Men of Intrgue A Trilogy (76 page)

The whole back wall of the room slid slowly to the left. He hadn’t been able to find a seam because there wasn’t one. The entire wall was a movable panel, concealing a small alcove beyond, cut into the closet space of the room next to it. In the opening stood the safe.

Devlin quickly knelt before it and jotted down a complete description of its appearance, making careful note of the manufacturer’s label and the codex serial number affixed to the door by a metal plate. Then he transferred the bug he’d planted earlier to the back of the combination dial, where it was practically invisible. The next time Angela opened the safe it would record the action of the tumblers. When he sent the description of the safe along with the tape to the experts at the Bureau, they would be able to give him the combination. He closed the panel and left the study as he’d found it.

As he passed Angela’s room he pulled the filament from her lock. Back at his dresser he checked the receiver in his drawer. If Angela gave no sign of going to the safe soon, he would have to get her to open it on some pretext. He needed that combination. Until he got it he was just marking time. He locked the drawer in which he kept his tools and pocketed the key.

Devlin lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. He wanted this assignment to be over more than anything in the world. At the same time, he wanted it to go on forever. He wanted it to end because he was deceiving Angela, and he wanted it to continue because while it did he could see her. Who knew what would happen when it was over? He told himself a million times that he would be able to make her understand, but he didn’t actually believe it. If he really believed it he wouldn’t be walking around with his guts in a permanent knot.

He shouldn’t be taking her to Connecticut. He shouldn’t be doing anything except going with her to school. But the temptation was too strong, the prospect of her company too sweet, too tantalizing to resist.

Once he turned her uncle in he might never see her again. Was he so wrong to savor what he could now, while she still wanted him, trusted him? In a fog of misery he pictured those hazel eyes narrowed against him in righteous anger, or worse, wide and hurt with bewilderment at his betrayal.

Oh, God, how had he gotten himself into this situation? There was no way out, no path he could take that would lead him safely through this maze.

Groaning like a man in physical pain, he rolled over to try for a few minutes of sleep before Angela called him to take her to school.

Chapter 4

Angela’s presentation went well in class and Holly met her in the hall afterward. Devlin hung back, watching Holly as if to determine how Angela’s friend was to be treated.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Angela said to him.

He nodded and moved a few feet away, lounging against the wall and lighting a cigarette. He smoked lazily, his body relaxed, his eyes never leaving Angela.

“‘I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,’” Holly recited in a sing-song voice.

“A rather big shadow, in this case,” Angela replied, smiling.

“A big,
beautiful
shadow,” Holly added, and grinned.

They went on to discuss the class they’d just had, and recent happenings, and Holly was thanking Angela for the flowers she’d sent when Carol Lasker arrived. Carol was another third year student who had been Angela’s moot court partner. She was a brilliant but erratic student who rarely attended classes, and then ran around like a madwoman at exam time photocopying everyone’s notes. She made up for this annoying trait by cheerfully editing and reconstructing briefs for less gifted students. Hopeless disorganization did not prevent her from being an excellent writer.

“Hi, troops,” she greeted the two women. “Good show today, Angela. It even kept me awake.” She turned her head to examine Devlin with undisguised relish. “Rather interesting company you’ve been keeping lately.”

Angela looked at Holly warningly.

“What’s he like?” Carol asked.

“Quiet,” Angela replied truthfully. “Doesn’t talk much.”

“Who cares?” Carol said, running her gaze admiringly over Devlin’s lean form from his head to his feet. If he was aware of the scrutiny he gave no sign.

“Don’t jump too high, Carol,” Holly interjected dryly. “He’s something of a hard sell. Angela was just telling me that Ginny Davenport gave him her best shot last night and sank without a trace.”

Carol sighed. “Oh, well. If Ginny struck out there’s no hope for me. Men drop in their tracks at the sight of her like stunned deer.”

“Not this man,” Angela said with an unmistakable note of satisfaction in her voice.

Carol and Holly exchanged significant glances. “I thought I heard that he was your cousin,” Carol said suspiciously.

“Distant,” Angela replied vaguely. “Distant cousin.”

“Sort of a kissing cousin?” Carol asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Sort of,” Angela answered briskly, shouldering her purse. “You might say that. Listen, I have to go. Carol, I’ll see you. Holly, I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay? ‘Bye.”

Carol and Holly watched her as she joined Devlin, and he smiled down at her as if they were alone in the hall.

“Cousin, huh?” Carol said darkly. She snorted derisively and walked away.

Holly shrugged and trailed after her to the lounge.

* * * *

Devlin had rented a small sedan for the trip to Connecticut, and as they headed toward the parking lot to pick it up they were waylaid by Bob Harold, who shared tutoring duties with Angela. The law school sponsored a remedial program for first year students, and Bob and Angela occupied a carrel on the library floor that served as a mini office for their clients.

“Angie, where did you put the outlines for Hampton’s class?” Bob asked as Devlin frowned down at him, annoyed.

“They’re in the second drawer of the desk, Bob. Under the tutoring schedule.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bob looked at Devlin. “You leaving now?” he asked Angela.

“Yes. I’m through for the day.”

Bob’s disappointment was poorly concealed. “I was hoping we could go over the cases for Wednesday’s class, Angie.”

Angela smiled regretfully. “I can’t today, Bob. Some other time. Why don’t you leave me a note in our mailbox and we’ll see if we can get together.”

Bob nodded and followed Angela’s retreating figure with his eyes.

“Who is that guy anyway?” Devlin growled as they walked away. “He’s always hanging around you.”

“He’s my tutoring partner and he’s not hanging around. We have work to do.”
 

