Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (30 page)

She turned aside and stalked across the room to where Thomas Devlin stood by the sofa with the others. To her relief, her boss didn’t touch her. She couldn’t have tolerated another person’s contact at that moment. With one exception. But she didn’t trust herself to look at Cort.

The duffel lay in a pond of light beneath the skylight. Everyone gathered around to watch as André unzipped the bag.

He lifted out an object wrapped in soft cloth. As the fabric fell away, a sunbeam flashed on the brilliance revealed. The scepter’s shaft of old gold gleamed and the gemstones in its round headpiece reflected the rays, scattering light around the room.

“Leon didn’t lie,” Cort murmured. “This time, the old man didn’t lie.”

Next was the crown, with fleurs-de-lis around the base and four arches on top. Mara knew from studying the robbery that the jewels winking along its edges were pearls, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds.

In quick succession, André and Kaplan lifted out the other pieces of the royal regalia, equally magnificent and encrusted with gems—a smaller crown called a diadem, two swords, three ornate diamond-and-emerald rings, and a slim dagger in a gold hilt.

“All of it seems to be here,” André declared. “And just in time to be polished up for the coronation tomorrow. The royal family has arranged for a security detail and a private jet. They await my call.” He began wrapping up the pieces.

“There’s a little formality,” Kaplan interjected softly. Like the others, he could barely drag his gaze from the treasure on the brown sofa. “An inventory and photographs. An official statement and receipt. But we’ll have you ready to go by later this afternoon.”

André opened his mouth as if to object, but closed it again. He honored the agent with that same little bow.

“If you will all excuse me,” Thomas Devlin said, “now that I know my employee is safe, I’ll be returning to D.C.”

Mara’s mouth felt like she’d been sucking on bitter herbs but she forced herself to speak. “If you’re going to the airport, I’d appreciate a lift. Time I got back to work.”

Her boss looked at Cort, who stared stoically into space, then back at her. “Sure. Get your things. Glad to have your company. Plenty of room in the chartered jet.” He’d told them earlier he’d been on the tarmac ready to fly to Maine when he got her signal.

The FBI agents were busy with André and the crown jewels. Hard as it would be, she couldn’t leave without facing Cort one last time.

He was loading more wood into the stove. She stood there a moment before he looked at her. His face a mask of steely resolve and simmering emotion, he seemed to be grinding granite with his molars. The pulse throbbed in his throat. His familiar scent made her want to lean into his warmth and hard body.

She blinked back the tears that stung. She could barely suck in enough air to speak.
God, how could this be any harder?

“I know I totally screwed up everything. I’m sorrier than you can imagine. I committed the one crime you can’t forgive. But I swear the only destination I gave my sister was general. I never said Maine. And I might as well confess the rest. You asked me not to tell anyone at work what we were doing. I couldn’t do that. I needed help from a friend, another researcher in my office while we were in San Francisco. I should’ve told you.

“And I want you to know I’m in love with you. I understand it’s over between us. If your parents loving each other didn’t guarantee happiness, neither did my parents’ loveless marriage. There are no guarantees. A relationship needs tending—shaping, smoothing, and polishing, like your furniture—and I failed what relationship we had. I wish you a good life. Maybe someday you’ll be able to move beyond the past and come to trust yourself.”

Lines bracketed his taut mouth. He nodded but didn’t speak.

She turned and walked away. She collected her bags.

“You ready?” Devlin held the door open for her. He took her overnight bag from her.

She tilted her head, thinking. “Not quite.” She stalked to where the others hovered over the crown jewels. “André.”

When he turned around, she reared back and punched him in the face. The arrogant Frenchman stumbled, then slammed down on his Gallic butt. The pure pleasure she felt from striking the blow eclipsed the pain exploding in her knuckles.

André stared up at her in shock. Blood trickled from one nostril.

“That’s from my sister.” She whirled around, catching a glimpse of the others.

