My Beautiful Sin

by J. Kenner

  I close my eyes, picturing it in my head. How it started. What Devlin had wanted to build, and why he’d wanted to build it.

  “I joined on the spot,” she says.

  “Your husband doesn’t fit either of those categories.”

  “No, but had the Angels been in place, my husband and his team would be alive. I believe that. Officially or not, the Angels would have gone in. That’s why I do the work that I do, even knowing the risks.”

  I hear the catch in her voice and wish I could take her hand. “Because it’s important,” she continues. “Because we help people who might otherwise not get help. And because we dole out justice where evil walks unopposed.”

  “That’s more hyperbole than I’d expect from you,” I tell her.

  “No,” she says. “It’s not. Think about it. That’s all I ask. Don’t give up on Devlin, and don’t dismiss what he does—what he believes in—without giving it thought.”

  “I won’t,” I assure her. “Right now it’s all I am thinking about. I love him,” I tell her, voicing to my friend what I hadn’t even told Devlin yesterday. “But is love enough to get us over this kind of chasm?”

  “Maybe you’re asking the wrong question.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The question isn’t is love enough. The question is how wide is the chasm. If you really think about it, I think you’ll find that it’s more narrow than you thought.”

  I’m still sitting there, thinking about her words ten minutes later. She’s right. I’m standing across a chasm from Devlin, and right now, I’m not sure if it’s a crack in the sidewalk or the Grand Canyon.

  And I don’t have a clue how to figure that out.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I’m still thinking about that damn chasm as I pace the kitchen waiting for my water to boil so I can have a cup of coffee. I’m hoping it will clear the cobwebs out of my head so that I can think clearly about secrets and Devlin. About what I want and what I believe. About what is right and what is wrong, and how to find that shimmering line that divides those two sides.

  Five cups later the cobwebs are clear, but I have no answers.

  I consider taking a walk on the beach, but Jake’s in San Diego with Brandy, and I know that if I walk by myself I’ll head straight for the tide pools.

  Instead, I go back over my research on Uncle Peter. I’ve lost some enthusiasm about the article. The question of how he went from a middle class kid to a man who worked for and then betrayed The Wolf was interesting at one point. Now, though, it seems like a dull and petty story compared to the life and works of Devlin Saint.

  But that’s not a story I can ever share, not even with my reporter’s blood screaming that it’s a good one.

  “Write,” I tell myself. “Four paragraphs, and if you’re stuck then you can stop.”

  It’s a game I play with myself that works only about half the time. Today, though, work turns out to be a refuge, and by lunchtime, I’ve written three paragraphs and am poring over my notes, trying to think who else from Peter’s past life might be around? Who else can I interview about finding the mysterious girlfriend?

  Anna.

  I want to smack myself on the forehead. Devlin told me that until she managed to extricate herself from The Wolf’s organization and move to Chicago for college, she’d frequently been tasked with delivering messages to The Wolf’s lieutenants around the country.

  She’d even been the one to bring the message ordering Devlin to kill Peter.

  She’d been around. She knew Peter. And if anyone had seen who he was dating, she probably had.

  I grab my phone and dial the direct line to her desk. It rings twice, then I hear the click, followed by, “Devlin Saint’s office.”

  I suck in air, then end the call, feeling like an idiot for not having seen it sooner.

  Of course Anna knew who was dating Peter.

  Anna had been dating him.

  I’d bet money on it. She might not be blond, but she’s not a natural redhead. I’ve seen her roots. So if she dyed her hair red, maybe she also bleached it blond.

  But why not fess up? She knows I’ve been looking for Peter’s former girlfriend. Either she didn’t think she had any insight for my article or she was embarrassed. We’re close to the same age, and it makes sense that she wouldn’t want me to know if she’d been sleeping with my uncle.

  For that matter, maybe she didn’t want Devlin to know. She obviously hadn’t told him back then. Did she think he wouldn’t approve? Or was there something darker going on? Was Peter truly involved in porn? Had he sucked Anna in somehow?

  I reach for the phone again, then yank it back when I realize I’m moving on autopilot, reaching out to call Devlin to run my thoughts by him.

  I don’t have the right to do that anymore. Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  The thought twists me up inside all over again, and I shut my laptop and slide off the stool. I’ve been working at the kitchen island, and now I go and open the refrigerator, then stare inside as if I’ll find answers along with a snack.

  In the end, I don’t find either.

  All I know is that I don’t want to think about Peter anymore. Not today.

  I’m not sure when I make the decision, but soon I’m pacing the room with my earbuds in waiting for the person on the other end of the line to pick up. After five rings she does.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Laura? It’s Ellie Holmes.”

  “Ellie,” she says. “The article you wrote was lovely. It was nice to read about the rescue, and all the rest, too. It made my heart lighter to know that people understood even a little bit what my baby went through.”

  Laura’s daughter, Sue, had been imprisoned in the mansion of a monster, Terrance Myers. She’d been one of the lucky ones, having survived to be rescued.

  I know that the foundation provided support for the rescue. And I know that Devlin shot Myers after an appellate court ordered his release from prison on a technicality.

