Saints and sinners the d.., p.47
Saints & Sinners: The Devlin Saint Trilogy, page 47
“Always. What’s on your agenda?”
It was the right question, obviously, because she lit up. “I have a lead,” she said. “An anonymous source with a tip about the Myers assassination. With luck, it’ll lead to identifying the shooter.”
His entire body went stiff, the pleasure of the past moments shoved under by a wave of irritation.
His voice was as hard as ice as he said, “Why on earth would you pursue that? You met Sue. You talked to Laura. You know how broken they were, and Sue was one of the lucky ones. Whoever took that SOB out deserves a medal, not an indictment.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said, her voice as tight as his. “Just hold on a minute. I might not give a flying fuck that Myers is dead, but that doesn’t change the fact that whoever killed him committed a crime. The shooter was a self-appointed judge and jury, and that’s not the way things work.”
“Myers had already been convicted and sentenced,” he reminded her. “He was released on appeal due to a technicality. Not because he was innocent.”
“That may be so, but that doesn’t give the shooter—”
He held up a hand, wishing they were on the same page about this. “Hang on. Just hang on.” He knew that growing up with a father who was the Chief of Police and then working as a cop herself colored the way Ellie looked at the justice system. Still, he wished he could make her understand the way he thought.
“I get that we disagree,” he said slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “But with the position you’re taking, you’re essentially saying that whoever killed my father—whoever killed The Wolf—deserves to be prosecuted. Even though by killing that vile excuse for a human being, the shooter saved hundreds, probably thousands of lives.”
“People can’t just assassinate—”
“My father was one of the most notorious criminals who walked this earth. He did horrible things to me and to everybody he stumbled across.” Devlin felt bile rise in his throat along with the memories. Forcibly, he pushed it down, trying to keep his voice steady.
“He went out of his way to hurt people,” he continued, “and one day someone took the son of a bitch out. If we go by the rules that you’re advocating, that someone deserves to be put in jail. Possibly even sentenced to death. That’s where your train of thought goes. You know that, right?”
She winced, his words obviously hitting home, and he had to wonder if she’d guessed the truth already. If she knew that he was the one who’d pulled the trigger and taken out The Wolf almost two years after he’d walked away from her.
Did she know?
And did she truly condemn him?
With sudden clarity he remembered one of the recent texts she’d received. Don’t you know you’re fucking a dangerous man?
A cold fury burned though him. Not because the words were a lie, but because they were true.
But he wasn’t ready for her to know just how dangerous he truly was.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I want to bang my head against the wall in frustration. I get that we see things differently, but I can’t understand why it bothers him so much that I’m pursuing the Myers story. I don’t have the chance to ask, though, because the intercom buzzes, and Anna’s voice fills the room. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to update you on a few things.”
I see the muscle in his jaw tighten before he pushes the button to reply. “Traditionally, the Do Not Disturb light means do not disturb.”
“It’s time sensitive. And you might consider it urgent.”
“Give me a minute.” He turns to me. “Sorry. Work beckons.”
“That’s okay,” I say glibly. “I’ve already had my way with you.”
He chuckles. “Yes, you definitely did.”
I grab his tie just below the knot and tug him down, as if for one, final quick kiss. Instead, I nip his lower lip with my teeth, then whisper, “Promise of things to come.”
“So to speak,” he deadpans, and I have to fight not to laugh.
“Touché.”
He grabs my chin, holding it firm between his thumb and forefinger, the gesture so commanding that I feel the tingle of its intensity all the way to my core. “Stay with me,” he murmurs.
“I think Anna would rather I get out of both your hair so that you two can get some work done.”
“I mean tonight. Stay at my place. Be waiting for me tomorrow when I get back from Vegas.”
I shake my head. “We both know I should stay at Brandy’s. Someone’s watching us. We talked about this. It’s a little too intimate if I’m staying at your place even without you there.”
He sighs. “My fear is that there will always be someone watching us.”
I frown, then start to ask what he means, but he cuts me off.
“Ignore me. I’m just frustrated. I don’t like being watched. And I don’t like subtle threats. And I definitely don’t like worrying about your safety. My place is more secure than Brandy’s.”
“Her place has an alarm, and I promise we’ll set it. I’m armed. And I can take care of myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to. And yet you’re in that position because of me.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“Stay at my place,” he repeats. “Tomorrow night I’ll bring home take-out and we can watch a movie.”
I cross my arms over my chest and cock my head. “Is that the best you can do?”
“Not even close,” he says. “But you’ll have to show up to find out how truly enticing my offer is.”
“I think I should at least get a hint,” I tease. “Something that lets me know how much you care?”
“Hmm.” A slow grin touches his lips. “What can I do to make sure you’re available at my beck and call?” His gaze roams over me, as predatory as a wolf. “Something to ensure you know how much I want you.” His fingertips trace lightly over my neck and shoulders.
“Something to entice you,” he continues, then brushes his thumb over my lower lip. “Maybe something like your very own drawer.”
His expression is as playful as his voice has become, and I fight an unexpected bubble of giggles as I press my palms over my heart. “Why, Mr. Saint, an entire drawer? I guess you really do love me.”
