With the guy cringing on the ground, Devlin turns his attention to the woman, talking to her in words so low and soothing I can only make out the tone. She nods, mumbles thank you a dozen times, then hurries down the alley in the direction of the street.

  Devlin drags the man onto the boardwalk, then releases him. “That way,” he says, pointing to a bridge off the boardwalk that leads to one of the small islands, very much in the opposite direction from the woman.

  “Screw you,” the asshole responds, but he scrambles away and starts sprinting over the bridge.

  I watch him disappear into the shadows, the blood pounding in my ears.

  When Devlin turns and looks at me, he’s breathing so hard I can see the rise and fall of his chest.

  “You’re her knight in shining armor,” I say, and the moment the words are out of my mouth, I know they were the wrong thing to say. His face goes hard, unreadable. He stalks toward me, and for a moment, I actually think he’s going to go on past, and I’ll have to hurry to keep up.

  Instead, he pulls me toward him, backing up as he does so that we end up in that same alley, almost in the exact same position as the couple he just scattered.

  “Dev—”

  “Tarnished knight.”

  He practically growls the words, and I have no chance to ask what he means because he silences me with a brutal, bruising kiss.

  I open to him, my mouth, my body. Adrenaline surges through me, and damned if I don’t want this, too. I’m hot with need, my skin prickly, and though his kisses are deep and hard, I want more of him. All of him.

  I’m wearing a loose cotton skirt, and he tugs it up, then rips off my panties, the sound of the tearing material echoing against the brick.

  “Tell me you want this,” he demands, breathing hard.

  “You said we couldn’t.”

  “Tell me you want it,” he repeats, his voice hard.

  “Are you insane? Yes. Dammit, I want you to fuck me.” I’m fumbling at his fly as I speak, and he roughly brushes my hand away, taking over that task himself.

  “Back pocket. My wallet.”

  I reach around and pull it out. He takes it, removes a condom, then drops the wallet on the ground before sheathing himself. Then he grabs my ass and hoists me up, at the same time, slamming my back against the brick wall. I lock my legs around his hips, arching toward him as he teases my soaking wet sex with the tip of his cock.

  One hand steadies my ass and the other cups my neck. It’s dangerous and hot and I just about lose it when he tightens his grip and slowly teases his cock into me. Shallow thrusts at first, and I whimper in protest because I want to be fucked. Impaled. Taken.

  “Please,” I beg, and it really is a magic word. He slams hard inside me, and I cry out, “Yes, yes!” and I must be loud because he moves his hand from my throat to my mouth, effectively gagging me as he thrusts deeper and deeper as my body clenches around him, drawing him in as the pressure builds and builds and I release a wild, feral scream into the palm of his hand even as he empties himself inside me.

  I’m off on some other planet, but when I come back, I collapse onto him, my arms going around his neck, my head falling to his shoulder.

  Then he eases back, and I slide off of him, letting him settle me back onto the ground, weak, unstable knees and all.

  I look up at him, breathing hard, to find him looking back at me. For a while, we simply stare at each other. “You never told me why,” I finally say. “Why did you set up the DSF in Laguna Cortez?”

  “Because Laguna Cortez is the only place I was ever truly happy.” His eyes lock on mine. “I would have thought you could figure that out on your own.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Do you want to go with me after breakfast?” I ask Brandy. I hold up the yellow-pad I’d taken with me yesterday to see Chief Randall so she can see my long list of names. Devlin and I had returned from Newport Beach just before four, and I’d gone straight to the station and holed up in one of the interview rooms with the material Randall had pulled for me. There’d been a lot to sort through, but by the time I left around eight last night, I’d scored several leads.

  Brandy squints at my list from where she’s making muffin-sized frittatas. “These are all the people Peter worked with? Drug customers?”

  I shake my head. “Some of them, maybe. The list was compiled as part of the investigation into the shooting. But most were never interviewed because Ricky Mercado confessed and the investigation shut down.”

