My Fallen Saint

by J. Kenner

  “Were you two finished?” I ask, as the door closes behind her.

  “Not quite, but nothing we can’t wrap up downstairs. It’s almost ten. She probably has an appointment. The woman runs her calendar with an iron fist.”

  “Speaking of calendars, what interview?”

  “Ah, a very in-depth one,” he says, coming over and putting his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the counter with mischief dancing in his eyes. “With opportunities to push boundaries. Dig deep. Explore unknown territories.”

  “Sounds like Pulitzer Prize kind of work,” I say, making him laugh.

  There’ve been too many of these moments over the last two days. Knowing glances. Shared laughs. And, damn me, I cherish every one of them. They fuel my soul even though I know we’re having way too much fun with each other. Because it’s just going to make it hurt more when it ends.

  But I’m not going to let myself think about that.

  “And this bit about driving back?”

  He lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I figure if I rent the car in Vegas, it’s extra-territorial jurisdiction. We’re still in Vegas until we leave the car. Therefore, our arrangement stands.”

  “What a devious man you are. I assume you’re getting a rental with a roomy back seat.”

  I take a sip of coffee as he scoffs. “You have far too little faith in me. I’m renting a van,” he tells me, and I almost spit my coffee.

  We share a smile, and I want to tell him that I don’t want this to end. But I know he does. Or, rather, he’s told me it has to.

  Besides, soon enough, I’m heading back to Manhattan. Like the saying goes, all good things come to an end.

  “You got suddenly pensive,” he says, and I force myself to shake it off.

  “Nope. Just imagining all the possibilities inherent in a van. And thinking about how this mood suits you,” I add, then tug on his beard to pull his mouth down to mine. “It’s stealthy,” I add before kissing him.

  “Stealthy,” he repeats after thoroughly kissing me. “How so?”

  “I have the feeling not many people have seen this side of you.”

  Almost immediately, he turns serious, and I regret my words.

  “No,” he says. “They haven’t.”

  “Devlin, I—”

  He presses a finger to my lips. “It’s okay. This is ours.”

  I nod, cherishing the truth in his words, but also saddened by the knowledge that he’s holding himself back with everyone else.

  And that, as I know all too well, is a very lonely way to live.

  There’s a missed call from Brandy when I get out of the shower, and I put it on speaker to call her back as I get dressed.

  “How’s Vegas?”

  “Amazing,” I say.

  “Uh-huh. And how are things with Devlin?”

  “Things are remarkably good,” I say in a sing-song voice. “And I am not giving you details now because I have to prep for an interview.”

  “Fine, fine. But you mean it about the good?”

  “Yup,” I tell her, even though the truth is that it’s only good for now. Because as much as I want to stick my head in the sand, I already know that I’m going to be gutted when this ends.

  “Then we both have something to celebrate,” Brandy says, sending all my self-pitying thoughts scurrying back to their dark, broody places.

  “What? Tell! Is this to do with the guy you made muffins for?”

  “Uh-huh. And it turns out he knows you.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed in my bra and panties. “Really? Who?”

  For a crazy moment, I think it’s Ronan. Devlin can say what he wants—and deep down I know he’s probably right—but I still can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

  It isn’t Ronan, of course. And I’m not prepared when she tells me she’s been seeing Christopher Doyle. “That’s so wild,” I tell her. “I don’t really know him. We’ve hardly talked at all. But he seems nice, and it’s not like I can fault another writer.”

  “That’s how you came up. He said he has a character in the book he’s researching who’s an investigative journalist and he’d been working up the courage to ask this woman he met in the DSF research room. I knew it had to be you.”

  “You told him I’d help, of course.”

  “Well, yeah. I need all the points I can get.”

  She laughs and I join in. I tell her I’m not sure when I’ll get back—I’m kind of hoping the road trip home takes a few days—but that I’ll see her soon.

