by J. Kenner
Chapter Eighteen
“Well, he was an interesting guy,” I say as we’re bouncing our way down the dirt road toward the paved highway to take us to Garfield, Idaho, where we’ll stay the night in a motel before getting back in the air tomorrow morning. The crew’s already checked in and Marci, Devlin’s favorite pilot, texted earlier that she has our keys and we can swing by her room when we get there. She says the motel is nice, but at this point, I don’t even care.
“Why on earth is Giatti in Idaho? He sounds like he’s from New Jersey, and he lived in Nevada with you.”
“Maria,” he said. “That little house and the land have been in her family forever. And they always used to say they’d go back one day and live a quiet, easy life. I don’t know if he ever had any of that life with her there. I hope he did.”
“Me, too,” I say. “I like him. And he really likes you.”
“He’s cranky and brusque, and he was always a bit of an asshole,” Devlin says. “But he does. And I like him, too.”
“Thanks for bringing me along. It makes me happy to have these peeks into your past. Seeing hints that it wasn’t all bad. I’ve always hated thinking about your childhood. I’m not saying that now I think it was full of hugs and puppies, but at least I know that there were a few rays of sun peeking through the gloom.”
“There were,” he says, reaching for my hand. “And then I met you and the sun really came out.”
“Until the clouds came back,” I add, then immediately regret it. It’s a nice moment. Why remind him of the drama that surrounded him leaving me, or those years where I hated him so deeply I could feel it down to my toes?
“We got a second chance,” I whisper. “Not everyone does.”
“We’re lucky,” he says. “But it’s more than that. Luck brought us back together. But we’ve worked to get here, where we are.”
“In the middle of a field in Idaho?”
He taps the brakes, bringing us to a halt on this lonely dirt road. “I’m serious,” he says. “There were a hundred reasons we should have stayed apart. Hell, all I had to do was keep my distance and you would have never suspected who Devlin Saint really was. And then once we truly saw each other, it still wasn’t a picnic. My secrets. The knapsack of guilt you haul with you everywhere. So many things that could have kept us from truly becoming us.”
I almost comment on the guilt, but he’s right. I’ve carried survivor’s guilt with me for so long, I don’t even notice the weight. Lately, though, the burden has been lighter.
“We fought and we talked and we fought and we made love and then we fought some more. We’re together now because we’ve worked for it. Fought for it. And I’ll keep fighting to keep you forever. Only now you’re fighting alongside me, both of us against anyone who wants to rip us apart.”
My throat is so thick with emotion that I can barely get the words out. “I’ll always fight for us,” I say.
Our eyes lock. “Baby, I know.”
For a moment, he simply looks at me. We stay lost that way, I’m not sure for how long. The truck is filled with emotion, and finally, when it feels as if my heart may burst with the love I feel for this man, he gives me one final smile and turns his attention back to the wheel.
Ronan is at the hotel when we get there. Not literally, although that’s what I’d expected when Marci said that Ronan was set up in our room. Instead, he’s waiting impatiently in California for Devlin to login to a video call.
“What’s up?” Devlin says once we’re in the virtual room.
“Couldn’t get you on your phone,” Ronan says. As usual, he looks like a mythological god. Or maybe a Marvel hero. But today, there’s a wild energy about him. Something’s happened, and he’s eager to tell. “Next time you travel with the goddamn sat phone like you’re supposed to.”
“What’s happened?”
“Blackstone’s our man. We have confirmation.”
“Our man,” Devlin repeats. The words are careful. Measured. As if he’s holding in strong emotion. Which, of course, he is. “He’s the leak? Or he killed Tracy?”
“Confirmed on Tracy. Confidence is high on the leak.”
Devlin leans back in his chair, his hand automatically finding mine, and our fingers twine together.
“We’re one hundred percent on this?” Devlin asks.
“We worked fast, but the work is good. We were able to use the image from the doorbell camera to trace the mask. It was a limited edition, and we traced it to the point of purchase. From there, we were able to get security feed from the store to see who bought it. It was one of Blackstone’s men.”
“Good work. Go on.”
“Also, the string on the box. We traced that back to Chicago.”
I look between the two men, duly impressed. This has all happened in an incredibly short period of time and it’s some damn good forensic work. Then again, Devlin has more money and resources at his disposal than the average police force.
“Keep going,” Devlin says.
“The most damning thing is where I should have started in the first place,” Ronan says. “Blackstone himself bragged about the hit. We’ve had an informant in place for a while,” he adds, shifting his attention to me, since Devlin would already know that.
“He’d been hanging around the fringes of Blackstone’s organization for a while, and we had him move in closer after the security leaks started in Vegas. I had him arrange a meeting with Blackstone about something minor, then see if he could steer the conversation around to the news about Devlin and The Wolf. Our informant managed it beautifully, and Blackstone flat out admitted he made the hit. Sounded positively gleeful.”
“This is incredible,” I say.
“It is,” Devlin agrees. “Although it helps that Joe’s a braggart. That man never was one to hold his secrets close to the vest. He likes recognition for what he perceives as his own brilliance. And his ego just nailed him.”
