by J. Kenner
“But then one story—one prurient fact shifted that focus. Suddenly it wasn’t about the good that the foundation has done and will do in the future. Instead it became about my father. A man who is exactly the type of horrific human being this foundation was created to fight.”
He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, not caring if he showed a hint of weakness. Because the truth was, he was weak where his relationship to his father was concerned. He’d fought and suffered to leave that man behind, but you could never really escape your past. That was a lesson Devlin had learned the hard way.
He tamped the anger down to continue his speech, seeking out familiar faces in the audience as he said, “There was never a time that Daniel Lopez—my father—wasn’t a vicious, violent bastard. And now that man—that cruel excuse for a human being—is stealing the spotlight from those who deserve it. Now, a man who never felt love and who ruled with fear and intimidation is reaching out from the grave to weaken the very organization that I built to be a stronghold against men like him.”
His voice had taken on a hard edge, reflecting the hatred that he was allowing to bubble to the surface.
It took some effort, but he managed to dial it back, wanting to keep this conference professional. He’d show emotion, yes. But there was a limit to how much he was willing to expose of himself to anyone other than El.
He drew a breath. “This isn’t a conversation I ever wanted to have, but it’s one we must, because Daniel Lopez—the Wolf—has no place in these halls. So I will tell you a story. Once, and only once. And then this foundation will return its focus to our mission of battling the disease of human trafficking and other similar crimes and providing help, education, and training to those who need it.
He paused, looking out on the crowd. Finding El in the audience, the pride in her eyes bolstering him as he paused before continuing to sing the praises of his foundation and the good, work they did, raising up those who needed help and supporting law enforcement as best they could.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. The twisted reality that—because of an order he gave—a team was in Chicago right now preparing to kill a man. A man who deserved it, yes. But it was still Devlin who had signed that death warrant.
Some in this room might call him a hypocrite, but he himself had no doubts. Neither did Tamra or Reggie or Ronan or any of the other Saint’s Angels in that room. Most important, he knew that El was behind him. That she supported not only who he was, but what he did. And that she understood the deeper story. The one he wouldn’t tell the crowd tonight, but that informed everything he’d ever done, including leaving her all those years ago.
He squared his shoulders and began again. “Once upon a time, a young woman ran away from her exceedingly wealthy parents. She met a man. An exotic man. A man with power and charisma who took her off the street and brought her to his home. She married this man, got pregnant, and had a boy. And somewhere in there she learned the truth about her husband. That he wasn’t a good man. That he hurt people, and not only considered it a business model, but that he actually took pleasure in it.”
He swallowed, then continued. “She got up the courage to run, taking the child with her. That child, of course, was me. Daniel Lopez is a relentless man, and he had soon found her. He killed her. He killed her parents, and he took me. I was very young, but he made me a wealthy man, as I inherited my grandparents’ fortune. And try though he might, The Wolf never got those funds. That money—built over generations through hard work and legitimate investments, is the only money I touch personally.”
He let his eyes skim the room. “Did I inherit The Wolf’s fortune when he died? I did. I also made it my mission to disappear, and for years I was successful in hiding. I knew The Wolf’s lieutenants and enemies would begrudge me that ill-earned fortune, and so I resolved to change my identity. As you know, I became Devlin Saint. And during that time I was in hiding, someone killed my father. I could have become Alejandro Lopez again, but I wanted no part of that life, and no connection to that man. What I wanted was to erase the past. But that, of course, wasn’t possible.
“So I did the next best thing. I founded this organization.”
Slowly, he cast his gaze over the entire room. “As for the money I inherited from my father—money I consider to be tainted—I have used it solely for this foundation, to make good from the bad. To support those who need help. To fund programs and services to help the lives of people that my father and men like him hurt and took advantage of. My father used and abused people, then threw them out like garbage. Now, the money that he was so proud of earning is being used to undo as much of the damage he caused as possible.”
He found Ellie, and held her gaze as he continued. “I would not be the man that I am were it not for my father. It is his sins and the sins of men like him I am trying to stop and remediate. I am not my father, and I damn sure do not admire that man. Under no circumstances would I use what I inherited from him for myself. The idea makes me sick. But I will gladly funnel it into programs that help destroy what he built by any and all means at my disposal.”
His eyes were locked on Ellie, and he saw her wipe away a tear. She knew all the ways—the secret ways he did his work, the ways he could never announce publicly—and yet the pride on her face shone bright, and that was the best validation of his life he could hope for.
He drew in a breath, feeling renewed as he said, “I have a goal. To make the world a better place. A safer place. I am not my father. I know it. One day, I hope the world understands it.
“I won’t deny that it was a painful shock to have the Humanitarian of the Year award pulled from me at the eleventh hour. But not because I now have an empty space on my mantel. No, my pain comes from the unpleasant realization that the world judges me—judges all of us—on things other than our own actions. On where we were born. On the color of our skin. On the type of job we hold. And, of course, on who our parents were.