  “And you’re going to ask them what?”

  “What they remember about Peter. If they knew of anyone with a grudge. Anything to get a lead on who might have killed Peter. I won’t directly ask them if they were buying or dealing drugs with him, but I’m hoping to get a sense.” I tap my pencil on the pad. “Believe it or not, I’m pretty decent at this. Investigative reporter, remember?”

  “I’m sure you’re aces at it. I just wonder if anyone will remember. It’s been a long time.”

  “True, but I’m still going to make the rounds, and I’d love company. I’m going to head out about nine and wrap up about noon. Then after lunch I’m going to the foundation.”

  “To see Devlin?” She waggles her brow, grinning. “I’m psyched, you know.”

  I pretend to be annoyed, but since I’m the one who told her everything about yesterday by the marina, I don’t pull it off very well.

  Still, the truth is, I could be wrong. Right now, I think that Devlin and I slipped back toward the together side of the equation—at least until I go back to Manhattan—but I’m not a hundred percent sure.

  Our time on the boardwalk may have been a wild mix of testosterone and lust, but since we didn’t sit down and have an actual where do we stand conversation, I don’t know for certain that anything truly shifted.

  “You have that look,” Brandy says, sliding the muffins into the oven. “What?”

  I lift a shoulder casually. “I just wish I knew where we stood. I mean, no matter what, I’m going back to New York soon, so…”

  I trail off, not wanting to think about the fact that Devlin is one of the few men who actually could pull off a long-distance relationship. He has a shiny, fast jet, after all. But even before the alley, we both knew that there was an expiration date on this fling. I’m glad we’ve moved on from our past, but that doesn’t mean we’ve landed firmly in the future.

  “Anyway,” I say, wanting to get the conversation back on track, “I’m not going to the foundation to see Devlin. I’m going to do some more research on Peter. Promise not to say anything to Christopher, but there are some documents Devlin doesn’t keep in the circulating collection. He said he doubted they’d help, but he also said it was my time to waste.”

  As it turns out, waste is right. Devlin acquired many of his father’s documents and records after his death, but nothing I find in the depths of the boxes gives me any lead on Peter’s killer.

  I’m wrapping up when Tamra joins me.

  “I’m glad he told you the truth,” Tamra says, and I immediately look around, worrying that someone will overhear us.

  Tamra laughs. “And I’m glad you’re watching out for him, too.”

  I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. “Reflex,” I say, because of course we’re completely alone in the research room. I bite my lower lip. “You know, too.”

  “About his father. The Wolf.” She nods. “Yes.”

  “How?“

  “I was friends with Caitlyn, his mother.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that, and I lean forward.

  “She met Daniel when she ran away. She ended up on the streets doing drugs, and somehow she caught the attention of one of his men. They brought her to Nevada, Daniel cleaned her up, and she got pregnant.”

  “Were you there? How do you know all this?”

  “She told me. After she was clean, she started paying more attention. She saw what Daniel was doing—and that wasn’t a life she wanted for her son.”

  “She ran.”

  Tamra nods. “Her parents bought her a house in the hills. They put title in a trust so it wasn’t obvious that it was hers.” I must look confused, because she adds, “She couldn’t go home. It would be too easy for him to find her. She was even planning to leave the country, but that didn’t happen.”

  “He found her anyway.”

  “I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he drugged her. She wasn’t using. She was clean for her little boy. There is no way she would have gotten both drunk and high.”

  “Devlin told me about the wreck.” I don’t say that I met her not long before her death. I don’t remember it, and what’s the point? But it’s still one more thing that ties me and Devlin together.

  “I died a little when I learned about the crash,” Tamra says. “I knew the truth, but I couldn’t prove it. And I knew that he’d taken the boy.”

  She stands and goes to the window. “I managed to track him down, and when he was fifteen, I met him alone. I told him I knew his mother and that I would help him if he ever needed it.” She turns back to me. “It was a risk. I didn’t know if he’d been indoctrinated. He could have told his father about me. He could have had me killed.”