The two agents gaped.

Thomas Devlin grinned.

Cort looked as if his eyes might fall out and roll across the floor.

She marched out the door. Tears shimmered and fell, blinding her. Her boss caught her as she crumpled.

End of June

The sight of Mara’s red Versa pulling into the sunlit driveway sent Cort’s pulse soaring into the stratosphere. He dropped the instructions for setting up the professional-grade Delta cabinet saw and headed to the shadowed barn doorway.

He’d wavered all day between certainty she would be too curious to ignore his invitation and gut-wrenching fear she’d trash the email and shine him on.

But she came!

Everything else had been wound up. The new Gramornian prince was crowned with all the regal paraphernalia. Rousso implicated Hugo in Falco’s murder. In spite of strict security, Rousso was killed in jail, probably contracted by Centaur. A fight in the corridor drew away the guards. When the dust cleared, he lay bleeding out from a stab wound. No weapon and nobody saw a thing. Good riddance. Saved prosecuting complicated cases—crimes in D.C. and three states.

The FBI said the Rousso was about to cut a deal for intel about Centaur. He’d already divulged enough to tease—the leader was an ex-military American called only Z.

Cort mustered the courage to phone Dante Falco’s daughter. At least he had the good news that the killers were caught and one was dead.

The Gramornian royal family had been so ecstatic about his part in ending their difficulties with the prime minister, they doubled the reward. Cort had enough money to set up his own workshop and even advertise his furniture.

Now he had to fix the most important part of his new life.

He strode into the sunshine and crossed the lawn to meet her.

She stood staring at the house. He’d felt the same amazement when he first drove down the narrow gravel lane to this house. Tall hedges beside the lane rescued the residents of the McMansions on both sides from viewing the blight of this residue of rural history. He saw the place as more of a time capsule, an oasis in plastic suburbia.

When she heard his steps on the gravel, she turned. The sight of her expanded a bright balloon in his chest, beginning to fill the void growing there since she’d walked out his cabin door. She wore a short yellow skirt that showed off her killer legs and a lime-green V-neck top that almost gave a glimpse of her power button.

She wasn’t smiling. He needed that smile to make his world right.

He swallowed, unable to speak.
Thanks for coming
and
welcome
were inadequate. He was so damn happy to see her all he could do was grin. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Her wary expression warned him he’d better find some words or she might climb back in that little car and drive back to D.C. He’d sure had enough time to think of what to say. A month of staring at his cabin’s drab four walls. A month of stagnation at the workbench. A month of pondering what he was losing and facing what she’d told him all along.

“What
is
this place?” Her gaze swept the plank-sided barn and the whitewashed farmhouse with its metal roof and wide, low porch.

“My new digs.”

“You left the woods of Maine for an old farmhouse in suburban Virginia?”

Closer now, he saw the small v-shaped red scar on her cheek where Rousso struck her with the pistol. He wanted to deck the man again.

He took her arm and led her up the porch. Not protesting, she trailed along as if expecting to wake up from this fantastical dream.

“Kick in the head, I know. Found I missed... certain things. Hundred-year-old farmhouses don’t drop out of the sky every day, except maybe in Kansas.” She stared at him like he was Oz himself, or maybe the Wicked Witch. “Farmer sold the land except for this couple acre lot. You drove past one of the developments to get here. When he died, his heirs couldn’t agree on what to do with the place, so it sat empty for most of ten years.”

“Until now.”

“You got it.” He was renting for the time being, with an option to buy. But that depended on her.
“I’m in love with you.”
Those words had kept him going. She might’ve meant them then but by now she probably hated him and Devlin had made his move.

Grow some brass ones, Jones.

The front door led through a foyer into a living room-dining combo. “Hardwood floors, working chimney. Needs a lot of work. I’m sort of camping out until I can buy furniture. And build some.” He tried to pretty up the potential, but in reality, what he was showing her wasn’t much. Paint peeling on the walls and mantel. Worn and stained floorboards. Packing boxes, still loaded, as seats around his trestle table, the one she liked.

