Texas Heroes: Volume 1

by Jean Brashear

  This had damn well better be life or death, buddy. His brother, who could sleep through a nuclear blast, who never got up before noon on Saturday, had been awake when he’d returned the call—and agitated. He insisted that Dev come to see him, said he could not discuss the matter on the phone. Dev had left Lacey a note, but he hoped to be back before she woke. He’d wanted to kiss her, but if she awoke when he did…well, he already knew where that would lead.

  So sweet and hot, that slender body. So rich and open, that gentle heart. Dev had imagined making love to Lacey a thousand times since that long-ago night, but his imagination had been far too puny. They’d made love all through a magical, star-drenched night. He wanted to stay in that magic forever.

  But he still had news to deliver. Dev raked anxious fingers through his hair. The ante had just gone up because now he didn’t kid himself that he’d be able to walk away whole if she despised him for being the messenger.

  Too many years had gone by, and all of them a wasteland. After last night, he realized he’d been starving to death. Lost in the desert and parched down to his soul.

  Lacey was it. The one. He’d been waiting for her all his life. What he’d told himself for all these years was complete self-deception.

  Everything in him longed to turn around and climb back in that bed, pull her into his arms, and hold on tight. But chances were far more likely that she’d never want to speak to him again once he’d done his duty.

  He slammed the car to a stop outside Connor’s and emerged, grim and determined. He’d get Connor settled, whatever this was about, then go back to Lacey and try his damnedest not to screw up this miracle that he didn’t deserve—but would fight to keep.

  Connor pulled open the door, ushered him inside.

  “You look like ten kinds of hell. What’s going on?” Dev asked. “Are you in trouble, Connor?”

  “No.” His brother frowned at the insult. “It’s not about me. It’s about Dad.”

  “What about him?”

  Connor fell silent, his face troubled.

  “I came here instead of going back to a bed I didn’t want to leave, bud. Spit it out.”

  Connor exhaled sharply. “Dad was framed.”

  “What?” But though the words rocked him, Dev knew how much he wanted it to be true. “Innocent,” Dev said grimly. “He was innocent all along.”

  “No—not innocent, not from what I can tell here. He cooked the books, there’s no question about that. He kept his working papers.”

  Dev felt sick. “So what are you telling me?”

  “He did it at someone’s direction. He left notes to cover himself.”

  “Why?” Dev couldn’t square it. “Why would he do it, even if someone asked?”

  “It was a bad time, Dev. Houston was just coming out of massive waves of foreclosures and businesses going under by the hundreds in the wake of the oil bust. Big accounting firms had laid off people right and left. Dad had four kids.”

  And a wife with expensive tastes, Dev thought. Connor was too young to remember the trips, the jewelry, the big house. “Whose direction?” But his gut was already starting to twinge.

  “The firm’s biggest account needed financing to keep them afloat. The real books couldn’t survive a lender’s scrutiny. DeMille and Marshall couldn’t afford to lose the account. Dad made the fraudulent entries. The client got the loan. Everything was fine until the Securities and Exchange Commission did an audit. Dad took the fall.”

  “Who, Connor? Dad wouldn’t have done that on his own. Who made him sign the working papers?”

  But his gut already knew before Connor said the words.

  “The senior partner. Charles DeMille.”

  Dev squeezed his eyes shut against the roaring in his brain. Finally, it all fit. The unusual interest of Charles DeMille in their family’s plight. The false solicitousness of a man who had even more to lose than Patrick Marlowe had.

  His charity took on a whole new light. It was hush money, paid just in case anything had been left behind.

  “He might as well have put a gun to Dad’s head. He killed him just as surely as if he’d pulled the trigger.” Dev started pacing. He wanted to smash something, wanted to tear out Charles DeMille’s throat.

  You’re nothing. You never were.

  That bastard. Dev could still see the terror on Lacey’s face from that long-ago night. Still feel the shame of being cast out for being not good enough for his princess.

