Devil's Deception

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “You think I’ll be needing this?” she asked softly, gesturing with the crystal tumbler.

  He bolted half of his in one shot. “Maybe.”

  “You didn’t answer my question before. Was there another threat?”

  Devlin sighed. His eyes, almost the color of the whisky in the glass he held, met hers directly.

  “Angela, there are no threats. There never were any threats. It was all a ruse to get me into this house.”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. “What do you mean? I got the letters, I read them. You read them too. And the phone calls, I heard the voice. What are you talking about? You can’t know . . .”

  He held up his hand and she stopped. Something in his demeanor warned her that she had better listen.

  “Angela, I do know. That was all done so that Harold Simmons could recommend me as a bodyguard.” He looked away. “You were never in any danger.”

  “Harold Simmons! What are you babbling about? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “He set it all up.”

  “Set what up? Brett, you’d better explain this. You’re scaring me.”

  He drained his glass, then set the tumbler down.

  “My organization approached him with evidence we had. He made a deal for his cooperation in return for immunity from prosecution.”

  That she understood. She also understood that this man, who had professed ignorance of the law beyond the mechanics of paying off a parking ticket, was now spouting legal jargon like a district attorney. She swallowed hard, reaching for support by putting her hand out to the back of the couch.

  “You had something on Simmons?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re telling me it was all faked . . . the calls, all of it?”

  His eyes flickered slightly. “All.”

  The enormity of it was overwhelming. She could hardly take it in. Why on earth would someone want to do that to her, and why would Brett be a part of it?

  “And you knew?”

  He lifted his chin, as if to confront an enemy. “I knew.”

  “From the beginning?” Her stomach was turning cartwheels.

  “From the beginning.”

  Angela took a sip of the drink she held. It scalded her throat and sent rivers of heat to her churning stomach. “But why?” she whispered. “Why?”

  “So that I could get the goods on your uncle.”

  She blinked in surprise. “My uncle!”

  “That’s right.”

  Now she knew Devlin was crazy. She shared Josie’s opinion of Harold Simmons, and would believe that he could get involved in something shady, but her uncle occupied his time setting up shipments of watercolors and glazed figurines. This was ridiculous.

  “What ‘goods,’ as you put it, could you possibly get on him? What do you think he’s done?”

  Devlin took a deep breath. “He’s been smuggling drugs into the country for about eight years—they’re concealed in the art pieces he brings in to sell. We’ve been trying to nail him for a while, and when more conventional methods failed we got a little more creative.”

  Angela began to laugh. “Drugs! That’s preposterous. I never heard anything so insane in my life.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Brett, my uncle runs a legitimate import business. I know. I’ve advised him on some of the legal questions, international law and so on. It’s all very much above board, I assure you.”

  “He runs a legitimate business most of the time, I agree. But every so often there’s a little something extra tucked behind the frame of a canvas or concealed in the lid of an incense jar. I’m sure that what he allowed you to see was above board, but that wasn’t all of it.”

  “You’re insane.” She took another sip of her drink, dismissing him.

  Devlin came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. She was as rigid as wood.

  “Angela, listen to me. There is no question about this at all. We have been tracking Frank’s activities for a long time and we have all the proof.”

  She shrugged off his grasp. “Who is ‘we’?”

  “The Federal Bureau of Narcotics.”

  She gaped at him. “You expect me to believe that the feds had my uncle under surveillance, and then sent you to get him when they couldn’t document his illegal dealings?”

  He dropped his eyes. “That’s what happened.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And I suppose that’s who you really are? Not a private detective at all but an agent of some sort, like in the thriller novels and the suspense movies.” Her tone was incredulous, mocking.

  “That’s right,” he said evenly. He met her gaze and held it.

  Her derisive expression began to change as she absorbed what he’d told her and realized that he was perfectly serious. Her native intelligence came into play too. She had suspected for a while that something was not quite right about his situation, and she had just been offered an explanation for the jagged pieces that didn’t fit correctly into the picture. Disbelief faded and a horrible certainty formed in her mind.

  “This is not a joke,” she said.

  “No.”

  “You’ve been working behind my back since you came here?”

  “Yes.”

  Her whole body sagged, as if a puppeteer had suddenly released the string that controlled her posture.

  “You used me,” she whispered. “You let me believe I was in danger. You allowed me to be afraid.”

  Devlin said nothing.

  “It all makes sense now,” she continued in a wondering tone. “Why I found you in the library that night when you first came, for example. You were searching it.”

  His bowed head was his assent.

  “The preoccupation, the tension, the moods. The exhaustion. You weren’t getting any sleep, were you?”

  He looked at her.

  “Were you?” she demanded, her voice rising.

  “Not much.”

  “You were searching this house at night.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re telling me I slept through all that? I’m a light sleeper. I surely would have heard something. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she thought about it. Realization dawned, and she looked at him for confirmation.