  After we hang up, I finish getting dressed, then bring my laptop and my mom’s diaries into bed with me. I know I should be prepping for the call, but this is the first chance I’ve had to look at the books, which I’d shoved into my bag since they’d arrived the same day we’d left for Vegas, and I’d been eager to review them. Now, I’m even more eager, since there might be something in there that will be useful in the interview.

  I know I should start at the beginning, but I don’t have much time before the call. And what does it matter what order I go in so long as I ultimately find all the relevant chapters?

  So instead of starting at the beginning, I flip through the books until I find the first one that mentions my mom’s pregnancy. I force myself not to read, but I flip the pages, relishing the sight of my name in my mom’s handwriting as I look for the words Peter or brother.

  I find it a few times, but nothing seems relevant until I’m near the end of the one book.

  Came to LA to see Peter while he is in California on business. He’s supposed to be taking me and Ellie to lunch, but he had to make a stop, and now we are parked in the driveway of a cute bungalow in the Hollywood Hills. Peter says he’s “working,” but I don’t appreciate being left in the car. Ellie is getting bored and cranky.

  It’s not just that. More and more I worry about him. He says I don’t understand the business world, and maybe he’s right, but I sometimes think he’s not in business at all. Or at least not any kind of business the wife of a Police Chief should know about.

  But that gives me hope, too. Because surely if he was doing anything untoward, he would not be taking me with him? Right now, I —oh, must go. He is signaling us to come to the door.

  Back again. What a strange day. A pretty woman named Caitlyn Devline opened the main door, but wouldn’t open the glass exterior door, and she seemed nervous. A little boy a few years older than Ellie clung to her leg, and Ellie amused herself waving to him. Peter told her that Daniel was sorry. That he wanted to work something out, and that they both needed to be reasonable.

  When we finally got to lunch, I asked Peter what was going on and why he wanted me at the door and why he introduced Ellie as his niece. He said he wanted me and Ellie there so that Caitlyn would understand that Peter loved his niece and would never risk a child. He only wanted to help her and little Alejandro.

  He said that Caitlyn was his boss’s ex-wife, and that they are in a custody battle. He said that she stole the boy in violation of the terms of their agreement and he was hoping that she understood that they needed to work something out or else his boss would pull out the big guns. Lots of lawyers, I suppose, all trying to take away that sweet little boy.

  I spent the rest of lunch hugging Ellie close, thinking how horrible it would be to lose her to anyone.

  I read the entry again and again, until I’ve chewed the words down to the bone. My mother loved me. I always knew that, of course, but seeing it in print warms me right down to my soul.

  As for the rest, this entry might be a way to confirm Peter’s association with The Wolf. If Caitlyn was the ex-wife of The Wolf or anyone in The Wolf’s entourage, well, that had to mean something, right?

  Something really not good as far as I’m concerned.

  I’m still mulling it over when the alarm on my phone signals that it’s almost time for the prison to call. Knowing the inefficiency of government branches, I expect the call to be late and am pleasantly surp
rised when it rings exactly on time.

  It takes a few minutes to get Cornwell on the line, but soon enough I hear a gruff, “You really Peter White’s niece?”

  “I am. And I lived with him from the time I was thirteen until I was seventeen.”

  “That when he got clipped?”

  “Yes.” I blinked, surprised at the tears. I’d been expecting this conversation, after all. I sniffle, then cringe, certain Cornwell can hear my reaction and hoping my sentimentality won’t make him cut the call short.

  His next words are surprising with their gentleness. “He was a good guy, your uncle. I met your mom once. Total accident. He didn’t want her in that life. And, well, what with your Pa.”

  I close my eyes, realizing that I’m sitting on the floor, my back to the wall. I’d started the conversation pacing. But my body seems to have processed the truth a lot faster than my mind has.

  “So my uncle really was in The Wolf’s organization.” It’s a fair assumption. I already know that Cornwell was.

  He makes a derisive snort. “In? Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Right.” I draw in a breath.

