Devil's Deception (21 page)

“Philip, let’s go into the living room. There’s something I want to discuss with you and I think we should be comfortable.”

Philip followed her warily. He knew something was up, but he was playing her game, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He seated himself on one of the twin love seats facing the fireplace, never taking his eyes from Angela.

Angela looked at him, so handsome, his golden hair perfectly styled, his immaculate clothes ideally suited to his frame and tastes. Philip was good looking, intelligent, successful and quite a nice guy if you didn’t mind his touches of snobbery and social climbing. Was she really about to turn down this paragon in favor of that moody, taciturn, combustible individual who had come into her life as her bodyguard? Indeed she was, and she knew that it was the best decision she had ever made.

“Well. What is it?” Philip asked as Angela sat opposite him.

“Philip, I don’t think we should see each other anymore. Our relationship isn’t going anywhere. The other night just made me realize that it’s unfair of me to monopolize your time when I’m not ready to make the kind of commitment you want.”

Philip’s lips parted. For the first time Angela noticed the faint purple and saffron bruise at the corner of his mouth. He bore the tangible evidence of his last encounter with his rival.

“You mean it’s over?” he asked, stunned.

Angela nodded. “I think that would be best.”

Philip shook his head, as if to clear it. “Look, Angela, I know I pushed things a little too far the other night, and that scene with your bodyguard wasn’t very pleasant. . .” He stopped, his expression changing. “That’s it, isn’t it!” he exclaimed. “It’s that Devlin, that goon your uncle hired to follow you around. He’s the reason you’re making this speech.”

Angela didn’t deny it.

Philip rose to his feet, pacing. “Angela, you can’t be serious,” he said in an astonished tone. “That guy . . . he’s beef on the hoof, he’s a dimwitted fortune hunter, that’s what he is.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, of course you don’t think so. I’m sure he’s told you he loves you.”

“Yes, he has.”
 

“He loves your uncle’s money.”

“I think that accusation could be more fairly leveled at you, Philip,” Angela stated calmly.

Philip let that pass. He came to sit next to Angela, taking both of her hands in his.

“Angela, you’re making a mistake,” he said sincerely.

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

Philip released her hands. “I can’t believe you’ve fallen for his act,” he chided her in a patronizing voice.

“What act is that, Philip?”

“Oh, that strong silent bit, the macho bull that went out with John Wayne. Devlin’s material is just a little dated, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry that you feel he’s giving a performance. Not everyone talks as much as you do, Philip. All men don’t articulate their feelings. It doesn’t mean they don’t have them.” She sounded just like Josie.

“But he doesn’t have to say too much in bed, does he?” Philip responded nastily. “I’m sure he’s very expressive there.”

Angela stood. “I think you’d better go.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Philip went on. “All this time you’ve been holding me at arm’s length, and that wooden Indian waltzes in here and tumbles you right into the sack.”

“That’s about enough out of you, Cronin,” Devlin announced from the hall. “Why don’t you get along home?”

Philip turned and faced him. “Ah, the man of the hour. Who are you tonight, Marshall Dillon or Dirty Harry?”

“Brett, I asked you to stay out of this,” Angela said desperately. Devlin’s appearance indicated that he was on a short fuse; it wouldn’t take much to instigate a repeat performance of Saturday’s debacle.

“I could hear him yelling at you,” Devlin replied. “You don’t have to take that from this fancy boy.”

Philip’s jaw stuck out pugnaciously, and Angela’s heart sank. She had read once that some women took pleasure in having two men fight over them. It was nonsense to her; she felt ill.

“Please go, Philip,” she said. “Prolonging this with you two insulting each other isn’t going to change my mind.”

Philip measured Devlin, a long glance during which he was obviously weighing whether or not to take the other man on. To Angela’s immense relief he decided against it. He straightened the lapels of the jacket he hadn’t even removed and brushed past Angela, ignoring Devlin.

“I’m leaving,” he said shortly. “And I won’t be back. Don’t call me when you realize what a mess you’ve made of everything, Angela.” He yanked open the front door and slammed it behind him.

Angela’s knees were giving way as Devlin caught her. She leaned heavily on his strength, closing her eyes.

“That was awful,” she whispered. “That was truly awful.”

He massaged her back with the palms of his hands. “I know,” he said soothingly. “But it had to be done and it’s over now.”

“I hurt him,” Angela said. “That’s why he was so mean. He always reacts that way when he’s in pain.”

Devlin shook his head in wonderment. “You are amazing,” he said. “That guy was just insulting you royally and you’re concerned about his feelings.”

“It’s not easy to see your plans for the future shattered in a matter of minutes,” Angela replied.

“I guess he was really counting on marrying you,” Devlin replied. He continued to hold her, thinking about what she had just done. She was making major changes in her life for him, based on the assumption that he was a private detective. Would she regret those changes when she discovered who he really was?

“He’ll find somebody else,” Angela said. “He should have someone who really loves him.” She lifted her head and gazed into Devlin’s eyes. “The way I love you.” She shivered and buried her face against his chest.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I think it’s just a reaction.” She snuggled closer into his warmth. “I was all geared up for a fight, I guess.”

“I’d like to tear that loser limb from limb,” Devlin snarled, his body tensing.

“Don’t hate him,” Angela whispered. “I don’t. What happened was as much my fault as his.”

Devlin hugged her tighter. “Well, at least he was spared the awful truth about you.”

