My Beautiful Sin

by J. Kenner

  “Thirteen minutes,” Devlin says, sliding the baking tray into the oven. “What can we possibly do in thirteen minutes?”

  He fakes a leer and I laugh. “Down, boy. I’m dressed and actually wearing make-up. And you, sir, would smudge it.”

  “I can think of all sorts of ways to entertain ourselves that wouldn’t disturb your make-up.” He comes around the island and tugs me off the stool and into his arms. “Shall I demonstrate?”

  I’m about to challenge him to do exactly that when we’re interrupted by the sharp chime of his doorbell.

  He frowns, then pulls out his phone to check the camera. “Brandy,” he says, and my gut immediately tightens.

  I hurry in that direction, Devlin right on my heels, then yank open the door the second he’s disarmed the system. “Are you okay?” I demand. “Did something else happen? Shit, I should have stayed with you.”

  My words fall over each other, as she steps in, shaking her head and saying, “No, no. I’m fine. Truly. Christopher came home with me last night. I’m fine. Truly, I am.”

  “Then what’s going on?” I ask, at the same time that Devlin invites her in and asks if she wants some green tea.

  “That would be great,” she says, and we both follow him, with me trying very hard not to spew out more questions. Devlin’s right. Whatever Brandy’s reason for coming this morning, she’ll get to it in her own time.

  He puts a cup of tea in front of her. “Would you like me to leave so you can talk to Ellie?”

  “No. Thanks, but I came here to talk to you, actually.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Do you want me to leave?”

  A laugh bubbles out of her. “No. You can both stay.” She draws in a breath, then lets it out noisily. “It’s just that I feel bad about all the pictures. You haven’t seen them yet?” she adds, apparently noticing the way my brow has furrowed in confusion.

  “From the alley,” I guess. “Devlin with Walt. How bad are they?”

  “Some of them are quite vivid,” Devlin says, and for the first time I realize that this isn’t news to him. And, frankly, it shouldn’t be news to me, either. But I’d been so caught up in the world of the two of us, that I’d let the world we have to live in slip from my mind.

  The punching bag, I think. It wasn’t about Carrie or Max or Walt or anything of it—or at least, it wasn’t just about them. He’d seen the photos and was working it out the best way he knew how.

  “Tamra sent them to you this morning,” I guess.

  He nods. “It’s what she’s paid to do. I’ll be heading in as soon as we eat.”

  “Most of the comments are just silly,” Brandy says. “Talking about you being a badass humanitarian. Tamra called me, too. She told me not to worry about it and said that the foundation was more than able to respond to unfortunate social media storms.”

  “Tamra is a smart woman,” Devlin says. “She told you exactly what I’m going to tell you now.” He looks at her hard. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about me.”

  I watch as she swallows. “But I do worry,” she says, standing up straighter. “That’s why I came over. I’m going to go public. I’m going to press charges, and I’m going to tell the reporters what happened to me. I want them to understand why you went after him,” she tells Devlin. “You do such good work, and something like this—if it looks like you randomly beat up some guy—that kind of publicity could be really bad.”

  I watch Devlin, who’s looking at Brandy, his expression unreadable.

  “Brandy,” I say, my voice gentle. “Are you sure?”

  “He can’t get away with it,” she says.

  “Maybe he won’t,” I say. “Lamar has his name now. He can start an investigation. See if there are other women he drugged and raped.” I move closer and take her hands. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

  “Yes, it does. Maybe not for a trial, but now. For the reporters. For Devlin. Because otherwise they’ll just publish that he’s—”

  “They’ll publish that William Alexis Tarkington and I had a private dispute that’s going to remain private, which is exactly the statement I had Tamra release this morning.” He moves closer to Brandy. “Press charges if you want to, if it will help you sleep at night and give you peace. But you don’t have to decide now. You know his name. Lamar won’t lose track of him. And it may turn out that you won’t be standing alone against him.”

  “But you’ll be all over social media for something you didn’t do. And with all your secrets…”

  “I did do it, Brandy,” he points out. “And I’ve been protecting my secrets for a very long time. But,” he adds, “the choice is yours.” He looks between the two of us as the oven timer goes off. “I’m going to pull the scones out to cool, then get dressed. I have a few things to take care of at the office today.”

  He brushes Brandy’s shoulder as he turns to me, then takes my hand. “Will you stay here?”

  I shake my head. “I can work better at home, and I have writing to do. Come by when you’re done?”

  “Like an arrow.” He brushes a kiss over my lips, then turns off the timer and pulls out the scones before heading for the bedroom.

  In the kitchen, Brandy sighs.

  “I know,” I say. “He’s a keeper.”

  She laughs, and I pour myself a fresh cup of coffee, then lean against the counter, studying her. “Want a scone?”

  “Always, but let them cool.”

  “So what do you think?”

  This time, she understands I’m not talking about breakfast food. She draws a breath and lets it out. “I think he’s right about waiting, but in the end, I’ll talk to Lamar about making an arrest.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She twirls a strand of hair around a finger, then hops up onto the counter opposite me. “I don’t want to testify. I mean, I really don’t. I don’t want to relive a moment of what happened.” Her mouth twists ironically. “Even if I don’t remember most of it.”