  There’s silence for a minute, and he says, “Hey, girlie. You okay? My lawyer said you wanted to know who killed him. I thought you already knew he was tight with Danny.”

  I suck in air, nodding to myself. “I suspected—or, I guess I knew—that he was dealing around Laguna Cortez. But I didn’t know he was in deep.”

  “Sorry for the kick in the nuts, then.”

  “How come you’ve never told anyone this before?”

  I can practically hear his shrug. “What? Rat a guy out? Fuck that. I’m only telling you because it’s been long enough, and you should know. You hadn’t asked, I wouldn’ta never told.”

  He goes on to tell me that The Wolf and Peter had met when they were young and Peter rose up in the organization. “I think he wanted to get out. That’s part of why he moved to LC. He was supposed to be helping his brother-in-law with his kid. That was you, I guess?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he wanted to just be a guy, right? Just do that construction and management shit. The way I heard it, Danny let him out. They was friends, right? But without his cut, your uncle couldn’t hack it. Didn’t want to give up his big, fancy house. So he got back in with The Wolf, but then did some side business, too. Wanted a bigger percentage for him, right?”

  “The Wolf found out.” The words are flat. I’m numb.

  “Smart girl. Found out and decided it was time to terminate their friendship.” He chuckles, and I cringe.

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “Not a clue,” Cornwell says, though I don’t know if I believe him. “I know he brought it on himself,” Cornwell says. “Was a stupid shit to be playing games like that especially with Danny’s son living right under his nose.”

  I shiver, as if I’d stepped into a room full of ghosts. “What do you mean?”

  “The Wolf had a kid. Alejandro. I swear, that boy was Danny’s only soft spot, only he wasn’t soft at all. Trained him like a soldier. Took the kid from his mom. That’s the part that got to me. I love my mom, you know. And I got a kid, too. Point is, Peter mighta got away with it if it weren’t for the kid. But The Wolf was paying attention, ya know?”

  “What—what happened to his son? After Peter died?”

  “Hell if I know. The Wolf pulled him out, I assume. I didn’t keep track. All I know is some government prick assassinated The Wolf. Not much long after.”

  “I didn’t know The Wolf’s killer had ever been identified.”

  I can hear the shrug in his voice when he says, “I hear rumors. Anyway, guess the kid inherited what the government couldn’t claim. Figure he’s either some wastrel party-boy now or he’s got a new life running daddy’s business outta Mexico or God knows where.”

  “I—thank you, Mr. Cornwell.” My entire body is cold, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “This—this has been more informative than I expected.” I have to choke out the words.

  “Hey, sure thing. Sorry about your uncle, girlie. He fucked up, but guess that don’t much matter to you.”

  “No. Not much.” I go through the niceties of ending the call, not aware of my words. Not even aware of what I’m doing until I realize that my bag is packed and I’m heading for the door.

  He’s the Wolf’s son.

  Alejandro. Alex. The boy taken from his mother. Sent to work with Peter.

  Alex Leto—Devlin Saint—is the goddamn Wolf’s son.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The day passes in a blur.

  As soon as I realized the truth about Devlin, Alex, whoever the fuck he was, I’d bolted from The Phoenix, grabbed a taxi, and gone immediately to one of the car rental places by the airport.

  I could have flown, but I’d needed the release that comes from speed and the highway and the asphalt beneath my tires. I’d pushed the limits of my rented Toyota, and the only reason I didn’t land a dozen speeding tickets is because the gods were on my side.

  I arrive in Orange County as the sun is slipping toward the horizon. I punch in the code to unlock the door and disarm the alarm, then stumble into Brandy’s house. As I do, she leaps off the couch, races to me, and pulls me into her arms as Christopher stands behind her managing to look both worried and relieved.

  “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and calling. Devlin’s going crazy. He’s called a dozen times and been here twice.”

  My eyes snapped to hers. “He’s been here?”

