Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (19 page)

Silence. Rousso wiped a palm on his trouser leg. Wished he knew more about Z.

“You have two ring pieces, correct?” Z asked.

“Yes, sir. I obtained the thief Falco’s and I have access to another.”

“Then quit dicking around and get the one Jones has. He has the Jeweler’s or his own. Three should be enough to lead us to the treasure. I need those crown jewels. I have five bidders who are on the phone to me hourly. Are you able to do what I ask?”

Rousso fervently hoped so. His future depended on it. He had not attempted to accost Jones, except when he and Willy needed to escape yesterday. Jones had the hard look of prison, was big and strong. Judging from yesterday, he knew how to fight. “Obtaining Jones’s ring piece will mean eliminating him. Maybe the woman.”

“She works for Devlin, right?”

Rousso frowned, perplexed by the non sequitur and more so by the smile he heard in Z’s voice. “She does.”

“Then do her.”

Mara looked up from the crowded floats and inhaled the sea air redolent with salt and seaweed. In the distance was the Golden Gate Bridge, a ray of afternoon sunlight through the clouds glinting rusty red off its girders.

“Too long since I came to enjoy this view.” So far they’d laughed and enjoyed the day without anything more serious than his occasional check for someone tailing them.

Sightseeing and talking about the city’s history kept things light, the way she wanted it. Even with her slight slip when he’d fingered a silk scarf in one of the Chinatown shops.

“For someone special back in Maine?” she’d said.

“Office manager at the woodworking school.”

“Ah,” she said. The gorgeous design featured a dragon in brilliant blues and reds and would look fabulous with her black suit. Not that she’d let on. She had no cause to be possessive, no right to care. “Any woman would like that scarf.”

He tossed her the dimpled grin that always weakened her knees. “Jealous?”

His blatant male satisfaction at her obvious attitude further prickled. Her own fault. She’d been too transparent, but she pasted on a sunny smile. “Just curious.”

“The woman runs everything, a good woman to keep happy. She’s also married and has five kids ages five to sixteen.”

Relief doused her ire. Dammit, no cause to feel relief either. “Then by all means, buy her that scarf.”

In the end he’d also selected key chains depicting the Chinatown Gate and other city landmarks for the kids while Mara bought a handbag. They’d spent an hour in the Cable Car Museum before continuing their ride downhill.

She pointed across the water. “Over there is Ghirardelli Square, where the chocolate factory used to be. Now it’s mostly shops. Beyond it is Pacific Heights.”

“There to our left, Telegraph Hill?” Cort asked. “What’s the tower?”

She nodded, pleased he was as interested in the historical surroundings as she was. “Coit Tower, built in the 1930’s to honor the fire brigades, as they used to call them. The top is rumored to be shaped like a fire hose nozzle but I don’t see the resemblance.”

“Guess you’d have to be closer. Or be a fire fighter.” He pointed to where one of the smaller sea lions tried to push its way into the crush of animals on a float. The youngster flopped into the water with a big splash. It swam to another float, more crowded than the last. Sea lions piled on top of each other, their massive weight nearly sinking the floats.

“These guys disappeared for a while but came back and are again a nuisance,” she said. “Too many of them but killing them is illegal. They climb on boats and private docks as well as here where they’re welcome.”

“A twist on that old joke about where a gorilla sleeps.” Cort slung his arm around her and kissed her temple.

Tucked close to him, she felt protected and at peace, a moment of calm in their dangerous quest.

“Can’t see Chinatown from here,” he said.

“No, it’s back the other way.”

“Your mom must not live in Chinatown or you’d have mentioned it earlier.”

“Of course not,” she said, arching away to gape up at him. “Mom’s Korean.”

“Sorry. Dumb mistake.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“No, my fault for being overly sensitive.” She returned to his embrace. “The ethnic separations are ancient. Chinatown is exclusively Chinese. Not many other Asians live or work there. LA has a Koreatown but not San Francisco. The main Korean enclaves are out in the Avenues, near Golden Gate Park. That’s where Mom lives with my aunt and uncle.”