  I shiver, then nod.

  “But he trusted me. He told me how much he hated his father. The life he was part of. He wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t. So he learned the business. Trained in weapons and all sorts of similar things. I tried to help him. To be there to talk whenever he needed it.”

  My throat is thick, and I’m working hard to hold back tears. “You stood in for his mother.”

  “I tried to, at least as much as I could. And when his father sent him to Laguna Cortez to work with Peter, Alejandro called me, and I came, too.”

  She smiles. “That’s when I met you when we were both working at the police department. And later, when he joined the military, I kept track of him then, too.” A flicker of sadness crosses her face, but she shakes it off. “Finally, I ended up here.”

  My head is spinning just a little from everything she’s told me, but there’s one point that is dominating my thoughts. “You knew about us back then? You knew that Alex and I…”

  “I did. I always hoped your story would be something other than a tragedy.” Her smile is small, but it lights her face. “That’s what I’m still hoping for.”

  After Tamra leaves, I pack up my stuff and call it a day. I’ve found nothing in the papers that gives me a clue to Peter’s assassin, and I doubt that I will.

  That, however, isn’t what’s bugging me. Instead, it’s this small, niggling thought about another assassin. The wall-climber who took out Myers. The ballsy assassin who killed Bell at close range.

  I leave the research room, my head full of noise, then pause outside Tamra’s office on my way to the fourth floor. I know Devlin thinks Ronan wasn’t even in Vegas at the time, but what if he’s wrong?

  I rap on her door, then enter when she calls out.

  “Well, hello again.” She smiles brightly, but it fades when she takes a closer look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  Now that she’s asked, I feel foolish. But I’d rather be a suspicious fool than someone who never spoke up. “Do you—I mean, this is going to sound odd—but do you trust Ronan?”

  Her eyes widen. “Well, yes. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just a vibe. I saw him in Vegas after Bell got shot,” I add, and as I speak the words, I can hear how idiotic they sound.

  “I imagine a lot of people were in Vegas. You were. And I understand you’re a good shot yourself.”

  I screw up my mouth. Now I really do feel like an idiot.

  To her credit, she laughs. “I’m teasing, of course. But I do trust him. Devlin’s known Ronan since he first joined up. And Ronan even served briefly with my husband.”

  “Your husband?”

  Her smile turns melancholy. “He was killed in action.” She waves the words away, blinking quickly. “But he knew Ronan. And he trusted him.”

  I hug myself. “I think burying myself in The Wolf’s business has made me paranoid.”

  “You need to back away. Go grab a bite and take the rest of the day off.”

  “That’s a good plan,” I say, wondering if Devlin can blow off the rest of the day. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, with the kind of firm certainty that reminds me that no matter what, the world will keep on turning.

  Even so, I can’t deny that she might be too close to Ronan to see the truth. After all, you can’t make out anything in a Monet painting if you’re standing with your nose to the brushstroke.

  Which is why as I climb the stairs, I text Millie and ask if she could poke around a bit and send me anything she can find on Ronan Thorne.

  Anna’s at her desk when I reach the fourth floor. She smiles at me, and I ask if he’s in. “I thought I’d steal him away for lunch.”

  “He had to go out, but if you’re looking for company, I’m starving.”

  Oh. Fortunately, I catch myself before I say that out loud. “Yeah, I’d love to.” Actually, I would like to hear about what it was like growing up with Devlin. But since I don’t know if he’s told Anna that I’m in on the secret, I can’t initiate the conversation.

  We end up at a cute little place across the street with counter service. “There’s a patio out back,” she says. “Let’s grab a table and I’ll tell you all my boss’s secrets.”

  I laugh and follow her. Now that I’m sure she’s not sleeping with Devlin, I’m seeing her in a whole new light.

