My Fallen Saint

by J. Kenner

  “He found her anyway.”

  “I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he drugged her. She wasn’t using. She was clean for her little boy. There is no way she would have gotten both drunk and high.”

  “Devlin told me about the wreck.” I don’t say that I met her not long before her death. I don’t remember it, and what’s the point? But it’s still one more thing that ties me and Devlin together.

  “I died a little when I learned about the crash,” Tamra says. “I knew the truth, but I couldn’t prove it. And I knew that he’d taken the boy.”

  She stands and goes to the window. “I managed to track him down, and when he was fifteen, I met him alone. I told him I knew his mother and that I would help him if he ever needed it.” She turns back to me. “It was a risk. I didn’t know if he’d been indoctrinated. He could have told his father about me. He could have had me killed.”

  I shiver, then nod.

  “But he trusted me. He told me how much he hated his father. The life he was part of. He wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t. So he learned the business. Trained in weapons and all sorts of similar things. I tried to help him. To be there to talk whenever he needed it.”

  My throat is thick, and I’m working hard to hold back tears. “You stood in for his mother.”

  “I tried to, at least as much as I could. And when his father sent him to Laguna Cortez to work with Peter, Alejandro called me, and I came, too.”

  She smiles. “That’s when I met you when we were both working at the police department. And later, when he joined the military, I kept track of him then, too.” A flicker of sadness crosses her face, but she shakes it off. “Finally, I ended up here.”

  My head is spinning just a little from everything she’s told me, but there’s one point that is dominating my thoughts. “You knew about us back then? You knew that Alex and I…”

  “I did. I always hoped your story would be something other than a tragedy.” Her smile is small, but it lights her face. “That’s what I’m still hoping for.”

  After Tamra leaves, I pack up my stuff and call it a day. I’ve found nothing in the papers that gives me a clue to Peter’s assassin, and I doubt that I will.

  That, however, isn’t what’s bugging me. Instead, it’s this small, niggling thought about another assassin. The wall-climber who took out Myers. The ballsy assassin who killed Bell at close range.

  I leave the research room, my head full of noise, then pause outside Tamra’s office on my way to the fourth floor. I know Devlin thinks Ronan wasn’t even in Vegas at the time, but what if he’s wrong?

  I rap on her door, then enter when she calls out.

  “Well, hello again.” She smiles brightly, but it fades when she takes a closer look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  Now that she’s asked, I feel foolish. But I’d rather be a suspicious fool than someone who never spoke up. “Do you—I mean, this is going to sound odd—but do you trust Ronan?”

  Her eyes widen. “Well, yes. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just a vibe. I saw him in Vegas after Bell got shot,” I add, and as I speak the words, I can hear how idiotic they sound.

  “I imagine a lot of people were in Vegas. You were. And I understand you’re a good shot yourself.”

  I screw up my mouth. Now I really do feel like an idiot.

  To her credit, she laughs. “I’m teasing, of course. But I do trust him. Devlin’s known Ronan since he first joined up. And Ronan even served briefly with my husband.”

  “Your husband?”

  Her smile turns melancholy. “He was killed in action.” She waves the words away, blinking quickly. “But he knew Ronan. And he trusted him.”

  I hug myself. “I think burying myself in The Wolf’s business has made me paranoid.”

  “You need to back away. Go grab a bite and take the rest of the day off.”

  “That’s a good plan,” I say, wondering if Devlin can blow off the rest of the day. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, with the kind of firm certainty that reminds me that no matter what, the world will keep on turning.

  Even so, I can’t deny that she might be too close to Ronan to see the truth. After all, you can’t make out anything in a Monet painting if you’re standing with your nose to the brushstroke.

  Which is why as I climb the stairs, I text Millie and ask if she could poke around a bit and send me anything she can find on Ronan Thorne.

  Anna’s at her desk when I reach the fourth floor. She smiles at me, and I ask if he’s in. “I thought I’d steal him away for lunch.”

  “He had to go out, but if you’re looking for company, I’m starving.”

  Oh. Fortunately, I catch myself before I say that out loud. “Yeah, I’d love to.” Actually, I would like to hear about what it was like growing up with Devlin. But since I don’t know if he’s told Anna that I’m in on the secret, I can’t initiate the conversation.

  We end up at a cute little place across the street with counter service. “There’s a patio out back,” she says. “Let’s grab a table and I’ll tell you all my boss’s secrets.”

  I laugh and follow her. Now that I’m sure she’s not sleeping with Devlin, I’m seeing her in a whole new light.

  We’re almost finished with our sandwiches, and I’m still not sure what she knows, when she says, “Devlin told me you two knew each other when you were younger. Before he was Devlin, I mean.”

  “Oh.” I look around, but the place is empty. “I wasn’t sure if he’d told you about me. He told me the same.”

  She grins. “Guess we have that in common. Except I’ve known him the whole time. You had a gap.”

  I nod. “Yeah. That sucked.”

  “Well, I’m glad he found you again. It’s hard giving up your life and walking away from friends.”