He still hasn’t said it out loud, and now I wait to hear those words, or even a simple yes. But all he says is, “Well, what do you think?”
It shouldn’t bother me, but faith isn’t my strong suit. He hurt me once, after all, and some hidden, broken part of me whispers that with Devlin Saint, maybe it’s best if I’m always protecting my heart.
Anna’s quick double-tap on the door has me sliding off the desk, and I’m standing beside Devlin when the doors sweep open and she walks through the gap. “Ellie, I’m sorry. When I first buzzed I didn’t realize you were in here, and then when I realized…” She trails off, looking more than a little embarrassed.
“It’s no big deal. I’ve stolen enough of Devlin’s time.”
“No, no. I don’t mean to rush you out. I just wanted to let you know who tracked me down today,” she continues, her attention shifting to Devlin.
He frowns. “Who?”
“Joseph Blackstone.”
I see the slightest twitch in his muscles. I can tell the name has surprised him and he’s working to keep himself under control. “Are you okay?”
Anna nods, but her face is tight, as if she’s holding back intense emotions. She seems even more tense than she’d been on the beach, and I wonder what happened after Brandy and I left. Or maybe I hadn’t gotten a very good look.
“You’re sure?” The concern in Devlin’s voice is palpable.
“Yes. Really. I’m fine. Just surprised. It’s been a very long time.”
I know this doesn’t concern me, but I’m too curious not to ask. “Who’s Joseph Blackstone?”
Devlin’s eyes narrow as he says, “You know the security breaches I mentioned?”
I nod.
“Well, as far as we’ve been able to tell, Blackstone’s been on the receiving end of some of the leaked information.”
I frown, processing that. “So he’s been stealing information from you?”
“That’s unclear,” Devlin says.
“But someone has,” Anna puts in. “And even if Joseph isn’t driving that cart, we think he’s buying the goods.”
I look between the two of them, now even more confused. “So why come to see you?”
She looks to Devlin when she answers. “No idea. He doesn’t seem to have a clue that we know he’s benefiting from the breaches. He said he learned that I was working for the DSF and that it would be amusing—his word—to come track me down while he was in Southern California.”
“Does he know who I am?”
She shakes her head. “At least, I don’t think so. Nothing he said made me think he knew.”
“Why would he know?” I ask. “You’re talking about Devlin being Alejandro, right? The Wolf’s son? Why would he possibly know that?”
“Joe’s about ten years older than me,” Devlin answers, “and he was moving up fast in my father’s enterprise about the time I came here to work with Peter.”
“So he knew both of you.” I say it as a statement, but Anna nods in affirmation.
“Yeah,” she says harshly. “We knew each other.”
Devlin moves to her side and gently cups her shoulder. “What else did he say?”
“Nothing. Just that we ought to grab a bite.” She makes a scoffing noise. “As if. I told him that I’d left everything about The Wolf’s compound behind when I walked away, and that it wasn’t personal, but that I was going to decline his invitation.”
Devlin steps back, obviously studying her, as if looking for cracks in a porcelain doll. “And that was it?”
“That was it.” She shrugs. “It’s not—I mean, he didn’t have any reason to track me down…”
“Tell our team to keep an eye on him,” Devlin says. “Maybe it really was coincidence. Maybe he wants to get close to you to see if he can skim even more intelligence about our operations.” He glances my way, and though it’s probably my imagination, I get the feeling he wishes I weren’t in the room right then. “And maybe he really does know more than we think he does.”
“About you?” Anna shakes her head. “Nobody knows. Nobody could.”
“Of course they could,” Devlin says. “Nobody’s ever really safe. You grew up the same way I did, Anna. You know that’s the truth as well as I do.”
“This is fun,” Tracy says as we window-shop our way along Pacific Avenue. “Thanks for asking me.” I’d bumped into her in the lobby as I was leaving, and we’d decided to make the walk to Brewski together, then do some window shopping.
“No problem.” I check my watch. “I can offer you dinner, too, if you want. I’m aces at ordering pizza, and I’m not too bad at uncorking wine, either.”
She laughs. “Truly, you have an amazing skill set.”
“Well, I don’t like to brag,” I tease. “Seriously, though. Do you want to walk with me back to Brandy’s? We can rent a movie or something? I can only offer my company. Apparently Brandy’s got a hot date.”
She wrinkles her nose apologetically.
“Right,” I say. “That makes me the dateless one.” I frown, then remember that I have a date with my computer, anyway. I want to put all my notes about Peter in order tonight. Because tomorrow I’m hoping to have a PC that I can use to open the creepy, anonymous URL, and then—assuming there’s really a lead on the site—shift gears to the Myers story.
I shrug. “Well, maybe I’ll get lucky and wrangle a little phone sex.”
Tracy almost spits her coffee, and too late, it occurs to me that I’m talking about having phone sex with her boss. Not my finest hour.
Her lips narrow and her eyes bulge a bit as she tries not to spew the sip she’d just taken.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She finally manages to swallow, then wipes her mouth, her eyes sparkling with tears of laughter. “Please, please, do not tell Mr. Saint you said that in front of me. I’d really like to be able to continue looking him in the eye.”
