Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (56 page)

Was Dev right?

Her heart said no. And she couldn’t, wouldn’t make another mistake. She knew nothing about
this
Dev, only that a boy bearing his name had taught her about passion—and then walked away without a backward glance.

She should let her father handle it. Only he knew what had happened. Only he knew how little Dev had cared. He would handle it and she would never have to see Devlin Marlowe again.

The decision is yours
. Dev gave her more credit than her own family did.

Within Lacey arose something she couldn’t name. Some tiny seed of all her wondering why she was here, what her life meant.

“No, Daddy.” She lifted her gaze to his and parroted Dev’s words. “It was a long time ago. We were just kids. He can’t hurt me now.”

“Princess, you’re wrong.” His voice carried too much force for something so far removed.

“Don’t worry, Daddy. I know you want to protect me, but I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“No, Princess. Don’t do it.”

“Why not?” She was honestly curious. “I’m not sixteen. I made my mistakes with Dev, with Luc. But I’m a grown woman now. You have to let me handle it.”

She could see a war going on behind his eyes. “It’s only a picnic. It’s for the children.”

Her father’s frown deepened and he started to speak but then shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Is there something I should know?”

Her father glanced away for a second, then returned his gaze to hers. Finally, he shook his head slowly, exhaling in a gust. “No. There’s nothing. Just be careful, Princess. Be very careful.”

She smiled then, to ease his mind. “A simple picnic, Daddy. I can handle it.”

She prayed she was right.

Dev leaned against the window frame and stared into the dark night outside his hotel room, unseeing. He uttered a few choice, ripe curses, raked his fingers through his hair, and shoved away from the wall to return to the desk where his laptop accused him.

The cursor blinked patiently, waiting for Dev to organize his thoughts. But all he could see was a pair of silvery eyes gone icy and imperious. Was there even a trace of soft gray velvet left inside that perfectly-groomed exterior?

Just a job. It’s just a job. You’re not a kid anymore, and neither is she
.

Yanking his tuxedo shirt out of the waistband of his slacks, Dev worked at the studs, stripping the garment off his body and tossing it on the bed. Then he sat down again and used the discipline that had marked his life for years to focus on the screen before him. He knew the facts of the case; he could relate them to Lacey, carefully and with no emotion at all. That would be the best way.
Just the facts, ma’am
.

If only it were that simple.

Right now, he’d like to talk to Maddie. He could use a reminder of all the reasons why this case had nothing to do with him. But it was two-thirty in the morning, and the Gallaghers rose with the chickens.

And all he’d told Mitch and Boone and Maddie was that he knew who Lacey was, not all that had gone on between them years ago. If he thought the words on the screen made a long, complicated story, try adding in his own little tangent.

Okay. How would he start?
Lacey, there’s this tiny town called Morning Star, where a man named Dalton Wheeler took the rap for a murder he didn’t commit
—

Dev shook his head. Okay—
There was a girl named Jenny who loved Dalton very much, but he vanished and she found out she was pregnant and she went away to have you and had to give you up
.

Damn. It was all true, as far as it went. But how to explain to her about all the love, the heartache?

Would Lacey understand that in those days, Jenny had few options? She went away, had the baby, and the doctor took care of the adoption. Jenny never knew about the very wealthy man and his wife who staged an elaborate deception because bloodlines were so important. Margaret DeMille would never admit that the child she ostensibly went to the pure country air of Switzerland to have was not her own. That the baby girl was tiny and delicate only helped in disguising her true age when they returned to Houston.

So they told no one, not even Lacey. She slept tonight, wrapped up in her certainty of who she was, where she belonged.

And he prowled a hotel room and wished for sleep. He should have stayed at his brother’s. At least Connor would distract him from thoughts he didn’t welcome.

They’re good people, Lacey. Give them a chance. Don’t get on your high horse and break their hearts
.

Hell, maybe Maddie
was
the right person to tell her.

No. This was his job. He always did his job. Even if he trusted the Ice Princess not to hurt Maddie—which he didn’t—he had never skipped out on a responsibility to a client, and he wouldn’t start now.

Dev cursed softly. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Dallas was only three hours away, and he had other cases, other commitments. With quick, decisive steps, he changed into jeans and packed up. Maybe in his own bed, he could stop the thoughts whirling long enough to get a little shuteye. Then he’d make a game plan.

In his ’63 T-bird gas guzzler that rode like a living room sofa, Dev took a detour on his way out of town. He drove down River Oaks Boulevard with its grand homes shrouded in trees. Lacey didn’t live at the estate anymore—she had her own condo not far away—but he wanted to take a look at his enemy’s lair.