“It’s a huge victory for us,” I say.
“It is,” Devlin agrees. “Unless he’s playing us. Could be he’s not even trying to hide. Maybe he wants us to come after him.”
“Well, he’s going to get his wish, since that’s exactly what we plan to do,” Ronan says.
“Where’s he located?” I ask.
“Just outside of Chicago,” Ronan tells me. “He has a farmhouse there that’s been fortified.”
“Do we have a way in?”
“We’re analyzing that now, but the short answer is yes. We found a few ways to breach that appear to be low risk.”
“Good,” Devlin says. “We go in tomorrow. I’ll have Marci change the flight plan and meet you in Chicago. Can we get the operation in place by then?”
“Not a problem. I’ve been working on it since I got the news,” Ronan says. “But how exactly are you defining we?”
“I’m going with you,” Devlin says, and I stiffen beside him.
“The hell you are,” Ronan says, before I have a chance to voice that exact thought. “It’s too personal.”
“He’s right,” I say.
“Dammit,” Devlin says, leaning closer to the camera. “It is personal. Tracy was killed as a warning to me. And as a threat against Ellie. You really think I’m not going?”
Ronan moves in closer, too, his face filling the frame. If I didn’t know better, I’d expect him to leap through the screen. “Yeah,” Ronan says. “I really think you’re not going.”
“Dammit, Ro—”
“No.”
Devlin pulls back, his head cocked as he eyes his friend.
“You want me on your team because I don’t let you get away with stupid shit,” Ronan says. “I’ve already fucked up once dealing with Blackstone and his fallout. I’m not making another mistake again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I should never have let you be in the house the night it all went down with Anna. Not you, and damn sure not Ellie. Ellie was the target, and you were too emoti
onally invested. We’re lucky it didn’t go completely south.”
“Ronan—” Devlin begins.
“No. It worked out, but you know we could have blown it. We don’t do personal missions for a reason, and that was your rule.”
“He’s right,” I say softly. I haven’t really been involved in this conversation. I’ve just been sitting and listening and watching these men do their work. But I’m not going to stay quiet any longer. Joseph Blackstone has it out for the man I love, and I am willing to do anything to ensure that I don’t lose him.
“Ronan’s right,” I say again. “But think about it this way. Blackstone wants you, right? And considering what happened with Anna, he’s going to expect you to be coming for him. He’s got his eye on you, too, and we know it.”
Devlin’s turns to face me, and I lift a shoulder in a casual shrug. “So let him watch you.”
“What are you talking about?”
On the screen, I see Ronan smile. He’s gotten there ahead of Devlin, which is a rare thing.
“You have a press conference planned for the day after tomorrow, right? Have the team go in then.”
“And while you’re busy with the press, we’ll be busy taking out your enemy,” Ronan says.
“I want this fucker,” Devlin says. He stands up and starts to pace. “I want him so bad I can taste it. He’s been a thorn in my side, and he’s only digging in deeper.”
“And you’ll get him,” I say. “This team works for you, doesn’t it? You started Saint’s Angels. Did you expect to go on every single mission?
“You’re a leader,” Ronan says, his voice through the speaker filling the dingy motel room. “Fucking lead.”
“And you’re an ass,” Devlin says.
Ronan shrugs, his shoulders rising into the frame. “Part of the job description.” He glances at me. “But your girlfriend is right. Her plan is solid. We do that, I think we have an even better chance of ending this now.”
He looks hard at Devlin as I preen a little. It’s the first time I’ve really felt included and valued by Ronan.
“Well?” Ronan demands.
I watch as Devlin takes a breath, then releases it. He wants to be there, I get that. This is personal. I get that too. But I see the decision in his eyes before he speaks, and it’s the right one. “Okay,” he says. “I guess I’m staying behind.”
He ends the call right after.
“I need you tonight, El. Hell, I need you every night, but I especially want you now. This night.”
I nod. I understand what he’s not saying, what he may not even understand himself. Not in the moment, anyway.
He’s just surrendered control of this mission to his best friend. It doesn’t weaken him, but it’s not a place that Devlin Saint is used to being. He needs that sense of being in control, of being the man in charge. Of being the one who makes things happen. Tonight, I know, I will receive all of the essential benefits of that need.
I rise on my toes and put my arms around him and brush my lips over his. “You know, I’m always yours. Whenever, however. You don’t have to ask. You can just take. Because that’s what we are to each other.”
I see heat and love when he looks back into my eyes. “Yes,” he says. “That’s what we are.”
Chapter Nineteen
I hear Christopher’s voice the moment we walk through the front door of Brandy’s house. He’s laughing with her from somewhere in the kitchen, and I catch Devlin’s eyes before we head that direction. It’s just the two of them, and I assume Lamar got called back to work. Christopher looks up from where he’s pouring wine, and I see that some of it dribbles over the glass and onto the stone countertop. He fumbles, puts the bottle down, and wipes up the mess. About thirty, Christopher has a lean face, golden hair, and an easy smile that right now looks a little shaky.
He picks up the glass and takes a long sip of wine.
