Since he clearly still doesn’t get it, I try again. “The way we were before all hell broke loose. Me at Brandy’s, you at your place. A few sleepovers to keep things interesting. Dinner dates. Cocktails.” I shrug. “Normal stuff.”

  “Are you saying we aren’t normal?”

  I bite back a laugh as I take his hands. “I’m saying I want to pretend to be. At least a little. We never got that, and I like it. Besides, if I move in with you, I lose out on my house. And I’m looking forward to fixing it up and moving in.” My childhood home had gone on the rental market after my father was killed, with the income going into a trust for me until I was twenty-one. Since then, I’ve kept it rented and applied the income to my Manhattan rent.

  Now, though, my tenant is in the process of moving out. I want to go in, update the place, and live there for awhile, surrounded by the thrill of owning real estate and the nostalgia of being in my childhood home.

  “I want you to help me replace the countertops and varnish the floors. Then I want us to christen all the rooms in the house. I want you to come over on a whim, to sweep me into the bedroom or just to leave flowers on the doorstep. I want you to call me late at night and we can watch a show together, like in When Harry Met Sally.”

  That makes him grin, and he reaches out, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “You want the romance.”

  “I have romance,” I tell him. “I want the storybook. I want what we never got when we were young. I think we deserve it.” I pause, trying to read his reaction, but he’s got his corporate face on, and I can’t be sure of what’s in his head. “Are you mad?”

  “Mad?” Now I can see what he’s thinking—he’s incredulous. “Mad? Not at all. I’m—I’m not sure. I think I’m strangely flattered.”

  “Really? You really understand?”

  “I do. And even if I didn’t, I’d accept that’s what you want.”

  I didn’t think it was possible to be happier than I’d been when that garage door rose, but I am. “You’re really okay with it?”

  He taps his lower lip, making a show of thinking. “You said there were dates?”

  “Lots of dates,” I assure him.

  “And sleepovers?”

  “I can’t guarantee much sleeping,” I tease, “but in theory, yes.”

  “Then yes. I am really okay with this.”

  “Yeah?” My voice is soft, almost shy, and I don’t know why.

  He holds my gaze for a moment, then cups the back of my head. “All I want is you, baby. Don’t you know that?”

  “Then we’re even. Because you’re all I want, too. And my fancy wedding dress with the season’s designer shoes. I just don’t want that last part right now.”

  “Except for the shoes,” Devlin says.

  I laugh. “It’s like you know me.”

  I don’t even realize that we’ve stood and started walking again until we’re already a ways down the beach. We’re talking about nothing and everything. About life, about our past, about our memories, about how wonderful it is that despite all the torment that we suffered in our tumultuous relationship that we were able to end up at this point. A solid couple. Together.

  I never wanted anything when I was young other than to be Alex Leto’s girl, and now that he’s Devlin Saint, he’s still all I want. One day, he’ll put a ring on my finger. And I’m holding tight to that future, excited by the adventures we’ll have as we move toward it.

  It’s not until we reach the north edge of town where the cliffs start to rise from the sand that I realize where we are. We’re standing right in front of Uncle Peter’s house. It’s one of the few houses in Laguna Cortez that’s on the beach side of the highway. It’s a stunning contemporary with lots of glass and beautiful views.

  “Some of my best memories are here,” I say. “And you’re in all of them.”

  “And some of your worst memories, too,” he says.

  I nod. “You leaving. That’s my worst memory of all.” I sigh deeply “But you’re back. And you’re mine. So I guess it all worked out all right.” I shoot him a cocky grin and he laughs.

  “I love you.”

  “You better.”

  “I really want to be home with you right now,” he says.

  I flash him a wicked grin. “Well, maybe we should hurry back.”

  “I like that idea. We have to stop in and pick up those files, but as soon as the box is in my hands, we can take Shelby home.”

