing that the creep had roofied me and the move to San Diego and everything. I wanted to talk about all of it with you, but I held it in, and I shouldn’t have. I should have told you. I think—no, I know—it would have helped.”
She slides off the stool, then heads back into the kitchen and starts to load the dishwasher. “I just thought that I should say that.”
For a moment, I sit quietly. I’m not an idiot. And neither is my best friend. She just made that clear enough. And I do want to tell her. But this isn’t only my secret. It’s Alex’s too.
The thing is, Brandy can seem flighty, but she’s a vault when it matters. God knows she kept her baby secret for long enough. And she never once told anyone about me and Alex all those years ago.
More than that, she’s my best friend. She deserves the truth. On top of that, I deserve someone I can talk to about this fun house of emotions that’s set up camp inside me.
“You have to promise to keep it a secret,” I say. “An in-the-vault kind of secret.”
“Lamar was right. You did sleep with Devlin Saint.”
“No!” I take a breath. “Well, not exactly, anyway.”
She pauses, a dirty mixing bowl in her hand. And then, as if someone hit the play button, she starts moving again. She puts the bowl in the dishwasher, comes to stand across from me at the island, and says, “Okay. Tell me.”
“Have you ever noticed that Devlin Saint kind of looks like Alex?”
Her brow furrows. “A bit, I suppose. It’s been a long time since I saw Alex, but he was blond.”
“Trust me, there’s a resemblance.”
“Okay. But why does that—” Her eyes widen. “They’re brothers!”
“Ah, no.”
“Then, what?”
“Well, the truth is, they’re the same guy.”
She stares at me, totally silent. Then she blinks twice, swallows a laugh, and says, “Are you freaking kidding me?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We’re still in the I don’t believe it stage ten minutes later, though we’ve moved into my bedroom so I can get dressed and pack. I’ve already explained the why behind Alex’s metamorphosis, and Brandy now sits cross-legged on my bed, shaking her head in bewilderment.
“It’s like the plot for a TV show,” she says. “But why doesn’t he become Alex again?”
I look up from where I’m rolling my only dinner dress into the small carry-on I borrowed from Brandy, since the suitcase I brought is far too big for such a short jaunt. “Honestly, I didn’t think to ask. I assume because he’s Devlin Saint now and it’s easier to stay that way. I mean, Saint’s a big deal, right?”
“True. And maybe he’s still got that target on his back?”
I frown as I consider that. The Wolf is dead, but his people scattered. Some—like the guy Millie is arranging for me to talk to—are in prison. But others have probably started their own criminal enterprises, albeit smaller, funded in part by the ill-gotten gains they received working for the notorious Wolf. “You might be right.”
“The whole thing’s nuts. And there’s really nothing going on with you two?”
“You’ve asked me that at least a dozen times. This is the honesty zone, remember?”
“I know, I know. I don’t mean to make it sound like you’re lying. It’s just that back then you two were, God, I don’t know. Epic.”
A tight knot of remorse and loss twists in my gut. “Yeah. Yeah, we were. But we were kids.”
She scoffs. “I’m not sure you ever had the chance to be a kid. And Alex always seemed older than he was.”
I can’t disagree. “Well, the answer’s still the same. There’s nothing going on now. In fact, less than nothing. Because that night in the parking lot was like torture when you get right down to it.”
“He was pushing you away.”
I tilt my head in a duh sort of way.
She shifts around on the bed so that she’s on her stomach, her elbows propping her up, and her chin resting in her hands. “You want something to happen. Even though he’s being an ass, you still want him.”
“No,” I say automatically. But then, because we’re being honest, I backtrack. “You know what? Actually, yes.” Just saying it makes the butterflies in my stomach wake up and start fluttering. Because the truth is, I can still recall with crystal clarity that night when I gave myself completely to Alex Leto. The way his fingers felt on my skin. The brush of his lips on my shoulders. And every single moment of the rest of it.
I want to feel that again.
That, and more.
We had sweet. Now I want rough. I want hard and heated and frantic. I want desperation. I want Devlin Saint and all the danger he represents that I crave.
I want to both surrender and attack. To pound each other into exhaustion. To burn him out of my system completely. Because only then will I be able to walk away and say that I’m over him. That we’re finally, and truly done.
“Closure,” Brandy says after I explain that to her. “I get it. That’s what you came back for, right?”
“Yeah, but I thought I was coming for closure about Uncle Peter. A reality check after learning that he wasn’t a completely innocent victim. I didn’t expect to see Alex.”
“Nobody expects—”
“—the Spanish Inquisition. Yeah, yeah.”
She laughs, then sits up, pulls my dress out, and re-rolls it. She does a much better job, too. “Does he want to?”
“He’s made it perfectly clear that’s not happening,” I tell her as I pop into the bathroom for my toiletry kit.
“But does he want to?”
I return, then sit on the edge of my bed. “Yeah. I think he does.” I draw in a breath and let it out. “But I know him. He won’t.”
And despite wanting closure, that’s probably a very good thing.
The Town Car pulls to a stop on the tarmac of an executive airport in inland Orange County, and Devlin opens the door for me. I step out and look at the small, sleek jet painted in the blue and gold colors that are featured in the DSF logo.
A woman in khaki slacks and a blue blazer with Saint Charters embroidered on the breast meets us at the stairs. She greets Devlin, then introduces herself to me as Marci, the pilot.
“My co-pilot, Thomas, is already on board,” she tells us. “And Gregg will be doing service in the cabin. We’re ready for you to board, and we’ll get underway as soon I have clearance to taxi to the runway.”
“Thank you, Marci,” Devlin says, then gestures for me to precede him up the stairs. I do, then come to a dead stop the moment I step through the door. It’s like a high-end office, complete with leather recliners, a couch, a desk, and even a bar. The only difference being that this office flies through the air.
