My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,34

“She wants an update. On us and Lamar. And an ETA.”

“Right.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples, trying to push back the threatening ache. They’d come straight from the airport to Tracy’s condo, and poor Brandy, Ellie’s best friend and roommate, had been left to wait at home without a clue what was going on in this room. “Shit, she must be out of her mind. Tell her we’ll be there soon. All of us.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed as she glanced toward Lamar.

“All of us,” Devlin confirmed. “Whether he wants to or not. He shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“Good.” She kissed his cheek, and for that one fleeting moment, he felt like a hero. Then it faded, and he just felt impotent.

“I’m going to go talk to the Chief,” she continued. “Then we should get out of here and let the team do its job.”

He nodded, glancing over to where Chief Randall stood talking with a tall, lanky man who Devlin recognized as the District Attorney. Good. Maybe Ellie would get some useful information. As her former guardian, Randall would speak freely around her. And Devlin was happy to take information any way he could get it.

As he watched Ellie, Lamar rose and came to stand by his side.

“You know that his real target is Ellie.” Lamar’s voice was rough, the emotion he was holding back acting like sandpaper against his words.

“I know.” Devlin closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing. “He killed Tracy to get both our attention. But Ellie is the prize.”

“He wants to hurt you,” Lamar said. “I’m just collateral damage.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“She’s worked that out, too, of course.”

“She hasn’t said so. But you’re right.” Ellie was no fool. She’d grown up around cops, worn the uniform herself, and had a degree in criminology. A good percentage of her articles now that she was a reporter dealt with crime and law enforcement. She knew the score as well as either Devlin or Lamar.

“She also knows that he may not go straight for her. Why end the game before you’ve mined all the pain?”

“Detective…” Devlin let his voice trail off. He knew all this, of course. And Lamar had to know that Devlin understood the score. Talking about it now, in the same hallway that still had the chalk mark from Tracy’s body—

“It helps,” Lamar said dully, as if he’d heard every one of Devlin’s thoughts. “Thinking out loud. Working the case. Weighing how things might go next.”

Devlin hesitated, then said slowly, “You may be right. He might not go for Ellie right away. And damn him for going after anyone but me. I’m the one he wants to hurt.”

“It’s just a theory. The other side of it is that he doesn’t want to get caught. And he has to know that the more he rattles your cage, the more he exposes himself. More likely he wishes he could lay a line of dead women at your feet. But in practice, he’ll just focus on cutting you deep.”

“By getting at me through Ellie. She’s the interest still owed.”

“Sure. Because you don’t hurt if you’re dead, right? He won’t kill you. He wants to hurt you. Killing Ellie will do that.” Lamar’s voice was flat, his eyes toward the doorway. The chalk. The tag indicating the bullet’s entry into the wall. The blood splatter.

“Lamar—”

The detective’s eyes cut to him, dark with pain. “What?”

“I—she was a good woman.”

“Yeah, she was.”

“I didn’t know her as well as I should have.”

“She admired you,” Lamar said. “Loved working at the foundation. She believed in what you do. Don’t stop,” he added, something in his tone making Devlin’s back straighten.

“I wouldn’t,” he said casually. Surely, surely, Lamar didn’t know about Saint’s Angels. He’d told Ellie that she could discuss anything with Lamar and Brandy, but if she’d revealed a secret as volatile as that, then she would have told Devlin. Wouldn’t she?

It wasn’t a question he couldn’t get an answer to right then, so he stayed silent as the detective continued.

“How sure are you that this is Blackstone?” Lamar asked.

“As sure as I can be, but until there’s proof, it’s just a theory.”

“But can you prove it?”

Devlin tilted his head. “Isn’t that what the police are for?”

Lamar’s throat moved as he swallowed, and he didn’t quite meet Devlin’s eyes. “You have resources, Saint. I know you do.”

Devlin forced himself not to react, but his body went cold. He did know.

“I know your foundation participates in rescues. Works closely with investigators. That kind