  We’re almost finished with our sandwiches, and I’m still not sure what she knows, when she says, “Devlin told me you two knew each other when you were younger. Before he was Devlin, I mean.”

  “Oh.” I look around, but the place is empty. “I wasn’t sure if he’d told you about me. He told me the same.”

  She grins. “Guess we have that in common. Except I’ve known him the whole time. You had a gap.”

  I nod. “Yeah. That sucked.”

  “Well, I’m glad he found you again. It’s hard giving up your life and walking away from friends.”

  “It is,” I say, realizing that from the way she’s talking, I can’t tell if she knows that Devlin and I were—are—more than friends. Of course, even I’m not sure what we are. At the very least, I guess we’re friends with benefits.

  Not that it matters, because the conversation moves quickly on to my research, then to the fact that we’re both excited to read the manuscript of Christopher’s book before he even sends it to his editor, and then on to the best shopping in Laguna Cortez.

  By the time we’re walking back, I’ve shifted my perspective on Anna entirely. At the gala, she’d seemed like a glamorous foe. Now she’s not only a put-together and competent woman I could be friends with, she’s one more link between me and Devlin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Go get it, Jake!” Brandy shouts. “Good dog!”

  Jake bounds across the beach chasing the most disgusting tennis ball I’ve ever seen in my life, then galumphs back with it soggy and sopping in his mouth. He drops it at my feet, then wiggles with pleasure.

  “Your turn,” Brandy says, laughing.

  I make a face, then pick up the spit and sand covered ball before hurling it as far as I can. Unfortunately, there’s a reason I don’t play sports, and my throw goes wild. Jake bounds after it anyway, heading straight for the surf and splashing in the waves that are breaking nearby.

  “He’s going to get soaked,” I tell Brandy, grimacing a bit.

  “That’s okay,” she says as we continue walking. “He’ll dry.”

  It’s Saturday, but the beach isn’t too crowded. That’s the beauty of fall—significantly fewer tourists.

  I’d spent all day yesterday holed up with work. First revising the DSF profile per Roger’s edits, then writing up my notes about Peter and what little I know about how he got drawn into the drug trade. It’s become a different story, and not one I’m ready to share with Roger or the world.

  What I’d thought would be a tale about the downfall of a man who’d come innocently to Laguna Cortez and gotten caught in a net has turned into the story of a man who’d been tight with an international crime lord. A man who, despite that friendship, had garnered The Wolf’s wrath. The story’s a tragedy that resulted in the downfall of a family and the loss to both me and The Wolf’s son of their first real loves.

  A personal story, that’s for sure. I don’t intend to stop writing it. But as for publishing it? Well, that I’m still debating.

  “—who killed Peter.”

  I look up sharply, realizing I’d completely tuned out Brandy. “Sorry?”

  She shakes her head but looks amused rather than angry. “I said, Christopher was asking me about your research on Peter.”

  I pause as she bends down to rub the scruff of Jake’s neck. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  She tilts her head up to look at me. “About Peter? I thought you did.”

  I nod. I’d been doing research on Peter while Christopher was around, and we’d talked about it. He even wanted to share my notes, thinking it might help him craft characters. “No, he knows about Peter. I meant about Devlin. Alex.”

  Her eyes widen. “Of course not.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” And I am. I trust her. I really do. “I just—I don’t know. I wasn’t sure how serious you guys are yet.”

  “Well, I like him, but we’re not that tight. But even if I were sleeping with him, I wouldn’t just lay in bed, spread my legs, and spew out all my secrets.”

  I wince, both at the harsh tone and the unpleasant mental picture. “I know. I do. I’m just paranoid. It’s a lot to hold on to.”

  “You’re holding on.”

  “Yeah, but I lo—” My heart skitters as I swallow my words, then try again. “I’m more invested.”

  She eyes me, and I’m almost positive she’s going to call me out on what I didn’t say. But instead, she says, “You really trust him?”