by J. Kenner
“Thanks,” he says.
“You’re welcome. Do us proud. We wouldn’t want to have to evict you.”
He snorts. “I’m hanging up now. I’ve got work to do.” And then, true to his word, he does.
Brandy closes the app and shuts her laptop, then she turns to me. “Oh my God,” she says.
I give her a hug. “You did exactly the right thing. I’m so proud of you.”
“Proud of what?” The question comes from behind us, and we both jump, breaking apart guiltily as we turn to see Devlin.
I meet Brandy’s eyes and she looks back at me before turning to Devlin. “Just getting over Christopher, you know.”
“Uh-huh.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Want to try again?” Brandy shakes her head. “No. It’s all good. But I’m feeling a little drained. You can ask Ellie, or you can wait. It’s not like it’s a secret. It can’t be anymore.”
She looks between the two of us. “I’m going to go lie down.” I nod as she leaves the room, then I move into Devlin’s arms.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?”
I lean against him, shaking my head as I do. “No. She’s right that you’ll know soon enough. Let’s just say that I’m really, really proud of my best friend.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
When the news finally broke around three in the afternoon, and Brandy’s interview went live, Devlin had been working at the computer. All of a sudden, he couldn’t get anything done because of the notifications that kept flashing across his screen.
At first he just dismissed them, but then he read them. Soon he tracked down the actual video and watched it. He was sucked in, pleased by the support for both him and Brandy, and as proud as any man could be of the way she handled the situation.
He’d been working in Ellie’s bedroom, but he left and found Brandy in the den she’d converted into a studio for her handbag business. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” She grinned at him, looking both proud of herself and mischievous.
“I’m glad you did, though. I once told you not to do it until you were sure, and I could tell in that interview that you were. What you said …. it means a lot. And I think it’ll matter.”
“I hope so. That’s why I did it.”
He smiled. “I’ve already gotten a lot of support from people who say they’re on my side. So thank you.”
She came to him, and he gave her a hug.
“I’m really glad you’re in my life again,” she said. “Mostly I’m glad you’re back in Ellie’s. You two are so good together.”
“I’m not going to argue with you about that.” He nodded toward the sewing machine. “I’ll leave you to that. You need anything? Water? Tea?”
“I’m good. But thanks.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, then went to make a coffee for himself. He hoped Lamar would swing by, as he’d like to know if her video had resulted in any calls to the station, but the detective hadn’t checked in with Ellie today, and Devlin could only assume he was deep in the midst of the bombing investigation.
It was barely past lunch, but it already felt as if Brandy’s video had capped off a long, hard day. He took his coffee and headed to the back porch, assuming he’d find Ellie writing.
Instead, she was asleep on the lounge chair.
He wasn’t surprised. They’d been through the wringer, after all.
Now, Devlin felt ragged and spent, and was tempted to join her in a nap. His day so far had been full of computer screens and video conferences with various members of Saint’s Angels going over theories and suspects. He’d delegated tasks to everyone, and they’d been reporting in throughout the morning with tiny details, none of which seemed to lead them any closer to finding the bomber. It was probably related to Blackstone—probably retribution for taking the sonofabitch out—but they had no way of knowing for sure.
The one thing that they had going for them was that the box that the team had taken from Blackstone’s house—and that Tamra had given him after the walk on the beach—hadn’t been in his hands when he had gone to the front door. If it had, it would have burned, as he would have undoubtedly set it by the door when he’d walked back to talk to Ellie. They would have lost all that intel.
Instead, it had been in Shelby’s trunk, and he’d spent much of the day poring over the information, hoping for some clue to pop out at him. Instead, the only things that pinged were a few familiar names from his years on the compound. Boys he’d played with who’d grown into men who followed his father’s code.
He’d recognized at least a dozen names, and a dozen more that seemed familiar. Men like Franklin Dewitt whose father had handled The Wolf’s books for years. Romeo Duarte, who’d been so tight with Joseph. Manuel Espinoza, Aurelia’s little brother. Carlos Garcia, who’d been a huge bully as a kid, then grown into an even bigger one. He’d worked security for The Wolf at sixteen, the youngest to ever do that, but the kid had mad skills and the kind of chip on his shoulder that The Wolf considered loyalty. On and on the list went, so many names. So many memories. So many goddamn possibilities.
And no way to know if any of them had arranged the bomb. No way to even know if he was barking up the right tree. Not until they tracked one of the men down and brought them in for interrogation.
One of them knew something—they had to.
And if they didn’t? Well, then Devlin and the team went back to square one. Until then, he was staying optimistic.
Since Blackstone’s base was in Chicago, Penn and Claire were at the frontline of the operation. So far, though, they hadn’t reported in with any good news, and Devlin feared this would be a long operation rather than the quick jump to a resolution that he’d hoped.
In addition to coordinating with the team, he’d been dealing with calls from the insurance company about the fire, from the press about the explosion and the revelation about his father, and more calls from foundation backers either offering support or seeking further reassurance even after his press conference. Not to mention calls about Brandy’s story and Devlin’s supposed heroism in taking Walt down a peg.
