Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (7 page)

“Did they divorce?” Her expression held curiosity and interest, not pity or disdain.

He poured wine and leaned back against the counter where she’d set her cell phone in a dock with an iPod. She had games including a Wii. All the toys, this pretty geek. He swirled the dark red liquid in his goblet. “She moved us to Massachusetts, where she grew up, and divorced him. Their agreement was that he’d see me only under her supervision.”

“But Leon didn’t stick to their deal. Again, no surprise.” She shook her head and sipped wine.

“You’re catching on.”

“Your dad made his life seem exciting and adventurous. Heady stuff for a boy,” she said. “And your mom disapproved, so you were caught in the middle.”

“Most of the time it was okay. Going into the relationship, she knew what he was. Then she couldn’t take the secrecy, the unsavory hangers-on, the constant moving.”

“Did they love each other?”

“Love? Is there such a thing? Can’t prove it by me.” He barked a harsh laugh. “She said she loved him. Just couldn’t live with him. Didn’t want me to end up like him.”

And first chance he got, he followed in good old Dad’s footsteps.

He set down the glass with careful control. “Never again. And I’ll prove it if I have to drag Leon’s partners into the FBI office and make them hand over their ring pieces.”

Mara crossed the tiny kitchen and placed her small hand on his chest in comfort, as if she’d read his mind. As if she’d said,
“You’re not your father.”
Or was he?

In reply to that gesture, he said, “I should’ve known not to trust him.”

The press of her soft palm and the tips of her fingers revved his pulse to a higher gear. He inhaled—the fruity shampoo that permeated the bathroom and the fresh rain scent that seemed to be hers alone—and his blood simmered again.

When she lifted those dark liquid eyes to his, he had to taste her. Her generous words and tender touch seeped into his chest and something shifted. Before whatever it was could take hold, he held her away from him. He was spending another night in her apartment. Best not to start something he couldn’t finish.

“You were only a boy.” She backed up, effectively snapping any connection, probably all in his mind. And lower.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Her eyes flashed with irritation. “We’ll see. I know you haven’t been involved in any criminal activity since you got out of prison.”

That much was all he deserved. “I have to head to Maine tomorrow, and we have another box to go through. We might find more suspects. Or the proof you need.” If the FBI didn’t find anything to exonerate Marton, it was unlikely he and Mara would. But he didn’t say so.

“My thoughts exactly.” She poured two mugs of the brewed coffee. She handed him one before doctoring hers.

He waited for her to precede him, watching the sway of her ass as she walked into the living room.

By the next Friday, Mara’s eyes were blurry from research. All week she’d had a full load of regular assignments—gathering info on known collectors of Chinese artifacts, artifact forgers, and thieves. A fourth fake Han period horse, copies of the stolen one, showed up, this time part of a California collector’s estate. Someone was cheating the cheats. Hard not to smile at the irony—except for the loss of the original horse.

Her lunch breaks and scarce spare time went to researching suspects in the Smithsonian theft—the three security guards and Leon Jones’s usual partner.

She picked up a short stack of file folders and stuffed them and her flash drive into her tote, ready to head home. Online research had given her addresses for two of the three possible owners of ring pieces. She’d find the third eventually. No problem. The second file box yielded no more information than the first.

Nothing incriminated her father. Nothing cleared him either.

“Devlin give you time off for this project, Mara?”

She looked up to see her friend Sandi at the cubicle entrance. Also a researcher, Sandi sympathized with Mara’s situation.

“Didn’t ask. Not yet anyway,” she said. “I’ll wait and see if it’s necessary.” She aimed to turn in her reports early so if they had to travel, she could take personal days.

“I saw Cortez Jones’s photo. Even holding a number in front of him, he looks hot.” Sandi winked, waggled her water bottle and the fountain of brown curls on top her head. “I’d sure want to spend some days with the guy. And nights.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “We’re just working together. That’s all.”

“Sure. Sure.” She didn’t sound convinced. “What’d you find on your list of suspects?”

“Background checks, current addresses, jobs, finances, families. Nothing suspicious. One person has died.”

“Guess they won’t be much help.”

Sandi’s lighthearted attitude was contagious, and Mara joined in her laughter. “Gotta count on the families.”

“Well, good luck. Let me know if you need any help. You could introduce me to the hottie.” She strolled off, tossing this last over her shoulder.

Like that was gonna happen. Cort’s reasons for not trusting were valid. And she’d sworn both Sandi and her boss to secrecy. If Cort knew she’d included her friend, he’d have a cow, to quote her sister, but she needed Sandi’s expertise in using the unfamiliar databases. And she might need her help again.

