by A. C. Arthur
Then he would have the sonofabitch!
This trace took a few more minutes and then he had to wait for the map to load. Dev looked to the closed bedroom door while he waited, wondering once again what the hell he was doing.
He’d lay in that bed only half sleep through the night. Bailey had lay very close to him, at times her leg or an arm draping over him. She liked to cuddle in the moments when she felt chilly. There was a mix between her shivering, rolling and then wrapping her body around his before she finally decided that kicking off the covers so that one leg would be free was best. She sighed in her sleep. As if all her cares and worries during her waking hours were somehow relieved in slumber. Her body was soft while she slept, thighs that scraped along his hairy legs like silk and plump breasts that pressed alluringly against the hard lines of his chest. All of it bothered him, and enticed him at the same time. With a shake of his head Dev forced himself to look away from that door and to bury the feelings that had him wanting to close down what he was doing and head back to bed with her once more.
The beeping from the tablet drew his attention immediately to the screen. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard to zoom in on the picture. The culprit was a man, there was no doubt about that from the body build to the clothes he wore. Unfortunately, the guy was positioned in a way that his face was unrecognizable. Even magnifying the picture further only produced a blurrier image, one obscured by a light colored mask. Dev cursed, then zoomed out on the picture again, this time looking for landmarks surrounding the man. He wasn’t pleased with the ones he noticed.
One was the Exit sign in the hallway at the Woodland Trauma Center. Dev recognized it from the hallway he and Bailey had walked down when they arrived at the hospital from the cabin. The next landmark was the pool area from the resort where they’d stayed the night before last. The sonofabitch had been looking directly toward the building where their room was.
“Who the hell are you?” he whispered as he glared at the screen. “And why do you have a death wish?”
“Talking to yourself?”
Dev didn’t jump, but looked up slowly to see Bailey standing only a few feet away from him. He hadn’t heard her approach, a fact that made him uncomfortable. He should have been more alert. What if she’d snuck up behind him? She would have seen what he was looking at and would have definitely wanted to know what it all meant. Gritting his teeth, Dev’s fingers moved over the keyboard, shutting down the application and clearing the screen of the alarming information he’d found.
“I’m usually the only one that can answer my questions,” he replied.
“You don’t always have to be a one-man show,” she continued as she moved closer to him.
The nightgown she wore was short, barely skimming her thighs. It was sheer at the top so that the dark circle of her nipples was clearly visible, and an opaque silky peach color flaring around her hips. Her hair was tousled, her lips just a little pouty, her steps determined.
His screen was thankfully back to the internet homepage as she came to stand beside him. Still, she leaned in, touching a hand to his old cell phone.
“I know why you obtained a new phone for me,” she said. “But why one for yourself?”
“Trent needs to focus on being there for Tia. He’s a former team captain which means he can trace my location via my cell phone. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing,” Dev told her.
“What we’re doing,” she corrected. “We’re doing this together, Devlin. So why don’t you take a few minutes to go over the game plan with me.”
He’d continued to stare at the screen, but now Dev turned to look up at her. It wasn’t easy to ignore the delectable curve of her breasts in such close proximity, nor could he effortlessly avoid the stir of arousal. One motion, one turn, a quick adjustment and he could have her straddling him in this chair. She wore nothing beneath that skimpy nightgown, he already knew that and he’d only slipped on his shorts when he’d come out of the room. Just a quick shift and he could be inside her once again. His mind could go blank of any and everything around him as it always did when he was surrounded by her warmth. He could bury his face in the soft curve of her neck and thrust his length deep inside the wet and waiting core of her body.
“We’re going to get Dane to tell us where his mother is and what else she has planned,” he said, his tone gruff. “We’ll go straight to his house, unannounced, and tell him this game is over. Between you and me and our combined interrogation skills, we’ll know if he’s lying. We’ll gather the clues that he won’t even know he’s giving us and our mere presence in his home will alert Roslyn to the fact that we’re no longer playing with her.”
Bailey folded her arms over her chest, the motion effectively pushing her breasts upward. Dev resisted the urge to moan.
“You think she came back to New York as well,” she said. “Dane tells her that Jaydon was shot and that he’s bringing her back here—either for treatment or burial—and Roslyn wants to be with her child. Her motherly instincts being stronger than the ones for revenge.”
“It makes sense,” he said and turned away from her.
Dev removed the cord from his old phone and the table, putting them both in the plastic bag he’d had them stored in before.
“That’s if we look at Roslyn as a normal functioning woman. She’s not you know. Amber’s dad told Brandon about Roslyn’s mental instability,” Bailey told him.
Dev knew all of that but he hadn’t given it a lot of weight.
“She’s a suspect hell bent on revenge. I know her weak spot—her children—that’s where I plan to hit.”
“You think Dane’s been working with her all along?”
“I think they both wanted to find out who Dane’s father was. I think a son will always protect his mother. Right or wrong. Always.”
With that Dev’s fingers clenched on the tablet he’d been just about to shut down. He took a second to let the mixed emotions mingle through his mind and then he stood.
