Hidden Devotion (5 page)

“Good. Challenging. It’s hard to reach the people we’re trying to help, and asking them to use and trust technology is an uphill battle.”

“Is the planning complete?” Last time he’d seen her, she’d been helping to map out services and reporting lines that would mirror the routes women and children were trafficked along. They were trying to create a reporting pipeline that would allow them to not only establish how and when people were being trafficked, but allow them to connect the dots, possibly tracing and locating individuals.

“We finished identifying optimal geographic locations last year. I’ve been working implementation since then.”

“What does implementation entail?”

She settled back, cup in one hand, saucer in the other, and started talking. Devon would sooner die than admit he knew most of what she was telling him—he was just happy she was talking at all. As she continued explaining, he could hear the rhythm in the words, a sign that she’d explained what, how and why she did this work before—to funders, to community leaders, to foreign governments. The way she spoke both told a story and invited him to be a part of the solution. It was a quiet call to arms, a gentle but heart-wrenching tale. The firelight made her hair glow gold and her eyes were bright with conviction.

He was reminded anew as to exactly how good she was at what she did, and how dangerous she could have been had she chosen a different career.

He asked questions, the motivation flipping from a desire to keep her talking to genuine interest. It was going well until she started talking about sneaking into a brothel and then onto a transport truck to get footage and firsthand experience that could be used by North Star for promotional and explanatory materials.

“Juliette!”

She jumped slightly. “What?”

“You could have been killed, or disappeared into some underground sex-slavery ring.” Devon felt slightly ill. How had he not heard about this?

“That was kind of the point. I was wearing a GPS monitor, a hidden camera and carrying notarized copies of my passport. If they’d figured out who I was, they would have let me go. An American citizen is like a stick of lit dynamite—no one wants to be caught holding one.”

“You just spent half an hour describing the kinds of horrors these women suffer and are surprised I’m upset that you deliberately put yourself in the way?”

“I’m not stupid or reckless.” Her cup clattered against the saucer when she put them down. “I took all available precautions.”

“Does your brother know about this?”

“Are you asking if my brother, who barely knows me, was aware that I took a calculated risk for a cause I believe in? Or are you asking if the Grand Master is aware that I did something that might compromise a planned trinity?” The words were cold and measured.

Devon told himself to calm down. He was famous for being able to keep a level head in the most horrifying of situations, and yet something about Juliette always got under his skin. He couldn’t shake the mental picture of her being groped and hit as she was herded from a dingy brothel basement in Eastern Europe into the back of a filthy truck along with other terrified women and children.

“I’m asking if you have any idea how irresponsible it is to put yourself in harm’s way.”

“It’s my life. My fight.”

Devon pushed to his feet. “There are people who care about you.” Bracing one hand on the arm of the couch he leaned over her. It was a bad move—the way her jaw clenched made it apparent that all he was doing was making her dig in her heels. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but there are.”

“I know that, but I can’t,
won’t
, live my life for someone or something else.”

The fear of what could have happened to her was making him feel ill. That, paired with frustration that he hadn’t known about this particular activity, pushed aside his normal reserve. “Thank God your brother brought you back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe when we’re married you won’t be so reckless. Maybe then other people’s feelings will matter to you.” His teeth snapped together. That was more than he’d wanted to say.

Juliette slid out from under his arm and pushed to her feet, facing him down. “You came to Boston because you think this is it. We’re getting called to the altar.”

Devon cursed. If she hadn’t figured it out on her own, this was not how he’d want her to figure it out. “Juliette, I…”

She turned her back to him.

Devon reached out, fingers hovering an inch from the bare side of her neck. “Juliette, if you let me, I’ll make you happy.” He stroked the bare skin behind her ear and down her neck to the edge of her sweater. “You know I can.”

“Devon…”

“Yes?”

“Get out.”

Paris, seven years earlier

It wasn’t her first time in Paris, but it was the first time she’d been there without her mother. The freedom was dizzying, the whole world seemingly lying at her feet, waiting to be explored.

Juliette Adams—daughter of a celebrated actress, semi-regular player in page-six style gossip columns and blogs, member of an elite circle of offspring of the rich and famous—was here to take Europe by storm. The ink was barely dry on her high school diploma, but she had months of freedom ahead of her before she started college.

“Shopping or culture?” Rebecca Serafin was sitting cross-legged on the bed, maps and guidebooks scattered around her.

“Culture then shopping.” Lisa Giese flicked her finger across her camera screen, examining the pictures she’d taken yesterday.

“How about we just wander?” Juliette turned away from the apartment window. Though she’d wanted to stay in a hotel—like a normal person—her brother had insisted that she stay in an apartment owned by a member of the Trinity Masters. Lisa’s family wasn’t part of the Trinity Masters, but Rebecca’s was. As far as both girls knew, the apartment belonged to a Hollywood producer friend of Juliette’s mother. Though Rebecca was a legacy, she didn’t know Juliette’s brother was the Grand Master, which was more than fine with Juliette. It wouldn’t exactly be fun if one of your best friends found out that your brother was the person who had nearly God-like control over her life.

Grimacing at the thought, Juliette snatched up her jacket. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Wait, we’re coming.”