“You got it,” I say. “If you reciprocate and promise to share absolutely no details about your date tonight. Lamar is a very good friend. There are certain images I don’t need in my head.”
We shake on the deal, then chat for another block before she makes a right turn to cut diagonally back toward PCH and her condo. I continue straight toward the winding road that leads up into the canyons and to Brandy’s house.
Pacific Avenue dead-ends at Sunset Parkway, and I pause long enough to make sure I have the walk sign. Then I step off the curb—right as a black Range Rover blows through the light and careens around the corner.
And it’s coming straight at me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Time stops as my brain processes the danger—because even though I’m already stumbling backwards, my footing isn’t solid, and there is no way in hell it’s going to miss me.
I don’t see my life flash before my eyes. Instead, all I see is Devlin, and all I feel is the tight pinch of loss and terror. I let my body go limp, trying to go down in a roll so that maybe, maybe, it’ll miss me. But I can’t, because there’s suddenly a tight pressure on my shoulder and my neck, and I realize that someone’s grabbed the collar of my zipped-up jacket, and I’m hurtling backward toward them, the force of the jacket pressing against my throat enough to make me gag.
I sprawl backwards, landing hard on the concrete, then whimper as I realize that tears of relief are streaming down my cheeks. I cough as I suck in air, then breathe in the pungent scent of burnt rubber from the squeal of the Range Rover’s tires as it peels off, racing the hell away from the scene.
Everything’s moving in slow motion now, and I realize that I’d looked for a license plate, but the SUV didn’t have one. The windows were tinted, too.
“Ellie, are you okay? Can you get up?” The voice is familiar. But there’s too much for my head to process, and so I just sit still for a moment, not able to do anything but assess the new reality that is racing through my mind. That was on purpose. Someone tried to run me down on purpose.
“Ellie.”
I hear it now—Lamar’s voice, and I look up to find him kneeling beside me. “You’re here,” I say stupidly. “Why are you here?”
“I was trying to catch up with you.” He runs his hands down my arms. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Catch up?”
“I snagged you a computer.” He nods at the padded laptop case on the sidewalk next to him. “Endo was going to give it to Goodwill. Said it’s yours if you want it. I bumped into Tracy and she said you were walking home. It’s only luck that I caught up to you when I did.”
“Hell, yes, it was luck.”
He helps me to my feet. That’s when I tune into the hum of voices and notice the extent of the crowd around us, many of whom are snapping pictures with their phones. Some look excited—like they’ve just watched a parade—but most look shocked or horrified.
“That car didn’t have a plate,” a thin woman with a stroller says. “That’s not legal.”
“That’s not legal?” I can hear incredulity in the skateboarder’s voice. “The fucker tried to run her down.” He flashes a crooked smile at me. “Probably some woman pissed off you’re nailing Saint and she isn’t.”
“Idiot,” another woman mumbles, and I swallow a nod of acquiescence. Except, of course, he could be right.
“Come on,” Lamar says. “I’m walking you home.”
I don’t resist when he takes my arm. We wait for the walk sign as the small crowd fawns over me, and I reassure them that I’m fine. I check and double-check the intersection before finally crossing the street with Lamar, then we start the slow climb up the hill toward Brandy’s house.
It’s dusk now, the area suffused with a hazy gray like a movie from the Forties. “Do you have any idea who that was?” Lamar asks.
I shake my head, but even as I do, I say, “Whoever’s been sending the texts, I assume.” I drag my fingers through my hair, then tell him about Joseph Blackstone.
He pauses by a lamppost as we reach the turn toward Brandy’s house. “But Devlin doesn’t think Blackstone knows he’s Alejandro Lopez?”
“Right. As far as he knows, Devlin is just Devlin Saint to Blackstone.”
“So what’s getting leaked in these breaches?”
“That I don’t know,” I tell him. “But the DSF works with law enforcement and rehab groups to help shut down criminal enterprises. Maybe he’s getting advance notice of raids?”
“Maybe,” Lamar says. “Only way to find out is to ask Devlin. Is he going to be pissed you told me this?”
I shake my head. “No. For one, he told me I could talk to you, and he didn’t put any parameters on that. And two, if that was Blackstone in that car, he’ll be happy with any help you can provide.”
“Fair enough. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“It might have been a drunk driver,” I say, wishful thinking running amok.
He looks down his nose at me, but doesn’t even bother to respond. Just starts walking again.
“I know. I know,” I say, falling in step beside him. “But the bigger point is that there’s no indication Blackstone knows who Devlin really is. But whoever is sending the texts clearly does.”
“Are you sure they do?”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“The texts only say Devlin is dangerous, right? Have any of them suggested he has a secret identity?”
I think back, then shake my head.
“So maybe this Joseph has it in for Devlin, and you seem like a good way to get at him.”
I frown, but don’t respond. It’s an interesting theory.
“You carrying?”
I shake my head, gesturing to the tiny crossbody that holds my phone, a credit card, and an emergency fifty. I’d told Devlin I was armed, but I didn’t technically mean at that moment.