“It’s good to see you,” Devlin says. “I’m sorry if it’s been awkward for you, but we all understand you can’t choose your relatives.”
“Thanks for that,” Christopher says, and I can hear the relief in his voice that Devlin jumped in and addressed the elephant in the room. “So, um, Brandy says you were out of town. How was your trip? Was it to do with Tracy’s murder?”
“Foundation work,” Devlin says, taking my hand. “Crisis management following the leak.”
I give his hand a squeeze that I hope he interprets as understanding. We trust Christopher, sure. But he’s not in the loop. And that is fine by me. Right now, all I really want is a change of subject. Because there’s nothing more awkward than knowing your boyfriend is about to have someone killed, and that someone is the half-brother of the guy standing three feet away from you. Estranged half-brother, true, but it still feels surreal.
“I think we should put in a really bad movie and just chill,” I say. “We all could use a break from reality. And I’m thinking that wine would be a good idea too. What do you say? Do you guys want to hang out and watch a flick?”
“Does it have to be a bad movie?” Christopher asks.
Brandy and I look at each other, then burst out laughing. One of our favorite things to do together is watch bad movies.
“No,” she says, taking his hand. “We can watch whatever you want.”
“Let’s just not make it a spy movie or a thriller, okay?”
“I second that,” Devlin says.
“Deal,” Brandy and I say together.
We end up on the couch watching The Hangover and laughing our asses off. I snuggle against Devlin, enjoying the comfort of his arm around me. It feels safe, and as this silly comedy plays out on the TV I can’t help but note the dichotomy between that fiction and the reality of our life right now.
I know I should be scared, but somehow I’m not. That’s one of the things I love the most about Devlin. Just being around him makes me feel safe. Like nothing in the world could go wrong.
Except I’m a person who should know better.
For most of my life, everything did go wrong. I lost my mother, my father, my uncle. Hell, I even lost Devlin. Though he was Alex back then. Of all the people in the world, I should know never to let down my guard. With Devlin I have. And I can’t help but fear that somehow that’s going to come back to bite me.
After the movie, Devlin and I head upstairs to give Brandy and Christopher their space. Since Devlin let about a million calls roll to voicemail during the movie, he’s at the desk, doing crisis management triage.
I’m on the bed, listening to music and scrolling through my own less-urgent emails, when my phone buzzes in my hand and Corbin’s name pops up on the screen.
“You take over my lease and suddenly we’re besties?”
“Nah,” he says. “I just figured you missed me by now.”
“Nope,” I say, and we both laugh.
He clears his throat. “Listen, I’m actually calling to say I’m really sorry about what happened to Devlin’s intern. I’ve been following the story and it’s brutal. Are you okay?”
“Me? It’s hard. I really liked Tracy and we were becoming good friends. It’s sweet of you to ask.” And surreal, considering it’s Corbin, but I don’t say that much.
“I’m not an idiot, Ellie. I’m sorry about your friend, but I meant, are you okay? I mean, Devlin’s got to be worried you’re the target, right?”
“I guess you really aren’t an idiot,” I say, after acknowledging that he’s right.
“Well, stay safe. I mean, I guess Devlin’s all over that, but watch your back.”
“I will.” I clear my throat. “So, well, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” An awkward silence hangs between them, and I wonder at the irony of this strange budding friendship.
“Yeah, right. And I wanted to know if I should have a mover haul your stuff to you by truck, or if there’s anything you need faster. I was going to offer to bring a few things to the press conference tomorrow, but it turns out I can’t come. Mino
r emergency here. But I’ll still write something up based on the wire reports.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even realized Devlin had put him on the list. “By truck is fine, thanks. And sorry I won’t see you tomorrow. Everything okay?”
“My girlfriend got hit with appendicitis last night. Emergency surgery. I’m calling from the hospital. She’s fine, but I’m not going to leave her now.”
“No,” I say, giving Corbin more points in the Not An Asshole column. “You shouldn’t. But, um, thanks for writing it up. The more his speech circulates, the more impact we’ll have.”
“Got an exclusive for me?”
“Other than that you’re not the complete jerk I thought you were? Not really.”
“I’ll make that the headline,” he says, and we share a laugh. “Listen,” he continues, “I’ve been thinking about your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Yeah, you know. Jobless and sitting on one of the biggest stories of the decade. Honestly, Franklin was an idiot to let you go, and I think he realizes it. Or he will after this press conference.”
“No argument from me.”
“So write it. The truth about Saint. Do a juicy piece that shows him the way you know him.”
“Freelance for The Spall? Not in a million. Not even if they were willing to pay me triple my salary and give me the cover.”
“No, not that. But there’s no denying that the story is huge. People will want to read about how the son of The Wolf managed to reinvent himself into a philanthropist. What are you doing about that?”
“What do you mean what am I doing?”
“You’re in the perfect position to create the best PR the man’s ever had. Write a series of articles and freelance them to The LA Times or Fortune Magazine, I don’t know. Hell, write a proposal and get a book deal. You can spin this, Ellie. And considering the press conference he’s holding tomorrow, I bet Devlin would agree that it’s a brilliant idea.”
