Take the Key and Lock Her Up

by LENA DIAZ,

  Even if she assumed Devlin hadn’t actually been involved with Hawley’s kidnapping, and that he was involved with just the other kidnappings, the theory still didn’t ring true with her. She’d seen the anger and disgust on Devlin’s face when he’d killed the other man, whom they still hadn’t identified. The man’s crimes were as repulsive to Devlin as they were to Emily, which made it unlikely he was involved.

  So what other conclusion could she make about who Devlin really was, or what he really did? He was focused, calculating, intelligent, almost . . . professional in how he carried himself.

  And in how he’d killed.

  She stilled and stared at him. He wasn’t a cop, but he’d come to her rescue after hearing her on a scanner. When he saw the suspect’s vehicle, he’d taken off on a high-speed chase without hesitation. He’d pursued the suspect. He’d run toward danger the way only cops, firemen, or those in other branches of law enforcement were trained to do.

  “Are you with the FBI?” she blurted out.

  He’d been studying the far wall as if gray paint had suddenly become fascinating. But with her question hanging in the air between them, his gaze slowly shifted back to her.

  “No, Detective. I’m not FBI.”

  His golden skin didn’t flush or turn pale. His eyes didn’t flicker. Did that mean he was telling the truth? Or that he was just a really good liar?

  “Homeland Security?”

  “No.”

  “CIA?”

  “Again, no.”

  “NSA? U.S. Marshals Service?”

  “No, no, and hell no. As I already explained, I’m an outdoor guide.”

  He was concerned. She saw it in the slight tightening of the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Which must mean she was close to the truth. If he wasn’t in law enforcement, there was only one more thing that matched the facts as she saw them. At first, the idea seemed ludicrous. But as she considered it, looking at all the angles, the pieces snapped together beautifully. It just made sense. Still, it was one of those concepts that was far too TV land, something accepted in a dramatic series but that, in reality, was rare enough to seem ridiculous. But when she applied that label to him, it didn’t seem ridiculous at all. It just . . . fit.

  Silently thanking her boss for insisting that Devlin be kept in chains, she popped her next question, fully expecting him to laugh at her. “Are you some kind of professional hit man, a trained assassin?”

  He didn’t laugh. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. The only indication that he’d even heard her was that his gaze was now so focused, so intense, it sent a chill racing down her spine.

  She’d just stumbled onto the truth. She knew it in her bones.

  She met his icy stare without flinching or blinking, even though her instincts screamed at her to get out, to run as fast as she could, to get as far away from this man as possible. She couldn’t help but feel as if this was an important moment in her life, as if nothing was ever going to be the same again.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  A tapping noise broke the spell that had fallen over them. They both looked down, and she realized the tapping was coming from her. She was tapping her pen on the pad of paper.

  She tossed the pen down, flushing at the obvious sign that he’d rattled her.

  “Here’s the thing,” she said, proud that her voice sounded confident, strong, in spite of how much she was shaking inside. “If you’re an assassin, you must be working for someone. And yet you took time out of your . . . busy schedule . . . to try to save a cop. Why would you do that?”

  She waited, but he didn’t say anything or react in any way.

  “Tell me, Devlin,” she continued, trying to find the right button to push to get a reaction, to get him talking again. “I’ve never met a hired killer before, so I’m kind of curious. Why would you bother to save me when you usually take lives without worrying about the pain or loss you cause for the loved ones they leave behind?”

  A flash of some powerful emotion shot through his eyes, but then it was gone, his face as carefully blank and impassive as before. What had she seen? Pain? Regret? What did that tell her? That a professional killer felt remorse for his actions?

  Maybe she was the one who was crazy here. She didn’t have any proof of her assassin theory. And none of her questions had gotten her any closer to finding the missing women. Somewhere along the way, she’d gotten off track. She needed to bring the interview back to the events of this afternoon to see if there was any reason to seriously consider that Devlin was in on the kidnappings with the two other men. Three women’s lives hung in the balance.

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” she said. “When you heard me ask for help on the police scanner, where were you going? Where were you coming from?”

  His gaze shot past her and his mouth curved into a humorless smile. “This interview is over. My lawyer is here.”

  She frowned. “Your lawyer? I haven’t given you a phone call yet.”

  “I called him from my truck, before you so generously gave me a ride to the police station.”

  A knock sounded on the door. She turned in her seat. Tuck and a tall, distinguished-looking, dark-haired man holding a briefcase were visible through the glass. The door opened and Tuck leaned inside.

  “Detective O’Malley, Mr. Buchanan’s lawyer is here—his father, Alex Buchanan.”

  ALEX GLANCED AROUND as if he were afraid to touch anything, then gingerly reclined against the wall. “Really, son? We have to talk in the men’s room? What was wrong with the interview room?”