  “If the article gave you even a little bit of peace, I’m glad.”

  “But I’m getting you off the subject,” Laura says. “I don’t imagine that’s why you called.”

  “No,” I admit. “I was wondering if you’d learned who killed Myers.”

  She makes a scoffing noise. “No. I wish I did, though. I’d give them a medal.”

  I feel the smile tug at my lips. “How’s Sue?”

  “Doing better. Her nightmares are less. She’s playing more. Laughing more. It’s as if she has a guardian angel watching out for her.”

  “I think she does,” I tell Laura, but even as the words pass my lips, I feel the regret wash over me. Because the truth is, that angel got there too late. Myers took the lives of so many kids, and once he’d walked free, he would have surely done it again had Devlin not taken him out.

  A guardian angel? Yeah, that was about right.

  I don’t know that I’ll ever be entirely comfortable with what he does, but I trust the heart of the man. More important, I love him. And I’ll fight for him.

  It’s not the Grand Canyon that separates us. More like a bubbling brook, and that’s easy enough to cross.

  That’s what I want to do right now, in fact. Cross it.

  Cross it, and find myself in Devlin’s arms.

  I make my apologies to Laura, telling her that something came up and that I have to end the call.

  Then I take a quick shower and get dressed, managing all of that in record time.

  I hadn’t put Shelby in the garage last night, so I leave through the front door and walk to the driveway. I have a view down the length of the street as I back out, and I see the black Tesla parked at the end of the block.

  I smile. It doesn’t have a front license plate, so I can’t be certain, but I’d bet money that Devlin’s in that car. And he’s been sitting there waiting for me to finally realize what he already knows—that whether we have to cross the Grand Canyon or a bubbling br
ook, at the end of the day, we’re supposed to be together.

  And the sooner I get to his side, the better.

  I hesitate by Shelby’s door, then pass up the car and walk toward the Tesla. It’s late afternoon now, and the sun is already hovering low over the Pacific, leaving long shadows to fill the foothills and canyons.

  I squint as I approach, trying to make out who’s in the car, but it’s no use. All I can see is the glare of the setting sun reflecting back at me, and when I’m about ten feet away, the car silently backs up into a nearby driveway and disappears in the opposite direction.

  Not Devlin.

  I feel the weight of disappointment fill my chest, and that only confirms what I already know—that I’m making the right choice by going to him. By choosing us.

  But now I’m all the more anxious to tell him so, and I hurry back to Shelby, fire up her engine, and roar backward out of the driveway.

  The certainty of my decision overwhelms me—and I race forward, eager to see him and tell him that I should never have walked away. His revelations shocked and surprised me, true, but none of it changed the core of who he is or who we are together.

  I was dead inside until I found Devlin again, and I know he was the same. He’s the love of my life, the light in my world, and while there may be Big Things that we have to talk about, I know we’ll get through them.

  And the sooner I get to his side to tell him that, the better.

  I race down the road, then whip onto the main stretch that leads higher into the hills. I’m pushing Shelby to her limit, letting the wind sing through my hair and sting my face as I urge her on, the speed and power reflecting the urgency of my need.

  The roads become more narrow as I get closer to the cut-off to Devlin’s and instead of cutting through the residential section, I choose the smaller canyon roads that are my usual route to his home, which sits isolated atop an abutment on a two-acre lot that assures his privacy. A canyon road extends from the southeast corner of his property up into the undeveloped section of the hills, and over to an intertwining network of smaller roads that ultimately find their way down to Sunset Canyon, the main thoroughfare through the hills.

  That’s the way I go now, as I know it will not only have the least traffic, but will let me open up Shelby. Not because I crave danger—not this time. No, right now, it’s the joy I want. The joy of speed and power and the anticipation of soon being in Devlin’s arms.

  I whip to the left, turning off of Sunset and onto Sunrise Canyon. Right before I do, I catch a glimpse of black behind me. I check the mirror, again, and sure enough the Tesla is back.

  I’m certain now that it’s Devlin. I grin, my whole body thrumming with the sweet knowledge that he’s not only behind me, but that he knows exactly where I’m going.

  I consider speeding up and racing him to his house, but I’m already pushing a safe speed on this narrow road. There’s no shoulder here, and the turns are tight. I’ve driven this route a hundred times, and, yes, I’ve even gone faster.

  But I’d been taking a risk then. Saying fuck you to death and danger.

  That’s not my mantra today, and instead of speeding up, I slow down, allowing him to come up beside me.

  He does, the silent engine making it hard for me to judge his speed and acceleration until it’s too late and he’s almost on top of me.

  “Dammit, Devlin. What the fuck?” I don’t know if he’s misjudged the distance or is playing a game, but I scowl into the mirror then speed up, putting a bit of distance between us.

  The next curve is tight, and I reduce my speed to take it. But, dammit, he’s still on my ass. I’m cursing my boyfriend as an idiot when the horrible truth hits me—this isn’t Devlin.

