Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2)

by Vaughan, Susan

  “Maybe the Sphinx’s but I’m guessing not Leon’s.”

  “No answers, ancient or new. I left the rings chilling while I ran. Seemed safer than carrying them in my pocket on the streets. Figured the freezer was another layer of protection along with the security system.”

  “Linked like that, they look like copper pipes,” Mara said. “You know, for plumbing.”

  Cort stared at her, then at the rings. His brain flashed back to a workbench littered with Dante Falco’s bump key, a keybit, and other tools. Including short copper pipes.

  The hairs rose on the back of his neck as his gaze and his mind raced. He set down his tea so hard that liquid splashed out the top. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?” She ambled over and picked up the joined rings.

  “In Falco’s basement, the burglar dumped drawers of tools and junk onto the surface of his workbench. When the rock and then the Molotov cocktail went through the window, I forgot everything else. For days I’ve tried to figure out what was bothering me about the incongruity of what I saw on the bench.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  “Along with his burglary tools, copper pipe. All shiny bright and unused. He had many talents, but fishing toy boats from the nameless muck in toilet drains to give him entry into people’s houses? Not the fastidious Dante Falco I knew. Not likely. And I saw no plumbing tools. So why have short lengths of copper pipe?” He picked up the linked rings. “After that drawer, no more were dumped out. The rest of the basement was untouched.”

  Her luscious mouth formed an O as she saw what he was getting at. “What better place to hide his ring piece than mixed in with similar rings?”

  “Clever. Except his ruse didn’t work.” He ran a finger across the remaining jagged edge, where either another ring would join these. “The Centaur guy has his ring piece.”

  “We can pay another visit to Twyla Hauptman. Persuade her to give us her husband’s.”

  He shook his head, pulled her into his arms. Nothing better to soothe his niggling doubts. “No time to spare. Forget the Widow Hauptman. Forget Centaur. Their rings will do them no damn good. Even if they had the rest of the rhyme, they wouldn’t know where to go.”

  “What about the symbols, the runes, you called them?”

  “Maybe we’ll find the key to that once we get to the hiding place.” He shrugged off the plague of a puzzle. Now he had some plaguing of his own to do. He kissed her and poured a mug of coffee. “One for the road. How about you pack while I carry out the next part of our plan?”

  “Fine. But how long do you think it’ll take?”

  “Forty-five minutes tops. I’ll go out the alley in case Rousso’s watching.”

  At the door, she reached for his free hand. “Be careful. He has a gun and doesn’t hesitate to kill.”

  No one had worried about him for a long, long time. The caring and concern in her eyes thawed something dormant in his wary heart, something that rumbled to life and hummed. He didn’t need the confusion of such soft emotions. He needed to be sharp and focused.

  “No sweat, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything dangerous,” he said, his mouth set in a grim line. “Just devious.”

  Chapter 26

  Would Cort be safe? Would Rousso or whoever get to him? Mara’s stomach churned as she headed to the bedroom with her mug of coffee. She dragged an overnight bag from beneath the bed.

  Just as well they had no time. She hardly felt like celebrating. And not because of her father’s guilt. She wasn’t okay with that, but her boss’s validation of her as a person helped. Her anguish had to do with Cort. As soon as they found the crown jewels and turned them over to the authorities, she’d never see him again. Her heart bumped so hard she dropped onto the bed. Cort desired her, wanted her, cared about her, but he wasn’t interested in her love. He’d spent so many years repressing emotion, he could feel nothing but the darkness of his father’s ghost and the weight of his crime.

  When tears threatened, she jumped to her feet. “Dammit, no. Stop it.”

  After throwing some clothes and toiletries in her bag, she hit the shower. The hot spray massaged her tense shoulders as she soaped up. For a few more days, she would be with him. Until then she had to ditch her silly girlish dreams.

  Focus on the goal. Determination, not desire or dreams.

  A few minutes later, clean, dry, and marginally more relaxed, she stepped out of the tub, a small towel wound around her damp hair and a fluffy white one wrapped around her body.