The breeze blew her hair into her face and she brushed it away. Too long. Since they’d begun their search, she hadn’t taken time for a cut or styling.

He released her and turned to lean against the railing. A tress fell across her breast, and he rubbed the strands between his fingers. “Beautiful. Bouncy and alive.”

She met his eyes and felt herself falling into their gray depths, like losing herself in an impenetrable fog. He made her feel too much. He bent forward and their mouths touched and fitted together for a greedy moment. She gripped his shoulders and clung to him, diving into his addictive taste.

When he eased away, he caressed her cheek, her jaw, his fingers trembling. His expression was unreadable in the afternoon shadows that cut deep across his face. “Mara, about last night.”

Her stomach squeezed.
Here it comes.
She couldn’t head him off with a protest that others were listening. The other sea-lion watchers had moved off toward the street. A lone man stood beneath an awning perusing a guide book but he was too far away to hear their conversation. “What do you mean?”

“You. Me. We have this connection, and I can’t ignore it. And neither can you, although you try to.” He leaned closer so his intense gaze bored into her. “Sweetheart, having you come for me more than once is a major turn-on, but seeing you fight it isn’t exactly an ego booster. Care to tell me what that’s about?”

She averted her gaze but couldn’t focus on the sea lions. “You’re imagining things.”

“You said that last night. Didn’t wash then. Doesn’t now. You have a damn good memory but mine’s not bad. I recall you saying something to your sister about not being like your mom. Am I getting warm?”

She bent her head and chewed her lip. This family secret was so personal. But
personal
was what they’d been last night and many nights before. “My parents met in San Francisco when Dad was just starting out with Global Insurance. I don’t have all the details. But Mom was the hostess in her brother-in-law’s restaurant. She’s doing the same job again. They married eight weeks later and moved to Maryland. She was pregnant. Cassie and I did the math a long time ago.”

“A whirlwind courtship. Nothing wrong with that. The marriage lasted, didn’t it?”

“The marriage lasted but not the relationship. It’s like that Johnny Cash song. Something about marrying in a fever and then the fever burns out. She let passion overrule her brain and fell for a totally incompatible man. They never agreed about anything. Not politics. Not household matters. Not us kids. Nothing.”

“Big fights, or what?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, one of them gave in, usually Mom. She’d mutter to herself in Korean and slam a door or something.”

She hadn’t thought about it in a long time but now saw how the tension had affected her and Cassie in different ways. Cassie became confrontational and defensive but was always looking for love with the wrong man. Just like Mom.

And herself? She wanted love and caring and common interests with the right man. Did that make her the perfectionist Cassie’d always accused her of being? She had no answers. Not today. Not with Cort standing beside her, so strong and sexy and distracting.

He rubbed his nape as he mulled over what she’d said. “I get how you know about the incompatibility. You lived it every day. But you know about the sex thing how?”

“When I was about twelve and Cassie seventeen, she overheard them talking. Arguing was more like it, I guess. She explained it to me. I vowed right then never to let myself fall for a guy strictly because of sex.”

“An intelligent decision. Just like you. But you’ve taken it to an extreme conclusion. So you hold back on good sex and the pleasure two people can give each other on the off chance sex tips the balance with the wrong guy?” The scar-dimple in his cheek winked at her, a sure indication he was having fun with this topic. A whole lot more than she was.

She shook her head, pulled her hair back and up to cool her neck, which was hot for some unaccountable reason. So were her cheeks. Dammit. She avoided his eyes, or he’d see too much. “You make it too simple.”

“Sweetheart, nothing about you is simple.”

She chanced a look. This time he wasn’t grinning. She let her hair down and continued. “Last night was the aftermath of an emotional day. I was exhausted. So were you, after the flight west. The whole thing with Danita Inglish and the two attackers. We’d been through a lot together. I felt... overwhelmed and a bit frightened by my strong reactions to our lovemaking.” She stopped there, before she dove into a quagmire.

He kissed her palm. “I’m glad it wasn’t me who scared you. But who knows what Cassie really overheard and what you understood from her explanation? You were a kid. You should ask your mom for the truth.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Absolutely not. Would you dare to ask your mom about her sex life with your dad?”