  “Brandy…” I trail off, unable to find the words to make it better.

  She shrugs and sighs. “I don’t want to,” she repeats. “But I don’t want Walt walking free. So I guess I’m hoping Lamar finds other victims with more backbone than me. But that’s a horrible thought because it means he did it to more than just me.”

  “Bran…”

  “I’m pretty screwed up, huh?”

  “The situation, yes. You, never. And now you have time.”

  “It’s not fair that Devlin’s—”

  “His choice,” I remind her. “He didn’t have to pummel the guy. Give him credit for making his own decision.”

  She nods. “Yeah. You’re right.” She draws in a breath, then lets it out slowly. “He really is a good man.”

  I feel the tickle of the smile that dances on my lips, then glance back over my shoulder toward the closed door to the bedroom. “Yeah. He is.”

  Brandy hops off the counter, then grabs a napkin. She takes a scone, then moves toward the living area. I grab one as well, then follow her onto the patio. We both look out over the hills and the rooftops beneath us until Brandy shifts just enough to look at me directly. “Christopher apologized to me. He said he should have realized who Walt was from my reaction. And that he should have done what Devlin did.”

  I don’t say anything. If I were Christopher, I’m sure I’d have been thinking the same thing.

  “I think he’s a little in awe of Devlin. He even told me he didn’t think he’d have had the balls to put himself in the line of fire like that. For a sec, I thought he meant because of who Devlin really is—you know, that the more public he is the more someone from his past as Alex might recognize him.”

  I start to speak, but she beats me to it.

  “I almost said something—I almost screwed it up for Devlin because I was too shook up to think clearly.”

  Fear slices through me, but I press my hand over hers and manage to keep my voice steady as I say,
“But you didn’t.” I even manage to make it a statement, even though I desperately want an answer.

  “No,” she assures me. “I didn’t. I realized before I said anything that he just meant he’d have been nervous about getting involved in such an explosive situation.”

  “Yeah, well, he doesn’t know the kind of life Devlin really led. Between his father and the military, explosive situations must come pretty naturally to him.” It’s the first time I’ve ever really thought of it like that, and I frown as I wonder just what Devlin has done over the years. From the things he’s hinted at—and from his flat out statement that he has dangerous secrets—I have to assume that from his perspective, last night wasn’t really explosive at all.

  “I’m pretty sure that all this time, Christopher has been thinking that Devlin is just some rich guy playing the role of benevolent savior,” Brandy says. “But now he sees that Devlin’s a genuinely good guy.”

  “Well, that’s a bright spot,” I say, and we both laugh. “Seriously, though,” I continue. “I really like Christopher. I hope he’s not feeling shitty about not being your white knight.”

  “A little shitty, yeah. But I think even that’s good. Because we talked, you know? I mean, really talked. Like a whole different level of connection. As if we really got under the surface.”

  Her smile is a little shy. Mine is so wide it hurts my cheeks.

  “Brandy Bradshaw, did you two—?”

  “I’m thinking tonight. We’re going out for dinner. In LA. I have lunch meetings in Beverly Hills tomorrow, and since he can write anywhere he has his laptop, it seems like a good idea.”

  “I’m happy for you,” I tell her.

  “I’m happy for me, too. And nervous. Tell me that goes away.”

  “About the sex? Totally. About the relationship…?” I trail off with a shrug. “You’re asking the wrong person about that one. I still don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him again.”

  “You won’t,” she says firmly.

  “He told me,” I say. “He said he loved me. He actually said the words.”

  “Oh, Ellie.” Emotion fills her voice, and I want to melt with pleasure. “See? He’s not going anywhere.”

  I smile, because I desperately want to believe. But I know better than anyone that love isn’t a magical shield, and that no matter how fervently you cling to it, that bitch Fate will rip away the people you love without even the slightest warning.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “You have a house here?” Anna asks. “Where?”

  I’m sitting on the bench across from Anna’s desk waiting for Devlin to get off the phone. It’s not even lunchtime yet, so I’m sure he’s busy, but I’d come by in the hopes of grabbing a quick coffee with him. I’d been at the office of Sunset Realty and Management a few blocks down on PCH signing the documents needed to release them from the management contract that Peter had set up.

  “Off of Sunset Canyon,” I say. “So the north side of Pacific, opposite to where Brandy’s is.”

  “It’s where you grew up?” Tamra asks. She’d been deep in conversation with Anna when I’d arrived. Something about the Las Vegas security breaches.

  “Only until I was thirteen,” I say. “That’s when I moved into Peter’s beach house. And honestly, since I stayed with Peter after school, the beach house was pretty much home from the time my mom died.”

  Tamra gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze. “Still, it’s a nice memory to have back.”

  I nod in agreement. “Unexpected, too. The same tenant has had the place since Uncle Peter put it up for lease.” I don’t know the man, but apparently he’s moving to Virginia to take care of an elderly parent. Technically he gave thirty days’ notice, but he told the management company that he’d be vacating in ten days. After which I can get in there and look around. Then start searching for contractors to update the place before I move in. I’ll miss living with Brandy, but I’m excited to have my own place again.

