Men of Intrgue A Trilogy (78 page)

He knelt next to her in the straw and slipped his arm under her shoulders. She turned to him instantly, sighing in her sleep, and snuggled into his bare chest. He lay down gingerly, settling her into the curve of his body. She murmured incoherently and relaxed completely, going back into deeper sleep as Devlin stretched out and pulled the corner of the blanket over both of them.

In seconds they were unaware of the storm that raged outside the barn.

* * * *

Angela woke an hour later, unsure of her surroundings. She half sat, startled, unable to see clearly in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. Devlin’s arm slipped from her body and rested on the hay.

She glanced down at herself and remembered the storm, the reason for her nakedness. She didn’t recall Devlin joining her.

He was still asleep, his dark hair speckled with bits of straw, his lips parted to show a glimpse of white teeth. His lashes brushed his cheeks like miniature fans of black lace.

Angela’s fingers curled with the overpowering urge to touch him. He looked so young, so vulnerable, the cautious, watchful look gone from his face. The effect was to make him seem more accessible, more within her reach than he ever had been. She surrendered to impulse and gently stroked his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

Devlin stirred, his lids lifting lazily. He surveyed her through amber slits, his expression hooded, his eyes still unfocused with sleep.

Angela didn’t speak but ran her fingers over his face, trailing his cheekbone down to his mouth. She traced his lips with a probing forefinger. They opened under her touch and she felt his tongue. He reached up with both arms and pulled her on top of him, kissing her as her body descended to his. The blanket fell unheeded to her waist.

Angela responded eagerly, all the love she felt pouring forth in physical expression. She gripped Devlin’s hard shoulders, pressing herself to him, fitting her body to his lean contours. He ran his hands over her silken skin, up her bare arms and across her back, crushing her breasts to his chest. His mouth absorbed hers, caressing, never still, until she was gasping for breath, overwhelmed by the tide of passion she had unleashed in this guarded, complicated man.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured when she raised her head. “Come back to me.”

Angela bent again, seeking his lips. He pushed the blanket to the ground and switched positions with her, rolling Angela under him. She moaned as she took his full weight, delicious, totally male. She was astonished, as she’d been before, at the well of turbulent feeling concealed beneath his calm exterior. Under that unruffled surface lay a seething lake of fire.

Devlin lowered his head and kissed her throat, her shoulders, the hollow between her breasts. His lips traveled to a sensitive nipple and sucked gently. Angela’s head fell back and her fingers sank into his thick hair as he nibbled, his teeth grazing the sensitive tissue until she thought she would go mad. She pulled on his hair to raise his head and kissed him wildly, winding her arms around his waist, imprisoning him with her bare legs. The rough material of his jeans abraded her skin as she writhed against him.

“I don’t care,” he whispered, taking her face between his hands and kissing her nose, her cheeks, her chin. “I don’t care about anything except this moment, and you.”

Angela sighed deeply, responding to his caress like a flower seeking the sun. What was he talking about? What did he mean? His mumbling didn’t make sense but she was too drugged with sensation to worry about it. He slipped his hands beneath her hips and pressed her closer. She adjusted her position to feel him more fully and he gasped against her mouth.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he rasped in her ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy since the night I met you, and the torture is going to end right now.”

“For both of us,” Angela answered, kissing his hair.

He released her suddenly, sliding off her and standing, reaching for the buckle of his belt. Their eyes locked and there was no sound except their breathing: Angela’s light and fast, Devlin’s harsh, labored. His fingers slipped the leather thong through the loop.

There was a knock on the barn door.

Devlin froze.

“Anybody in there?” a male voice called.

Devlin bent swiftly and tossed the blanket to Angela, pointing to the corner of the stall where she wouldn’t be visible from the door. Angela clutched it to her bosom and scrambled out of sight.

Devlin found his shirt and pulled it on, heading for the door. He glanced back to make sure Angela was ready, and then yanked it open to confront a small man in his twenties who said, “Who’re you?”

“I’m Brett Devlin, an employee of Mr. Patria’s. I was just taking care of Blossom. I rode her today. And who are you?”

The visitor surveyed Devlin critically. The taller man was a cool customer, but couldn’t quite conceal the fact that he was rattled. His dark hair was ruffled and he was breathless, his shirt hastily donned. Something was going on in this barn besides the grooming of a horse. But it was none of his business.

“I’m Joe Thornton, here to exercise Dancer, but it’s still too wet to take him on the track. I was looking for Harry and saw the light. I thought he might be in here.”

“He’s up at the house,” Devlin said, jerking his head in the direction of the gate. “Would you tell him that I’ll be taking Miss Patria home now, and he can lock up after us.”

“Miss Patria?” Joe inquired, trying to look past Devlin.

Devlin stepped forward, blocking his view. “That’s right. Thanks for conveying the message. Goodbye.” He stared the other man down.

Joe turned away. He wasn’t about to tangle with anybody that size. The guy looked like he ate nails for breakfast.

Devlin shut the door after him, calling to Angela, “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Angela stood, wrapping the blanket around her. “Wh-what?” she said stupidly.
 

“Get dressed,” he repeated, buttoning his shirt.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that he arrived just in time,” Devlin responded curtly, tucking in his shirt with savage precision.

“In time?” Angela wailed. “In time for what?” She stared at him, unable to believe that he was doing this to her. Again.

“Come on,” Devlin said, picking up Angela’s sweater and tossing it to her. “Put your clothes on and let’s go.”

