My Beautiful Sin

by J. Kenner

  My heart twists a little. He’s right, and I’m glad he understands that.

  He gives my hand another squeeze. “Is that why you came by? Or am I forgetting a lunch date?”

  “No, no. Lamar wanted to see Tracy. You’re just a perk.”

  “For me as well.” His hand is still holding mine, and I’m hyperaware of the way that his thumb grazes the skin on the back of my hand. “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “He’s abandoning me for his job. I was thinking I might try to meet up with a few more of the people that Uncle Peter dealt with.” What I don’t tell him is that I’ve got a personal errand to run, too. The kind that makes my stomach twitch with nerves, but I know I have to go through with it.

  “More? Who’ve you seen already?” The words are seemingly casual, but I hear the edge to them.

  “No one, really. It didn’t pan out. We started at the SeaSide Inn,” I explain. “It turns out the owner had a stroke. He’s in a nursing home. His daughter manages the property now, but she doesn’t really know anything. So that was a dead end.”

  “I knew about Mr. Taggart, of course.”

  For a moment, I’m confused. Then I remember. “That’s right, guests at the foundation usually stay at the Inn, don’t they?”

  “There are a number of hotels around town that we suggest, but we have a particularly good relationship with the folks at SeaSide, yes. Mateo Taggart was a genuinely nice man. And Regina’s a very competent manager.”

  “Was she at the gala?”

  His brow furrows, then he shakes his head. “Not that I recall. She would have been invited, of course. But I think she was out of town. Why?”

  “I don’t know. She just looks familiar.” I shrug. “No big deal. She probably reminds me of someone else.”

  “Well, if you do know her, I’m sure you’ll remember.” He says this in an offhand way, as if it doesn’t really matter. Which, of course, it doesn’t. “And what are you doing this evening?”

  “I’m having drinks with Brandy and Lamar. Then I thought I’d go to my boyfriend’s house and make him dinner.” I wait a beat, then add, “Unless you’d rather I go to your place.”

  He flashes a cocky smile, then pulls me close, hooking his arms around my waist. “You’re asking for it.”

  “With you? Anything, any time.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he says. “But I have a meeting tonight.”

  “No big deal.” I keep my voice perky even though I’m disappointed. “I’ll just make another date with one of the many men I keep on a leash.”

  He makes a growling noise, and I laugh. “Call me when you get home?”

  “You could be waiting for me,” he suggests. “Preferably in my bed. Ideally naked.”

  “I could, but I’m staying at Brandy’s. I think it’s best that I continue to stay there, don’t you? Whoever’s watching us probably shouldn’t believe that despite the warning, I’m still so comfortable with you that I’ve moved in.”

  He nods. It’s clear, however, that the mention of my secret correspondent disturbs him.

  I can’t say I blame him. It disturbs me, too.

  Chapter Nine

  I’m not doing more interviews today, and I feel a little guilty about the tiny lie I told Devlin. But I console myself with the fact that I told the literal truth. I said I was thinking I might try to meet up with more of Peter’s contacts. And here I am, totally thinking about that. Thinking about anything, actually, other than the fact that my feet are currently in stirrups as a nurse with a kind face takes a vaginal swab.

  It’s not until she stands up and smiles warmly at me that I realize my facial muscles are practically frozen into a horrible grimace.

  “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “That depends. Is it over?”

  A smile flits over her face. “All done. You can get dressed now.”

  I pull my feet free and sit up. “When will I know?”

  “I can’t promise, but we’ve been getting results from the lab pretty quickly. You might hear back as early as tomorrow afternoon. But it could take up to seventy-two hours.”

  I wince, hating the thought of waiting. But it’s not as if someone wrestled me to the ground and stabbed me with an infected needle. I did this to myself, and I can suck it up. “Right,” I say. “Okay.” I keep my fingers pressed to the cotton ball and tape on my arm from the blood the phlebotomist already drew. “So, if I don’t hear by then, I should call?”