“It’s fine. The floors look in good shape.”

“Maple. A little work should bring them back. One of the heirs has bought furniture from me. A desk, dining room set. He did some renovations—the kitchen, wiring, plumbing. He’s the one renting it to me.”

“Ah,” she said as if she understood.

If only she did. If only she could read his mind and they could jump ahead without him walking on nails barefoot.

“Cort, you got me out here to see some sort of proof my dad is innocent. What’s the deal? Did you make that up?”

“Never. I do have proof. But give me a minute. You want a drink or something?”

She gave the stainless appliances and the granite countertops a survey, her big green handbag clamped against her hip. “Water would be nice.”

He handed her a glass, took a green tea for himself. As she drank, he watched the line of her throat, the way her hair draped her shoulders. Longed to put his lips on both.

“The little urn on the counter,” she said, nodding in that direction. “Your father?”

He huffed out a breath. “Thought I’d scatter the ashes in the backyard. Put Leon in the sunshine for a change. Now his crime’s paid in full and the jewels restored, it’s fitting.”

“You’ve forgiven him?”

“I won’t go that far. Maybe in time. Let’s say I’ve come to terms with who Leon was.”

When she set down the glass, he suggested they go outside the confining house. The brick patio spread beyond French doors and looked onto an expanse of weedy lawn and more blocking hedges, over the tops of which he could see green hills, not the cookie-cutter houses on either side. All in the eye of the beholder, who was blocking what view.

She moved up beside him and he inhaled her spring-rain scent. Damn. If he didn’t have something to do with his hands, he’d be reaching for her. Good way to get punched out like old André.

“Why are you smiling?”

He wrapped his hands around his beer. “Thinking about the way you decked the Frenchman. Nice right cross.”

“Thanks.” She frowned. “André tried to see Cassie again. To apologize, I guess. She slammed the door in his face.”

“Good for her. How’s she doing?”

“She bounced back as usual. New neighbor has a lot to do with it. Single dad about her age with a daughter in Livvie’s class. My mom’s there now too. My share of the reward money came in handy. I brought her back East. She’s living at the house with Cassie and Livvie while she looks for a condo.”

“That’s great. Really great.” How lame could he be? If she didn’t hate him, he’d bore her to death with small talk.

She set her bag on a big empty ceramic planter. He pictured her tending flowers and sitting with him at a table out here—real wood, teak, not cold iron like Falco’s.

From the don’t-mess-with-me look in her midnight eyes, she wasn’t giving him anymore time to soften her up. As if. “My dad. Some nebulous proof. What’s going on?”

“I’ll get to that. Bear with me.” He set down his bottle and reached for her. He held her hands so she couldn’t run from him. Damn but her skin was soft. He’d missed the feel of her so much. “But I have to... I have something else first. Please hear me out.”

Her eyes gleamed, two dark pits of suspicion. Shit, but he’d earned her mistrust.

“Seeing Rousso and Hauptman hold a gun on you slammed me in the gut with fear I’ve never felt in my life. I was too numb afterward to think coherently. When you walked out my door, I felt empty, cold, like the sun had been stolen from the sky.

“You trusted me to keep you safe, even when I didn’t trust you. Or anybody. You kept telling me it was myself I didn’t trust. That I wasn’t responsible for my mom’s death. You were right. It took stewing in my own juices for a month to accept it as truth. As reality. And to move past it, like you said. I should’ve been there for Mom, but I’m finally out from under Leon’s shadow. I’m no more my father than you are yours. Except yours really was innocent.”

“Cort, you don’t have to—”

“Yes. I do. Let me finish or I might not be able to get it all out.” He kissed her knuckles but held on. She didn’t try to pull away. He still had a chance.

“Okay.”