“One of the goals of the DSF has always been to fight injustice and to help the victims of active criminal activities. Today, I am announcing the creation of the Value Within program to help individuals rise above the circumstances of their birth by helping to remediate poverty and improve education. This program will work directly with business of all sizes, both with regard to training and the continuing education of their workforce, but in recruiting them to join our mission.”
He continued, laying out the skeletal details of the new program before straightening his shoulders and sweeping his gaze over the room.
“In sum, I would like to thank the Council for giving me a new purpose. An award would only sit on my mantel. But pulling the award—well, that has led to the creation of another program that has the potential to help millions. And about that, I cannot be sorry.
“I appreciate your time,” he added with a nod to the room. “We have information packets and a press release about the Value Within program available. And, of course, more drinks and dessert. Thank you.”
The room began to buzz, and the spotlight on Devlin clicked off. He forced himself not to draw in a breath, not to show any weakness at all.
But he did look for El, and the light he saw in her eyes eased any lingering doubts.
Then she was heading toward him, weaving through the crowd with her attention focused entirely on him. He started toward her, then hesitated as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw the simple message from Ronan—Done.
Blackstone was dead.
Relief slammed through Devlin, so potent it almost sent him tumbling down the stairs. Then Ellie was standing in front of him, telling him he was amazing and asking what was wrong, and the answer was nothing—right then nothing was wrong.
He took her hand and pulled her to him. “I love you,” he said. “I need you.”
He was wired, he knew that. From the speech. From the message. From the weight of the secret he’d been keeping being finally released. He needed her—damn social obligations, he’d
make the rounds in a few minutes. Right then, all he wanted was El.
He drew her up the stairs to the second floor, then into the elevator so they could get to his office quicker.
“Devlin, what are you—” But he silenced her with a hard, bruising kiss that had her moaning and then melting against him, so that she was just as eager as he was when the elevator opened in front of his office.
They were through the doors and at his desk in what felt like seconds, and he lifted her onto his desk, pushing her legs apart as she struggled to pull down his fly. He hesitated only a second to look into her eyes. To see more than hear her whispered, “Yes, oh, God, yes,” before he clutched her hips and tugged her closer, then lost himself inside her.
Christ, she felt good. He looked at her face, drinking her in. “Open your eyes,” he said, then just about lost it when she did, and he was overwhelmed with the love and passion he saw reflected there.
“Harder,” she whispered. “Devlin, I need it, too.”
He bent over her, pushing her back onto the desk and pulling her knees up. His cock was inside her, his hands on her breasts, and his mouth claiming hers with a kiss as wild as fucking.
He was close—so damn close. And he knew her body well enough to know that she was, too.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against her mouth. “Come for—”
The door burst open.
“Saint, dammit, we have to—oh, shit.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Jesus Christ,” I say, struggling to adjust my clothes as Devlin does the same. Not that Lamar hasn’t seen me in my underwear. But as far as I know, he’s never seen me having sex. And I don’t think that we need to expand our friendship into that dimension. “Don’t you knock?”
Devlin scowls at Lamar, who’s repeating “Sorry, sorry,” his words coming out on top of ours. “But—”
“You can’t just—” I begin. Then the words die on my tongue as Brandy steps out from behind Lamar, mascara-tinted tears staining her cheeks. “Oh, no.” I grapple for Devlin’s hand, then squeeze. “What happened?”
Lamar’s expression is tight as he gestures to the seating area in Devlin’s office.
“I’m really sorry,” Lamar says. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to get to both of you.”
“It’s fine,” Devlin says dismissively, though my cheeks are still burning with embarrassment. “I should have thought to lock it. What’s going on?”
Devlin settles into a chair across from the sofa where Lamar and Brandy are now seated. I perch on the armrest, letting Devlin’s hand at my back steady me.
Lamar looks at both of us, his expression completely miserable as he holds Brandy’s hand. Brandy is silent, but tears still track dark lines down her face. Fear cuts through my gut, replacing what earlier had been irritation.
“Lamar, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Christopher,” Brandy whispers, her voice raw and rough and very audible.
I look to Lamar. “Oh, God. Is he hurt? What happened?”
Brandy chokes back a sob as she tries—and fails—to answer.
“I’m so sorry, Sherlock,” he says gently, as if the nickname will soften a blow. “But he was driving the SUV. The one that almost killed you.”
I gape at Lamar, then turn to Devlin. I’m completely shell-shocked, unable to believe it. We’d vetted him. Hell, we were with him last night, laughing on the couch, and everything had seemed perfectly normal. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he was keeping such a huge secret. And yet now that I’m looking at Devlin’s face, I realize that this isn’t a surprise.
Quickly, I look back at Lamar, but I see nothing on his face to indicate that he knows that Devlin is one step ahead of him. And that, of course, means that Devlin wants Lamar to believe that he’s just as surprised as I am.
“This is crazy,” I say, which pretty much sums up all of my emotions. “Are you sure?”
“Tell us what happened. What’s your source? Is Christopher in custody?” Devlin steadies me so I don’t slide off the chair as he stands up. Then he heads to the bar. “I need a drink. Anyone else?”
“I’m on duty.” Lamar says, as Brandy shakes her head. I get up and go sit by her, and she reaches out for my hand.
