My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,19
and pulled the thin sheet over her bare shoulder. She smiled in her sleep, and his heart twisted a little. She was content. Despite everything that had happened last night and all the ramifications the press leak brought with it, she was sleeping peacefully, secure in the belief that no matter what, they would be just fine in the end.
He smiled, because he believed it, too. He only wished that they didn’t have to clamber over the rocks and barbed wire to get to that glorious place called Fine.
He stretched and yawned, deciding that coffee was very much on the agenda. He pushed the bookcase aside, opening up the room, then started toward the small kitchen area, only to freeze at the sight of the figure on the sofa.
It was only a split-second of terror—a flash of frustration that he had no weapon—then his body went slack, and he cursed his friend. “What the fuck, Ronan? You ever heard of knocking?”
Ronan aimed intense blue eyes at him, his golden hair gleaming in the dim lamplight. Ellie once told Devlin that Ronan looked like a Nordic god, and right then, that assessment seemed spot on. An amused god, apparently, as Ronan’s mouth curved into an almost mocking grin. “Yeah, well, I tried that, buddy. Rang the bell, called your phone. Wouldn’t have barged in, but under the circumstances I thought a wellness check was in order.”
Now his mouth outright twitched. “Almost burst into the bedroom, too, until I realized those weren’t screams of torture. Or, at least not the bad kind of torture.”
“You’re an ass,” Devlin said mildly. “And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t tell Ellie that. She’ll fry your balls for breakfast.” In all honestly, knowing that someone was listening probably ranked high on El’s turn-on list. But that wasn’t something Ronan needed to know.
“You’ve been working the leak,” he said, changing the subject as he moved into the kitchen and put a pod into the coffee maker. They hadn’t talked since the fiasco, but even so, it wasn’t a question. He knew his team, and he knew his friend, and Ronan would have taken point immediately.
“Been analyzing the video footage to identify the reporters who had early knowledge—the ones asking the question on the red carpet. Over a dozen shouted out, and we managed to track down five of them already. We should catch up with the rest of them today. Most weren’t answering calls or texts last night.”
“That’s it. No one tried to get confirmation first?”
Ronan scowled. “The one guy I talked to said he was willing to take the risk and go on faith. There’d be value in being the first one out of the gate, and for all he knew, he was. Toss it at you out of the blue, and if you flinch, then it’s true. But if you react with confusion and denial, he’d back off, tell you where the info came from, and everyone would publicly investigate.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t like they were stating a fact and facing a defamation claim. They were shouting questions, right?”
“For the most part, yeah,” Devlin said. “As for defamation, maybe, maybe not. But I’d hardly want more light shining on the allegation, so it’s a moot point.”
“Which they’d also know.”
“True enough,” Devlin said, then passed the first cup of coffee to Ronan before making another for himself. “You came over in the middle of the night to tell me that?”
“And to let you know I’ve put a team on you. Charlie and Grace. They’ve got eyes on the building now.”
Devlin nodded. His pride wanted to protest, but he agreed with the necessity. More than that, he was onboard with anything that helped create a shield around Ellie. “Let them know she’s the priority, not me,” Devlin said, knowing Ronan would understand he meant Ellie.
His friend frowned.
“I mean it. Their instinct will be to protect their boss. The public figure who’s supposedly their mission objective. I’m altering that objective.”
“Dev—”
“I know you don’t understand it,” Devlin said. He didn’t know why Ronan had protected his heart all these years, only that his friend had done exactly that, holding his emotions close and working out any pent-up sexual frustration through vetted call girls, one-night Tinder hookups, and the kind of clubs that aren’t advertised and required a membership. “But you’re going to have to take me on faith.” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose her, Ronan. I always knew it. But after she