Devil's Deception (5 page)

Angela folded her arms across her stomach and bent forward, seeing again the look on his face when she’d told him that she would not be his on the job distraction. That arrow had struck home; he had tried to keep his features impassive, but she had detected the slightest flinching, as if from a precisely aimed blow. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. It was ridiculous to make a big deal about his actions; all he’d really done was kiss her hand. But her response had exceeded the stimulus to such an extent that she’d been forced to pretend an indignation she didn’t feel. It had been a way to place Devlin in the wrong, an excuse to hurt him, and she had seized upon it like a beggar snatching up a found coin.

Angela raised her hand before her eyes and examined the cut, which she’d bandaged hastily with a wad of tissue from the hall stand. It was still bleeding slightly but didn’t look too bad. She sat dispiritedly on the edge of the bed and wondered if she should go downstairs and apologize to him.

No. That would be a mistake. It would be better to avoid him whenever she could.

Angela got up and slipped a cassette into her stereo player. She lay back down on the bed, listening to the pounding drums and letting the music carry her away.

Tomorrow Philip was returning from Tokyo. Maybe he would be able to distract her from her preoccupation with Devlin.

Angela turned her face into the crook of her arm.

She wasn’t too hopeful about it.

* * * *

Devlin threw himself onto the bed in his room and punched his pillow savagely. He had really blown that one. He hadn’t heard her until she was standing in the room with him. His reaction to Angela was messing up his head, making him careless. Thank God she’d found him in the library and not in her uncle’s study.

What was she doing roaming around the house at that hour anyway? She’d been fast asleep when he checked on her. Devlin groaned aloud at his monumental stupidity. One more incident like this one and he’d be turning in his union card and taking up bird watching.

He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Damn but she had him rattled. Instead of planning strategy, he wound up spending much of his time fantasizing about her. And her boyfriend was due back in the morning, which Devlin hardly considered good news. The guy had called twice long distance, and a package had arrived from him on Tuesday. It had contained a jade and enamel earring box that was doubtless as priceless as the trinket Devlin had just trashed upstairs.

That thought led him to consider Angela’s parting speech. What the hell had that been about? All right, he’d lost control of himself and gone a little far, but he knew that something more than simple annoyance with his boldness had caused her pique. She could have just dismissed him coldly, but she had been really upset, her reaction out of proportion to the provocation. She’d acted as if he were expecting her to entertain him, and he knew full well that he’d worked very hard to avoid giving her that impression. He’d been struggling every damn minute since he came into her house to overcome his desires, and one lapse didn’t justify that lecture, which was oddly out of character. What, in short, was going on in her mind?

Music began on the floor above him, soft and low, but with an underlying sensual vibration that thrummed in the walls and rattled the glassware on his dresser.

Devlin smiled to himself.

For such a demure young lady, she listened to some pretty sexy tunes.

* * * *

In the morning they ran together as usual and returned to eat Josie’s breakfast without exchanging ten words. Devlin had a piece of toast and a cup of coffee, and then left the kitchen with a quiet, “Thanks, Mrs. Clinton.” Angela looked after him, playing with her blueberry muffin, breaking it into sections and distributing the crumbs on her plate. Finally she pushed the dish away and slid out of her chair, going to the coffee pot to freshen her cup.

“All right,” Josie said behind her, rinsing out a glass, “what’s wrong with Brett?”

Angela turned to look at Josie curiously. She had noticed a subtle change in the housekeeper’s attitude toward Devlin during the time he’d been with them. She’d been wary and distant at first, but his understated courtesy and deference to her wishes had gone far to win Josie. He wasn’t overtly charming as much as direct and straightforward, which suited Josie just fine. Angela had a sneaking suspicion that the older woman liked him.

“We had a fight last night,” Angela answered.

“About what?”

“About nothing. I blew something out of proportion, and I guess he’s miffed about it.” She got up and lifted a stack of folded laundry from the counter. The sweatshirt Devlin had loaned to her was on top of the pile. She carried the clothes into the hall, where he was, as usual, reading the newspaper.

“Josie laundered this for you,” Angela said, handing it to him.

He accepted it without comment.

“I’m skipping my first class this morning,” she added. “Philip is coming in on an early plane and he plans to stop by.”

He turned and headed for his room.

Angela stepped into his path.

“Aren’t you even going to talk to me?” she burst out.

He shrugged. “What is there to say? I think you covered it all last night.”

“Look, about that—”

Devlin held up his hand, interrupting her. “You don’t have to go into anything else. I got the picture.” He walked on down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be in here if you need me.” His door closed.

Angela grabbed a balled pair of socks from the clothes she was holding and threw the cotton missile after him. It hit his door soundlessly and bounced back onto the floor.

Then she set the laundry on the bottom stair to take up later, and went into the kitchen to help Josie with the dishes.

* * * *

Philip arrived an hour later, laden with gifts and full of news about his trip. Angela listened, asking the appropriate questions, and even managed some innocuous chatter about her activities while he’d been gone. She glossed over the subject of Devlin, and Philip seemed too absorbed in his own accomplishments to quiz her about him, which was fortunate.

That did not last long, however. They were sitting in the living room, and Philip was describing his negotiations with some Japanese wholesaler, when Devlin’s door opened and he emerged. He’d changed into tan slacks and a navy and violet checked shirt that enhanced his dark good looks. He walked into the living room and stood waiting for Angela to perform the introductions.

The expression on Philip’s face changed. His eyes narrowed as he took in their visitor, and then he looked inquiringly at Angela.

Angela took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Philip, this is Brett Devlin, the private detective Frank hired for me. Devlin, this is Philip Cronin.”

Devlin stepped forward to shake hands. Philip examined him, his mouth thinning with distaste.