She picked up the tote and her hand-painted Anuschka bag. The chirp of her cell phone had her huffing. When she saw it was her sister, she almost let it go to voice mail. But no. She set down her bags.

“Hey, Cassie.” They hadn’t seen each other since collecting their father’s file boxes. She’d returned them to the basement but Cassie hadn’t been there. “What’s up?”

“You met with that ex-con again yet?”

She felt her shoulder muscles stiffen. Cassie refused to refer to Cort as anything but
that ex-con
or
him
. “Cort’s coming in another week. I told you that.”

She heard Cassie blow out a breath. “You haven’t gone off on your own to see the others, have you?”

Mara scowled at her sister’s implication, mostly at herself because Cassie was right. But Cort had talked her off that ledge. Then memories of the behemoth who’d attacked her had kept her double-locked in her apartment with the new security system coded in and set. “No way. He and I will do that together.”

“Good. You never think anything bad will happen. Amazing for someone who researches criminal stuff. I’m afraid. You can’t trust him. I don’t like it either way.”

She was used to her sister’s criticism but it rankled. “I’m okay. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Good. That’s good. Well...”

The hesitation meant something was up. Cassie hadn’t phoned only to check on her. “What’s going on, sis? Is it Livvie?”

“Livvie’s fine.” Ah, the catch of breath, her sister’s pause for effect. “I’ve met a guy.”

Of course. Ever since her divorce, Cassie’d swung from down in the dumps to a peak of on the hunt so she could flaunt some guy in front of her ex. Mara sought patience.

“Hold on a sec,” Cassie said.

Mara heard a male voice in the background.
Here we go again.

But she mustered up some enthusiasm. Maybe Cassie would focus on romance instead of ragging on Livvie and her. “Hon, that’s great. Is that his voice I heard?”

Cassie laughed. “That’s just the cable guy. Some problem with connections. They’re checking every box on the street.”

“I don’t have much time but tell me the important stuff. Where’d you meet him? What’s he like? And I don’t mean the cable guy.”

Her sister’s raspy chuckle hummed through the line. “Good thing. Met André at work. He came to my desk to open a checking account. We’re going to play tennis and have dinner tonight. He’s sophisticated and
sooo
charming. Looks like that hot French guy who’s on
Devious Maids
, Gilles something, but a little older, forty maybe.”

“Gilles Marini? Whew, I’m heating up just hearing about André.” True, but that condition had nothing to do with Cassie’s new guy.

She’d remained hot ever since Cort nearly kissed her. Fantasies of his hard mouth and harder body warming her inside and out filled her thoughts whenever she wasn’t focused on work. Knowing he was so the wrong man didn’t make any difference to her body. Whenever he phoned to check on her research, his low, rumbling voice caused the same rev of her heartbeat, the same tingle she’d felt when she pressed her palm to his solid chest and his eyes went to smoke. Was this how her mom had ended up married to a man she didn’t love? Did the heat of passion mask their basic incompatibility?

She chatted a moment longer before begging off. She promised herself to be all business when Cort arrived. Clearing her father and finding evidence for the FBI had to be her priority. Not drooling over a guy, like Cassie. Or going soft in sympathy.

She exited the building and drove across town, taking side streets to avoid rush-hour traffic. And to shake anyone following her. Mr. Devlin had explained how to watch for a tail. A DSF tech guy searched her car for a GPS tracker and found nothing, thank goodness.

Cassie’s warnings were unnecessary. She knew to be careful. If they didn’t trust each other, following up on any attraction was out of the picture. Trust or no trust, she needed to know more about what made Cortez Jones tick. And how involved he was in his father’s nefarious business before they robbed the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. The bare facts she’d researched and her short acquaintance with him didn’t begin to address his motives then. Or now.

***

Cort tested the finish. Solid and dry. Good. On his own time, he’d busted ass finishing this commission. Six chairs to match the cherry dining room table built for a regular customer in Connecticut last year. Now he could pack them up to deliver on his way to D.C. He flicked off the workshop lights and headed across the dooryard.

His time back in Maine had dragged like a load of logs behind a skidder. Assisting a guest instructor from Vermont in a course on boxes with inlays kept him hopping from nine to four through the work week.

His mind kept wandering to Mara Marton. They’d spoken on the phone while he was away. Usually about what she was uncovering on their suspects and once about her new security system, but whenever he heard her low, sexy voice, the world went away.

He rammed a hand over his hair as he passed through the shade of a spruce tree. Shit, he wasn’t the kind of guy a classy woman like her should get involved with. She deserved better than hooking up with an ex-con, a loner who lived a hermit’s existence. Special Agent Kaplan had accused him of hiding in the woods. Yeah, so? But starting on the road to changing things made him hunger for sunlight and a new beginning.

