Page 122 of My Beautiful Sin

I close my eyes, picturing it in my head. How it started. What Devlin had wanted to build, and why he’d wanted to build it.

“I joined on the spot,” she says.

“Your husband doesn’t fit either of those categories.”

“No, but had the Angels been in place, my husband and his team would be alive. I believe that. Officially or not, the Angels would have gone in. That’s why I do the work that I do, even knowing the risks.”

I hear the catch in her voice and wish I could take her hand. “Because it’s important,” she continues. “Because we help people who might otherwise not get help. And because we dole out justice where evil walks unopposed.”

“That’s more hyperbole than I’d expect from you,” I tell her.

“No,” she says. “It’s not. Think about it. That’s all I ask. Don’t give up on Devlin, and don’t dismiss what he does—what he believes in—without giving it thought.”

“I won’t,” I assure her. “Right now it’s all I am thinking about. I love him,” I tell her, voicing to my friend what I hadn’t even told Devlin yesterday. “But is love enough to get us over this kind of chasm?”

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong question.”

“What do you mean?”

“The question isn’t is love enough. The question is how wide is the chasm. If you really think about it, I think you’ll find that it’s more narrow than you thought.”

I’m still sitting there, thinking about her words ten minutes later. She’s right. I’m standing across a chasm from Devlin, and right now, I’m not sure if it’s a crack in the sidewalk or the Grand Canyon.

And I don’t have a clue how to figure that out.

Chapter Forty-One

I’m still thinking about that damn chasm as I pace the kitchen waiting for my water to boil so I can have a cup of coffee. I’m hoping it will clear the cobwebs out of my head so that I can think clearly about secrets and Devlin. About what I want and what I believe. About what is right and what is wrong, and how to find that shimmering line that divides those two sides.

Five cups later the cobwebs are clear, but I have no answers.

I consider taking a walk on the beach, but Jake’s in San Diego with Brandy, and I know that if I walk by myself I’ll head straight for the tide pools.

Instead, I go back over my research on Uncle Peter. I’ve lost some enthusiasm about the article. The question of how he went from a middle class kid to a man who worked for and then betrayed The Wolf was interesting at one point. Now, though, it seems like a dull and petty story compared to the life and works of Devlin Saint.

But that’s not a story I can ever share, not even with my reporter’s blood screaming that it’s a good one.

“Write,” I tell myself. “Four paragraphs, and if you’re stuck then you can stop.”

It’s a game I play with myself that works only about half the time. Today, though, work turns out to be a refuge, and by lunchtime, I’ve written three paragraphs and am poring over my notes, trying to think who else from Peter’s past life might be around? Who else can I interview about finding the mysterious girlfriend?

Anna.

I want to smack myself on the forehead. Devlin told me that until she managed to extricate herself from The Wolf’s organization and move to Chicago for college, she’d frequently been tasked with delivering messages to The Wolf’s lieutenants around the country.

She’d even been the one to bring the message ordering Devlin to kill Peter.

She’d been around. She knew Peter. And if anyone had seen who he was dating, she probably had.

I grab my phone and dial the direct line to her desk. It rings twice, then I hear the click, followed by, “Devlin Saint’s office.”

I suck in air, then end the call, feeling like an idiot for not having seen it sooner.

Of course Anna knew who was dating Peter.

Anna had been dating him.

I’d bet money on it. She might not be blond, but she’s not a natural redhead. I’ve seen her roots. So if she dyed her hair red, maybe she also bleached it blond.