  The princess who was never DeMille’s blood at all. Lies. Lies upon lies.

  “Dev? You all right?”

  Dev looked at his watch. Six thirty. A little early to go calling, but who the hell cared?

  “Will those papers hold up in court, Connor?”

  “They’ll raise enough questions to force the issue. I’m no lawyer, but I’d think they’d certainly convince a judge to subpoena records.”

  “Keep them safe. Don’t say anything to Mom or the girls, all right?” Dev’s head began to pound.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “He took our father away from us. He took our name. He took everything—” Dev’s jaw clenched. His eyes were hard as he stared into the past. “I’m going to return the favor. Show me. Show me what you’ve got. Every detail.”

  “You want to get some sleep first? Where have you been?”

  With the daughter of the man who ruined us. Dev stifled a harsh laugh and ignored Connor’s question. “Sleep is the last thing on my mind.” Dev forced himself to exhale slowly, get the churning in his stomach under control. “Show me.”

  He followed Connor to the dining table where papers were spread out all over everywhere. “Just to think that all this time it was sitting there, waiting for us.” He cursed softly. “All these years, we could have…”

  It didn’t bear thinking. The sense of loss staggered him.

  “What are you planning?” Connor asked. “I don’t like the look on your face.”

  For a moment, Dev simply stared at the papers without picking them up, his thoughts careening from one stunning implication to another.

  None of it had to happen. None of the pain.

  His mother hadn’t had to drink away the anguish. His siblings could have had a father. They hadn’t had to be inches away from welfare.

  You bastard. Charles DeMille’s smug certainty flared in his face. You lying, arrogant ass.

  The scared fifteen-year-old boy hadn’t had to lie awake at night in terror. The eighteen-year-old hadn’t had to leave everyone who mattered.

  I hope you burn in hell. I’m going to help you get there, Dev vowed.

  “I’m going to pay a little early morning visit to River Oaks.” He shook his head and reached for a stack of papers, his jaw grinding. “You got coffee made?”

  Lacey woke up wanting him. Her body tingled with the sweet hum of arousal. He’d made love to her all through the night, each time tinged with a desperation that touched her to her soul. Intense, as though he needed to make up for long years lost apart. She’d felt the same need. They’d driven each other crazy with a hunger that grew with every touch, every caress, every greedy plundering. When she’d finally fallen into helpless slumber, the feel of his strong body wrapped around hers had given her the best few hours of sleep of her life.

  She wanted him again. Now. Dev had unleashed something primal in her. A wanton creature she’d never met.

  Lacey stretched her humming, hungry body. She was incredibly proud of herself. She’d been anything but a lady.

  Lacey grinned. She’d been an animal last night.

  Her mother would be scandalized.

  Perfect.

  Sunlight warmed her face as she felt the slight ache of muscle, the deep inner heat from greed given, need absorbed.

  You slut. Lacey smiled in delight. She’d never once woken up naked in her entire life. Naked and filled with a crackling energy that demanded attention.

  She’d seduce him this morning. Take him. Show him a ne
w face of the tigress he’d unleashed.

  Ready to see if she could scandalize Dev, too, she rolled over to find him, to place her greedy hands on that hard, beautiful body that sent need swimming through her veins.

  Her hand brushed sheets disappointingly cool to the touch. She opened her eyes to find the bed empty beside her.

  Dev was gone.

  A piece of paper was propped on the bedside table, her name scrawled on the outside in a bold hand.

  Two rose petals lay in front of it, scarlet reminders of a night seared forever in her memory. She was smiling when she opened the note.

  Lacey—

  I’m sorry. I want to be there with you right now, but I have to go help my brother. Damn voicemail.

  Her smile widened.

  Stay warm. Stay naked. If you can’t stay naked, keep your cellphone on. I’ll find you. Don’t forget where we left off.

