by J. Kenner
I push through the swinging double doors, then cringe when I hear whispers in this usually silent space. Apparently Christopher’s not the only one using the facilities these days.
“Well, I don’t know,” a woman says in a hushed tone. “Some sort of accident, I’d think.”
“Right, right,” Christopher says. “But what? Traffic? Swimming? A fire?”
“Christ, how am I supposed to decide?” I recognize Anna’s voice now. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
I consider staying where I am and eavesdropping. After all, I’ve never listened in on someone talking through the plot of a thriller novel. But that seems rude and invasive, so I clear my throat and make my way around the corner with an apologetic wave. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Christopher nods, looking exactly like I’d imagine a frustrated writer. But Anna jumps about a mile. Her back is to me, and though I assumed that she’d heard me coming, clearly I was wrong.
“Plotting?” I ask as Anna twists to face me. Christopher’s working on his second thriller novel, and since the story deals with organized crime and trafficking, the DSF resources are a huge boon. Or so he told me when we first met.
“I needed someone to bounce a plot point off,” Christopher says. “And since Anna was here…”
She smirks. “I came in to get a file so I could polish a press release and got roped into doing his work.”
“Better her than Brandy,” Christopher says. “And if I don’t work this out before seeing her tonight, she’ll listen to me gripe about story points when we could be—”
“Ah, ah,” I say, holding up a hand and trying not to laugh. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
“And my girlfriend,” he says, looking very pleased with himself.
“I thought you two were only having drinks,” I tease. “But if you’re planning to come back to the house instead of going home to write, I can always make myself scarce. I figure I owe you. Sorry about last night. It’s just that it was only supposed to be the three of us. Devlin crashed, too.”
He nods. “Brandy told me. All the boyfriends got the boot.”
I laugh. “Pretty much.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“Christopher!” Anna sounds appalled.
Christopher holds up a hand. “All I mean is that Devlin’s in Vegas.”
“I get it,” I say with a laugh. “The truth is, I didn’t realize he was out. I was coming by to see him before I head to LA, then thought I’d search you out once I realized I missed him.”
Christopher winks at Anna. “She’s saying that I was just a second thought.”
Anna scoffs. “Better than me. She didn’t think of me at all.”
“I’m not even going to try to dig my way out of the hole. I’ll only make it worse.”
They both laugh. “It’s all good,” Anna says. “At least you came before lunch.”
“Why?”
“We’re closing at noon,” Anna says. “Devlin’s orders. There’ve been some security breaches in Vegas. Minor, but Devlin takes every breach seriously. He’s got Ronan heading up a security team on this end so they can make sure all the holes are plugged.” She studies my face. “He didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head, and Anna shrugs as if it’s no big deal.
“Well, why would he?” she asks. “It’s not as if you’re actually part of the DSF.”
I know she doesn’t mean it unkindly—and the words are literally true—but I still feel the sting of being an outsider in Devlin Saint’s world.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m stepping off the elevator into the DSF lobby when I see Tamra Danvers standing by Paul’s desk, looking perfectly put-together in a pale pink suit. She looks up, then smiles widely as she heads toward me, her three-inch Louboutin heels clicking on the floor.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she says. “Paul said you were in the building.”
“I was in the research room.” I tell her, hurrying forward and accepting her hug. Tamra is the DSF’s publicity director, but I’ve known her since high school when I was interning for the police department and she was doing community relations work. At the time, I didn’t realize that she’d maneuvered herself into that job to keep an eye on Alex, her friend’s son. Bottom line, she’s known Devlin longer than I have. And I know she loves him, too.
“I think Anna’s helping him plot his book,” I add.
Tamra smiles. “She helps him quite a bit. Maybe we have another budding author.”
“Maybe.” I realize I’m grinning, happy to have bumped into her. “I’m so glad to see you. I had the impression from Reggie that you were busy.”
“Always, but never too busy for you. I’m sorry you missed Devlin. He’ll be sorry as well.”
“I figure I need to get used to his jet-setting ways. Honestly, considering who he is and what he does, it’s a wonder he has any free time at all.”
“Things tend to come in spurts,” Tamra says. She has dark hair with a single streak of gray, which she tucks behind her ear. “With you in the picture now, I’m sure he’ll be more discerning when choosing what projects he’ll travel for.”
I smile, liking the fact that she so easily sees Devlin and I as a couple. “Reggie said he should be back tonight.”
“Oh, good. But I’ll move his interview to tomorrow afternoon, just in case.”
“Interview? More coverage on the foundation? And my article’s not even published yet…” I trail off, pretending to pout.
Tamra laughs. “Would he do that? No, this is a quick interview with one of the LA morning programs. Pre-taped, obviously. He’ll talk about the foundation, of course, but mostly it’s because of the award.” I must look blank, because she continues. “He didn’t tell you about the humanitarian award?”
I shake my head.
“Devlin’s receiving the World Council Award for Humanitarian Services. It’s a very big deal.” She looks as proud as if she were his mother.