  Devlin finished checking the stalls, making sure no one else was there, before returning to stand by the sink in front of his father. “This is the only place I could be sure the police wouldn’t have any hidden cameras or recorders.” He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had been, grateful his father had been able to get the cops to remove them.

  Alex placed a hand on Devlin’s shoulder, his brow furrowed with concern. “I’m at a disadvantage here since you made me promise not to talk details with anyone else before speaking with you. All I know is that you’re under a forty-eight-hour hold because Lieutenant Drier thinks you might be involved in something. He thought I was crazy when I told him I didn’t want any details. What kind of trouble are you in?”

  Devlin gently tugged his father’s arm down and held his hand in a firm grip. “We’ll get to that. First, I need to tell you something, Dad.”

  Alex glanced at their hands, joined together, clearly puzzled by Devlin’s uncharacteristic display of affection. “You never call me ‘Dad.’ This is serious.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Well, since our entire family is back at the house, I know they’re all okay. So, whatever news you have can’t be that bad. Go ahead. Let’s get this over with so we can get out of this filthy bathroom and I can get you out of whatever trouble you’ve managed to get yourself into.”

  In spite of Alex’s teasing tone, Devlin saw the worry in his eyes. Alex knew something was horribly wrong, but he couldn’t fathom what it might be. Devlin eased into his story, starting with hearing O’Malley’s call for help on the scanner while on the road to Alex’s house.

  The whole time Devlin spoke, Alex listened intently. He seemed to weigh and sift through each of Devlin’s statements, as if warily waiting for that one piece of terrible news he instinctively knew was coming.

  And then Devlin said the sentence he’d been dreading since the moment the coroner had held up the rings and bracelet with its little silver charms flashing in the sun like caution lights.

  “They’re performing some tests to be sure, but they feel confident they’ve identified the woman in that cell. Dad, it’s Carolyn.”

  Devlin didn’t have to tell him which Carolyn. The knowledge was in Alex’s eyes, a tightening around the corners, the dilating of his pupils, the slight catch of his breath. His hand slid from Devlin’s grasp and he stepped back, as if he could no longer bear to be touched, as i
f he could deny what he’d just heard if he could physically and mentally distance himself from everything and everyone around him.

  The blood drained from his face, leaving it stark-white against the backdrop of blue-green tiles on the walls. He shoved his fingers through his hair, leaving the normally perfectly combed mass sticking up at odd angles. His broad shoulders slumped, making his meticulously tailored suit sag and bunch. Where moments ago a strong, virile, proud man stood as the patriarch of his family, ready to fight yet another battle to save one of his sons from whatever the world had thrown at him, he was now a shadow of his former self, beaten down, his eyes glassy, looking so lost it made Devlin’s heart ache.

  He took a step toward Alex, but Alex shook his head and somehow managed to dredge up the ghost of a smile. “Give me a minute, son. Alone,” he whispered, his voice a raw rasp.

  “You sure?”

  He nodded, holding his smile, struggling to reassure his son, even though his heart was probably breaking.

  Devlin fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for his father. “I’ll be right outside.”

  Alex nodded, still hanging on to his smile. Barely.

  Devlin stepped into the hallway, letting the door close behind him. His police escort was leaning against the far wall. He straightened and looked at the bathroom door, his brow raised in question.

  “My . . . lawyer . . . will be right out.”

  The policeman shrugged and crossed his arms, affecting a bored look.

  Devlin leaned against the wall beside the door and settled in to wait. Breaking the news to his father had been more difficult than he’d expected, and so had his interview with Emily. A difficult interview? No, more like impossible, disastrous, and potentially dangerous for both of them. He’d drastically underestimated her intelligence, her perceptiveness, and the depth of her insatiable curiosity. Even worse, he’d underestimated her effect on him.

  From the moment she’d drawn her gun on him in the basement, she’d intrigued him. He was both enthralled and amused by her courage, spirit, and tenacity in the face of danger. And those sexy freckles, her pert, upturned nose, and that curvy little body had his blood running hot every time he was around her. Which meant, when he should have been focusing on her questions, instead he was remembering the feel of her breasts pressed against him and imagining doing a lot more than just lying on top of her. The longer the interview had gone on, the more unfocused and distracted he’d become, and the angrier he became—with himself. In the span of just a few hours, Emily had managed to become his Kryptonite. For both of their sakes, he needed to get as far away from her as possible, as quickly as possible. Which was exactly what he would do as soon as he got out of here.

  He shook his head in disgust. Even when she wasn’t right in front of him, she was distracting him. He shouldn’t be thinking about her right now. He should be thinking about his father.

  Devlin stepped to the bathroom door. He didn’t want to intrude on Alex’s privacy, but just remembering how pale his father had been earlier had Devlin on edge. He had to check on him. He carefully pulled the door open and peered inside.