  Dev

  Lacey pressed a kiss to the paper and set it on the table. Picking up the rose petals, she brushed them over her lips, inhaled the last traces of fragrance. Remembered a night that had been a dream. A revelation.

  A fantasy they’d been denied for seventeen years.

  Thanks to her father.

  The morning’s glow faded. How could he have done that? He’d always been very protective of her and yes, finding your daughter writhing naked in the gazebo had to be a shock.

  But she’d always been so dutiful until then. Forbidding her would have been enough after that humiliation, much as she hated to admit it. Why lie? Why participate in breaking her heart? It had devastated her, believing that Dev had prized money over her. It had robbed her, stolen deep into her never-strong faith in her judgment. The disaster with Luc had been part and parcel of proving something to herself—and look how that had ended.

  But her father had always loved her so fiercely. Surely he wouldn’t have done it if he’d realized what it would take from her. How it would begin the fading of her belief in herself. He loved her. She was his princess.

  She had to understand why he had done it. Had to make it clear that he must stay out of this now. Whatever she and Dev could make of this magic, it was theirs. Between them and them alone. Her father might have thought he’d been acting in her best interests.

  He’d been wrong. From now on, whatever he thought of Dev, this was her life. Her heart. Her future.

  Rising from the bed, she padded toward the bathroom to get ready. Her father never left the house before nine on Saturdays. While Dev was gone, she would make a quick trip over there. Get answers, make her stand clear.

  No more interference. It was time he remembered that she was a grown woman.

  And time she acted like one.

  “This had better be important, Devlin.” Charles DeMille looked as arrogant as ever, spoke to him as before, man to boy. “Is this about Lacey? I thought you must be behind the break-up. You leave her alone.”

  But Dev wasn’t a boy anymore. He faced his enemy with the assurance that he’d mastered everything life had thrown at him. Everything this man had started rolling.

  To keep the upper hand, Dev remained silent, looking around him. He had never been allowed inside this house, but it looked very much as he would have expected. The library’s rich, dark paneling was almost a cliché, reeking of money and sacrificed forests. The scent of forbidden Cuban cigars hovered in the air.

  Finally, he spoke. “Lacey is not the issue right now.”

  “You stay away from my daughter. I told you once before, but you never listened, did you, Devlin?”

  “Oh, I heard what you said.” Every word came from between clenched teeth. Dev wanted to take this man’s smug superiority and ram it down his throat. I came from your daughter’s bed, he wanted to say, just to wipe that smugness off DeMille’s face—but he didn’t. It wasn’t fair to Lacey.

  “I haven’t forgotten anything you’ve said—or done.” Dev cocked an eyebrow and let silence spin out for a moment longer. Few people could stand silence; most would rush to fill it.

  “Do you know what time it is?” DeMille demanded.

  Dev nodded, still not speaking.

  “Why are you here, Marlowe?”

  Dev waited another long, pregnant pause. “Does the name Allied Drilling ring a bell?”

  DeMille’s color paled slightly, but he hadn’t gotten his riches from being a pushover. He recovered quickly. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s this about?”

  “Does the word fraud help your memory?”

  Charles DeMille’s body went rigid. “What are you trying to imply?”

  “My father kept working papers. I’m going to take you down, DeMille. I’m going to disgrace you like you disgraced my father.” Dev wanted to wade in with his fists. With immense effort, he kept his fingers loose, his hands at his sides. “You sanctimonious bastard. You set up my father to take the fall, then you rode to the rescue like some knight in shining armor. Had my mother singing your praises when all along, it was you who robbed us of everything.”

  He walked closer, testing himself. How close could he get and not smash a fist in the guy’s face? “You played the savior and all the while you knew—” Dev had to swallow back the rage that was darkening his vision.

  DeMille wasn’t giving in. “Your father made the entries in his own hand. You can’t prove otherwise.” He smiled. “You can’t afford to fight me, Devlin. I hire lawyers by the gross.”

  “It will surprise you to know that I’ve done quite well for myself. I’m willing to spend every dime taking you down.”