  “Of course. But in the meantime, try not to worry. Worry won’t change anything. And here,” she adds, handing me a plastic bag with pamphlets and condoms. Like a party favor.

  I thank her and assure her I’ll do my best not to worry. But I am worried. Hell, I have reason to be. Over and over again, I’ve battled my demons by using myself as the weapon. It’s not as if my modus operandi is a secret. It’s not as if it was something I’d been doing unawares. Fucking a guy in a parking lot or alleyway wasn’t something I checked out for. On the contrary, it was sharper than life, blindingly brilliant, and utterly meaningless. It was a battle. A statement. An escape.

  Most of all, it was guilt. Because each and every one of those encounters could have been the last. The last fuck, the last kiss, my very last breath. I was risking everything from disease to psychos. Survivor’s guilt. That’s what they call it. I know, because a shrink once told me. I flirt with danger, because deep down I can’t believe that I’m still living when my entire family is dead. Because what the hell makes me so damn special?

  For years, I’ve chased danger and it was okay. Because at the end of the day, I didn’t care about the outcome. Survival simply meant that life had more chances to kick the shit out of me. And death—well, that would repair the status quo, right? But now—

  Now I have Devlin. And I want to have him fully. Completely. I don’t want to have to wear a condom. I don’t want that physical reminder of my past bad behavior between us.

  Most of all, I want him to be safe, because I can’t stand the thought of losing him. Either because I’m taken from him, or because he’s taken from me. And I know that I will do anything—anything—to keep us safe and whole and together.

  Steeling my shoulders, I get dressed and pay, then step out of the clinic into the bright light of day. It was the closest walk-in clinic I could find, and even though it was perfectly clean and sterile, I feel a little squidgy, which is foolish since testing is the smart thing, not the stupid thing. I wonder how many people like me don’t get tested because it feels so awkward to go into one of these places, like it’s a reflection of your own mistakes. But I’m glad I came, because Devlin is worth it. And I guess I am, too.

  His name is on my mind as I lift my head and put on my sunglasses, and for a moment I think that I’m only imagining him standing there at the end of the walkway that runs from the street to the clinic’s door. Then my chest tightens, and I realize that it really is him. A hot rush runs through my body, a mix of shame and horror and anger. I let the anger fuel me, as it’s the emotion I’m the most comfortable with, and I rush forward, my hands clenched at my sides.

  “Are you seriously tracking me?” My voice is heavy with indignation.

  Last night, we set up our phones to share each other’s locations. With the social media interest in our relationship, Devlin thought it made sense. And in light of the creepy text message, there’s no denying that he’s probably right, and for more nefarious reasons than tabloid interest.

  But I never in a million years expected him to spend his day monitoring where I go.

  He holds up his hands, looking chastened. “It wasn’t like that, I promise. You said you were going on interviews, and I wanted to drop a file by.”

  He hands me a thick manila envelope I hadn’t noticed that he was holding. “I had Anna pull together as much information on Peter’s various business interests as we have in the foundation’s records, then cap it off with whatever else she could find online. Some of it you
probably already have, but I thought you might want to see if there were any names in there that you could get in touch with today. I meant to give it to you while you were at the DSF, but to be honest, after Lamar’s little chat with me, it completely slipped my mind.”

  “Oh.” Considering he’s not exactly gung-ho about me poking around in Peter’s life, I’m a little surprised he’s helping me. But maybe he figures the more he helps, the sooner I’ll finish. “Well, thank you. But I hardly see the reason to track me all over town. I mean, tomorrow would have been—”

  He lifts a hand, cutting me off. “I looked to see if you were in walking distance,” he says. “Nothing more. And I wouldn’t have come at all, except that the map only says this is a medical clinic. You were supposed to be interviewing associates of Peter’s, and I didn’t think they would be doctors. Although, I suppose he might have been trying to move pharmaceuticals. Bottom line, I thought maybe you’d been hurt. I thought this might have been an urgent care clinic. And when I called and you didn’t answer … well, I needed to come see for myself.”