“He wants you,” Devlin said darkly.

Angela halted. “What!”

“You heard me.”

“Brett, I really think you’re off base about that. Bob is just a friend who—”

“A friend who would like to be more than a friend. And why does he call you ‘Angie?’”

“Because he doesn’t know me,” Angela answered, meeting Devlin’s eyes.

He nodded slowly, and that was the end of the conversation.

* * * *

The trip to Connecticut took longer than it should have because Angela got lost twice. As they were wandering aimlessly along the back roads of rural Fairfield County, Devlin turned to her and said, “How long has it been since you were up here?”

“I was here six months ago with my uncle when he bought Sand Dancer, but I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to the route. Before that it was years since I’d seen the stables.”

“Maybe we should have checked the directions?” Devlin suggested gently.

“I guess so. I’m sorry.”

Devlin shot her a sidelong glance. “Don’t be sorry. I’m enjoying the scenery. I just hope we don’t become a permanent part of it.”

Angela smiled back at him, thinking how nice he was. His patience was an integral part of his characteristic stillness. Philip would have been screaming at her by now.

Devlin stopped at a gas station and the attendant was familiar with the area. He directed them to the proper road, and they arrived about fifteen minutes later.

Frank Patria’s horse farm occupied ten acres of grassland, featuring a large stable capable of housing several horses at a time, a paddock and jumping course, and woodland trails carved out of the surrounding landscape. The groom’s house faced the main gate, and Devlin parked the car in the front yard as Angela walked up and knocked on the door.

Mrs. Colebrook answered. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Mrs. Colebrook, do you remember me? I was here in the spring with my uncle when he bought Sand Dancer. I’m Angela Patria.”

The woman’s brow cleared. “Of course. I thought I knew your face. How have you been?”

“Just fine. I was wondering if your husband could let us into the stables. I have a friend with me. I wanted to show him Dancer, and take a lesson on one of the other horses, if that would be all right.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll get Harry, he’s out back.”

Angela turned around and signaled Devlin that he should get out of the car. He did so, slowly.

Harry Colebrook came around the side of the house, followed by his wife. He was all smiles.

“Miss Patria, why didn’t you call and tell us you were coming? We could have gotten ready, the missus would have made dinner.”

“That’s why I didn’t call,” Angela replied, laughing. “All we want is a couple of hours with the horses. Can you take us over?”

“Sure thing.” He glanced inquiringly at Devlin as the other man approached.

“Harry, this is Brett Devlin, a friend of mine. Brett, Harry Colebrook.”

Harry beamed and shook hands with Devlin, who was looking strangely subdued and uncomfortable. When Harry went inside to get the keys Angela said, “Is something wrong?”

Devlin didn’t answer, saying instead, “I take it that they don’t know about the reason for my presence.”

“They don’t know.”

Devlin looked down, kicking at a pebble in the packed dirt yard. When was this going to end? He was making a career out of misrepresenting himself to innocent people who treated him with a friendship he didn’t deserve.

Harry reappeared and led the way to a big barn-like structure, the interior of which was divided into stalls. Angela moved to the last one on the left, which was set apart from the others. Inside it was a magnificent Arabian stallion, black except for white feet and a white star on his forehead. He whinnied when he saw them and tossed his head.

“Sand Dancer,” she announced to Brett. “What do you think?”

Devlin reached over the half barrier and stroked Dancer’s nose. The horse responded to this attention by lashing out with one of his forefeet and kicking the side of the stall.

Devlin took Angela’s hand and led her gently backward, away from the horse. “I think neither one of us is going to be riding him any time soon,” he said dryly.

Harry laughed. “You got that right. He needs his afternoon exercise. The boy should be along later to take him out. Dancer will settle down after that.”

“I sincerely hope so,” Devlin replied, and Harry laughed again.

“Relax,” the groom said. “We’ve got him at stud here, he’s not going to be tossing anybody. We just let him run, that’s what he likes to do. And a professional jockey Mr. Patria hired takes him out twice a week. That guy can control him.”

“He sure is a beautiful animal,” Devlin said admiringly.

“In looks, yeah,” Harry answered. “But too ornery to race. He’d be worth a lot more if we could run him professionally.”

“A lot more than forty grand?” Devlin said.

Harry glanced at Angela, who said, “I told him what Uncle Frank paid for Dancer.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, he’d be worth more. Even now the stud fees will be well worth his price if we can breed him with gentle mares and get that meanness out of the line.”

“Speaking of gentleness,” Devlin said, “we need a gentle horse for Angela to try sitting, anything that’s easily led and not too mouth shy.”

Harry nodded, saying to Devlin, “You seem to know horseflesh. Do you ride?”

“I used to. I think I remember enough to get Angela started.”

“You won’t be needing me, then?” Harry asked.

“No, just point us in the direction of your best-natured animal,” Devlin said.

Harry gestured to a stall on the other side of the barn. “Blossom should do. She has the sweetest disposition of any horse here. She’s downright puppyish.”

“That sounds about right,” Angela offered.

The two men laughed. “Nervous?” Harry inquired.

“Determined,” Angela replied. “I’ve been working up to this for twenty years.”

“I wondered why you never rode,” Harry said.

“Too gutless,” Angela responded, shrugging.

“But not with your friend here?” Harry added archly, nodding at Devlin.

That remark fell into a silence. Then Devlin said briskly, “Well, let’s get started. Where’s the tack room?”

Harry showed Devlin the gear while Angela waited nervously, her nose twitching at the unmistakably pungent smell of hay and manure and warm animal flesh. Devlin returned minutes later, carrying a saddle and bridle.