  Her stomach took a swoop when she spied Cort in the doorway, all muscle and masculinity, one brawny shoulder propped against the doorjamb. “Don’t scare me like that. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Sorry. Guess we’re both on edge.”

  She sagged against the tile with relief he was safe and apparently successful. She had an idea what he’d done but decided to let him tell it. “What did you do with the transponders?”

  “Yerik’s is on the table.” His grin punched in his dimple in a way that sped up her heart. “And the other, you know that Starbucks around the block?”

  She frowned, confused. “Yeah, but what...”

  He stepped closer and unwound the big towel, let it drop to the floor. His hot gaze perused her body with such intimate slowness, heat pulsed inside her with an insistent beat.

  “Always a couple cabs parked outside while the cabbies load up on caffeine for their shift. I took a Yellow Cab over to the Renaissance off Connecticut.”

  “A hotel?” When his hand skimmed along her hip, she could scarcely breathe, let alone ask a sensible question.

  “Hotel seemed like a good place to catch a return trip. The first cab now has an electronic hitchhiker tucked under the backseat. It’ll ride around the city all night sending its signal. Rousso will be chasing his tail. Not us.”

  Even if the cabby changed shifts, the car would keep going. She puffed out a breathy laugh, allowed him to tug her against his hard torso.

  He lifted the small towel from her hair and slid his fingers through the damp tresses, gently massaging her scalp and working out the tangles. “Mmm, even beneath the soap, I can smell the scent of your skin. Unique, an aphrodisiac.”

  His words and the sensual caress made her head spin. He smelled damned good too, salty and male. Her legs nearly gave way. “What about the FBI? Don’t you want them to know where we’re going?”

  “Not yet. I don’t trust Leon. The raised runes bug me. I have to know this ring puzzle is for real and the crown jewels are still there before I call Kaplan.”

  “I understand.” Cort feared what the FBI would do if this turned out to be another of Leon’s merry chases. They would make Cort’s life harder than ever. For his sake, she prayed his father had played it straight this last time.

  “And, Mara, tell your sister nothing. Nothing. We still don’t know André’s game.” His eyes searched hers. For agreement? Or deception?

  That he still didn’t trust her sent a chill through her. “I know. I won’t. I haven’t told her we’re leaving town.” You can trust me. But if he didn’t after all this time, telling him so would make no difference. “I still have frequent-flier miles. We could get to Maine faster than driving.”

  He shook his head. “I checked the schedules. Flying to a small-market airport like Portland gives meaning to the Maine saying, ‘You can’t get theah from heah.’ We can make better time driving and stay under the radar now we’re not bugged.”

  He planted his big hands on her bottom and pulled her harder against his erection. “We still have time before we need to leave.”

  Dreams versus determination? Well, maybe one more diversion wouldn’t hurt. She intended to make it one for the memory banks. “Let’s make good use of it then.”

  “Hoped you’d say that.” He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

  As soon as he deposited her on the bed, she bounced up and worked at his belt buckle. “You stripped me. Now it’s my turn.”

&nb
sp; “Sweetheart, if you want control, be my guest.”

  She kissed his eyes, his mouth, his scars. Holding his gaze, she yanked his shirt off over his head and threaded her fingers through the dusting of chest hairs. I want to memorize every line and angle, the taste and feel and heat of you so I never forget these weeks together.

  When she’d rid him of every stitch of clothing, they tumbled onto the bed together.

  The very male scent of him, the heavy contours of his muscles, and the languid heat in his eyes enthralled her. She caressed his chest, toying with the whorls of crisp hair, teasing the flat coins of his nipples with her tongue, and he sank into the bed, head thrown back as if his body were too heavy to move. She slid down him, pleasure rippling through her, thrilling at the dark leap of passion in his half-closed eyes. She heard soft moans and realized they came from her as she rubbed herself over his engorged length.

  When she closed her mouth around him, he lifted off the bed. His hands reached for her but she slithered out of reach.

  “Not yet,” she murmured.