  Our return walk is much faster than our leisurely walk to Peter’s house. We’re back at the foundation in record time, and on the way Devlin texts Tamra to make sure that she’s already left the file box at reception. I check my phone at the same time, and see that I missed a call from Brandy. I consider calling her back, but Devlin frowns and says we should hurry.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “But Tamra’s not answering her text, and that’s not like her.”

  I frown, too. He’s right; it’s not like her at all. Anyone else, and I’d say give it a few minutes. But Tamra always responds to Devlin within seconds.

  We hurry, the glow fading as worry sets in. I tell myself we’re being silly, but the moment we step from the covered patio into the lobby, I know we were right to be concerned.

  Tamra is hovering by Eric at the reception desk, her expression murderous. Brandy is beside her, her eyes red and swollen.

  “What the hell?” I ask, rushing toward her.

  “He did it,” Brandy says. “That wormy little prick went and did it.”

  I look over my shoulder to Devlin, but he looks as confused as I feel. Before we can ask, Tamra speaks. “William Tarkington—Walt,” she says, her eyes locked on Devlin’s. “He’s suing you for assault.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Cold fury cut through Devlin, and if Eric hadn’t been sitting right there, he probably would have smashed one of the glass coffee tables. But Eric was an employee, whereas the others were family.

  So instead, he very calmly asked that they move the conversation to his office, then headed that way, barely feeling the supportive grip of Ellie’s hand in his as he marched across the lobby to the elevator, wishing he could justify even fifteen minutes with a speed bag to work off some of the rage that was curling through him.

  “I knew we should have done more damage control,” Tamra said, the moment his office doors closed behind them. “You’re not a man who needs to be getting into bar fights.”

  “He had it coming,” Devlin said. “I told you as much at the time.”

  “And nothing else.” She sighed, then steepled her fingers under her chin as she gathered her thoughts. He’d never realized how much of a stand-in for a mother Tamra had become, but now he felt an unpleasant twisting in his gut for disappointing her, even though he would do it all over again if he had to.

  He drew a breath, forcing himself not to look at Brandy.

  Tamra narrowed her eyes at him. “You never did tell me what that was about, Devlin. I can’t do my job unless I know the facts. Neither can Arnold,” she added, referring to the attorney he kept on retainer. “And his lawyer? Think about what a field day he’s going to have pointing out that The Wolf’s son is wandering the streets of Laguna Cortez beating people up. And for what? What did this vile little man do at that restaurant that bothered you so, so much?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Devlin said, as Ellie squeezed his hand. She was standing beside him, giving him strength. And, he noticed, also not looking at Brandy.

  Tamra was looking, though. “What happened at that dinner, Brandy?” She frowned. “For that matter, why are you here? How did you even know? I only found out because Arnold accepted service. How did you know?”

  “I—” She squirmed as if she was sitting on coals. “Lamar heard about it. And he told me. Because I was there, you know. At the dinner.”

  “Exactly,” Tamra said. “What happened at that dinner?”

  Brandy looked up, her eyes meeting his, and Devlin shook his head. He did not want her telling the truth. Not this way, where she felt trapped again, with no choices.

  “Brandy?” Tamra pressed.

  “It was because of Ellie,” Devlin said before Brandy could respond. “He said some particularly vile things about her sleeping with me.”

  “And you lost your temper?” He heard the incredulity in her voice. He had a temper, that much was true. But they all knew that he had remarkable control, too.

  “I did,” he said. “It was about Ellie, after all.” Tamra would believe that. And the lie only had to hold for a while. Long enough for him to offer the kind of settlement that would make Walt go away, all tied up with a nice, ironclad confidentiality agreement.

  Tamra’s shoulders slumped. “I’m surprised at you.” She shook it off. “Well, we’ll deal with it. I suppose that’s part of my job. And whatever he said to you, Ellie, I’m sorry. It must have been horrible.”

  “Oh. Yeah. You know how—”

  “He raped me.”

  The words seemed to hang in the air. Even Brandy, who had spoken, looked confused as to where they’d come from.