“I’m leaving,” she warned, taking dramatically slow steps towards the door.

“Coming, coming.”

“
On y va
!”

Once outside, she let herself forget about the Trinity Masters. They wandered until they found a small neighborhood bakery, snagging croissants and strong coffee. Feeling like locals, they walked until they reached the river Seine, taking the steps down to the path beside the water. Trying to blend in, they spoke in French instead of English, turning their noses up at the tourists they passed.

“When are we meeting up with Sebastian and the guys?” Rebecca asked.

“Rome. They’re backpacking right now.” Juliette stopped to take a photo of a pretty bit of ironwork on a bridge, feeling quite artistic as she did so.

“Blegh. Why would anyone want to sleep on the ground and be dirty when they could be doing this?” Lisa spread her arms.

Juliette wouldn’t have minded going backpacking, which her best friend in the whole world, Sebastian, and two other guys were doing before joining her, Rebecca and Lisa for the last two weeks of the trip. But then again, there was something to be said for a whole week of freedom in Paris.

They stopped to shop, Juliette purchasing a slinky silk dress that her mother would never have let her wear. She wore it when they went to dinner that night, deciding to eat at the famous Hotel Meurice. They didn’t have reservations, but they were early by Paris standards and able to get a table without too much trouble. They ordered a bottle of Champagne—
real
Champagne, from Champagne—and delicately nibbled their rich, buttery food.

It was a glamorous evening—dressed in their recently acquired Paris fashions, dining in one of the most elegant restaurants in the world and drinking inexcusably expensive wine.

The only thing that was missing, the only thing that would have made eighteen-year-old Juliette’s night the stuff of dreams, was romance. They received more than a few appreciative glances from men in the restaurant, but most were old enough to be their fathers. When they moved to the hotel bar, complimentary drinks arrived with semi regularity, and after consuming more than a few of them, the age of the men sending the beverages mattered less and less.

The drinks also helped Juliette forget that she was essentially already engaged. Rebecca didn’t know that Juliette’s trinity had already been selected. Normally members took advantage of the fact that they didn’t have to go looking for their own long-term relationships by messing around. Rebecca was clearly going down that path—a well-dressed man had his hand on her knee.

When a slightly portly man in a pale gray suit put his hand on Juliette’s back—which was left bare by the daringly cut dress—she smiled and played with her hair. Devon and Rose mostly just ignored her anytime they were together. Maybe if she practiced her flirting they would stop treating her like a kid. She was eighteen, after all.

“
Parlez-vous Anglais?
”

“
Oui. Je suis Américaine.
”

“Maybe you will help me practice my English, no?”

“Of course,
Monsieur.
” Juliette crossed her legs, biting back a grin when the man’s attention dropped to her knees.

“You are, ah, in Paris for the vacation?”

“
Excusez-moi.
”

Both Juliette and her admirer turned at the sound of a new voice—a voice Juliette knew.

Heart in her throat, Juliette froze when she caught sight of the man who’d interrupted them. Devon Asher.

His brown hair looked like rich chocolate in the muted lighting. He was wearing a tuxedo and was the most handsome, dashing man in the whole world.

“Devon,” she squeaked, then took a sip of her drink to cover the unsexy voice.

“Juliette.” Devon’s smile was brief—there only for a moment before he shifted his attention to the paunchy man. After a second under Devon’s stare, he melted away.

Leaning on the bar, close enough that his sleeve brushed Juliette’s arm, Devon ordered a cognac in flawless French. When he turned to face her, Juliette could feel it. It wasn’t just a matter of his gaze; it was the weight of his attention. She felt like a butterfly pinned to a board for study, except it wasn’t terrifying, it was exhilarating. This feeling was totally new to her—maybe this was the first time Devon was really looking at her.

“You’re in Paris.” Juliette winced as soon as she spoke. What a stupid thing to say.

“As are you.”

“I’m here with friends.”

“I can see that.”

Juliette wondered vaguely what the likelihood was that the floor would open up and swallow her. That would be preferable to sitting here feeling like a complete dumbass with nothing to say.

“Are they…” Devon spoke quietly, motioning to the others with a slight nod of his head.

“One of them. Rebecca.”

“Hmm.” Devon slid away from her, interrupting the conversations Lisa and Rebecca were having with their admirers. Juliette swiveled, watching as Devon ran off the men her friends were practicing their flirting on. Both Lisa and Rebecca looked at her with wide eyes, asking without words what was going on.

“This is, uh, Devon. He’s friends with my…” Juliette almost said father, which would have been a disaster, since Lisa only knew the public story, which was that Juliette’s mother had decided not to identify the father. “He’s friends with my mother.”

“Oh, are you an actor?” Lisa took a sip of her drink and tipped her head, hair sliding along her cheek.

Lisa was flirting with him. That bitch!

Juliette pressed her tongue against her teeth to keep from saying anything.

“No. And I’d hardly say I’m friends with Ms. Lissand. My parents are acquaintances of hers.”

Lissand was Juliette’s legal last name, Adams—her real last name—her middle name. She was impressed Devon had remembered. Then again, he wasn’t the type of person who would make a simple mistake like that.