  “I gave you some help to make sure you didn’t wake up,” he said.

  “You drugged me?” She simply couldn’t believe it.

  The look on her face was the most painful sight he would ever have to see. “I couldn’t take the chance of your waking up and catching me,” he said stonily.

  Angela threw her drink in his face. Then she burst into tears.

  Devlin raised his arm slowly and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “How could you do it?” she sobbed. “How could you?”

  “It was a mild sedative with no aftereffects,” he said quietly. “I didn’t hurt you.”

  “No aftereffects?” she repeated, looking at him as if he were a stranger. “You didn’t hurt me? You doped me up so that you could ransack my house in order to put my uncle in jail. No, you didn’t hurt me.” She shook her head, sobbing.

  “It was my job, Angela,” he said, anguished. “It was the reason I came here. I didn’t know what would happen with you.”

  “Don’t you talk about that!” she spat at him. “I won’t listen to that from you.”

  “Angela . . .”

  “Stop!” she choked.

  He fell silent, waiting.

  “How could I have been so stupid?” she asked in a truly baffled tone. “I never even guessed what you were doing.”

  “You weren’t stupid,” he said painfully. “You just trusted me.”

  She nodded, raising a forefinger in the air. “And that was my first mistake,” she stated, the tears running down her face. “Is that why they sent someone young and handsome, to make sure I took the bait?”

  Devlin felt his own throat closing with strangled emotion.

  “No, damn it, no. What
happened between us wasn’t part of the plan,” he said unsteadily.

  “But you’re such an efficient spy, I’m sure you seized the opportunity when you saw it.” She advanced on him, regarding him with tortured hazel eyes. “What did you think when you held me, kissed me, made love to me? What did you say to yourself when you were inside of me?” she demanded, her voice breaking. “I’ll tell you what you said. ‘Sucker. Sucker, sucker, sucker!”’

  “Angela, don’t do this,” he begged, turning his head to hide his working throat, his wet lashes. “Don’t tear at yourself to hurt me. You know what you’re saying isn’t true.”

  “How would you know anything about what is true?” she demanded. “You’ve been lying so long it’s become your life’s work.” She tilted her head and regarded him with the pretense of objectivity. “Now I would say that you’re no ordinary, run of the mill eavesdropper, no garden variety shamus picking through the garbage looking for clues. My guess is that you’re a head honcho, a top cop, right?”

  “I’m a section chief,” he replied evenly.

  She snapped her fingers. “I thought as much! They must pay you pretty well.”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough to make betrayal seem like a fair bargain?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She nodded as if he had. “I should have known from the start. How could a simple private detective afford seventy dollar running shoes and be able to smoke imported British cigarettes? But I was blinded by love, wonderful love, and I didn’t question anything. I just swallowed every fairy tale you fed me, didn’t I?”

  Pushed to the breaking point, he grabbed her shoulders. “Angela, none of it changes how I feel about you.”

  She wrenched away from him, and when he tried to hold her she kicked out at his legs. He let her go.

  “And what about how I feel about you?” she asked wildly. “You’re putting my uncle in jail!”

  He slammed one fist into the other in exasperation. “Your uncle belongs in jail!” He took her hands and held them fast, forcing her to face him. “Do you know what happens to that poison he brings into this country? It goes into the arms of twelve year old children in Harlem and the South Bronx. He’s responsible for more misery and heartbreak than you can possibly imagine.”

  She pulled her hands out of his grasp and slapped them over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it. It’s all lies. Uncle Frank has been kind to me. He’s taken care of me all my life since my parents died. He’s a good man.”

  “Angela, he may have been good to you but that doesn’t alter the facts about his ‘business’ or the horror it causes.”

  “The government has been after Uncle Frank for years,” she recited, as if from rote, “about his income tax. They could never prove anything was wrong. So now they’ve sent you to fabricate this monstrous story, all because he imports things from overseas and it’s an acceptable cover.”

  Devlin closed his eyes. Her self deception was pathetic. Frank Patria was all the family she had and she wouldn’t hear a word against him.

  “Did you ever see his tax records?” he demanded.

  She squirmed. “No, but . . .”

  “No, because Simmons has been stashing cash every place he could for years, not declaring it. Didn’t it strike you as odd that you were never consulted even though you were a law student?”

  “Simmons took care of it.”

  “He sure did. That’s how we got him to give us your uncle.”

  “All very neat, wasn’t it?” she sneered. Suddenly she bolted for the phone. “I don’t believe you. I’m going to call him, warn him about what you’re trying to do.” She lifted the receiver.

  Devlin took the receiver out of her hand and replaced it.

  “It’s too late, Angela,” he said evenly. “The evidence is all assembled. He’ll be indicted as soon as the papers are drawn up. There’s nothing you can do.”

  She met his eyes. Hers were cold, empty.

  “You’re letting your anger at me cloud your judgment,” Devlin said gently. “If you would just think about what I’ve said, go over the past in your mind, you’ll know that what I’ve told you is the truth.”