  “Brandy,” he said softly, and the words seemed to bring her back to life.

  “No.” She drew a breath. “No, you’re not telling Tamra some bullshit story because of me. He drugged me and he raped me when I was in high school. He got me pregnant. That’s why Devlin did it.”

  Tamra met Devlin’s eyes, and he nodded, confirming the truth.

  “I see,” Tamra said. “Thank you for telling me. Let me think about how we can proceed without having to share your secret with the world.” She took a step toward Brandy, then met the younger woman’s eyes. “Are you okay now? Would you like me to find someone professional for you to talk to about this?”

  “I don’t know.” Brandy’s gaze darted to Ellie. “I’ll think about it. Mostly, I just appreciate you asking. You can keep Devlin from getting dragged through the mud? Really?”

  “I’ll do my very best. In fact, I think we should—”

  The vibration of his phone caught Devlin’s attention, and he tuned out the conversation between the women so that he could check his phone, just in case it was Arnold calling to talk about the lawsuit.

  It wasn’t Arnold. It was worse. Because that apparently was the way this day was going. It started off wonderful, and it was slowly spiraling down into hell.

  Beside him, Ellie drew in a sharp gasp, and he realized that she’d been reading over his shoulder.

  He met her eyes. She looked as angry and frustrated as he felt.

  In front of them, Tamra’s gaze darted between both of them. “What? Is it bad news? Is it about Walt?”

  “I don’t know,” Devlin said, working to keep his voice level. “All it says is You’re going to lose everything, Saint. I’m going to make sure it happens.”

  Tamra’s brow furrowed, and he saw the anger flare in her eyes. She kept it together though, always the consummate professional. “Who’s it from?”

  “I don’t know. Just a phone number. I’ll try to find out, but I have a feeling we’ll have about as much luck with that as we have with the earlier texts that Ellie was getting.”

  “Anna was sending me those,” Ellie said. “At least that’s what we’ve been assuming, especially since they stopped once she died. And that’s a big thing to point out. She’s dead, so I don’t think she’s sending this text. And so is Joseph Blackstone. I suppose a lieutenant could have sent it, but considering the timing, shouldn’t we be considering Walt?”

  “I’ll agree as to the timing,” Devlin said. “But it seems ballsier than I’d expect from that little bastard.”

  “There’s someone else,” Brandy said, her wide eyes darting between Devlin and Ellie. “It could have been Christopher. I know everyone thinks he hated his brother, but what if he didn’t? Or what if it’s just about family?”

  Her words were like a punch in the gut, because he knew how much that suggestion was costing Brandy. Ellie released his hand, then went over and sat on the arm of Brandy’s chair.

  “She’s right,” Ellie said. “He’s our prime suspect now, isn’t he?” Devlin saw the pain on her face. That horrible feeling of not being able to protect the people you love. A pain he knew only too well, and he wished he could have shielded Ellie and Brandy from it forever.

  But he couldn’t. So all he said was, “Yes. He tops the list.”

  “Christopher and Walt,” Brandy said. “It’s like I’m cursed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ellie said. “Why don’t we go? Tamra and Devlin don’t need us. Let’s go home and eat so many chocolate chip muffins we’re too bloated to remember any of this.”

  She met Devlin’s eyes, and he saw the grief mixed with loss. The horror of what Brandy was going through. And the loss of their perfect day, which had become tarnished by the intrusion of reality.

  “That’s a good idea,” Devlin said. “I’ll be along soon. You’re right that Tamra and I have a few things to go over.”

  “It’s okay,” Brandy said. “I’m fine to go by myself.” She glanced up at Ellie. “I do want to talk and then veg, but right now, I just want to be alone in my head. Maybe lock myself in the sewing room and clear my thoughts.” She grimaced. Her nose wrinkling. “Is that okay?”

  “I—well, sure. But are you okay to drive?”