“His house is an hour and a half away. We’ll get dressed and get on the road before noon. You can use your phone again to call your father or your aunt to let them know that you’re still safe and to check on Tia. Don’t tell them where we are, Bailey. We don’t need any interference—no matter how well meaning—at this point. The more people who know, the more people in harm’s way.”
To her credit, she didn’t look afraid of all that he’d said. She’d moved to stand in front of him, tilting her head back so that she could keep eye contact. When he was finished speaking, she gave a nod of understanding and before she walked away, she said, “I know what I’m doing too, Devlin. I’m sure you know that already, but I figured I’d just toss that out there as a reminder.”
It had been her idea, since it was a Monday morning, to try Dane at work first. So when they walked through the glass doors of the sprawling skyscraper in Manhattan which housed the Imagine Energy Corporation, Bailey hadn’t been the least bit surprised that Devlin had stayed back, letting her approach the receptionist at the front desk.
“Good morning,” she said in her most professional and cordial voice. “I’m here to see Dane Donovan.”
If there was a small lump in her throat as she said his name, Bailey didn’t let it deter her.
“My name is Bailey Donovan. I’m his cousin.”
The woman’s stern facial expression shifted, as expected.
“Just one moment. I’ll see if he’s in,” she said to Bailey as she picked up the phone and made a call.
Bailey wore a navy blue jumpsuit, four-inch spike heeled Gucci black leather boots and a black leather jacket that made her feel bad-ass, but look casually chic. It wasn’t exactly what she would have chosen to wear when going out on assignment, but considering the situation, she was grateful that Camille had taken the time to quickly gather some clothes for her. As for the things her cousin’s wife had sent for Devlin to wear, well, Bailey figured she’d have to buy Camille a huge thank you
gift later.
A quick glance over her shoulder and Bailey saw him standing with his legs spread slightly a part. That was his normal stance. His hands were tucked into the front pocket of the dress denim slacks he wore. Camille had stuck with Devlin’s penchant for dark colors, pairing the slacks with a black turtleneck sweater and a three-quarter wool trench coat. Coupled with his dark mocha complexion, eyes covered by gold aviator shades, bald head, neatly shaved goatee and yes, even that scar running the length of his face, Devlin looked debonair and dangerous. Yummy, if she were being totally honest.
“Mr. Donovan is not in the office this morning,” the woman informed her. “His assistant indicated that he would not be in for the duration of the week.”
Bereavement leave, maybe?
“Thank you for your help,” Bailey told the woman before turning to walk away.
Devlin was already moving toward the door, pushing and holding it open for Bailey. When she was through and they were once again outside with the brisk wintry air blowing around them, he took her hand and led her toward the corner where a man in a red jacket stood shivering. Devlin gave the guy his validation ticket and then turned to Bailey.
“We’ll head out to his estate now,” he said. “If he’s out for the week, maybe he’s at home taking care of funeral arrangements.”
“You think she’s dead?” Bailey asked.
“Her pulse was sketchy when I checked. She needed immediate medical attention, possibly even moreso than Tia. If he didn’t let her be examined at the nearest hospital, but instead, transported her somewhere else, possibly somewhere further away, then yeah, it’s likely that she’s dead.”
“So you killed her?” she asked and then had second thoughts as Devlin’s facial expression changed.
The normally grim look on his face, now appeared pinched, as if his forehead, jaw line and lips were all meeting together to show their disagreement with what she’d said.
“We told her to put her weapon down,” he said. “And she fired first.”
Bailey nodded. She’d been there. She knew what had happened.
“I know. I just meant, that she’s dead,” she continued. “Either yours or York’s bullets killed her.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied in a clipped tone.
The car that Devlin had rented came around the corner with one of the attendants driving it. Devlin took her by the arm, pulling her toward the curb and the car. Bailey went with him, trying to ignore how tightly his hand was gripping her arm. She sensed that she’d upset him but she wasn’t totally sure how. It was no secret that Devlin was a trained killer. For that matter, so was Trent. They’d both been trained by the United States Navy to be one of this country’s most lethal weapons.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” she said after she’d fastened her seatbelt and Devlin had traded places with the valet attendant in the driver’s seat.
“I mean, I’ve never actually fired a gun and have that shot kill someone,” she corrected as he pulled the car away from the curb.
When he still didn’t respond, Bailey continued. “I always pass my firearm’s testing. I keep my conceal and carry permits up to date and Sam insists that Bree and I take yearly martial arts training courses. He says we don’t have to be pros, but that it’s good to know a few moves that will catch a perpetrator by surprise.”
“You’re a private investigator,” he replied gruffly. “There should never be a reason you have to go into hand-to-hand combat with anybody.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”
“What kind of cases is this guy assigning you that you have to go out and fight? I thought your assignments were mostly in the cyber realm anyway.”
They were. Now. Bailey remembered clearly when that had all changed. She didn’t want to talk about it, so she looked out the window and remained silent instead. They drove for a while before he asked if she had to use the restroom. She didn’t, but she did want to stretch her legs. Actually, the riding in silence with Devlin and something obviously floating in the air between them, was becoming tiresome. So when he pulled into a rest stop, she got out of the car and moved quickly toward the women’s restroom.
