Page 61 of My Cruel Salvation

“Yeah. You need me to go get him?”

“No. I’ll be there soon. I need to talk to him right now.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Devlin was finishing up a call with Penn when he heard the beep beep beep of the keypad lock. That noise was followed immediately by the sound of the door opening, and that simultaneous with Lamar calling out, “Where is he? Where the hell is Devlin?”

“Penn? I’m going to have to call you back.”

“Is everything okay?” his friend asked.

“Fine. But there’s something I need to handle.”

“Roger that. Talk soon.”

As soon as Penn ended the call, Devlin shifted his attention to the conversation downstairs. He couldn’t make out words, but he assumed that Ellie was telling Lamar where Devlin was. His suspicion was confirmed a moment later when her voice called out to him, “Devlin, Lamar needs to talk to you. Do you want to come down?”

“No.” The louder voice was from Lamar himself. “I’m coming up.” It was a statement, not a question, and Devlin didn’t bother to answer. He was currently in the study area, working at the desk. He turned over the papers on which he’d been writing notes and stood as Lamar stepped from the stairs to the landing. “What’s on your mind, Detective?”

“You didn’t do it personally,” Lamar said, circling Devlin as he spoke. “I know that. But somehow, you did do it.”

Devlin had never before noticed what a large man Lamar was. Usually Lamar’s size seemed a bit diminished simply because of his congenial personality, as if he intentionally made himself smaller so as to not intimidate. Now, the opposite was happening. He was a big man. A strong man, with arms and hands that could crush a lesser man.

Devlin didn’t have his size, but he had strength. He’d worked on it for years, and he knew the extent of his skill. Looking at Lamar, though, he wondered which one of them would come out ahead in the fight. Devlin with all of his skills and the trickery he’d learned over the years, or Lamar with pure, cold rage.

Because one thing was certain, Lamar was pissed.

“I think you’d better sit down, Detective.”

“Dammit, Saint, I told you if you ever hurt her…”

“What in hell are you talking about? Hurt who?”

“Ellie. What do you think I’m talking about?”

“Ellie?” Devlin’s head was spinning. “How have I hurt Ellie?”

“She thinks you’re one of the good guys. She thinks you’re what we used to believe Christopher was. A good man smeared by his father’s name. Or in Christopher’s case, his brother’s. But Good Christopher turned out to be a facade. And you’re one hell of a long way from a saint, aren’t you? And Ellie has no idea what she’s gotten into.”

Devlin felt his chest tighten, not with the need to lash out against this man, but with a bitter aching need to tell him the truth. The whole truth. Like Ellie, he would probably resist.

Like Ellie, he would probably end up understanding.

But he couldn’t lay it all out. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he couldn’t completely bullshit the detective, either. Or, he could. He just didn’t want to. So instead he drew a breath and said, “I don’t have any secrets from Ellie. She knows exactly what she’s gotten into with me.”

Lamar’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a fact?”

Devlin gestured toward the chair opposite the desk. “Sit down.”

To his surprise, Lamar sat.

“I’m not kicking you out. Give me points for that. And you know damn well I love Ellie, so give me points for that too. Agreed?”

The detective’s brow furrowed. “Agreed.”

Devlin exhaled, then pulled out his chair and sat across from Lamar. “Something’s happened, and you obviously think I’m involved. Will you lay it out for me in small, simple sentences? Because believe me when I say I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

It was clear from Lamar’s face that he didn’t believe him, but that was okay. So long as he didn’t argue—so long as he told Devlin what he knew or thought he knew—then everything could probably be worked out.