Page 64 of My Fallen Saint

Her attention shifts back to Devlin. “Tamra seemed to think it was an excellent idea.”

“Fine,” Devlin says. “You have the keys?”

She hands him two keycard envelopes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at ten. In the office. I’ll take it from here.”

Again, Anna smiles at me. “Of course. Good evening, Ellie. Let me know if there’s anything you need for your article.”

I manage what I hope is a friendly smile. “Thanks so much.”

She leaves, and I wait, expecting Devlin to lead the way to our rooms. Instead, he pulls out his phone and dials. “Tamra. Talk to me.”

He’s silent for a bit, except for some low noises in his throat. “Fine. I’ll take care of the mix up. And what about our international issue? Tonight? Christ, I—”

He casts a sharp glance toward me, but I can’t read a thing on his face. “No, no. It’s an inconvenience, but obviously I’ll adjust. You’ll fix the reservation? Okay. Yes. Alright, I need to go and fix the room situation. Right. Bye.”

I lift a brow, but he holds up a finger, then dials again as he starts walking, signaling me to join him. “Carmen,” he says, as we pass by a stunning abstract sculpture and turn left into a hallway that had been previously hidden, “I thought I was clear that I wanted the Davis suite. Yes, I know, but she misunderstood.”

We pause at an elevator bank, and he continues. “I’ll use my master. Have them bring the luggage. Terrific,” he says as we step onto the elevator. “Thanks so much, Carmen. I can always trust you to keep things running smoothly.”

He hangs up, then presses twenty-seven, the top floor.

“Who’s Carmen?”

“An assistant general manager. She was one of our first rescues. She works with Dimitri, the casino manager.”

“Rescues?”

“She was trafficked when she was twenty. Taken while she was backpacking through Europe with friends. She survived. Her friend wasn’t so lucky.”

I realize my hand is in front of my mouth as I say, “How did she end up here?”

“One of the organizations we fund is the Beyond Project. You know that, right?”

“Of course. Their work with your foundation is at the heart of my article. Its mission is to investigate and then try to facilitate the rescue of trafficking victims. We’re meeting with some of their reps tonight, right?”

“Exactly. Well, when Beyond became aware of the particular ring that held Carmen, we funded their research efforts and acted as a liaison between Beyond and a paramilitary organization that was sent in as part of the rescue team.”

“Paramilitary,” I repeat. “I didn’t realize the DSF was so—” I shake my head, looking for the word. “Proactive, I guess.”

“The majority of foundation dollars go to research, education, and rehabilitation. But a significant amount goes to rescue. To the extent our partners become aware of a situation that can be remediated, the DSF will consider underwriting that effort.”

“Consider,” I repeat, as the elevator slides to a stop.

“We vet everything,” he says. “From the proposed team the beneficiary organization wants to send in, to the veracity of the claim.”

“You think someone might fake a situation?”

“I think people can be both more vile and more caring than we know. And unless you do your homework, you never truly know what side of the line they fall on. So I’m not inclined to act impetuously about anything. There’s always the risk someone will get hurt.”

He meets my eyes and I see an unexpected flicker of warmth. He looks away, gesturing for me to step off the elevator ahead of him. “My goal is to mitigate that pain. It always has been.”

My heart does a little flip, and I pause to look at him as he steps into the hall beside me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about me. About the way he left. But unless that’s the most backassward apology ever, I don’t get it.

I could ask. Could push him to explain what he means. But I don’t. Maybe I’m afraid to hear the truth. Maybe he’ll say that he knew leaving would destroy me, and the moment he does, it will be even more real than it’s been in my heart.

Or maybe he’ll say that he had to go, because it was the only way to protect me. But that’s no better, because I’m not ready to believe that. And I’m sure as hell not ready to forgive him.