Tamra, thank goodness, was handling everything at the foundation, but Devlin knew he needed to be there. One more day, and then he would go in. He needed to make sure everything was safe here first. Lamar had arranged for the police to watch the house, but he wanted more of his own team here, and he’d recalled several from stagnant operations to come to Laguna Cortez until things calmed down.
Of course, the thing he wanted most of all was to simply curl up next to El and sleep. As a rule, he wasn’t one for escaping reality, but right then he was bone tired, and he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. There’d been too much thrown at him all at once. Too much shit to go through, too many questions that remained to be answered.
Hell, maybe he needed a nap. Maybe that would clear his head. Maybe—
The sharp ring of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. It was Lamar, and Devlin answered the call with a quick, “Hang on.”
His phone had also indicated that Ronan had pulled up, and he texted his friend the new alarm code, which they had started to change every two hours, so that he could enter the house.
“OK,” he said to Lamar. “Sorry about that. Go ahead.”
“We got some good news after Brandy’s video,” Lamar said. Devlin knew that the detective hadn’t been pleased to learn that Brandy had done that without letting him know. But he’d said he understood why, and he only wished that he’d known so he could have been around to support her when the thing went live.
“What’s going on?” Devlin asked.
“Walt says that someone offered him cash to file the assault charge.”
Devlin sat up straighter. “Who?”
“He doesn’t know. Said it was anonymous. He also said that he agrees it was stupid to take cash under those circumstances, but he stands by his complaint. You did beat the shit out of him.”
“Under the circumstances,
I’m not terribly worried about a conviction. Are you putting him in front of mug shots to identify the payor?”
“Yes, but nothing so far.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Keep me posted, okay?” Devlin was about to end the call, when Lamar continued.
“That’s not all of it. I want to get you and Brandy down here to the station first thing in the morning. Apparently Walt wants a sit-down. Are you up for that?”
“It’s a civil case. What’s he doing pulling in the police?”
“His attorney’s been on us to press charges. He must want to address that, too. Honestly, I’m happy to be in the loop. Makes it easier for me to look after Brandy.”
“Well, I don’t know what he expects will happen, but I’m game.” If nothing else, he wanted to look in the bastard’s eyes. And let Walt look into his. “When?”
“I’ll book a conference room for nine tomorrow morning.”
Devlin hesitated.
“Come on, man. This is a good thing.”
“No. I’m not hesitating because of that. I just hate putting Brandy through this again so quickly. But you’re right. I’ll go talk to her. Or have you already called her?”
“No. I can if you want.”
“It’s fine,” Devlin said. “I’ll let her know, and unless she balks, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brandy leaned forward and rubbed her hand lovingly over the dashboard as they turned out of the neighborhood, the morning sun shining down on them. “I’m so glad you got Shelby restored,” she said. “I missed her.”
“So did I,” Devlin said, not mentioning that he missed his Tesla as well. The fact that it had been destroyed in the bombing was the reason they’d borrowed Shelby, promising Ellie they’d be extra careful with her restored baby.
“They did an incredible job fixing her up,” Devlin continued. “I know how much Shelby means to Ellie.”
Brandy shifted in her seat. “It means so much that you understand that. More important, that you understand why Shelby is so important to her.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re good for her, you know. To be honest, I wasn’t completely sure before.”
He turned and looked at her more directly as he paused at a yield sign. “You mean when she came to town, and I was doing my best to push her away?”
Brandy laughed. “Yeah well, you failed miserably in that regard.”
Devlin grinned. “Deep down, I wasn’t even trying.”
“I get that. But that’s not what I meant. I meant when we were kids. I mean, I liked you a lot. Heck, I liked you from that first day when you offered to go get us pizza for movie night. But then you guys got involved, and I was the only one who knew, and I had to keep it a secret, and that scared me.”
She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling. “I just—I guess I was afraid that you were an older guy who was going to hurt her, even though you seemed so good together. It felt like it couldn’t last. And then you went away, and I pretty much hated you.”
“For that, I hated myself.”
“It seemed like you guys were star-crossed, you know. And I always got the feeling you were a little bit haunted.” She shrugged. “I guess the truth is you were.”
“Yeah,” Devlin said with a hint of a laugh. “Secrets clung to me like ghosts back then.”
“But not anymore? I don’t mean with me. I don’t care if there are secrets with me or Lamar or any of that. But it still worries me a little. That you might go away again.”
“No,” he said with as much force and conviction as any statement he’d ever made in his life. “I don’t keep secrets from Ellie anymore. And I will swear to you what I’ve sworn to her. I’m never going to leave her.”
Brandy studied him for a minute, then nodded, looking pleased, “Well, okay then.”
“I asked her to marry me.” He hadn’t intended to tell her that, but the words rushed out of him. He immediately regretted them. Wasn’t that Ellie’s purview to tell her best friend? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that in the context of this conversation, it was important to him that Brandy knew. Not only because he’d come to love her like a sister, but because he wanted to reassure her that he would never again hurt El.