“Hi,” she said after dialing a number into her cell phone and waiting for him to answer.
“Bailey?” Brock asked in surprise. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m well, Brock. How are you?” she replied.
“Don’t be funny,” he told her. “You should have come here or gone back to Houston.”
“I take it Brandon called you,” she said, thinking of how the first thing she was going to do when she saw her twin, was to punch him, hard, for tattling.
“Of course he did. That’s what siblings are supposed to do. Keep in touch, look out for each other. You know, things like that. Things, which you are having a problem doing.”
Bailey was standing on the side of a brick building. She’d purposely walked out of sight of the men’s room where he’d gone because she didn’t want Devlin to see her on the phone when he came out. He’d told her to keep in touch with her family, but that didn’t mean he needed to be nearby to make sure she didn’t tell them where she was. If they were going to work together he really should trust her a little more. But he didn’t, she knew because he was obviously hiding something from her. When he’d given her the burner, he’d instructed her once again not to tell anyone where she was and while the phone’s number would come up on the caller ID of whoever she called, it was still untraceable. She suspected that meant these phones were government issued, meaning they weren’t linked to the same local cell towers and transmitters as other phones. Why was he going through such lengths not to be traced? Surely, he wasn’t only worried about Trent trying to find them.
“I’m calling you aren’t I?” she countered. “I said I would keep in touch with everyone on a daily basis, so nobody would have to worry.”
“Why can’t you just come stay with one of us? Dammit Bailey, you were kidnapped! How do you expect us to feel?”
Brock was the polar opposite of Trent, Ben, and even Linc sometimes. He wasn’t as laid back as Max and Adam, but he could hold onto his temper much better than the majority of the Donovan men. That was one of the reasons he’d been the first person Bailey had confessed her dream of becoming an FBI agent too. That had been a colossal mistake. She was beginning to wonder if this phone call to her older brother may have been as well.
“I know what happened, Brock. I was there, remember?”
When he remained quiet she almost cursed. It was never her intention to hurt anyone in her family, especially not her brothers. They’d been her rock after her mother died. Helping her to remain focused on school and looking out for her when it seemed her father could barely get himself together on a daily basis.
“Then cut us some slack and at least come stay with me or Brandon for a couple of days,” he implored.
Something caught her eye at that moment and Bailey focused on the parking lot across from the building. It appeared to be just a black sedan, so why she kept staring at it she had no idea.
“Bailey? Are you still there?”
She heard Brock yelling and shook her head willing the unmitigated suspicion away. “Yeah. Yes, I’m here. And I hear you, Brock. I know you’re all concerned and I love you for it. I’ll be in touch again tomorrow and yes, I will come see everyone as soon as I can.”
Just as she had when she spoke to Brandon yesterday, Bailey disconnected the call. Her heart ached for what she knew her brothers were experiencing. The worry, the fear, the helplessness. She wanted it all to stop. And she wanted that much more than she wanted to appease her family by going back to see them without ending this thing with Roslyn.
Tucking the phone back into her jacket pocket Bailey turned and bumped right into a rigid chest. Putting her hands up to brace herself she felt metal and smelled cigarette smoke.
“Excuse me,” he said and then pushed past her.
&nbs
p; Still trying to make sure she remained upright, Bailey stumbled a bit, but then spun around, mumbling, “It’s okay,” but he was already gone. She looked toward the back of the building and then to the parking lot, but he wasn’t there. The black sedan was.
Bailey stared at the vehicle once more. The windows were tinted so she couldn’t see if someone was inside. She thought someone was this time. Maybe the guy who had just pushed past her. She didn’t know, but there was something, she thought as she took a step toward the car. Something that wasn’t right. She took another step and was stopped by a scream and a hand on her shoulder.
As she turned quickly, this time her arms going up, fists balled prepared to swing, she realized the scream was her own and that it was wasted. Devlin narrowed his gaze at her.
“What happened? What are you doing around here?” he asked.
She yanked off her glasses and glared at him. “Dammit, Devlin! You scared the crap out of me.”
He’d pushed her to the side of him, still keeping his arm out and shielding her body as he looked around.
“I asked you what happened,” he said in a lethally low voice.
“Nothing,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Nothing happened. I was just standing here until you snuck up behind me and grabbed me like I’m some piece of property.”
By the time she finished, Devlin was grabbing her once more. This time his hands were on her arms pulling her up close to his chest as he stared down at her.
“Don’t lie to me, Bailey. I knew the moment I saw you standing there that something was wrong. I could feel the tension rolling off you in thick waves. Then you were moving toward that car. Why? Who’s over there? What did you see?”
He was shaking her now and Bailey felt like a colossal idiot. No, actually, she was getting a little irritated at the way Devlin was speaking to and holding her. But, just as she did with her brothers, Bailey understood. This time last week she’d been Roslyn and Jaydon’s captive. In addition, she knew how the scene Devlin walked up on must have appeared. She knew, because she’d been watching it herself.