  “He flew back. He said you two had a fight and you bolted. Christ, Ellie, what the hell? I’ve been calling you since he phoned from Vegas. Said he got back to your room and you’d cleared out.”

  “We had a fight,” I say numbly, latching on to his excuse.

  “About what?” She steps aside as I barrel toward the kitchen, then pour myself a glass of wine.

  I run my fingers through my hair, shrug, then look at Christopher. I don’t know where to start, and even though I want to skewer Devlin Saint right now, I don’t want to air his dirty laundry in front of a stranger. “I just want to sleep. Can we do this—”

  “I should go,” Christopher says, cutting me off. He goes to Brandy and takes her hand. “You two should talk.”

  She nods, because apparently no one is listening to me. I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep. I want to forget.

  But I get that Brandy’s legit worried, so I offer Christopher a wan smile, then go curl up on the couch as she sees him to the door before coming to sit by me.

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She takes my hands. “But I’ve been out of my mind.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. I turned off my phone. It never occurred to me he’d call you. I just had to go. So I rented a car.” I lift my shoulder and, to her credit, Brandy doesn’t ask why I didn’t just fly back if I was bolting from Vegas. She knows damn well I would have wanted the speed. That I needed to burn through whatever emotions have been jumbled up inside me.

  I did, too. Before, I’d been in knots, such an emotional mess it’s a wonder the guy at the counter was willing to hand me the keys. I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, I know that. But the speed and the power and the freedom had worked their magic, and by the time I was well out of the city and in a place where I could open her up, I was fine. Moving fast, but fine.

  “So Christopher came, huh? Getting serious?”

  “You are not diverting this. Go to bed or talk to me. Those are your choices. I’ve been so damn worried, and Devlin’s freaking out.”

  “Good.” I snap. Freaking out that I know the truth about him. That he kept this huge, dangerous secret from me for years and years. When he was Alex. Now that he’s Devlin. About himself. And about my uncle, too.

  “He’s a goddamn liar,” I add as warm tears stream down my cheeks.

  She pulls me close and lets me cry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

>   I nod, but what I say is, “I can’t.” And, damn me, I hate myself for that. I shouldn’t care about his secrets. Not when he’s the heir to The Wolf’s fortune—most of which the government was never able to attach because the Wolf was never convicted of any major crime.

  Not when—oh, God, why didn’t I think of this on the drive—the entire of his fortune, including the DSF, was built on blood money. And who knows what kind of things he’s still running behind the scenes, using a philanthropical agency as a cover for a criminal enterprise.

  My stomach roils as I think about Ronan and my suspicions. Lorenzo Bell. Was that a hit? Had Bell somehow double-crossed Saint’s organization?

  “Tell me,” Brandy says, the worry clear in her voice. “Whatever you’re thinking, just tell me. And if you won’t tell me, then at least talk to Devlin. Seriously, the guy looks as wrecked as you.”

  I drag my fingers through my hair. “What did he say to you?”

  “He said that you learned some stuff about him, and that he needed to talk to you. To explain.”

  I nod. I’d left him a note before I left. I probably shouldn’t have. I should have just gone. He’d probably still be assuming I was in Vegas somewhere, losing money at a roulette table. Instead, I’d scribbled I know who you are on a piece of hotel stationery and left it on the table.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “He said he wasn’t sure how much of what you heard was true, but that part of it is, and he’s sorry he hurt you.”

  I swallow. “He says some of it’s true? Did he tell you what?”

  She laughs. “He didn’t tell me shit other than that he’s worried about you. Seriously, Ellie, the guy’s ripped up.”

  “Good. What else did he say?”

  “That he didn’t want you to find out that way—Ellie, what way? And what did you find out in the first place?”

  That way? Did he mean from someone other than him? Or did he mean by talking to a prisoner, which would mean he’d been watching my every move. I pull my knees up and hug myself. “He didn’t want me to find out at all,” I say