Angela drew back, examining him with narrowed eyes. “And what might that be?”

He shrugged. “If he ever lived with you he would have discovered that you’re a compulsive tooth brusher.”

Angela made an exasperated face.

“Don’t look at me like that. I see you dashing into the bathroom all the time to scrub those pearly whites. And I haven’t even mentioned that pounding rock music blaring through the house constantly.”

Angela knew that he was trying to jolly her out of the Philip Cronin doldrums and she loved him for it. “What’s wrong with my music?” she asked, humoring him.

“It all sounds the same.”

“And you sound like an old fogy. What music do you like?”

He grinned. “Willie Nelson.”

Angela was horrified. “Come on. That country western guitar-twanging opry house stuff?”

“Sure.”

She put her hands on her hips. “And you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that my music all sounds the same? Here’s a sample of yours.” Angela threw back her head, screwed up her face and wailed in a high-pitched whine:

Since my baby left me
 

I been cryin’ all the time
 

Hangin’ out at the truck stop
 

Drinkin’ cheap red wine …

Devlin stared at her for several seconds and then burst out laughing. “That’s very good,” he said.

“Don’t they all sound like that?” Angela demanded.

“Not quite with those eloquent words.”

“I just made that up,” she replied, tossing her hair nonchalantly.

“I never would have guessed.”

They eyed each other, smiling.

“I’ll compromise,” Angela said. “Remind me later and I’ll play my Big Country album for you. The group is from Scotland. You should like that. The guitars sound like bagpipes.”

“That ought to be interesting,” Devlin said dryly.

“And I’ll listen to a Willie Nelson record,” she said grudgingly. “One. You pick it out for me.”

Devlin extended his hand and she shook it. He yanked her forward and pulled her into his arms.

“Let’s celebrate the truce,” he murmured, steering her toward the hall.

He took Angela back to his room and made slow, careful love to her, caressing every inch of her body with his hands and mouth. She clung to him afterward, keeping him with her. She ran her hands over his back, his hair, his smooth shoulders. She couldn’t stop touching him.

“I want to go back to Connecticut,” she said suddenly. “I want to ride Blossom again, and I want you to make love to me in that barn where we were interrupted the last time.”

“That’s what I like, a woman who knows what she wants.” He stirred slightly, moving to the side, and she murmured in protest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “just getting my cigarettes.” He fished the packet out of the pocket of his shirt, which was on the floor.

Angela’s gaze roamed the dimly lit room while he struck a match and inhaled the first deep drag. She noticed that the key was missing from his dresser drawer.

“Darling, why do you keep the top drawer of your dresser locked?” she asked.

Devlin stiffened, then forced himself to relax. “I keep my weapon and the ammunition for it in there. It seemed safer. I wouldn’t want anyone to come across it accidentally and get hurt.”

“But it’s only Josie and me here, Brett.”

He shrugged, as if the matter were of no consequence. “It’s just standard procedure with the agency, Angela. It’s part of my training.” He exhaled a stream of smoke, waiting to see if she would accept that explanation.

She did. “Oh, I see. I just thought it seemed odd.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t.” She traced the line of his collarbone with her finger while he smoked. “What time is it?”

He glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. “Nine thirty.”

Angela sighed and sat up. “I hate to bring up an unpleasant subject,” she began.

“But you have to read five million pages in Subtitles and Subtexts for tomorrow morning,” Devlin finished.

Angela shot him a wry glance. “Something like that.”

He watched her picking up her clothes and tiptoeing barefoot to the door. “You graduate in June?” he asked.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Yes.”

He nodded. “I’ll last.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “The question is, will I?” She saluted him with her left shoe. “I’ll be down later to . . . well, we’ll think of something.”

He chuckled, reaching for his ashtray as she went upstairs to study.

* * * *

That night while Angela slept, Devlin made several impressions of the key he’d selected, returning it to her ring and the ring to her purse.

In the morning he would get the impressions to the Bureau where the key would be duplicated.

The next step would be a visit to the bank.

* * * *

That weekend they went back to the farm where the horses were stabled, and Angela had her second riding lesson. She improved steadily, gaining greater control over the horse and losing that tendency to panic that novice riders share. And they made love in the locked barn, as requested.

On the way back to the city they stopped at a country inn Angela remembered from her previous trips with her uncle. It was located in the tiny town of Lambertville on the Connecticut River. The restaurant was an historic home that had been converted to a hotel about fifty years earlier. The rental rooms were all closed, and the first floor had been redone to house two dining rooms, with the massive kitchen at the back. A hostess dressed in an apron and mobcap led the way to a round oak table lit by a brass hurricane lamp. Rag rugs were scattered about the room on the wide plank pine floor. The weathered brick walls were hung with Revolutionary War memorabilia of every kind, from flags to samplers stitched with the motto “Don’t tread on me.”

“Did George Washington sleep here?” Devlin whispered into Angela’s ear as he held out her chair.

“I’m sure he at least had a drink at the well,” she replied, smiling.

“Is this place really two hundred years old?”

“Supposedly. We are now sitting in what used to be the smokehouse.”

“You mean where they used to hang up slaughtered pigs and things like that?”

“Right.”

He looked up nervously, as if expecting a deceased porker to be suspended over his head.

Angela laughed. He could be very boyish at times. “It was a long time ago, Brett. I’m sure all the pig ghosts have been laid to rest.”

A waiter arrived to take their drink orders and a guitarist began to sing in the adjoining room.