  “There’s that word again,” Angela said bitterly. “From the person least qualified to utter it.” She doubled over, rocking miserably.

  He put his hand to her face. She jerked away, straightening.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  He tried again, reaching for her.

  “Do not touch me,” she said, enunciating each word carefully.

  He clasped his hands together. “Angela, I love you,” he said desperately.

  She slapped him with all of her strength.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she snapped. “No more lies. You love yourself. You love your lousy job.”

  He rocked back on his heels, stunned by the force of her response.

  “Is Brett Devlin your real name?” she asked almost conversationally. Then her tone became sarcastic. “Or was that charming story about being named after your grandmother another fabrication?”

  “Brett Devlin is my real name,” he replied, his voice subdued.

  “Really? Well, it’s nice to know that something about you is genuine.”

  His fists clenched. “You’re not like this,” he said, his eyes wandering the room as if in search of aid. “I’ve made you like this.”

  She folded her arms and smiled. “Satisfied with your handiwork?”

  He held up both hands, palms out, calling for a cease fire.

  She regarded him stonily, unyielding.

  “Angela, I want you to marry me.”

  She began to laugh. It was a harsh, unpleasant sound verging on hysteria.

  “I can’t believe this. This I cannot believe. You’re locking up my closest relative and proposing to me at the same time?”

  He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips tender where she had struck him. “This isn’t the way I’d planned it, but I wanted you to know the whole story before I asked you.”

  She gazed at him, amazed.

  “And you thought I’d just race off to the church with you after getting this piece of news?” She put her hands on her hips. “Tell me, why did you stick around to deliver this information yourself? Why didn’t you simply take off and leave when the job was done?”

  “I just told you. I want to take you with me.”

  “Go to hell.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers and coughed, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. The gesture was defiant. She was down but not out.

  He watched her, the steely glint of her eyes cutting him to the bone. “I had to follow orders,” he said, trying to explain what she would not accept as an explanation. “I had to do my job.”

  “Isn’t that what the Nazis said about why they gassed the people in concentration camps?” she asked sweetly. She saluted smartly. “ ‘I was only following orders.’”

  “All right. All right, I deserve everything you’ve said, and more. But can’t we salvage something from this? Can’t we pick up and go on?”

  “You pick up and go. Alone. But first I want you to tell me how you did it.”

  He thrust both hands through his hair distractedly. “It doesn’t matter now, Angela. Let it go.”

  She grabbed his shirt, her eyes blazing. “You tell me exactly what you did, and how. And don’t give me that silent crap now. Talk to me.”

  He stared down at her, amazed at the strength of fury in her small hands.

  “Talk!” she shouted.

  He sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Did you find the safe?”

  “Yes. And the safety deposit box.”

  She listened intently as he outlined his methods, glossing over as much as possible, giving details only when she pressed him. When he got to the part about taking the key impression she said, “Quite the busy little bee, weren’t you? And to think all this was going on while I was living in blissful ignorance, dreaming
of a future with the man who was deceiving me.”

  “We can still have that future. Come away with me.

  “I wouldn’t go to the corner drugstore with you.”

  “Angela, it will be bad for you once this breaks in the papers, when television gets hold of it. It would be best if you got out of town until the worst blows over.”

  “Isn’t it a little late to be showing concern about the results of your master plan?”

  “I don’t want you to be hurt any more than you have been.”

  “How thoughtful.” She pointed down the hall to his room. “Get out. Now. Come back for your things while I’m at school. I don’t want to see you again. Josie can let you in.”

  “I’m already packed,” he said quietly. “I did it while you were sleeping.”

  “Ah. Uncertain about how I would receive the dramatic revelation?”

  “Yes,” he responded tightly.

  “I can’t imagine why.” She surveyed him clinically. “You’re always so prepared. You must have been a good Boy Scout. Or is that what they teach you in spy school?”

  “Angela, please.”

  “How did you get to be a spy anyway? I mean you don’t just apply like for a checker’s job at the supermarket, do you?”

  He looked down, not meeting her eyes. “I was recruited on campus at college. The school was in Washington, so is the agency.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Eunice was recruited the same way.”

  She gasped. “Eunice? The woman dressed as Scarlett O’Hara at the party?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God, you people are everywhere. It’s like a police state. How did she wind up at my house?”

  “She ingratiated herself with Hathaway. The Bureau is keeping an eye on him. When she found out he was coming to the house for Cronin’s bash it seemed a good time to exchange information with me.”

  Angela nodded. “I hope you’ve kept her number. You can give her a call when you leave.”

  “I don’t want anybody but you.”

  She shrugged. “That’s your misfortune.”

  He forgot her hurt and her pain for a moment and became the rejected male. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She struggled for a second and then melted into him, unable to stop the fire from igniting at his touch. He held her a little longer, and then released her. She put her hand over her eyes.