  “You’re killing me, woman.” Both his fists gripped the bed covers.

  She hummed as she licked and suckled and tasted, driving them both higher. When she heard her name moaned, she slid upward and straddled him. His hand covered her abdomen and dipped between her legs, building sensation, making her senses reel. With no other man had she ever found such complete immersion, such fever, such freedom. With him she could hold back nothing, no longer wanted to. Need roared in her ears, and she covered him with protection and lowered herself onto him. The edgy thrill, the sparking of circuits, the thudding of her heart—this was where she belonged. Locked together, bodies, hands, and gazes, they stilled, the moment spinning out on a thread as bright and hot as sunshine. His body moved, slowly, languidly, thrusting with her, prolonging her torture, as if he too wanted to stretch out the time. Pleasure pulsed through her veins, slicking her body, carrying her to the beckoning peak.

  When liquid sparks pulsed in her body, she let go, soaring with white hot pleasure, her whole body rippling above him, around him with explosive spasms. She felt him seize up and join her, the liquid fire fusing them into one.

  ***

  Mara held the restroom door for a woman with a baby in a stroller. The woman smiled widely and thanked her in Spanish.

  “De nada.” The limit of Mara’s Spanish language fluency.

  She spied a Starbucks in the food court and hustled over. She’d napped some of the five hours since they’d left D.C., but she needed coffee before taking over the wheel from Cort. Rather than her usual mocha, she ordered a venti French roast. Caffeine, smoothed out with a little milk, a little sweetener.

  She headed for the door. The attendant must’ve finished filling the truck with gas and Cort would be anxious about getting back on the road.

  When her jeans pocket vibrated, she opened her cell phone and looked at the screen.

  Cassie. At this time of night?

  The scrambler and GPS blockers were still intact so it would be safe to talk to her. “Hey, sis, you’re up late.”

  “You didn’t answer before. It went right to voice mail.” Cassie’s whiny plaint was nasal, as if she’d been crying.

  “Sorry. Guess I turned it off by accident.” She’d doused it so she could sleep uninterrupted and just turned it back on in the restroom. “What’s up?”

  “André. He’s gone.”

  “Gone? You broke up?”

  “I don’t know what else you’d call it.” Cassie hiccupped her way through a stream of consciousness recital of their evening. Romantic picnic on the boat in the Inner Harbor, wine, chocolate. Then André received a phone call and said he was leaving the country and wouldn’t return. He turned around and left her at her door. Boom. “Mara, he was The One. I know it. And he’s never coming back.”

  “Never?”

  The honk of Cassie blowing her nose came through the phone loud enough to stress the scrambler. “Never. His French accent made dumping me sound so smooth and sexy, but it’s still the same result as in English. ‘It’s been great, baby, but it’s over. I’m outta here.’ “

  Mara murmured soothing words, forcing herself not to say I told you so. “If he can drop you so coldly, he’s not the man you thought he was.”

  Cassie sniffled. “I thought tonight was special, that he’d... oh, I don’t know anymore. Livvie’s not here. She’s sleeping over at her best friend’s. Can you come? We can cry over a chick flick, like old times.”

  Mara closed her eyes, the pain in Cassie’s voice tightening her chest. She hadn’t told either her or Mom about finding Dad’s ring piece. She couldn’t. Not yet. She hadn’t been able to find the words. The truth would come out once this quest ended. The press would be all over the return of the Gramornia crown jewels and the puzzle ring. She would let her family down easy.

  But not now.

  André was gone. For good, in both senses of the word. Mara’d pegged him for a sleaze from the start. She had to tell Cassie something but she’d promised Cort. Maybe generalities. Just in case. “I wish I could but I’m halfway... across the country.”

  “But— With Cort? Why?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when I return. Love you. Hold on, Cass. It’ll be all right.” She saw Cort motioning to her through the glass doors. “I can’t talk anymore now. See you soon.”