  “It is,” I say, realizing that from the way she’s talking, I can’t tell if she knows that Devlin and I were—are—more than friends. Of course, even I’m not sure what we are. At the very least, I guess we’re friends with benefits.

  Not that it matters, because the conversation moves quickly on to my research, then to the fact that we’re both excited to read the manuscript of Christopher’s book before he even sends it to his editor, and then on to the best shopping in Laguna Cortez.

  By the time we’re walking back, I’ve shifted my perspective on Anna entirely. At the gala, she’d seemed like a glamorous foe. Now she’s not only a put-together and competent woman I could be friends with, she’s one more link between me and Devlin.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Go get it, Jake!” Brandy shouts. “Good dog!”

  Jake bounds across the beach chasing the most disgusting tennis ball I’ve ever seen in my life, then galumphs back with it soggy and sopping in his mouth. He drops it at my feet, then wiggles with pleasure.

  “Your turn,” Brandy says, laughing.

  I make a face, then pick up the spit and sand covered ball before hurling it as far as I can. Unfortunately, there’s a reason I don’t play sports, and my throw goes wild. Jake bounds after it anyway, heading straight for the surf and splashing in the waves that are breaking nearby.

  “He’s going to get soaked,” I tell Brandy, grimacing a bit.

  “That’s okay,” she says as we continue walking. “He’ll dry.”

  It’s Saturday, but the beach isn’t too crowded. That’s the beauty of fall—significantly fewer tourists.

  I’d spent all day yesterday holed up with work. First revising the DSF profile per Roger’s edits, then writing up my notes about Peter and what little I know about how he got drawn into the drug trade. It’s become a different story, and not one I’m ready to share with Roger or the world.

  What I’d thought would be a tale about the downfall of a man who’d come innocently to Laguna Cortez and gotten caught in a net has turned into the story of a man who’d been tight with an international crime lord. A man who, despite tha
t friendship, had garnered The Wolf’s wrath. The story’s a tragedy that resulted in the downfall of a family and the loss to both me and The Wolf’s son of their first real loves.

  A personal story, that’s for sure. I don’t intend to stop writing it. But as for publishing it? Well, that I’m still debating.

  “—who killed Peter.”

  I look up sharply, realizing I’d completely tuned out Brandy. “Sorry?”

  She shakes her head but looks amused rather than angry. “I said, Christopher was asking me about your research on Peter.”

  I pause as she bends down to rub the scruff of Jake’s neck. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  She tilts her head up to look at me. “About Peter? I thought you did.”

  I nod. I’d been doing research on Peter while Christopher was around, and we’d talked about it. He even wanted to share my notes, thinking it might help him craft characters. “No, he knows about Peter. I meant about Devlin. Alex.”

  Her eyes widen. “Of course not.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” And I am. I trust her. I really do. “I just—I don’t know. I wasn’t sure how serious you guys are yet.”

  “Well, I like him, but we’re not that tight. But even if I were sleeping with him, I wouldn’t just lay in bed, spread my legs, and spew out all my secrets.”

  I wince, both at the harsh tone and the unpleasant mental picture. “I know. I do. I’m just paranoid. It’s a lot to hold on to.”

  “You’re holding on.”

  “Yeah, but I lo—” My heart skitters as I swallow my words, then try again. “I’m more invested.”

  She eyes me, and I’m almost positive she’s going to call me out on what I didn’t say. But instead, she says, “You really trust him?”

  I don’t have to think about it to know she means Devlin, not Christopher. “He escaped from hell, Brandy.”

  “So have a lot of shitty people. I’m asking what’s in your gut.”

  I squeeze her hand. “You already know the answer to that.”

  She nods. “I know. And if it matters, I think so, too.” She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I just hope we’re right.”

  An hour later, Jake is finally starting to slow down and we’re walking back toward the house when I see Devlin walking toward us. “Two beautiful women,” he says, greeting us with a smile as he bends down to pet Jake. “And one adorable dog. I’m a lucky man.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  “I’ve been working all morning. Decided to take a walk and grab a coffee.” He looks at me with a tilt of his head. “Can I buy you a latte at Brewski? It’s an open offer,” he adds to Brandy, who laughs.

  “I would feel very much like a third wheel. And besides, it’s Jake’s nap time. But I’ll see you later.”

  “I’m making dinner,” I tell her as they start to head off.

  “God help us all,” she calls back over my shoulder.

  I shoot Devlin a smirk. “She’s not wrong. I can’t cook for shit. I’m thinking I’ll make pizza. I hear the recipe only requires a phone and a credit card.”

  We head to the walk-up counter for Brewski and he orders for both of us, then steps aside as we wait for our to-go cups. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Ordering pizza and working, unless you make me a better offer.”

  “Hmm.” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “And tomorrow? Do you have plans?”

  I cross my arms as I look up at him. “I think I do now.”

  “Good answer.”

  “So what are we doing?”

  He presses a fingertip to my lips. “It’s a surprise. Jeans. T-shirt. Sunglasses. A change of clothes. Order Brandy’s pizza in advance.”

  “This is turning interesting, and I’m running through all the possibilities in my head. I’ve ruled out the South of France since I don’t need a passport.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, ye of little faith. I have ways around passports.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

  “I’ll swing by and get you around two, okay?”