“This is wonderful,” I say, meaning it. “Why on earth hasn’t he told me yet?”
The corners of her mouth curve down. “Oh, I didn’t mean to spill the beans. He must have been saving the news. The actual ceremony is a few weeks away in New York. I know he’s planning to take you. Black tie, the whole nine yards.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, already thinking I’ll need Brandy’s help picking out a dress. And this definitely calls for a shoe splurge in LA.
“He was joking to me me that you’ll be most excited about the chance to buy another pair of designer shoes.”
I burst out laughing, my shopping plans still lingering in my mind. “That man knows me too well.”
“Well, of course,” she says easily. “He loves you.”
Shelby is more fun than Lamar’s Lexus, so the plan is for me to pick up Lamar and then drive us up to LA. Since I spent less time at the DSF than I’d expected, I consider going back to Brandy’s, then decide that I might as well head to Lamar’s condo. I don’t have a key—it hasn’t occurred to me to ask—but the oceanside structure is impressive, with an incredible pool and spa, a full-service restaurant that will deliver to the units, a fine dining restaurant that boasts a celebrity chef, and a coffee shop that makes an amazing latte.
Lamar owns his unit as well as four others that he rents out, all bought and paid for with the money he earned by being a cute kid with acting chops and having powerful parents in the entertainment industry. “I couldn’t have become a cop otherwise,” he once told me. “I’ve got expensive taste.”
I grab a latte, then take it out to the pool. The deck is built into the cliff, so that the pool itself is infinity style, the water appearing to fall off the edge and into the ocean. I settle at a table in the shade and open my phone, planning to clear out old emails.
Instead, I see last night’s text, and the gulp of coffee I just swallowed feels like a stone in my stomach.
I know Devlin’s busy, but I want an update, so I
text him three question marks.
I don’t expect a reply right away, so I’m pleasantly surprised when not only does he respond immediately, but actually calls me.
“Hey,” I say. “I know you’re busy. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you all morning. I’m in Vegas. Some security issues I need to take care of.”
“I heard,” I tell him. “I popped by to see you this morning.”
“I’m sorry I missed you.”
“Me, too,” I tell him. “I’m guessing you haven’t had time to research last night’s text.”
“It was my top priority,” he tells me, with the kind of ferocity in his voice that assures me that he means it. “But nothing to report. Same situation. Burner phone. Trashcan. Lamar’s condo building.”
I look around as if in reflex at the same time that I say, “Lamar didn’t—”
“I know,” he says, and with such certainty it makes me sigh with relief. “But someone wants to shed some doubt.”
“They figure I’ll choose sides? But why? What’s the point?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure what the endgame is,” he says. “Other than exposing me. But what do they know? Or think they know? Who my father is?”
“Or what happened with my uncle?”
“Exactly,” he says.
I frown, then look around to reassure myself I’m alone on the pool deck. “Should we be talking about this over the phone?”
“It’s secure. I’ve taken precautions.”
“Right. Of course you have.”
As he chuckles, I sigh. “I want to know who’s screwing with us,” I say. “And think about the timing of that text. It came right after you delivered the roses. Someone’s watching us,” I add, as much for myself as Devlin. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
“They said you were fucking a dangerous man. It’s just as easily a general statement.”
I hug myself. “I don’t like it.”
“There’s nothing about it to like. But until we know who’s doing this, there’s not much we can do. Besides,” he adds, his voice turning soft, “you already know I’m dangerous. I told you as much myself.”
“And you know I get off on danger,” I retort, forcing a tease into my voice because I know he wants to lighten the mood. “But that’s not the point. What I don’t get off on is someone harassing us.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he says gently.
My thoughts go immediately to Ronan, but I hold my tongue. Devlin said last night that he talked to Ronan and all is well. And because I trust Devlin, I’m going to try to believe that.
Which, unfortunately, leaves my suspect list at exactly zero.
I frown, then turn my attention back to the question that’s really on my mind. “When will you be back? Regina said by the end of the day.”
“You talked to Reggie?”
“She’s the one who told me you were in Vegas.”
Vegas.
The word seems to stick in my head, and before he responds, I hear myself saying, “Oh.”
“What?”
“Vegas,” I say. “I think she’s familiar because of Vegas.”
“Baby, are you being intentionally cryptic or—”
“Sorry. I told you she looked familiar. Now I’m thinking maybe I’m remembering her from Vegas. Was she there when we were?”
For a moment, the line is silent.
“Devlin?”
“Sorry. Someone asked me a question. Honestly, I don’t remember. She comes here frequently. She’s on the volunteer board for the Phoenix Rehab Center. But I can’t recall if she was in town then or not.”
“I’ll ask the next time I bump into her.”
“She looks a little bit like that woman who stars in the new comedy series with the dog,” he says. “Those billboards are everywhere.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Does it really matter?”
“Not at all,” I admit. “Just one of those things that’s bugging me.”
“You know what’s bugging me?”
I grin. “Tell me.”
“Not seeing you until tomorrow.”