“I was against the idea of bringing you in,” Philip said, clasping Devlin’s hand as briefly as possible.

“Oh?” Devlin said mildly.

“Yes. If someone wants to get to Angela, he will. Your presence won’t prevent that any more than mine would.”

“I’m glad to hear you have such confidence in me,” Devlin answered neutrally. He glanced at Angela. “You have a cross examination to do in Trial Methods at eleven-thirty,” he told her. “I don’t think you should skip the class.” He turned on his heel and walked out.

Philip stared after him. “Who the hell is he?” he demanded. “Your mother?”

Angela’s fingers laced with tension. It was obvious that Philip’s first glimpse of Devlin had altered his tolerant attitude about her bodyguard. “He’s right,” she said. “I should go to school. If I miss the cross all the rest of the students who are doing the mock trial will be held up. I’ll see you at dinner tonight, all right?”

Philip brightened. “Great. I made a reservation for eight o’clock at
Lutece
.”

Angela rubbed her forehead. “Philip, I can’t go out. Devlin wants me to stay in except when I’m with him.”

Philip’s mouth fell open. “Oh, that’s what Devlin wants, is it? He’s not God Almighty, Angela. You don’t have to do what he says.”

Angela made an impatient gesture. “Philip, it defeats the purpose of having him here if I don’t follow his advice. Uncle Frank is probably forking over a mint for his services. The least I can do is obey him.”

Philip watched her, his expression obdurate.

“I’m afraid without him,” Angela finally admitted in a low tone. “He makes me feel safe.”

“How nice,” Philip responded in clipped tones.

Angela looked stricken. “I thought you would be happy that I’m not so frightened anymore.”

Philip relented. “All right, sweetheart. I have an idea. Why don’t we take him with us? If he has to be with you he can come along. I’ll call Henri and ask him to hold a table next to ours for him.”

Angela blinked. “But don’t you think he’ll be uncomfortable?”

Philip threw up his hands in exasperation. “I don’t
care
if
he’s
uncomfortable. I want to take you to dinner to celebrate my return, and if that’s the only way I can do it, I’m willing to put up with him. Now what do you say?”

“Okay, if he agrees,” Angela replied reluctantly. She wasn’t crazy about the idea but Philip’s patience was wearing thin.

“He doesn’t have a choice, Angela,” Philip reminded her gently. “Frank is paying his salary.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Angela conceded. The thought of this proposed threesome struck her as ludicrous, but Philip was accustomed to having his own way. She could see that fighting him would only convince him that she was trying to spare Devlin’s feelings.

“That’s my girl,” Philip said, pleasant in victory, as always. He picked up his coat and headed for the door. “Remember to tell Josie that she can take the night off.” He paused in the hall, glancing toward Devlin’s door. “I don’t mind telling you, I don’t care for the looks of that guy. He isn’t bothering you, is he?”

Bothering
was the appropriate word. “Philip, don’t be ridiculous. He’s just been doing his job.”

“I don’t like having him here in the house with you.”

“How else is he supposed to protect me, by taking a suite at the Hotel Pierre?” Angela retorted in annoyance.

Philip raised his eyebrows. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back for you at seven-thirty. Tell what’s his `name so he’ll be ready on time.”

His name is Devlin, Angela thought. Brett Devlin, and it’s a very nice name. “Goodbye,” she said, shutting the door after Philip a little harder than she intended.

* * * *

Devlin took the news of the dinner arrangements with equanimity. He asked Angela what he was supposed to wear, and she said that a jacket and tie would be acceptable if he didn’t have a suit. He appeared at seven-thirty dressed in the same slacks and shirt he’d worn earlier, with his gray corduroy jacket and a dark tie. He looked good, but Angela thought he looked good in everything.

Angela had taken extra care with her appearance, trying to tell herself that her detailed toilette was for Philip and not for Devlin. She selected a black cocktail dress of a clinging knit appliquéd with silver sequins. It left one shoulder bare. She coiled her hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck and got her mother’s diamond pendant earrings from the safe in her uncle’s study. She surveyed herself in the pier glass in her room, smoothing the silk jersey material over her breasts and hips. The dress was cut almost to the waist in back, exposing her ivory skin, which was free of a redhead’s usual freckles. She patted
Joy
on her wrists and behind her ears, noting that her hands were blocks of ice. She was a nervous wreck and couldn’t escape the feeling that she was going out with Devlin. When she couldn’t delay any longer, she took her blue fox jacket from the bed and joined Devlin in the hall.

He looked up to see her approaching, and his eyes moved over her from head to foot.

“You look lovely,” he said stiffly, and turned away.

“Thank you,” Angela replied, wanting to take his face between her hands and kiss him on the lips. He remained standing at the window, looking out, until Philip arrived.

The two men nodded to each other without speaking and Angela knew she was in for a wonderful time.

Angela rode in the front of the Mercedes with Philip, and Devlin sat in back, again staring out the window. What is he thinking? she wondered despairingly. She knew, she felt, that he was hurting, and regretted going along with Philip’s idea. Angela suspected that Philip had known this dinner would make Devlin feel like a fifth wheel, like an outcast being dragged along to a party where he didn’t belong, and she was sorry she’d agreed to it. The idea had seemed unwise but the reality was far worse.

At the restaurant Philip and Angela were seated at their usual table and Devlin sat by himself across the aisle. Philip ignored him, but Angela noticed that he ate little and smoked a lot, playing with his food between drinks. He never looked her way once; his still, set profile seemed carved in stone.

“Don’t you like the veal?” Philip asked. “It’s usually your favorite.”

Angela looked down at the exquisite dish,
rognons de veau au vin rouge,
and cut a piece of the meat. “It’s wonderful, as always,” she replied. “I don’t seem to be very hungry.”