  Mara understood for the first time how Cassie felt—a hole in her chest, scraped out by a serrated blade—the same way she felt knowing her affair with Cort would end soon. When they parted, the hole would be a crater. She loved him, this intense, protective, fearless man. Maybe passion wasn’t to blame, but she’d allowed herself to fall for the wrong man anyway, wrong because he couldn’t love her back, couldn’t trust himself not to fail her.

  On a sigh she pushed through the doorway and crossed the pavement to the truck.

  Cort helped her adjust the driver’s seat. “Phone call?”

  “Cassie,” she said. “André has left. Again. This time it seems for good.”

  “Maybe it is good. I didn’t trust that guy.”

  Better to keep the rest of the conversation to herself. She hadn’t told Cassie anything important. He was so focused on secrecy and retrieving the jewels she didn’t want to worry him.

  Rationalizing? Maybe. Her pulse rattled, and her gut felt hard as a rock.

  ***

  Cort watched Mara handle the Silverado in and out of the swarming lanes of traffic. He hated the Jersey Turnpike. Old and dangerous. Jersey drivers were worse than the hell-drivers in Boston. Cars and trucks whizzed by approaching warp speed. Normally he hated turning over the truck to someone else. No one knew her eccentricities like he did.

  But Mara insisted he sleep. She was doing all right, plugged in and bopping to her iPod. She’d pulled back her hair into a single braid, showcasing her beautiful bone structure.

  “I’m comfortable driving this monster now,” she said with a wink.

  Reading his mind again or just the scowl on his face? He smoothed his features. I’m surprised you’re not frying with curiosity at where we’re going.”

  “Approaching cinder status but I conceal it well. Are you going to tell me now? If so, let me tune my iPod to “Pomp and Circumstance.”

  “Tune away.” Good. She wasn’t too ticked at him for holding back on her. “Maine. We’ll stop at my cabin first. If Leon isn’t screwing the world with this puzzle ring, the crown jewels are hidden at an old fishing camp not far away.”

  “The fountain in the poem is a pond?”

  “The camp’s on Fogg Lake but he meant the spring in the woods just beyond the shack. I own the place but I haven’t been there in years.”

  She reached out to squeeze his knee. “Your dad took you there?”

  “When I was a kid, we fished sometimes when he needed to chill after a heist. Part of his plan to program me included the camp, along with rock climbing and wilderness survival.”

 
“I’m surprised you returned to Maine at all.”

  “But for the Birch Lake Woodcraft Center hiring me I probably wouldn’t have.” Or did he come back because of Leon rather than in spite of him? He couldn’t blame his father for his own stupidity. The closer he got to solving the puzzle, the less hatred burned in his chest.

  The Newark exit signs meant the Parkway was next. Rosie would guide her if he fell asleep.

  “So your dad bought a fishing camp in Maine as a getaway?” she prompted.

  “Not exactly. It used to belong to his father.”

  “And he passed it down to you. That’s really sweet.”

  He snorted. “Vasco Mallory was a jewel thief like Leon. The Royal Canadian Mounties threw a party when the old reprobate died. He’s buried in Montreal. He taught Leon everything he knew, except Leon took the family profession a step further by becoming a jeweler to eliminate tracing his stolen goods. Leon changed his name from Mallory so American cops wouldn’t make the connection.”

  She was grinning like a kid with a new toy. “Wait a minute. Vasco. Leon—”

  “And Cortez, yup.” He’d been waiting for her to make the connection. “My French-Canadian great-grandfather—name plain old Jean—had a thing for explorers. Thought about changing my name but never got around to it. Probably won’t now. The FBI would think I was plotting something.”

  “I’ve kinda grown used to Cortez,” she said. “I can’t wait to see this fishing spot.”

  “ ‘FOUNTAIN OF MY YOUTH’ is a play on words. My grandfather used to joke the spring beside the camp was the fountain of youth—”

  “So he named his son for Ponce de Leon,” she finished.

  “Leon was grateful he chose Leon and not Ponce.” He slewed over a little in his seat so he could gauge her reaction. “The fishing camp’s only about an hour away from my place. I can be there and back no problem. And you’ll be safer staying at the cabin.”