“What is it, Brett?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. “What’s wrong with me?”

Devlin closed his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
 

“Yes, there is. There must be.”

“Angela, there are things you don’t know, things you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me,” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Tell me why you won’t make love to me.”

“I can’t.”

Angela blinked and hot tears slipped down her face. She wiped them hastily with the back of her hand. She would not do this. She simply would not. But her body betrayed her and cried anyway. She swallowed noisily, fighting back a sob.

Devlin stepped forward, his hand extended, and then stopped, clenching his fists.

“Don’t, Angela,” he said in an agonized voice. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she responded, sniffling loudly. He looked at her as she stood there clutching the ratty blanket like a homeless refugee and felt like a monster. She looked so pathetic, and yet beautiful at the same time, like the statues of sorrowful madonnas in Eastern rite churches.

“All right,” she announced, as if in response to something he had said. “I’ve had it. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I won’t be throwing myself at you ever again.”

“You haven’t been throwing yourself at me—” he began, but she interrupted.

“Yes, I have. By comparison with my behavior in the past I’ve been chasing you with regulation track shoes.”

“That isn’t true.”

She smiled bitterly. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to spare my feelings now. That would make a change.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Ah, the man of few words has decided, as usual, not to speak,” she said sarcastically. “A wise choice. As I was saying, I never knew before how degrading it is to beg like this, to want someone so badly that you’re willing to make a complete fool of yourself.”

“Angela, for God’s sake.”

“Shut up!” she yelled.

He shut up.

“Thank you,” she went on calmly. “Now I am going to get dressed and I don’t wish to discuss this any further.”

He turned his back as she struggled into her clammy clothes. When she was ready to go she followed him out in stony silence.

* * * *

Angela was as good as her word. Her attitude toward Devlin changed after that day. Her manner up until then had contained an element of resentment engendered by his previous rejection. But now there was an added note of defeated sadness. She had given up on him. And her acceptance, her unconditional surrender, was terrible.

Devlin waited miserably for her to open the safe, and just when he thought he would have to devise a scheme to get her to do so fate intervened on his behalf. She was putting together a costume for the party she was hostessing for Philip, and decided to try on a pair of earrings she kept in the safe to see how well they would go with her dress. Devlin lingered in the hall until she returned to her room with the velvet box, and then went to his dresser to check his recorder.

The counters on the machine had moved. He rewound the tape and listened to the noise of the tumblers turning and the click of the gears falling into place. It meant nothing to him but to the forensic experts at the Bureau it should be the key to the puzzle. Once he mailed in the tape and the description of the safe he would have the combination.

It would all be over soon.

Chapter 5

Devlin received the combination to the safe the day before Angela’s Halloween bash. The evening seemed endless as he waited for Josie to go home, and then drugged Angela’s coffee for what he hoped was the last time. When she was safely asleep he broke into the study and uncovered the hiding place, kneeling before the safe and twirling the dial with nervous, clumsy fingers. On the third try he got it right and the door swung open noiselessly. He exhaled the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and looked inside.

The safe was crammed with manila folders. There were a few jewelry boxes similar to the one that contained Angela’s earrings, but the files were its main stock. Devlin reached for the closest one and began reading.

After ten minutes he stopped and reached for the next one. The pause was shorter before he grabbed the third. Finally he threw the papers on the floor in disgust.

Tax records. It was all income tax forms and copies of IRS appeals. Devlin knew that the Internal Revenue Service had been after Patria for years, trying to prove tax evasion, but hadn’t been able to pin anything on him. Harold Simmons was a very skilled juggler, and had fixed Patria’s books to give his dealings the appearance of legality. Patria apparently considered his triumphs over the federal government significant enough to keep this memorial to his genius under lock and key. Everything was ready in the event of future combat, all of which did nothing to help Devlin nail him on a drug charge. Devlin sat back on his heels and stared unseeingly at the wall.

After some minutes he began to read each folder thoroughly and methodically. When he was satisfied that they really didn’t contain what he needed, he put them aside and turned to the other contents of the safe.

Angela’s jewelry was unremarkable and he dismissed that, too. There was a pile of legal documents, deeds and wills and birth certificates—they didn’t help him either. He went through it all, piece by piece, until the only items left were three metal cylinders that he couldn’t identify.

He pulled apart the casing on one and it separated like the pieces of a fountain pen. Inside was a roll of microfilm. His heart began to beat faster. Could this be it? He carefully unraveled the spool and held the celluloid to the light. He squinted and turned it in his hands, but the images had been miniaturized to the point that they were impossible to decipher without the enlargement process that would make them legible again. He put the container back together and pocketed it, along with the other two like it. The Bureau could copy the film and enlarge it. If this wasn’t the information he was looking for he didn’t know where it might be found. He closed the safe and replaced the panel, fervently hoping that he wasn’t sending his colleagues photographs of Angela’s sweet sixteen birthday party. He relocked the door and descended to the ground floor as quietly as possible.

Once back in his room he put the film in his dresser and locked the drawer. He would try to get it out tomorrow when Angela was busy with the preparations for the party.

The very thought of that event made him want to throttle the guest of honor. In less than twenty-four hours the house would be filled with Cronin’s business and social contacts, and Angela would be acting as hostess for that pompous ass. He couldn’t understand why she was doing it, but there was a long list of things he couldn’t understand about her lately. Since the trip to Connecticut she had become as reticent and secretive as she always claimed he was.