  “Sure.” I reach for our drinks, then hand him his. “Does that mean you’re leaving me now?”

  “I haven’t finished my walk,” he says, extending his arm for me to take. “Join me?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk all the way to where Pacific Avenue curves sharply before heading up into the canyon, talking about nothing really. Jake. Brandy. Christopher, who’s apparently taken up residence in the research room and told Tamra he’s going to end up replotting his book.

  “You should write thrillers,” I tell Devlin. “Or I should. You tell me all the stories you know, and I’ll write them up.” It’s not that crazy an idea. If I do decide to commit Peter’s story to paper and publish it, there’s probably enough material for a book.

  “I think I’d prefer to live in quiet anonymity.”

  “Thus the dearth of you on social media.”

  “I’m not a popular man with the people who used to be higher-ups in my father’s organization.”

  “I guess not.” I recall how he told me about working to shut down the networks and the pipelines his father had used. “You took a huge risk.”

  “I did,” he says, “but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself otherwise. And I did get government help.” He pauses. “I told you I wasn’t in witness protection, and that’s true. But there are departments other than WITSEC, and I had help setting up a new identity. I paid the price with long hours of interrogation, but I walked away with a rock-solid identity.”

  I shake my head as I continue walking. “I can’t imagine what you went through back then. I wish—”

  I stop myself. Neither one of us needs to hear me say I wish I could have been there for him, even though both of us know it.

  We’re heading back the way we came, only now on the opposite side of the street. “There’s Cask & Barrel,” I say. “That first night. You skipped out on me. Why?”

  “I hadn’t decided yet,” he says.

  “Whether to trust me.” I tug him to a stop. “And then you showed yourself at the tidal pools. What made you decide to?”

  He runs his thumb and forefinger over his bearded chin. “I realized there’s no one I trust more than I trust myself.”

  “Okaaay.” I draw out the word, not understanding what he’s talking about.

  “You were the first woman I ever loved—hell, you were the only woman I ever loved. I trusted you with everything back then. If I didn’t trust you now, then how could I say that I ever trusted myself.”

  “Oh.” His words squeeze my heart, filling me with warmth. “I might have changed, though.”

  “Have you?”

  I look up and meet his eyes. “We both have,” I say. “But you can still trust me.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Me? Fly?” I’m sitting in the co-pilot seat in one of the Saint Charter jets, with Marci sitting next to me in the pilot seat.

  She laughs. “Well, you’re not going to land. Just keep us in the air for a few minutes. I promise you, it’s not that different than driving.”

  “The dashboard’s a lot more complicated,” I point out, which, considering I drive a car built in the sixties, is an understatement.

  Still, I’m game, and I listen as she explains the function of the various readouts, how to keep the plane level using instruments, and then has me climb an additional five-thousand feet to our cruising altitude.

  “You’re practically a pro,” she says.

  “You’re generous,” I tell her, but I’m thrilled. It’s not got the same zing as being in a fighter jet simulator, but the odds of me ever being behind the wheel of one of those in reality is pretty slim. And there’s no denying that right now, I’m the one in charge of our safety as we soar through the sky toward the desert. With Marci firmly on back-up, of course.

  I keep the controls a bit longer, then pass it back to Marci. I’m enjoying my time in the sky, but I also want to enjoy it wi
th Devlin.

  I head from the cockpit to the cabin, then wink at Gregg before I close the panel between me and the crew’s section.

  Devlin looks up from a stack of papers, his face alight with amusement.

  “You look as satisfied as you do after sex,” he says. “I think I’m jealous.”

  “Not sex,” I tell him, as I put the papers aside and settle onto his lap. “Foreplay.”

  He grins as I climb onto his lap, straddling him. “Well, this is interesting.”

  I hook my arms around his neck. “I want you to tell me the truth. Why did you arrange that?”

  “You didn’t enjoy it?”

  “You know I did. Because you, Mr. Saint, are devious. And maybe a tad manipulative.”

  His brows rise. “Am I?”

  I nod sagely. “Oh, yes. You knew that after taking that wheel, I’d want a turn with you, too.”

  “You’re giving me a lot of credit.”

  “Just calling them as I see them.” I reach down and cup his erection, then lift one brow. “You could have just said you wanted to induct me into the Mile High Club.”

  “I could have,” he agrees, sliding one hand down the back of my jeans until his fingertip grazes my ass. “But this is more fun.”

  “Devlin—”

  “Do you want me to stop?” His fingertip strokes the sensitive area, sending shockwaves crashing through me.

  “Ah, that would be a no,” I say, rocking my hips and trying to grind against him as the storm wells inside me.

  “You are so gorgeous when you’re turned on. Like you’re lit from within.”

  “If I am,” I say, “You’re the one igniting me—oh, God yes, right there.” He’s unfastened my jeans and slid down the zipper. Now his other hand is down my pants, his palm caressing my clit as his fingers slide inside me. I rock back and forth as he teases me with both hands, relishing the rising climax and at the same time never wanting this feeling to end. “More,” I murmur, as he fingers me deeper, harder.