There it was, down the long circular drive. Two-story Colonial with mahogany front doors, the wide front porch opening onto manicured grounds. Huge pines and magnolias scattered over emerald lawn, thickening stands of them at the boundaries. In the spring the azaleas would scatter brilliant bursts of color. From the street, the whole place looked like a dream house.

Appearances could be so deceptive. Somewhere, nestled way back under the trees, was the gazebo where dreams had died.

Cursing softly, Dev pulled away. A few blocks farther, he stopped in front of a condo where he knew there was a jazzy red convertible in the garage. He looked at the darkened windows and wondered which ones let moonlight filter onto her bed.

He remembered a gazebo silvered in moonglow. Remembered innocent gray velvet eyes. Silken curves trembling under his hands.

What are you dreaming tonight, Lacey?

Dev set his jaw, sipped at the styrofoam cup of coffee, and drove away.

Lacey awoke from a fitful sleep and glanced at the clock. Three fifteen. The headlights from a passing car swept across the wall. She rolled over and stared across the lavender silk comforter toward the moonlight spilling into her window, drifting across her shoulder.

You’re so beautiful, Lacey
. She couldn’t have seen the green of his eyes that long ago night, so serious and dark as he bent over and unfastened the bodice of her dress, but somehow they were always that startling green in her dreams. He had taught her the hum of rapture beneath the boundaries of her skin. Had sent the heat of ecstasy rushing through her veins.

Are you sure about this?
Had she been sure? Or just so full of her pipe dreams that she couldn’t see how they had been doomed from the start?

Somehow tonight after seeing Dev again, she could remember, for the first time in years, not how badly it had ended, not the shouts, the fear, the awful nakedness.

Instead, she remembered nerves. Jive-jumpy thrill, pounding in her blood. The sweetness of an ache that had stolen her breath. Longing so sharp she could taste it still. Everything with Dev had seemed larger than life. More colorful. More intense.

Intense. That was Dev, then and now. She’d seen the fierce glow still inside him tonight.

She had fallen headlong into the madness, trusting Devlin Marlowe to be her first, the one she would remember forever. The man who would make her a woman. He would be her one true love. She’d been so sure.

Foolish, foolish girl
. Tears slipped across her temple and trickled into her hair as Lacey watched the moon slide behind whispery clouds.

Silly little rich girl. Lacey wept for the innocent and her fanciful dreams…

The girl who never suspected that even love had its price.

Ringing woke her into sunlight that sliced into her vision. Lacey tripped on the edge of the comforter and fumbled for the cell in her purse. She squeezed her lids shut against the glaring brightness. “Hello?” she croaked.

“Too early?”

She glanced at the clock but couldn’t make out the numbers. “What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

She groaned, then bolted up straight. “Dev?”

“Not a morning person, right?” His tone was dry.

“No, it’s just—” She squinted then threw her shoulders back, standing up straight, as if military posture might help. “Never mind. Why did you call?”

His tone went brisk and impersonal. “I have to be in Dallas all week. I’d like to schedule the picnic for next Saturday. Will that work for you?”

She fumbled for her planner. “What time?”

“You choose.”

How about never?
“Noon?”

“Fine.”

Silence spun out.

Then they both spoke at once.

“Dev, I don’t think—”

“If you need to call—” He paused, like her words had just registered. “Look, this doesn’t have to be painful. A simple picnic, that’s all. For a good cause.”

It will be painful. It can’t be anything else
. But she was too much Margaret DeMille’s daughter to say so, and the cause was important. One hand pressing against her stomach, Lacey spoke again. “I have a three o’clock tennis match at the club. That shouldn’t be a problem, do you think?” There. She’d put a time limit on it. Two hours, max.

How would she ever get through two hours alone with Dev?

A wry chuckle sounded in her ear. “Tell you what. I’ll just give you my cell number so it’s easier for you to cancel.”

“I won’t cancel.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” He gave her a phone number with a Dallas area code. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d cancel by Friday so I don’t have to make the drive.”

“I won’t cancel, Dev.”

He paused before he answered. “Then you’ll surprise me.”

His tone turned impersonal again. “I’ll call you when I get to town, and we’ll work out logistics.” Then he hung up without even saying goodbye.

“I won’t cancel, Dev,” she whispered once more, into a silent phone.

She wouldn’t. But oh, how she wished she could.

Chapter Three