  “Totally. It’s not far. And I’m upset, but I’m not incapable.”

  “Sorry.” Ellie pulled her into a hug. “I just want—I just want to make it better.”

  “I know you do. I wish you could.”

  “Yeah…”

  “See you at home.” She turned to Devlin. “No keeping Ellie at your place tonight. I’m calling best friend privilege and keeping her home.”

  “No worries there. In fact, I’ll join you at Big Shot Mansion tonight.”

  As he’d hoped, she grinned. “Well, in that case, I really will make muffins.”

  As Ellie walked Brandy to her car, he and Tamra went over some thoughts on how to spin the Walt litigation. By the time they finished, Ellie had rejoined them.

  “We can go soon, too,” he said as he composed a new text. “I just want to pull Lamar in on the Walt side of things.”

  “A detective?” Tamra asked. “It’ll be Lamar’s job to investigate you.”

  “I trust Lamar to do the right thing and to investigate the shit out of this case,” Devlin said. “The police deserve to have all the facts as well.”

  Tamra frowned, but ultimately nodded.

  “Honestly,” Ellie began, “We’re not going to know anything until we find out something about the text or they send another one. There are too many possibilities. The timing may suggest Walt, but it also suggests Christopher or one of Blackstone’s lieutenants.”

  “That’s true,” he agreed. “Except for the fact that I wasn’t on that mission. And Blackstone didn’t know about Saint’s Angels. That much seems pretty clear from the documents that the team found in his home. Which means his men wouldn’t have reason to believe that I was behind the assault.”

  “Devlin,” Ellie said, “don’t be naive. Of course they would. He’d been harassing you. He’d been pulling your strings with regard to the security breaches for months. Saint’s Angels went in, sure, but nobody there would know their affiliation. Only that someone finally bested Joseph Blackstone. And anybody paying attention would assume—quite rightly—that it was you who pulled the trigger.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Before…

  “I understand, General.” Alex stood at attention in front of the gray-haired man. His title was General, but Alex knew that he wasn’t serving. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. He was one of those commanders who looked like he served in the military, but actually served in secret. In the kind of organization that hid in the shadows. The kind that movies made up, thinking they were fiction, but they really weren’t.

  “You understand the ramifications?” the general asked. Alex nodded. Right then, the government was offering him the deal of a lifetime. Something he had fantasized about, that he was certain he could never pull off entirely on his own. “Absolutely. I think I’ve made clear that this is a mission I am more than eager to take on.”

  For a moment, the general stayed at his desk. Then he pushed back and stood. He came around the desk and put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You’re a good soldier. We won’t be losing you forever. But some people will. You can live with that?”

  “Yes sir.” Alex answered with hesitation, but even as he spoke, he knew it was a lie. The general had come to him with a scheme for accomplishing something he had always wanted to take care of, and Alex would be eternally grateful. He would willingly accept the help, and in payment, he would carry out the missions, committing three years of his life in exchange for the help he needed. But some of the parameters weren’t acceptable. That, however, was something he intended to keep to himself. He’d learned a lot of things over the course of his life, and one of them was how to keep a secret, and how to choose confidantes who would keep that secret too.

  So all he said now was, “I’m ready, sir.”

  “Tomorrow then. 0800. Report to Mr. Johnson.” He stuck out his hand for Alex to shake, the action startling him, since it was such an un-military like gesture. Alex resisted the urge to salute, and instead took the other man’s hand firmly in his.

  “We understand that this is something you want, but we also acknowledge that you’re making a big sacrifice. We thank you. Your country thanks you.”

  Alex nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Have you decided on what your name will be?”

  “Saint,” Alex said. “My new name will be Devlin Saint.”

  “So you’re really going through with it?”

  “Do you think I shouldn’t?” Alex asked, looking at his friend Ronan, the only one with whom he’d shared the secret. So far, anyway.

  “No. I’m completely on board,” Ronan said. “It just feels like something out of the Bourne books.”