  I’ve barely had time to process that reality when the Tesla slams Shelby’s rear, pushing me forward onto the soft shoulder right as the road curves sharply to the left. I spin the wheel, but there’s no traction, and the fucker taps my bumper again so that my front right tire is only partially on solid ground.

  I gasp as the hood dips, and I realize that the packed dirt has fallen away. Fuck. I shift into reverse and try to inch backward, but the Tesla is doing the same thing, only with much more speed.

  And then I watch in horror as it lunges toward me once again.

  I don’t want to abandon Shelby, but I don’t have a choice. I shove open my door with one hand at the same time I work the buckle with the other.

  But it’s too late. The Tesla hits us again, and Shelby’s entire front end falls over the cliff. We teeter for a moment, and then the cliff falls away and we’re airborne, with me clinging to the door, half in and half out of the car, and knowing with absolute certainly that this time, I really am going to die.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Devlin! Thank God I caught you.”

  Devlin frowned as he paused in the foundation’s parking lot, a few feet from his Land Rover. He could hear the worry in Tamra’s voice, and though Ellie came first to his mind, he knew he was only being paranoid. More likely something had happened that required the foundation’s assistance.

  Either that, or she’d just lined up a new and urgent job for Saint’s Angels.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, moving to meet her, his concern growing as he got closer and saw the fear in her dark eyes.

  “It’s Ellie,” she said, then took his arm as he stumbled back, cursing himself for dismissing his first instinct. “And it’s Christopher.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s not answering her phone, and I think she’s in danger. I was doing research on—”

  “Get in the car,” he said. “Tell me on the way.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked as she strapped on her seatbelt and he started the engine.

  He tossed her his phone. “To find her.” He gave her the password then told her to track Ellie’s location. He didn’t know where he was going, but if she’d had an accident, she was probably in the canyons. Damn her for driving too fast on those roads. She had skill, but that wasn’t always enough, and—

  He frowned, Tamra’s words coming again to him. “What about Christopher?”

  “The signal keeps popping on and off, but it looks like she’s on Winding Hill Road.”

  “Terrible signal quality there. It’ll be hard to pinpoint. But we’ll find her. Hold on,” he said, as he took off down Pacific like a rocket, veering through traffic until he was climbing the canyon roads. “Christopher,” he pressed, his voice as hard as steel. “Tell me.”

  “I’ve been doing research for Brandy. She wanted the Laguna Leader to run an article on the author who’s researching a book in our little town.”

  He could feel his pulse beat in his neck. “Go on.” He didn’t have a clue where this was going, but if Christopher was going after Ellie, then the bastard was a dead man.

  “Christopher Doyle is a pen name. His real name is Christopher Morelli Blackstone.”

  Devlin slammed on the brakes at a four-way stop. “Say that again.”

  “He’s Joseph Blackstone’s half-brother. And maybe it’s nothing, but with the threatening texts and now Ellie not answering her phone, I—”

  “No,” Devlin said. “It’s definitely something.”

  How they got to Winding Hills Road without an accident, Devlin didn’t know. He was driving blind, pushed forward with fear and fury, and taking the curves at a dangerous speed, especially in his Land Rover, and slowing down only when Tamra reminded him that they wouldn’t be able to help Ellie if they went over themselves.

  Her words were still hanging in the air when he took the sharpest curve, then gasped at what he saw up ahead—skid marks burned into the road. And terminating right at the edge of the cliff.

  Bile rose in his throat, fear covering him like a dark blanket. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be dead.

  He didn’t remember slamming on the brakes or killing the engine. He didn’t remember running toward the cliff’s edge.r />
  There was nothing in his head until the moment he reached the edge. Until he forced himself to look over, then felt his knees give out as relief quickly shifted back to terror.

  He could see her—but her position was ridiculously perilous and she was deathly still, half out of the car, with part of her body resting on the open door trapped in the tree’s twisted branches.

  He had no way of knowing if she was even alive, though he refused to believe she was dead. The car had gone over and Ellie must have been trying to get out before it bounced and rolled all the way down the sheer cliff face.

  It was that attempt that saved both her and the car, he thought. The open door had caught on a deeply rooted tree that grew at an angle seemingly out of the rock. Its roots must go deep, Devlin knew, in order to have sustained the car and not been torn free.

  Still, there was pressure and the force of the car’s weight and the intense pull of gravity. Any moment, this precarious nest could come crashing down, and Ellie along with it.

  “Oh, my God.” Tamra had come up behind him, her voice a whisper “That’s a miracle. If the car had gone all the way down. If it slips now…”

  “I know.” The drop beyond the car’s resting place was deadly. And any tremor might send the car tumbling down into the canyon, and Ellie to her death.

  “With me,” he told Tamra, who followed him back to the SUV.

  Devlin opened the back and scoured the few things he kept back there. A jack. A crowbar. A length of chain and another of rope.

  He took the rope, then hurried back, slowing his pace when he reached the shoulder, terrified that even the pressure of his footfalls could send the car skidding down.

  He reached the edge, said a silent prayer, then looked down.

  He didn’t have much time.

  “Don’t move, baby,” he called down. “I’m coming to get you.”