When he opened the cabin door into the darkened living room, he walked into a battering ram. The blow dropped him to all fours and knocked all the air from his lungs.

He gasped for breath. His stomach rolled. Three sets of legs in dark trousers and polished shoes surrounded him. Brutality wasn’t the usual FBI tactic. Who then?

Meaty hands dragged him upright and held his elbows in a vise.

“Merely a tap, Mr. Jones. I hope I now have your full attention.” The deep voice held the merest trace of a foreign accent.

A click and the table lamp beside the sofa came on, better illuminating the intruders. The fiftyish man watching him with deep-set black eyes pointed a black automatic pistol at his belly. Close-cut hair either white or pale blond. A military demeanor that implied who’d sent him. His two playmates could’ve been his clones, except for the eyes. No intelligence and cunning, only the empty eyes of professional muscle. Years since he’d faced the type but he hadn’t forgotten the soulless look.

Cort straightened his shoulders and affected an air of confidence. “I told the duke’s man I was searching for the crown jewels. He didn’t have to send his enforcers.”

The man withdrew a pack of Marlboros from an inside pocket of his black leather jacket. He smiled thinly, revealing bad teeth. “I am aware of the duke’s efforts. The prince’s younger brother is competent but conventional and irrelevant. Allow me to introduce myself.”

The words threw Cort into Mick Jagger’s song. It would be a mistake to underestimate this man whether he was the devil or merely imitating him. Cort’s nerves crawled like a nest of spiders.

“I am Colonel Yerik of the Gramornia Security Police, under the command of His Excellency Prime Minister Turkof.” He made a small bow and clicked his heels together. “The prime minister has a different priority.”

“Yeah? And I should care because?”

One of Cort’s bookends cracked a fist against the back of his head. He jerked forward, head swimming, but didn’t make a sound. He knew not to show weakness, let alone pain. Been there, done that, learned the fucking lesson.

“Pay heed, Mr. Jones. Or my men will reinforce my words with their fists.” Yerik blew smoke in his face, then tapped the ash onto the floor. He pocketed the pistol, apparently believing it no longer necessary to ensure Cort’s submission.

“I’m all ears.”

Yerik ignored his insolent tone. “You will cease your search. You will continue to tell the FBI and the royal family you have no way of locating the jewels. Do you understand me?”

If the clones hadn’t been holding him fast, he’d have stumbled backward in shock. The FBI and the Gramornia royal family had pressured him for years to return the crown jewels, and now this KGB-type creep wanted him to leave them hidden? Had he fallen down the damn rabbit hole or was there something funny in the colonel’s cigarette smoke?

Another second and it hit him. Not silly smoke, but political smoke and mirrors. Dirty smoke. Without the crown and scepter and the other trappings of royalty, would there even be a coronation? A ruthless prime minister could foment general unrest and eliminate the royals altogether. Maybe the entire democracy while he was at it.

All Cort had to do was... nothing. Yerik’s mistake was in thinking the threat of a beating would accomplish that. A fist in the gut or a broken nose and the promise of pain weren’t enough to stop him from turning his life around. “So what’s in it for me if I go along with this plot?”

Yerik clucked his tongue, a disgustingly wet sound. “
Plot
is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of the plan as an alternative. And you? I will allow you to live, Mr. Jones.”

“For sure I can trust you on that. Why bother? You could kill me today and your worries would be over.”

“A tempting suggestion. However, your sudden death or disappearance would lead to more investigation than the prime minister would appreciate. So you will be allowed to live. Unless you resume your search. Then I must re-examine our bargain.” He dropped the butt and ground it into the throw rug with his heel.

Cort couldn’t figure out what the catch was. Except that once the coronation date passed, probably so would he. “Say I agree. Then you walk away and leave me alone?”

“In principle. You will be watched. Closely. Trust but verify, I believe one of your presidents was fond of saying.” He held up a fist.

A signal? Cort braced himself.

In a practiced move, the two clones grasped both arms and secured his wrists with a zip tie. Clone One slugged him in the chin. Pain ripped through his head as it snapped sideways. His brain did a sickening spin. Black spots danced around the room. The other clone kicked his legs and he toppled to the floor.

“Fuck you, Colonel!” Cort spat through bloodied lips.

“One final word of advice and a warning, Mr. Jones,” Yerik said. He once again held the automatic. “I understand you and Ms. Marton are working together. From reports, it appears you’ve moved in with her. You will recover from the little reminder my assistants will administer, but would she? You will say nothing of this conversation to her or to anyone else. If you do, not you, but the lovely Ms. Marton will suffer. I assume I need not be explicit.”

A poisonous storm broke loose in Cort’s head. He exploded upward.
“You fucking cowardly bastard!”