  I check my phone. Sure enough, he called twice while I had it on silent.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I want to stay mad at him, because it will shield my own embarrassment, but everything he says makes sense, and I do appreciate it. So I pull up my big girl panties, smile, and shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans.

  “Yeah, well, it’s—” I clear my threat. “We didn’t use a condom. And I—I just wanted—I mean, if I gave you— Oh, hell,” I blurt. “I just had to know.”

  I’m relieved to see that he doesn’t look shocked or terrified. On the contrary it’s obvious that he understands fully what I’m saying. “I thought it might be something like that,” he says, taking a step closer. “This morning, you were playing it a bit coy. You either had something else on your mind or you were doing your best to keep me hard with anticipation.”

  I laugh. “Well, that’s a good plan. And we do know how much you get off on anticipation. But, no. I—oh God, Devlin, what if I fucked it up for us? I’ve been so stupid.”

  “No. You haven’t.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek, and I can’t quite meet his eyes. He has to use his fingertip to tilt my head up. “Baby, do you have any idea how much this means to me? The fact that you’re doing this now, because of me?”

  “Well, of course I’m checking because of you. Who else?”

  “Oh, El.” There’s laughter in his voice as he bends and kisses my forehead, then pulls me close, crushing me against his chest as he wraps me in his arms. I pull my hands free and hold him close, too. “Whatever the result, we’ll be fine. And I’m glad you came. Because I want all of you. As soon as we know, I want every single bit of you, and I don’t want a barrier between us.”

  My eyes prick with tears. “But what if—”

  “No. No what ifs. We’ll deal with things as they come. And until then...”

  “What?”

  “How about I take you to dinner tonight? A proper date.”

  I melt a little. “You said you had plans tonight.”

  “Rescheduled.”

  “Oh.” I exhale, knowing I can’t say yes. “I’d love to, but I made plans.”

  His bisected brow rises. “Another boyfriend?”

  “A wild three-way,” I counter. “Me and Brandy and Lamar. We decided to extend our drinks into dinner. I set it up after you said you were busy.”

  A muscle in his cheek tightens, but to his credit he doesn’t say anything.

  “We haven’t spent a lot of time together,” I point out. “The three of us, I mean. I’ve either been with you, or I was in a shit mood.”

  “Because of me,” he adds, with enough humor that I know he’s not annoyed.

  I shrug. “Yeah, well, the bottom line is we’re getting together tonight. You can amuse yourself?”

  “I think I can manage. I need to check in on something at The Phoenix, anyway.”

  “You’re going to Vegas?” Considering he has his own fleet of jets, it’s not an off-the-wall possibility.

  “No. I think the power of the internet will suffice. But I need you to do one thing for me.”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Kiss me. Tide me over until I see you tomorrow.”

  “With pleasure,” I say, as move closer, then rise up onto my toes, not even caring if someone snaps a photo. I hold onto his shoulders as my mouth closes over his, and as he pulls me close and kisses me hard, all I can think is that despite having one of the most miserable childhoods imaginable, I seem to have finally earned a little bit of happiness.

  Chapter Ten

  Since I still have plenty of time before I’m meeting Brandy and Lamar, I sit in Shelby, the dark blue 1965 Shelby Cobra that’s only been pushed out of the number one spot in my life now that Devlin’s in the picture, and flip through the file that Devlin gave me. My eye immediately notices a reference to Cotton Building Supply, a place that is already at the top of the list I’ve been compiling of businesses Peter worked with on a regular basis.

  In the days after I learned that Devlin—Alex—had killed Peter, I’d forced myself to do some actual work. If I couldn’t heal the ache in my heart, at least I could try to ignore it. Mostly I didn’t succeed, but I did manage to sort through some boxes of old records.

  With Peter’s death, Chief Randall and his wife Amy stepped in as my guardians. They’d hired a lawyer to wrap up Peter’s construction business, boxed up all the business files, and stuck them in storage in case I ever wanted them. I’d brought a few of those boxes home, and as my numb brain pored over paperwork, I’d realized two things. First, that my uncle was smart enough to keep very clean books. There was nothing in those papers that indicated any ties to The Wolf, to drug money, to anything untoward at all.

