Page 62 of My Fallen Saint

I bristle. “Are you saying no?”

I hear Roger draw in a breath. “I’m saying it’s a personal story and a big commitment for something that’s not breaking news. But I’m not saying no. I’m saying we’ll talk more after the profile is turned in. What the DSF is accomplishing in Nevada is timely. Your uncle’s story can run anytime.”

I relax. “Yes, boss.”

“Good work, Holmes. Keep me updated.”

I hang up, then lean back, feeling pretty smug. His timeliness concern is legit, but I want to show that the ripples reach out even to the present—I’m a walking example of someone whose entire reality was flipped upside down after learning that I’d been fed the wrong narrative a decade ago.

And I bet when I talk to Millie’s prisoner, I’ll be able to show even more ripples.

I turn to Devlin. “Well, at least that went well.”

“It would be a mistake.”

I sigh. I know damn well he’s not talking about my work. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

He’s silent for so long I open my satchel and start reviewing my notes.

“I see why you’re drawn to journalism,” he says after fifteen thick minutes of silence. “You’ve always craved answers, and if you can’t find your own, then the next best thing is to help other people.”

I look over at him. “I don’t need to be analyzed. Least of all by you.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. But do you think this is the story to chase? The Wolf is gone. Shouldn’t you focus on something that will make a difference? Not something that’s a decade old?”

I gape at him. “How can you say that? Peter got caught in that bastard’s web, and it killed him. It put a target on your back. It uprooted your whole damn life. Don’t you want answers? Don’t you want it to really and truly be over?”

I watch his throat move as he swallows. Then his eyes lock on mine.

“I do,” he finally says. “More than you can possibly know.”