  Alex was still in the same spot where Devlin had left him, except that he wasn’t standing anymore. Devlin’s always-proper father was on his knees on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth, tears silently flowing down his cheeks. And clutched between his hands in front of him, torn on one corner, faded and wrinkled from being carried in a wallet for decades, was a picture of the only woman he’d ever loved—Carolyn Buchanan.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  AFTER SIGNING HER name beneath Alex’s and Devlin’s signatures, Emily slid the form across the counter to the property clerk. He filed the paperwork and then handed her a thick manila envelope. She frowned down at the package. Retrieving Devlin’s personal belongings had taken longer than it took her boss to cave to Alex Buchanan’s request to release his son.

  She shoved the envelope into Devlin’s hands. Judging by the way his eyes widened, she’d probably used more force than necessary. Not that she cared. She was far too annoyed at her boss’s lack of a spine and her lost chance to question Devlin further to worry about being nice.

  “There you go,” she said. “Your wallet, phone, keys. Everything’s there. Your truck’s in the police lot on the north side of the building.” Not waiting for his reply, she turned to his father. “Mr. Buchanan, your reputation as a powerful attorney with even more powerful friends appears to be justified. The DA demanded we release your son just as soon as my boss mentioned your name.”

  Alex gave her a kind smile with no hint of annoyance at her lack of tact. “It wasn’t nearly that fast. I had to be brought up to speed on the details of the case first.” He tapped the briefcase he was holding as if to remind her about the meeting he’d had with her and her boss, and the case documentation he’d manipulated Drier into giving him. After reading Hawley’s brief statement taken at the scene, he’d immediately called the district attorney. “I’m sure the DA wanted Devlin released because he agreed there was no compelling reason to keep him locked up.”

  “I guess that’s a matter of opinion.” Emily crossed her arms.

  Devlin slid his wallet into his back pocket and, like a model citizen, dutifully threw the manila envelope in the trash can beside the bank of elevators.

  “If you have more questions for him,” Alex said, “please submit them in writing and I’ll arrange an interview. In my presence, of course.”

  “Of course,” she spit out.

  The sarcasm in her voice had Devlin stiffening and his father sending him a warning glance. Emily’s shoulders slumped. Even she was appalled at her behavior. It wasn’t right for her to take out her frustration on a man who’d just been given devastating news about the mother of at least two of his children—if she remembered the complicated family tree correctly.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Buchanan. You didn’t deserve that. I understand you’re just doing your job and acting in your son’s best interests. My sincere condolences, again, on the loss of your former wife.”

  He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, like she’d imagine a true gentleman might have done in a time when good manners were practiced far more frequently than they were today.

  “No apology necessary, Detective.”

  His expression told her nothing about what he was, or wasn’t, feeling. If it weren’t for the slight pallor beneath the man’s tan, Emily wouldn’t have suspected he’d just suffered a tragic blow. But from the concerned look on Devlin’s face as he watched his father, she sensed Alex might be near the breaking point.

  “Now that Devlin’s free to go,” he said, “the next order of business will be to ensure that Carolyn’s . . . body . . . is positively identified and released for burial. I understand you’re certain it’s her, that it’s just a formality to perform tests. But I suppose dental records will be required. It’s too late to get them today, so I’ll visit her dentist first thing tomorrow.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said. “But since it’s unlikely they’ll still have her records, perhaps we could cross match a DNA sample from one of her sons.”

  “Of course, yes. I’ll call—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Devlin said. “Go home. You helped me today. Now it’s my turn to help you. I’ll give you an update later tonight.”

  “Are you sure? I can arrange—”

  “Everyone else is up at the house waiting for you. Let me take care of the details.”

  His father nodded, looking relieved. “Thanks, son.” He patted Devlin on the shoulder as if he were a child instead of a grown man. “Detective O’Malley, I’ll call you tomorrow about those dental records.”

  “Sure, thanks. Talk to you then.”

  The elevator doors closed behind Alex.

  “I may not remember all of your brother’s names or who’s related to whom,” Emily said. “But you made it very clear she wasn’t your mother. That leaves who
for the DNA sample? Your younger twin brothers, Matt and Austin? They’re Carolyn’s biological children, right?”

  He typed a text message on his phone. “Yes, and Pierce too. He’s one of my older brothers, the FBI agent.” He finished his message and slid his phone into his pants pocket. “Austin is already on his way into town because he was worried about Alex. He’ll be here soon and can give the sample. I’m guessing you keep the DNA kits in the morgue. I can go with you to get one.”

  His sudden helpfulness had her studying him with suspicion.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” she said. “The DA may have told us to let you go, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still a person of interest in the investigation. Giving you access to the coroner so you can ask for details about the victims is so not going to happen.”

  He crossed his arms. “What’s your angle here? Do you really think I had something to do with the abductions and murders?”

  “Did you?”

  “As I said before, I’ll be happy to supply alibis if you tell me how many victims there were and when each of them was killed.”

  “I’m not sharing the number of victims. As for when they were killed, I don’t know that information yet.”

  “Then let’s talk to the coroner and find out.”