Take the Key and Lock Her Up

by LENA DIAZ,

  Later, after the twins were born and Austin faced physical challenges no child should ever have to face, Austin developed the sarcastic, defensive shell that he showed the world. But Devlin could see the same hurt inside his brother that was inside him. Neither of them felt like they belonged, and because of that, he and his little brother had become fast friends. Even to this day, if Austin needed someone to confide in, it was usually Devlin he called.

  “I don’t understand how he could have loved the egg donor this much.” Austin’s words broke through Devlin’s thoughts, yanking him back to the present. Since Austin had spoken so quietly, Devlin assumed he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, so he didn’t respond.

  Austin’s derogatory label for his mother didn’t fool Devlin. Growing up with significant health issues had given Austin a lot of time to sit and think and resent his mother for not being there when he needed her most. He had probably suffered just as much as Alex because of Carolyn’s abandonment.

  No, that wasn’t true. No one could have suffered as much as Alex, not if he truly loved Carolyn. Devlin knew that for a fact because he’d loved that deeply once, a long time ago. And since Arianna’s death, he’d never been the same either.

  Pierce and Braedon had both found out about her during an impromptu visit to Devlin’s dorm during his junior year. And since he’d just asked her to marry him, he’d sworn them to secrecy, preferring to introduce her to the family and make the announcement at the end of the semester. He was worried that his father wouldn’t approve of him getting married because he still had a year left in college. So he’d wanted to wait until he could introduce her to Alex in person, figuring his father would have to love her as much as he did and would accept the engagement. He needed his father to understand that Arianna wasn’t interfering with his life. She was his life.

  Until her tragic death a month later.

  Austin swatted him on the shoulder with a dish towel. “What are you moping about?”

  Devlin locked away his thoughts about his former fiancée and forced a smile. “Women. What’s that saying? Can’t live with them or without them?”

  Austin snorted. “Like you’ve ever had a problem in that department. Every time you visited me in college, all those sexy sorority girls I was trying so hard to get to notice me fell all over themselves trying to get you to notice them. I dreaded every one of your visits.” He shook his head in disgust, but his grin told Devlin he was teasing. Mostly.

  “That was a long time ago. I’m much more mature now. I’ve learned to appreciate women and take things much slower.”

  Austin gave him a droll look. “It was only three years ago. And you’re obviously still a ladies’ man. Every time I’ve been at your house you’ve had a different woman coming out of the bedroom.”

  Ladies’ man. He’d earned that reputation, he supposed. He’d gone on a binge of self-destruction after Arianna’s death. But he’d quickly realized the key to survival wasn’t drowning his sorrows in whiskey or a beautiful woman. The key was to keep himself so busy with work that he didn’t have time to think about what he’d lost.

  Still, the ladies’ man label had stuck. And he’d found it useful to keep the illusion alive. It kept Braedon and Pierce from worrying about him and the darkness that had nearly consumed him after Arianna’s death. It also kept his family from expecting more of him. The fact that he supposedly made a living taking wealthy people on tours to exotic locations served only to enhance his reputation of not taking life seriously. It was his cover, his way of keeping his family from asking questions he didn’t want to answer. They all thought he was shallow and immature. Sometimes that stung. But keeping his family in the dark was how he protected them, so it was worth the occasional humiliation.

  He maintained a Cheshire cat grin, as if secretly thinking about all his conquests. “You’re making that up,” he teased. “When’s the last time you were at my house?”

  “Last summer. And I still remember the sweet little dish you had that time—brunette, leggy, tiny waist, great big—”

  “Shut up.” This time Devlin was the one to snap a dish towel against his brother’s shoulder.

  “What was her name? Shandra? Sharon? Sherry?”

  Devlin laughed, genuinely amused that his little brother was describing an enforcer as if she were a bimbo. In truth, they’d been in the middle of planning a joint operation when Austin had shown up. After seeing his brother on the security cameras outside, Devlin had suggested that Shannon pretend to be his girlfriend to explain her presence and, he hoped, to encourage his brother not to stay very long. She’d thrown herself into the role, surprising both Austin and Devlin when she’d stepped out of his bedroom naked, pretending shock and embarrassment when she’d discovered Austin was there.

  The ploy had worked. Austin was gone within a minute, his face a fiery red even while he stared unabashedly. Not that Devlin could blame him. He’d stared his fill as well, and he and Shannon had ended up sharing a lot more than mission plans after his brother left. But they’d both known it was just for the night; no strings, no promises. And he hadn’t seen her since. Last he’d heard, she’d gone deep undercover on a mission. She could be anywhere in the world right now.

  “Her name was Shannon Fisher, and I’m sure she’d resent being called a ‘sweet little dish.’ She’s an intelligent woman who runs her own small business.” He repeated the fake cover she’d used last summer.

  “But you’re probably not dating her anymore.” Austin wheeled around to face him. “And like all of the women you date, you never brought her home to meet Dad. What was wrong with this one? She looked pretty close to perfect to me.”