  DeMille’s lip curled. “You can’t win. My name means something in this town. Yours is tainted.”

  “I don’t have to go to court to change that. I can ruin you without ever entering the courthouse.”

  “You’re using Lacey to get to me, aren’t you?” DeMille asked. “This is all about me. You never got over getting caught with your pants down, being taken down to size in front of her.”

  “Leave Lacey out of this.”

  DeMille’s eyes sharpened. “You silly pup. She’s still too good for you. She always will be. Don’t go thinking you can have her now. You’re still a mongrel, however well that mongrel is dressed.”

  “I know about Lacey.”

  DeMille frowned faintly. “Know what?”

  “Does the name Jenny Wallace ring a bell?”

  DeMille’s eyes widened. In them, Dev saw his revenge. Fear sparked there. Arrogance faltered.

  “You can’t prove a thing,” DeMille bluffed.

  “I can, and when she knows, it will be over. She’ll never forgive you. You’ve lied to her all her life. You had the nerve to tell me that I wasn’t good enough for your precious, blue-blooded daughter—and she isn’t even your blood. You told me I was nothing—when it was you who made me that way. You who created the whole nightmare and then framed my father.”

  “I won’t let you use Lacey to get to me. You can’t prove anything.”

  “Are you going to tell her, or shall I, DeMille? She already knows that you—”

  Voices outside the door broke into his consciousness. The voices of women—

  Lacey’s voice.

  “What are you doing here at this hour, darling?” Her mother stood on the stairs in an immaculate satin robe.

  “I need to talk to Daddy. Where is he?”

  She looked at the elegant foyer, at her mother standing so straight and dignified on the staircase. She remembered a thousand hours of her childhood, the pride in her father’s voice, the hours she and her mother had spent together.

  Surely there was an explanation.

  “He’s in the library. Darling, is something wrong?”

  Lacey shook her head. “I need to speak to Daddy first.”

  Her mother frowned but continued her descent. “All right. But I don’t know what could be so important at this unearthly hour.”

  Lacey followed her mother down the hallway. They both stopped for a moment at the sound of a very angry voi
ce.

  Dev’s voice. She hadn’t noticed his car outside.

  “I won’t let you use Lacey to get to me. You can’t prove anything.” Her father’s voice was almost a shout.

  “Are you going to tell her, or shall I, DeMille? She already knows that you—”

  She glanced at her mother just as the door opened. Her father stood inside, looking years older.

  Dev stood behind him, a stranger to her. His face was all hard, brutal angles. And shadows.

  “What are you doing here, Lacey?” Dev’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Go on back home,” he said gently.

  But she didn’t like what she felt in the air. What she’d heard. Lacey glanced between the two men. “What’s going on?”

  She looked at Dev. “Is he going to tell me what?”

  “Come sit down, Princess.” Her father settled her in one of the big leather wing chairs and hovered beside her. He looked anxious. Unsettled.

  “I don’t want to sit.” She got back to her feet.

  “What’s this about, Charles?” her mother asked.

  “It’s about the past, Mrs. DeMille,” Dev responded.

  Her mother’s look at Dev was pure disdain. “Charles?”

  “Lacey, has he harmed you?” Her father neared her side.

  She surprised even herself by backing away from her father one step.

  Hurt darkened his eyes. “Why have you come, Princess?”

  “I’d like to speak to my parents alone, please, Dev.”

  Dev didn’t move. Instead, he looked at her father as if expecting something.

  Her father gave Dev a glance that almost seemed…guilty? “What did you want to discuss?” he asked.

  Lacey looked around her at the familiar surroundings, at her mother’s blonde perfection, the refuge of her father’s broad-shouldered frame.

  The air vibrated with anger. With secrets.

  “Someone explain to me what’s happening here.” She wrapped her hands around her middle.

  Dev swore darkly and stepped toward her, his hands extended as if to hold her.