“I screwed things up between us. I was so paranoid about trust I couldn’t see what was reasonable. Like you consulting somebody in your office. And comforting Cassie. I should’ve known Rousso would research me and know about the cabin. I was out of line and I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry. I wanted to end the Gramornia thing to get on with my life. But without you, I have no life.”

“Cort, I—” Her beautiful eyes shimmered with tears.

“God, Mara, I love you. I’ve never said that to anybody. Never felt this way before. You reach the places inside me I’ve never let anybody else touch. It’s like before you my life was gray as my T-shirt and now it’s in Technicolor. With you I feel like my whole body is smiling. I miss going to sleep at night with you in my arms and waking up beside you. I miss watching you sleep. I miss arguing with you and laughing with you. Don’t take the color and life away, Mara. Don’t hate me. I want a future with you. I want—”

But he couldn’t finish because she was in his arms and kissing him. Her fierce embrace blanked out all coherent thought. All he could do was drink in her sweetness and let the scent and the warmth of her wash through him.

She ended the kiss and blinked at him through tears. Of joy, he thought. He hoped. “Of course I don’t hate you. I told you I love you and I still do. You’re an honorable man, but you had to learn that about yourself the hard way. I love your gentleness, your strength, your passion for your work.” She smiled wickedly. “And your passion for me.”

“And Thomas Devlin?”

“My boss? What does he have to do with us?”

Her obvious bewilderment was all he needed to know. “Nothing at all.” He leaned his forehead against hers. His heart still raced like a hamster in a wheel. “Thank God. Can we go inside now? I need to sit down.”

Laughing, she led the way.

They took adjoining kitchen stools, the only real furniture in the house other than his table. Except for upstairs. He opened teas for them both. His had spilled onto the bricks when she jumped him. He kissed her gently on the small scar. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head. “The doctor said it’d fade in time.”

“Your badge of courage.”

“Funny. I think of it that way too.” Her gaze dropped to his arms. She traced a finger over the snaking lines. “Your tattoos. They’ve faded.”

“Laser removal takes time. A few more treatments and I’m finished.” Then he could put that outward sign of his painful past behind for good. Because of Mara, most of the inner pain was gone too. “You probably want to know about your dad now.”

“Cort, I came to terms about my father’s guilt. But it’s okay if you want to try—”

He kissed her to shut her up. “Not try, sweetheart. Only do, according to a famous philosopher. I kept thinking about the cryptic letter that came with your dad’s ring piece. Why would Leon list the conspirators for him? None of the others knew any names. So I gave Leon’s old attorney a call. Hogan Fox retired after Dad’s trial, so his name’s not on the law firm now.”

“He phoned me after Leon died. To get me to agree to talk to you. So?”

“His old law firm is Beckham, Dixon, and Kress. Ring a bell?”

Her bottle halted mid-air. “They sent Mom the package with the ring.”

“After Quincy died. Right?”

She nodded. “Mom said it came when she was packing up his things. What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything, according to Fox. Leon didn’t trust anybody. Yeah, yeah, I know,” he added when she grinned. “The packet with the letter and ring piece was self-protection. It was to be sent to your dad if Leon was to die suddenly or under suspicious circumstances. Otherwise I’m guessing he was going to reclaim it before he and the others went to get the jewels. Or maybe he had another identical one stashed away somewhere. Who knows?”

“I don’t understand. The ring piece was mailed years ago.”

“And never opened until it reached you. Fox turned over all his files to others in his firm. He said he explained what to do with Leon’s package but the assistant got the instructions wrong. Instead of mailing it if
Leon
died, she mailed it when
your
dad
died.”

Her face lit up like Christmas morning.

“
‘I’m sending this to you, Q, because I know you’ll do what I expect with it,’
” Cort quoted.

“Because he knew Dad would do the
right
thing. He would investigate. He would inform the police of the identities of Leon’s accomplices in case one of them killed him. My dad was the honest man I always knew he was.”