  Devlin shoved away from the countertop. “I should have made you clean the kitchen by yourself.”

  Austin followed him to the kitchen archway. Devlin didn’t relish the additional teasing his little brother would probably dose out for the next half hour about all the women Devlin had “enjoyed” through the years.

  The doorbell rang just as he stepped into the foyer. He glanced at his brother in surprise. Alex’s property was a good distance from Savannah, a several-hundred-acre spread without any neighbors close by. No one just “stopped by.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Someone gonna get that before they wake Alex?” Braedon called out from the family room.

  “I’ve got it.” Devlin looked through the peephole and swore.

  “What’s wrong? Who is it?” Austin asked.

  Devlin swung the door open and braced his hands on the door frame. “O’Malley, haven’t you done enough damage for one day? Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

  She clasped a thick manila folder to her chest, which of course sent Devlin’s thoughts down the lusty path of self-destruction again. Maybe he should try to get her into bed just so he could work her out of his system. One thing was for sure—he didn’t want her inside the house. She was enough of a distraction in his thoughts without having to deal with her in person.

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am,” she said. “But I couldn’t risk your family hearing about this secondhand. The lieutenant is already feeling pressure on this case even though it’s only a handful of hours old. He’s holding a press conference in the morning. So, no, this couldn’t wait.”

  “What couldn’t wait?” Austin asked.

  When Devlin didn’t move to let O’Malley inside, she shot him an exasperated look.

  “May I please come in?” she asked.

  He tried not to. He really tried. But his gaze dipped down to those perfect, heavy breasts, modestly covered by her plain white button-down blouse. For the tiniest of moments he allowed his gaze to linger, to caress her curves, to trace the shadow that hinted at the hidden cleavage. To his dismay, he started to harden.

  He wrenched his gaze up to her face and glared at her. “You’re not setting foot in this house without a warrant or a damn good reason.”

  She returned his glare without a hint of fear or respec
t for the fact that he towered over her both in height and muscle mass. She was feisty, stubborn, and a real pain in the ass. Which made him want her only more.

  “How about this for a reason?” she snapped. “The body in the morgue is not your stepmother.”

  EMILY TRIED TO pay attention while Devlin made the introductions, but after meeting his four very tall, handsome, impressive-looking brothers—including Austin, even if he was hampered by a wheelchair—she couldn’t remember which name went with which brother. Only two of the Buchanan men were married, which made it easy for Emily to remember the women’s names. Tessa was the green-eyed, auburn-haired FBI agent on the same couch as Emily. Tessa’s husband sat between them. On the opposite couch, the tiny, black-haired beauty named Madison, sat beside her husband. Devlin sat beside him.

  Austin’s wheelchair was a few feet from Emily. The last brother—she thought his name might be Braedon—sat alone on the couch that made up the middle of the U-shaped arrangement. But there was one person noticeably absent.

  “Where’s Mr. Buchanan?” When all the men looked her way, she realized how foolish that question had been. “I meant your father, Alex. Is he home?”

  “He’s here,” Devlin said.

  She waited, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain further. “He needs to be here for this discussion.”

  He waved his hand to encompass the rest of the family. “We’ll decide what to tell him after we hear you out.”

  His reticence was understandable after everything that had happened, so she forced back her irritation. Still, Alex needed to be here. “It’s important that your father—”

  “You said Carolyn isn’t the woman in the morgue,” Austin said, wheeling right up to the end of the couch. “I thought DNA tests took days or weeks to come back. How can you change your mind so fast? You were sure it was her earlier.”

  The anger in his voice surprised her, especially given his lack of emotion at the station when he’d learned his mother might have been murdered. But as she noted the anguish on his face now, and the concern mirrored in Devlin’s, she realized the hurt that Carolyn Buchanan had inflicted on this family ran much deeper than she’d thought. They weren’t cold and unfeeling. Quite the opposite. The survivors—the ones left behind when Carolyn had abandoned them years ago—had formed a close-knit family, and the common emotions they shared were love and concern for one another and their father.

  But Austin’s hurt went deeper. She could see that by the spark of hope in his eyes. He thought his mother was still alive. What had she done? She’d been here only a few minutes and already she’d bungled things. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt these people again.

  “O’Malley.” Devlin’s deep voice broke into her thoughts.

  Relief swept through her at the excuse to look away from Austin’s tortured gaze. Devlin looked at her with none of the anger, condemnation, or even hope that had been in his brother’s eyes. Instead, he gave her a small smile of encouragement.

  “Whatever you have to tell us, just say it.”

  She gave him a grateful nod. “Thank you. On behalf of my entire department, I’d like to express our deepest apologies to your family. We made a terrible mistake saying Carolyn was one of the victims in that basement. We know now that she wasn’t. But,” she said, forcing herself to be brave and looking at Austin as she broke the rest of the bad news, “that doesn’t mean she’s alive. I’m sorry to tell you this, but she died a few months ago in a single-car accident. That’s why we don’t have to test the DNA.”

  Austin’s face paled, confirming that she’d been right—he’d been holding out hope that his mother was still alive. “Are you sure this time?” he accused.