“So she was wrong?” I hear the disappointment in my voice and wince. I don’t want him to feel bad for having to work. “I’m sorry you’re stuck there.”
“Me too. Things are messier here than I thought. Looks like I’ll be working through the night monitoring this bullshit.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t. I’d rather talk to you. I’d rather be with you.”
“Yeah?” I add a sultry note to my voice. “What would we be doing?”
“Would it disappoint you if I said I just wanted to hold you? To take you out to dinner and talk about anything other than your uncle or my foundation or either of our pasts? I want to look to the future with you, El,” he continues, his words making my heart swell and my breath catch in my throat. “I want to stand on the beach and look at the stars with the future laid out in front of us and think about all our possibilities. Just that,” he says. “Just you.”
“Yes,” I say, my heart so full I can barely form the words. “I think that sounds wonderful.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Who are we seeing other than Cotton?” Lamar asks once we’re underway.
“Longfeld,” I correct. “Cotton was an alias.”
“Right.”
“The first appointment is with Leon Ortega. He’s the guy who fixed up Shelby for Uncle Peter before he gave her to me.” My dad had done much of the work, but Shelby had only been Daddy’s hobby, and he’d never seemed to finish her.
After he was killed, the car remained on blocks, its interior and exterior only partially restored. I was young enough that it wasn’t high on my list of concerns, and mostly forgot about the little car I’d spent so many hours beside during the years when my dad was alive.
It wasn’t until I was sixteen—and saw the beautifully restored 1965 Shelby Cobra waiting for me in the driveway on the first day of school—that I truly fell in love. Not only was it an incredibly thoughtful gift from my uncle and guardian, but he’d also finished something my dad had always meant to not only complete, but to give to me when I was old enough.
Except, of course, that he hadn’t done the restoration. Lacking the skills himself, Peter hired the work out.
“Apparently, he used Ortega for automotive work when he lived in LA, and then after he moved to Laguna Cortez, he drove all that way for the work on Shelby, too.”
“Either they’re close friends, or Ortega is one hell of a mechanic.”
“That’s what I figure,” I say. “Check the glove box. The plastic folder in there has copies of all of Shelby’s papers.”
“You keep them with you?”
I shrug. “You never know. Ortega’s shop issued most of the invoices. And it might be totally legit, but I’m thinking an auto repair shop is ripe for laundering money and moving stolen parts.”
Lamar leafs through the papers, then puts the envelope back in the glove box. “Certainly possible. Got anything more solid than a hunch?”
“Not really. The Spall keeps a PI on retainer, so I had him pull a report on Ortega. Clean as a whistle. But that could just mean he’s very good at what he does.”
“Fair enough.”
There are a couple of others on my LA list, and I have Lamar pull my notebook out of my satchel so he can skim through my notes. Most of the folks who were tied into Peter’s drug network have already been convicted. I’ve put in requests at the various prisons for interviews, and now I’m waiting for the authorities to get back to me.
As for the people with whom Peter was doing legitimate business—or supposedly legitimate business—I haven’t found too many leads in LA. There’s a car wash he invested in, and we’ll pop by to talk to the current owner. Same with the family who lived next door to him. You never know what people notice. They’re on the way to Ortega�
�s shop in Thousand Oaks, and though I don’t have appointments, we’re going to stop in unless we’re running tight on time.
Other than that, despite scouring my mom’s journals for more leads, most of what I know about Peter’s less-than-legal business is tied to Laguna Cortez. Which is why I’m really hoping that Ortega or Longfeld have a solid lead for me. If I want to learn how and why Peter got sucked into a criminal life, I need to find the beginning. And that’s somewhere here in LA. I just don’t know where or what.
I am, however, determined to find out.
“These folks—the neighbor, the guy from the car wash—may not be willing to talk to you. And even though we got lucky with Tom leading us to Cotton—sorry, Longfeld—the man himself may be as silent as stone.”
“I know. But I have to try.”
“Do you?”
I slow as traffic piles up ahead of us, and I use the lull to shoot him a questioning glance. “What do you mean?” My stomach twists, and I wonder if now is the time to ask him about what went on with him and Devlin. I know Devlin thinks they’re cool now, but I want to hear that from Lamar, too.
He adjusts his sunglasses. They’re the reflective kind, which means that even though he’s facing me, I can’t see his eyes. “I don’t know, Sherlock. It’s just—I mean, I get before. You needed to know your uncle, and you were shocked he was in with The Wolf. But shock wears off, and that was all such a long time ago.”
“He was my last living relative.”
“I get that, too. But do you really want to taint all your memories of him? Because you’re not alone anymore. You have me. You have Brandy. And you even have Alex back.”
Traffic has started moving again, and I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and focus on the road. “I don’t. I have Devlin.” I swallow, then continue. “And I’m surprised you’re counting him among my assets.”
“Oh, hell, Sherlock.” He exhales loudly, then tries to lean back, though he’s really too tall to stretch out much.
“Devlin said you guys ended up okay,” I say. “Is that how you see it, too?”
He nods slowly. “Okay? Yeah, I can live with that assessment.”