  And second, that Uncle Peter had business connections in Laguna Cortez long before he moved here to look after me. That was about all I could manage, though. Digging deep just made me remember the man, his death, and Alex—the boy who had pulled the trigger.

  I close my eyes, warding off the shadow of those days that seem so long ago, but were really only so many yesterdays. Devlin and I are past it now, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a wound. It was. It’s just scarred over. And that’s the interesting thing about scars—the healed area ends up a lot tougher than the original skin.

  I guess that’s why I can look now. Why I’m heading out to chase leads from both Devlin’s and Peter’s records, including Cotton Building Supply, a business Peter frequented when he was based in LA and then later in Laguna Cortez.

  Cotton Building Supply is located inland, past the Five, and though it’s technically within the Laguna Cortez city limits, this definitely isn’t the part of town that goes on postcards. The operation is the low-overhead kind, with a shack that fronts a lumberyard that seems to get more intense the deeper you go, so that the area closest to the street is for the DIY crowd, and the stuff in the far back is for the commercial clients.

  I only see one employee—recognizable by the brown vest and brass nametag—and since he’s inside ringing up a customer, I wander the DIY area, thinking about what I could do with the house I own here once my tenant moves out. I’ve never lived in the house as an adult, but it was my childhood home until my father died. I inherited it, but Uncle Peter managed it, renting it out and using the income and my dad’s life insurance policy to pay off the mortgage and then putting the income away for me. It’s not a lot, but it made a nice dent in my Manhattan expenses, that’s for sure.

  Right now, I don’t have any expectation that my long-time tenant is going to give his notice. But I do know that his current lease ran out a few months ago, and he hasn’t yet renewed. He’s told the management company that he wants to be “flexible,” and so he’s currently month-to-month.

  All of which is fine by me, but at the same time, part of me wants him to just go. I’m enjoying living with Brandy, but I miss having my own place. And t
he truth is I can’t stay with Brandy forever. She doesn’t own her house, and she doesn’t rent it. Instead, she acts as a caretaker for the mostly-absentee owner whom she calls Mr. Big.

  Originally, I was only planning on being in Laguna Cortez temporarily, so bunking with Brandy was no big deal. Now that I’m staying, I need to make some decisions.

  Even with Devlin in the mix—and he’s very much in my mix—I’m thinking about looking for my own place. Maybe a guesthouse or a rental in Lamar’s condo building. Someplace where I have my own space as Devlin and I grow in our relationship. Other than rooming with Brandy in college, I’ve been on my own all of my adult life, and it’s weird to feel like I’m camped out in someone else’s nest.

  I push the thoughts out of my head—it’s not something I plan to deal with today—and I wander back inside, hoping that the guy on duty is free now. Luck is with me, and he lifts a hand as I enter.

  “I was just coming to look for you,” he says. “Sorry for the wait. How can I help you? Let me guess,” he continues without a pause. “You’re thinking about adding a patio to your house.”

  “No, but it’s not a bad idea. My name’s Elsa Holmes. I’m a reporter with The Spall Monthly.”

  “Right. Right. I’ve heard of you.”

  “The magazine, you mean?” Even folks who only read magazines like People and Entertainment Weekly have usually heard of The Spall, since it’s right there next to The New Yorker and The Atlantic Monthly at grocery store checkouts. But it’s a rare person who actually knows the names of individual contributors.

  “Huh? Oh, no. From Instagram. You’re the gal’s scre—dating Devlin Saint, right?”

  I manage not to cringe. “Right on both counts,” I say with so much enthusiasm that he actually blushes.

  “Sorry, sorry.” His pale face is covered with red blotches. “I don’t know why they let me out in public. Honestly, I have no filter.”

  I laugh, deciding I like this guy. “It’s okay, really.”