  I see the light turn off on Anna’s phone, signaling that Devlin’s off his call. I stand, only to see it light right back up again. I sigh, then look between the two of them. “So what is going on in Vegas, anyway?”

  I see them exchange a quick glance before Tamra says, “You know how the foundation helps finance paramilitary support in rescue efforts against human traffickers and the like.”

  I nod, even though it wasn’t a question. I’d learned from both Devlin and my own research about the scope of the foundation’s work. Everything from helping victims with job-training to rescue efforts to cutting off the head of the monster at the source of the horrors.

  “Obviously much of that work is planned in secret. But on at least three occasions, operations—and victims—have been moved before rescue forces arrive.”

  “Someone’s leaking information.”

  Tamra nods. “It’s possible the leak is from someone outside the foundation. One of the groups we partner with. And it’s also possible that someone has hacked into our systems or has managed to get information through surveillance.”

  I make a derisive noise. “I can’t imagine one of Devlin’s operations would have that kind of a weakness.”

  “Which is why we think it’s a person,” Anna says. “Someone gathering and selling information.”

  I nod. “To that Blackstone guy.”

  She frowns. “We don’t have proof. But yes. Devlin thinks he’s selling information in advance of raids.”

  “Making a profit by warning people,” I say.

  “I’ve known him for years,” Anna says. “I wouldn’t put it past him, but I also didn’t get the sense that was his game.” She shrugs. “Not that anyone can really read Joseph Blackstone.” Her mouth twists. “Or Devlin Saint, for that matter.” She frowns, then studies me.

  “What?”

  “Sorry.” She shakes her head, then leans forward, her elbows on her desk. “How are you two doing? With the social media storm, I mean?”

  It’s Wednesday, and Devlin’s takedown of Tarkington was on Sunday. Devlin and I have both been working hard and spending our spare moments together. And neither of us has been spending much time online.

  Still, we’ve gotten reports, mostly from Brandy and Tamra. Apparently Devlin had been a trending topic on Monday with some people flaying him online and others praising him as a protector of the people.

  “We’re fine,” I say. “I don’t get why people are even remotely interested in seeing snippets of the lives of folks they don’t even know. But to each his own.”

  “And fame is such a fickle beast,” Tamra says, scrolling through her phone. “Yesterday was much calmer and there’s hardly any posts about you two so far today.”

  “He’s off. Go on in before he gets on another call.” Anna reaches for the button to open the door, but they’re already in motion, and a moment later, Devlin strides out of his office.

  As many times as I’ve seen him, and still my breath catches in my throat. He stands straight, wearing a suit as if he were born to it, perfectly tailored gray silk with a green tie that complements his eyes. He’s wealth and power, yes, but there’s more to him. The fire in his eyes. The wildness of his hair. He’s a warrior, and I have no doubt that in the end he’ll find whoever is fucking with him. And he’ll completely destroy them.

  He’d done as much for Brandy with Walt. What more would he do to save his foundation and the people it protects?

  I shiver, thinking about the assassins who took out Myers. I remember what Devlin said—that he applauded them because they served justice where the system had failed. Those assassins were probably mercenaries for hire.

  And right now, I’m certain that given the chance, Devlin would happily pay men like that to stop the leaks and protect the foundation.

  “I’m glad you could get away,” I say an hour later as we’re walking barefoot on the beach, sharing the cup of ice cream we’d decided on in lieu of coffee.

  “You’re a welcome break in my morning. B
elieve me.”

  He’s turned up the cuffs of his slacks, and while that might transform another man from corporate warrior to corporate beach bum, with Devlin, he looks just as powerful with the surf kissing his bare feet.

  “From what Anna and Tamra were saying, it’s not exactly the best time.”

  “Other than giving orders and making a few phone calls, there’s not much I’m able to do at the moment,” he says. “Which is why you’re a pleasant break from the frustration.”

  I laugh. “It’s nice to have a purpose.”

  He stops, then holds out a spoonful of mint chocolate chip for me. I take it, enjoying the sharp coolness on my tongue. “How is Brandy?”

  “I haven’t seen her since Monday morning,” I admit. It’s now Wednesday, and I feel the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Christopher went with her to LA for some meetings, and she told me they were having dinner there and staying at a hotel. I’m thinking they decided to stay two nights. Either that, or they’re holed up in Christopher’s Airbnb.”

  Devlin chuckles. “I was wondering why I didn’t see him in the research room yesterday. He’s become such a fixture, I almost had Tamra call out the troops when he didn’t show up.”

  “They seem good together.”

  There’s the briefest of pauses before Devlin nods. “They do.”

  “What? You hesitated,” I add when his brows furrow in question.

  “Just thinking about how much I don’t actually know about Christopher.”

  “He’s a writer. Just Google him. Or go to his webpage. Pretty standard stuff. It’s not as if you’re putting him on payroll.”

  “True. But I like to keep a healthy paranoia about people. Especially when they’re getting close to people I care about.”

  I take his free hand, squeezing gently, so grateful that he’s watching out for Brandy, too.

  “Last bite?” he says, and I shake my head.