Brandy gaped at him. “You’re engaged? Oh my God, I’m going to kill her. She didn’t say a word.”
“Yeah, well, I think I spoke out of turn. And, no. We’re not engaged. The truth is she said no.”
“No way.”
He laughed. “Believe me, I was as surprised as you are. But her reason is good.”
Brandy made a harrumphing sound and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah?”
“She wants to date. She wants to not have all of that sneaking around that you found so disturbing when we were kids. She wants something open, with more time in public together than we’ve had so far. And I get that. I even support it. So long as at the end of the day, she’s wearing a ring on her finger.”
“I like that,” Brandy said. “Thank you for telling me. And I’m excited for both of you. It’s like you’re engaged to be engaged.”
He chuckled and they shared a quick grin, then drove silently for the next few blocks. There was a wreck up ahead, so he shifted to a different route, going the back way to the precinct.
“So why are we doing this?” Brandy asked, and Devlin didn’t have to ask what she meant.
“Lamar seems to think it will help. He thinks that Walt might even drop the charges after this.”
“Do you believe that?”
“To avoid the publicity that you could throw on him? Yeah. I think we have a good shot.”
“But...?”
He chuckled. “You’re beginning to know me too well,” he said. “The but is that he’s a wild card, and I don’t know what —”
“Oh!”
Devlin glanced over and saw that she was looking at her phone. “What is it?”
“It’s from Ellie. She says there’s an emergency. That we need to go back right away. Shit, can you turn the car around? I just texted that we’re on our way.”
He already was, turning into the parking lot of a strip mall that was in the midst of renovations. He made a circle, avoiding the few cars and workmen’s vans that dotted the lot. He was aiming Shelby’s nose back at the street when those same cars gunned it, racing forward to surround Shelby.
Men in black wearing masks jumped out, guns aimed at them.
Two fired, taking out the tires. Four others aimed the guns directly at them.
Beside him, Brandy whimpered, and he reached for her hand, hoping to ease her fear even though he knew it wouldn’t help at all.
“Out of the car,” one of the men said. “You’re coming with us.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Before…
Devlin stood in the lobby of the magnificent concrete, steel, and glass office building of the Devlin Saint Foundation. He’d spent hours with architect Jackson Steele discussing Devlin’s vision of the foundation and the image he wanted to project to the world.
Now, he turned slowly in a circle, taking in the incredible floating staircase, the welcoming reception area, and the incredible wall of glass that could be pushed aside to open onto a stunning outdoor patio with a view of the Pacific. “It’s perfect,” he said to the man standing beside him. “It’s everything I imagined and more.”
Jackson Steele grinned. “I thought it would be,” he said, not a man for false modesty. “There’s a sense of acceptance here. But the materials are hard and harsh, not warm like wood.”
“Reflecting what the people we’ve helped have been through.”
“Exactly,” Jackson said. “No one will notice consciously, but somewhere inside themselves, they’ll understand that this building matches your mission.”
Devlin nodded, in full agreement. He could see how the world-renowned architect—or “starchitect”—had built his reputation so quickly. “I’m glad you accepted the commission,” Devlin said. “I don’t think I could have asked for a be
tter face for the public.”
“You’re going to do incredible work here at the Devlin Saint Foundation. I had to do justice to the mission of the DSF.”
That was true, Devlin thought. The whole purpose of the DSF was to remediate the damage caused by his father and men like him. To help women and children. To assist those who needed rehabilitation or job training after being imprisoned or forced against their will to work in sweatshops and drug manufacturing and other equally vile arenas.
He wanted to assist and educate. To offer counseling and adoption services if needed. To do whatever he could to try to make the world right again for the people who has been caught in the spider web cast by vile men like his father. He wanted to make those people strong again, so they could shake off the label of victim and become the people they were meant to be in the first place.
The fact that Jackson understood that, even a little bit, affected Devlin more than he’d expected. The man had talent and vision and believed in his project. And that feedback and support was worth the world.
At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder what Jackson Steele would say if he knew about Devlin’s less-than-public endeavor. An organization—really more of a loose collective—that his friend Ronan had dubbed Saint’s Angels.
The Angels had no affiliation with the DSF, but as far as Devlin was concerned, it was an equally important entity. Whereas the foundation provided help in a very public manner, the Angels’ mission was more private—to prevent men like his father from creating victims in the first place, or to exact retribution when they did.
It was a mission he’d fantasized about since he’d been a child on the compound. A mission he’d worked toward from the moment he’d left Laguna Cortez all those years ago.
Saint’s Angels was the reason Alex Lopez had disappeared, and Devlin Saint had been born. He’d been a ghost in those between years, and a lethal one, taking out the type of people the Angels now pursued. He’d honed his skills with government support, albeit with full deniability, and he’d earned his freedom from the military by putting those skills to work.