“Well, I’ll take one,” I say. “Scotch. Straight up.”
Devlin brings the drinks back and nods at Lamar. “Well?”
“A few minutes ago, someone called the station asking where they could send evidence in Ellie’s hit and run. The sergeant gave him the email for the department, and a few minutes later a message came in. No text, no explanation. Just a photograph. Three photographs actually showing multiple angles, and all of Christopher in the car.”
He looks at our faces in turn as if to make sure that we’re paying attention. I can’t speak for Devlin or Brandy, but as for me, I’m completely rapt. “Could it have been Photoshopped?”
“Theoretically, but I doubt it.” He grimaces. “The sergeant forwarded it to me since I was working the case, and he knows that you and I are friends. He remembered what happened when you were almost run down.”
“So you’re digging into one of the foundation’s lovely desserts when you get a text with three images.”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“And he got the call from the sergeant when we were talking,” Brandy says. She’s wiped her cheeks with a tissue and some of her color is coming back. “Christopher was supposed to meet me here to listen to Devlin, but he didn’t show. I’d been calling and texting, but nothing. I was telling Lamar how worried I was getting.”
“Once Brandy told me he’d stood her up, I had a black-and-white go to his AirBnB. No one had been dispatched yet, since they didn’t have a positive ID until I saw the photos, and even then there was no way for LCPD to know where he was staying. Not easily. We got lucky, since I was with Brandy.”
“He wasn’t there,” Devlin guesses.
“No, he wasn’t. Nothing was. His laptop’s gone. Suitcases gone. The refrigerator was still stocked, but other than food, the place had been cleared of any sign of him. Mostly, anyway.”
“Mostly?”
“There was a note,” Brandy says. “For me.”
“He left you a note?” Devlin looks between her and Lamar. “What did it say?”
Lamar passes over his phone. “That’s a picture the officer on duty sent me.”
“[email protected] plus something that looks like a password.”
“That’s the email that distributed the leak,” I say. “Was that a password? Did you log in?”
“We did,” Lamar says, taking back his phone. “As far as we can tell, that’s the only thing that email account was ever used for.”
Brandy looks from me to Devlin. “That means he was the leak, doesn’t it?”
I nod, feeling miserable for my friend. “Yeah,” I say. “It does.”
“Why tell me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I think it’s because he genuinely cared about you. He knows he has to run, but he wants to help you and your friends.”
“Who cares what he wants?” she snaps. “God, I wish I’d never met him.”
“I know.” I put my arm around her and look helplessly toward Devlin. I want to console her, but there are things to do and more questions to ask. And I know damn well that Devlin is itching to get them out of his office so he can contact Ronan and the other angels who are downstairs mingling this very minute.
“Thank you for letting us know,” Devlin says, his attention on Lamar as he starts to rise. “I assume you’re heading for the scene?”
“Actually, there’s more.”
Devlin’s brows rise and he settles back, then nods for Lamar to continue.
“As I was talking with the officer onsite at Christopher’s AirBnB, I got an email. This one wasn’t from the station. This one came from Joseph Blackstone’s email address.”
I look at Devlin, confused. Especia
lly because by the time Devlin was making his speech, the team should have taken out Joseph Blackstone. Devlin’s face is still completely unreadable, so I turn back to Lamar for answers. “You’re saying Joseph Blackstone sent you an email?”
“Or someone pretending to be him. But this one didn’t have the pictures. It was text.”
“What does it say?” Devlin asks.
Lamar taps his phone again, then passes it to Devlin. I’m curious enough that I leave Brandy’s side to look over Devlin’s shoulder. It’s an email chain, and in it, Joseph Blackstone is messaging with his half-brother Christopher about the preparations for Anna’s revenge. Including a very specific mention of the plan to have Christopher run me over in the SUV in order to distract Devlin.
I look over Devlin’s head to Lamar. “There was nothing in any of Anna’s belongings or on any of her devices that suggested that this was happening. That Christopher had anything to do with it. Is it fake or did she not know?”
“Good question,” Lamar says.
Devlin passes the phone back to Lamar. “It sounds to me like either Christopher really did drive that SUV, or someone very much wants us to think he did.”
“Joseph Blackstone?”
Devlin nods. “Quite possibly.”
I almost screw up and blurt out that Blackstone’s dead. At least, I assume the team’s taken him out by now. Fortunately, I realize that Devlin’s playing it cool around Lamar and hold my tongue as Lamar frowns, then tugs on his chin, a sure sign he’s thinking. “He wants you focused on who tried to run Ellie down as opposed to who decided to tell the world about your father.”
“A solid theory,” Devlin tells Lamar. “If it’s true, it means that Blackstone’s running scared.”
“Hang on,” I say. “I want to see something.” I move to Lamar’s side and take the phone from him. This time I scroll through the email chain to the bottom. “There are other names on the first one,” I say. I recognize some from things Devlin has told me. M. Espinoza, R. Duarte, and several others. “They got taken off as the chain became about the attack on me. But they must be Blackstone’s people.”