“No need. I heard them too many times through the wall. They loved each other. I know because they told me. Love’s no guarantee people agree on everything. Or much of anything.”

New sea lion watchers joined them on the wharf, likely early diners at the many seafood restaurants and raw bars. Because it was getting late, the two of them left the wharf and headed up Taylor Street toward the cable car turntable. Beyond, sunlight skidded across the rooftops of candy-colored Victorian houses lining the vertical streets.

Cort glanced at her as they walked along. Fear of passion? Maybe. Her parents’ fights had stressed her childhood, just like his, for different reasons and in different ways. Her face was so expressive and her eyes revealed everything. Not this time. She was still hiding something, something she deliberately omitted from her revelation. Emotional overload? Crap. What the hell did he know about women’s emotions? Not much. Probably smarter of him not to try to find out. Getting in any deeper with her would lead nowhere either of them wanted to go.

But he’d never known sex to be so powerful, so all-encompassing. And he had to wait hours for the night.

They crossed the street, but this time the turntable stood empty. The tracks ribboned up the hill, empty. The ticket attendant said the next cable car was due in about ten minutes. Five other people stood around with tickets in hand. He followed Mara around the barrier and sat on a planter big enough for an oak tree.

She turned to him, her eyes bright with purpose. “Okay, now it’s your turn. You’ve talked a lot about Leon. Is there a reason you’ve avoided talking about your mom?”

His breath hitched. Yes, there was a reason. Pain. But he’d opened the door. He tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow while he composed himself. He got through the day easier when he avoided remembering how he’d failed his mom. “Fair enough question. I don’t talk about her because her death is my fault.”

“What? That can’t be. You were in prison when she died.” Her disbelief almost but not quite mitigated the shame that bubbled up after he spoke the damning words.

“Exactly.” He swallowed against the tightness that gathered in his throat. “First I should tell you this isn’t my first visit to San Francisco.”

“Whoa, really?” She gaped at him with a look of disappointment. “If you’ve seen Chinatown and Fisherman’s Wharf, you should’ve told me.”

“If I’ve been to either place, I’ve forgotten. I was eight.”

She gawped. “So San Francisco was one of the many places you lived with your parents?”

He hadn’t thought about that time in forever. Being here propelled him to relive the year. Painful memories. “Leon moved us here in pursuit of some big score. I have no idea what his target was. I do know I never got to ride on a cable car. Mom pronounced it too expensive. Never mind that Leon always had plenty of dough. She did temp work when she could so she had her own money. She tried not to spend his. I can’t recall where we lived—a row house away from the city center. We usually traveled by streetcar and bus. I took a city bus to school.”

“How long did you live here?”

“About a year. Just long enough for me to get used to the routine. Then something happened with Leon’s big plans—maybe he scored, maybe not—and we split in the middle of the night.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. Maybe she’d sensed his bitterness. Hiding his emotions from her wasn’t working.

“Tough on a family, a nomad life like that,” she said finally.

“Back then I thought of it as a big adventure. Now I think the stay was more of a fiasco. Might’ve been when my mother started drinking.” A band tightened around his chest. His eyes stung as he fought the memories.

She said nothing. Just waited quietly, her hand secure on his arm.

Somehow the pressure inside him eased enough so he could keep going. He spilled all that had festered inside him for the years since the warden told him his mother had died. Accidental, he said, a combination of tranquilizers and vodka. A long downhill slide that might have begun here or earlier. He’d been too young to know.

“First she had daily cocktails. Next she needed a “pick-me-up” at lunch. Then a little here and there all day. At first I wasn’t conscious of her descent into an alcohol haze. Too young and stupid, I guess. She kept up a façade of calm stoicism.”

“You were just a kid. I can’t imagine how alone you must’ve felt. How helpless.” Her understanding gave him the strength to continue more or less calmly. “And Leon?” she asked.

He snorted his scorn. “Too involved in his schemes and redesigning the stolen gems into saleable jewelry that I wonder whether Leon even realized his wife was going under. After the divorce, she got worse. I became her caretaker.”

“And took care of yourself, I imagine.”