  “Half the department is working on this case because of the urgency to find the missing women before it’s too late. We’ve found out quite a bit in the last few hours. One of the detectives was assigned to find Carolyn’s last known address, which was in a small town about an hour away. And when he went there, he spoke to the person still living in the home—her husband—who told us about the accident. We verified the information through local police records. We even pulled her death certificate, which was under her married name—the reason it didn’t come up in the routine search we performed earlier today. We did everything right this time, got all the facts together before I came out here. So, yes, Austin, I’m certain that Carolyn is gone. I’m so sorry.”

  He stared at her for a moment. Then he shrugged and looked away, as if he didn’t care. But Emily wasn’t fooled. She doubted anyone else in the room was either.

  “What about the jewelry?” Devlin asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Did you ask her husband about that?”

  “Yes. He told us it was reported stolen four months ago, just a few months before the car crash. Carolyn is the one who reported it. Our detective worked with the local police to verify that as well.”

  “Are there any leads on who stole the jewelry?” Devlin asked. “It could have been the killer. But it also could have been a petty thief who pawned it, and the killer acquired the jewelry that way.”

  “Those are both theories we’re considering. We haven’t had time to look into them yet.”

  On the couch beside Emily, Austin’s identical twin edged forward. His poise, and calm, friendly demeanor, gave the impression he was much older than Austin.

  “I’m Matt,” he reminded her. “I’m a private investigator. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

  “Not at all. Go ahead.”

  “I’d be surprised if Carolyn wore that jewelry in public, since it was specific to this family. The charm bracelet would have made friends or co-workers curious.”

  “You’re right. Her husband said she never wore the jewelry.”

  “Was anything else stolen?” That question came from his wife, Tessa.

  Emily couldn’t help but smile. It was obviously impossible for a family of FBI agents and PIs to allow her to say what she’d come here to say without barraging her with questions.

  “Just jewelry—the items you know about and a handful of others.”

  “Anything expensive?” Tessa continued.

  She shrugged. “Expensive enough. Total value was just under six thousand dollars.”

  Matt nodded, as if absorbing that information. “So the thief, or thieves, took the jewelry but nothing else. I assume there would have been other items of value in the home.”

  “Yes, and before you ask, we’ve already concluded the theft doesn’t seem typical. If other jewelry hadn’t also been stolen, I’d suspect someone had specifically gone looking for those particular pieces. Then again, the thief could have taken the additional pieces to make sure no one realized he was specifically targeting any of it.” She turned her gaze to Devlin. “And we can’t ignore the tie-in at the murder scene this morning—that one of Carolyn’s sons just happened upon that basement where his stepmother’s jewelry had been left with a corpse.”

  When Devlin didn’t react, she raised her brows. “But you’d already thought of that.”

  “The coincidence is somewhat glaring. It also supports your theory that I’m involved in the murders and abductions.”

  Everyone started talking at once, barraging Emily with denials and angry accusations.

  The brother beside Devlin held up his hand. Surprisingly, everyone quieted down immediately.

  “I’m Pierce, a special agent with the FBI,” he reminded her. Where earlier he’d been calm and only mildly curious as he’d sat and listened, now his eyes practically snapped at her and he was all business.

  “Detective O’Malley, my brother was cleared by Mrs. Hawley’s own statement. If you consider him a suspect, this entire conversation is inappropriate and should be taking place with his attorney, downtown.”

  The angry mutterings started up again.

  Emily held up her hands in surrender. “Listen, everyone. Please. The investigation has only just begun. To be fair, you’re the ones asking me questions,
not the other way around. I’m not here to interrogate Devlin. I came here tonight to correct our mistake about the victim’s identification, and hopefully to make you feel better knowing your mother, your stepmother, wasn’t abducted and murdered. She died tragically, yes, but it was better than what she would have suffered in that basement.”

  Pierce started to reply, but his wife, Madison, shot to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “This is ridiculous. You people arrested Devlin and interrogated him and you don’t even know who the victims are. You have a lot of nerve even showing up here.”

  Pierce gave Emily a pained look and tugged Madison back down on the couch beside him. He whispered something in her ear, which earned him a glare. But she crossed her arms and didn’t say anything else.

  “My apologies,” Pierce said. “My wife has a . . . history . . . with the Savannah police and being the object of false accusations. Regardless, we do appreciate your updating us. My father will be relieved that Carolyn’s death was . . . kinder than it could have been.”

  Emily nodded. “Thank you. I would, however, like to address one thing Mrs. Buchanan said, about our not knowing the identity of the victims.”

  She thumbed through the manila folder, pulled out a sketch, and handed it to Matt. He and his wife studied the paper before passing it to Braedon on the middle couch.

  “That’s a police artist’s rendering of one of the women Mrs. Hawley said was being held with her when she was abducted. As you can see, it’s a very detailed sketch, including a birthmark on the woman’s cheek. So we’re hopeful someone will recognize her once we begin circulating it through the media tomorrow.”