My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,65

a moment later when her voice called out to him, “Devlin, Lamar needs to talk to you. Do you want to come down?”

“No.” The louder voice was from Lamar himself. “I’m coming up.” It was a statement, not a question, and Devlin didn’t bother to answer. He was currently in the study area, working at the desk. He turned over the papers on which he’d been writing notes and stood as Lamar stepped from the stairs to the landing. “What’s on your mind, Detective?”

“You didn’t do it personally,” Lamar said, circling Devlin as he spoke. “I know that. But somehow, you did do it.”

Devlin had never before noticed what a large man Lamar was. Usually Lamar’s size seemed a bit diminished simply because of his congenial personality, as if he intentionally made himself smaller so as to not intimidate. Now, the opposite was happening. He was a big man. A strong man, with arms and hands that could crush a lesser man.

Devlin didn’t have his size, but he had strength. He’d worked on it for years, and he knew the extent of his skill. Looking at Lamar, though, he wondered which one of them would come out ahead in the fight. Devlin with all of his skills and the trickery he’d learned over the years, or Lamar with pure, cold rage.

Because one thing was certain, Lamar was pissed.

“I think you’d better sit down, Detective.”

“Dammit, Saint, I told you if you ever hurt her…”

“What in hell are you talking about? Hurt who?”

“Ellie. What do you think I’m talking about?”

“Ellie?” Devlin’s head was spinning. “How have I hurt Ellie?”

“She thinks you’re one of the good guys. She thinks you’re what we used to believe Christopher was. A good man smeared by his father’s name. Or in Christopher’s case, his brother’s. But Good Christopher turned out to be a facade. And you’re one hell of a long way from a saint, aren’t you? And Ellie has no idea what she’s gotten into.”

Devlin felt his chest tighten, not with the need to lash out against this man, but with a bitter aching need to tell him the truth. The whole truth. Like Ellie, he would probably resist.

Like Ellie, he would probably end up understanding.

But he couldn’t lay it all out. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he couldn’t completely bullshit the detective, either. Or, he could. He just didn’t want to. So instead he drew a breath and said, “I don’t have any secrets from Ellie. She knows exactly what she’s gotten into with me.”

Lamar’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a fact?”

Devlin gestured toward the chair opposite the desk. “Sit down.”

To his surprise, Lamar sat.

“I’m not kicking you out. Give me points for that. And you know damn well I love Ellie, so give me points for that too. Agreed?”

The detective’s brow furrowed. “Agreed.”

Devlin exhaled, then pulled out his chair and sat across from Lamar. “Something’s happened, and you obviously think I’m involved. Will you lay it out for me in small, simple sentences? Because believe me when I say I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

It was clear from Lamar’s face that he didn’t believe him, but that was okay. So long as he didn’t argue—so long as he told Devlin what he knew or thought he knew—then everything could probably be worked out.

“Well?” Devlin pressed.

“I know you didn’t do it. You were in front of a room full of people singing the praises of your foundation and explaining the circumstances of your life when it happened. What I want to know is did you hire somebody?”

“To do what? Something that happened during my speech, obviously, but I need more information.”

“Joseph Blackstone is dead. Killed in his extremely well-protected home by a single shot to the head fired from a sniper’s rifle as he crossed in front of his bedroom window. There was a raid, too. His electronic equipment was breached. Most of his lieutenants scattered, but some were killed as well.

Devlin leaned back, his face completely blank. “Well. I hadn’t heard.” It was an easy lie. The truth was he hadn’t asked the specifics of how Blackstone was killed. He just took his team’s word that it had been taken care of.

“Did you hire someone?” Lamar repeated.

“No.” That was the literal truth. He hadn’t hired anyone for the job. “Why would you think that?”

“The timing. The convenience. Joseph Blackstone was a thorn in your side, and now he’s gone.”

“Well, I won’t say that I’ll mourn him,” Devlin said. “You’re right. The