Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (5 page)

She followed him. If the intruder came back, her double locks might not be enough to keep him out. A spasm tightened her throat.

“Wait. Your jacket.” How needy did she sound? Her friend Sandi would tell her to grow a spine.

He shrugged. “It’s too wet to do me any good. I’ll get it tomorrow.” Finger on the door handle, he turned. “The alley door is useless as security.”

“I’ll call the landlord. He’s usually quick with repairs. He has certain companies he uses.” Now she was babbling.
Shut up, Mara.

“That won’t help you tonight. Be sure to lock up.”

She twisted her hands in front of her. “Yes, fine.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze every bit as penetrating and mind-reading as her boss’s. Maybe more. “You don’t look fine. You’re still shaky. Will you be all right?”

Mara hesitated. Before she could fold and ask him to stay, she forced herself to shrug. “Absolutely. Double locks. I have that dead bolt.” Mr. Devlin would fire her if he knew she didn’t have a security system in place. With all the computer gear and electronic gadgets she had? Geesh. She’d take care of it ASAP.

His brow furrowed. Eyeing the sofa, he said, “I could crash there.”

“Wait. You? Stay here? No, out of the question. I’ll be okay.” She stepped forward to herd him closer to the door but he stood his ground.

“I’m too tired to be a threat. Left Maine at two this morning. Drove through. I can probably find a hotel. But I don’t feel right leaving you. That guy might return.”

Which was riskier, having this ex-con sleeping on her sofa or lying awake all night listening for the mugger trying to break in? Either way, she wouldn’t sleep.

Her breath hitched. “My sofa folds out into a bed. You might as well stay.”

He reached up to rub the lump on the side of his head. “I must’ve been hit harder than I thought. Did the woman who doesn’t trust me just
invite
me to stay here?”

“Yield to the inevitable is more like it.” She marched to the hall closet and returned with a pillow and blanket. Sounding resentful was a tough order when relief was her primary reaction. That and a hefty dollop of anxiety. She couldn’t let his protective attitude get to her. He was a dangerous man and she couldn’t forget that. “And don’t think for a minute I trust you.”

But who was she trying to convince?

Late Saturday morning, Cort steered his Silverado into Mara’s sister’s neighborhood in Dundalk, a suburb of Baltimore.

He’d spent the night on the sofa-bed trying to adjust his knees and hips so he wouldn’t sink into the mattress fold’s permanent dent. In the morning, he hoofed it to the parking garage to retrieve his truck and his overnight bag. On the way back, he picked up pastries and coffee for them both at one of the Starbucks he passed. Popular place. Two taxis were parked outside while the cabbies ordered their morning joe. Joe for him, too. Colombian, black, and something for her called a venti non-fat, no-whip, no-foam mocha. Fancy name for caffeinated hot chocolate, if you asked him. But it suited her somehow.

By the time the two of them came out to head to Dundalk, a locksmith was hard at work installing a new lock on the alley door. Impressive results, Cort said, especially on a weekend. A good omen, Mara had said. The woman was way too optimistic. He didn’t believe in omens. He didn’t believe in much.

Mature maples and oaks lined Dundalk’s street and yards. The rain had moved on. Moisture on the trees’ new leaves glistened in bright sunshine. Late April in Maine, trees were barely budding. 1950’s-era frame and brick houses in the lower middle-class neighborhood, not upscale. Plumbers, shop owners, teachers. Factory workers, if any factories remained. Not unlike the Springfield, Massachusetts, neighborhood he’d lived in with his mom. Leon offered the dough but she wouldn’t let him pay for anything upscale.

“That house on the left,” Mara said, pointing to a brick ranch-style. “I grew up there. Mom grew flowers and vegetables in raised beds in the backyard. She loved working in the dirt. She lives with her sister in San Francisco now. My aunt’s row house has only a paved patio.”

He couldn’t promise her that would change so he said nothing as he pulled into the blacktopped drive and stopped behind the Subaru sedan in the carport. “You going to be okay with this? You said your sister didn’t sound happy.”

Mara hoisted a shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance that didn’t fit the tight set of her mouth. “These days Cassie never sounds happy.” On that enigmatic note, she opened the passenger door and slid out of the truck.

He hoped to hell he didn’t end up in the middle of some family squabble. All he wanted was the files so they could get back to D.C. “Don’t tell her about the rings.”

“I already told her on the phone.” She gaped at him. “You don’t trust my sister?”

“The fewer people who know about the rings, the safer we all are.” And no, he didn’t trust her sister. He couldn’t.

“Come in the side door,” a raspy feminine voice called. He hadn’t noticed anybody seated in the breezeway.

Mara replied with a casual wave. “This way,” she said to Cort. They headed through the carport past gardening tools and a watering can.

The aromas of coffee and cigarette smoke enveloped him as he entered the screened-in space. Her sister lounged in an Adirondack chair, a ceramic mug in one hand and a freshly lit cig in the other. The ashtray beside her held three butts.

With similar features and hair color, the two women were clearly sisters. Cassie was a few years older and a few pounds heavier, same glossy hair but hers was cut chin length. The style gave her a harder look. Her dark eyes held more bitterness than distrust as she openly appraised him.

Mara made the introductions, and he muttered a greeting.

Cassie merely nodded. “I made coffee. Help yourselves. It’s in the kitchen.”

“Where’s Livvie?” Mara asked, looking toward the open kitchen door.

“At her dad’s for the weekend.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette.

“Mom would have ten fits if she knew you were puffing away again.” Mara fanned blue fumes away from her face.

“I don’t smoke in the house.” She inhaled and blew smoke. “Or around Livvie.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. What is this, a thirty-something version of teenage rebellion?”

Cort hadn’t grown up with siblings but he recognized when family pushed each other’s emotional buttons. Marton had been a heavy smoker. The case probably wasn’t the only factor in his death, but Cort would keep that opinion to himself.

Cassie blew a lung full directly at her sister. “She’d have
twenty
fits if she knew you wanted to dig around in the case.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. I said it all on the phone.” Mara turned to Cort. “Come on. I’ll pour you some coffee before we head downstairs.”

In the kitchen she poured aromatic brew from a drip coffeemaker into two bright red ceramic mugs and added cream and sugar to hers. “Basement door’s over here.” The handle rattled when she tried it but it didn’t turn.

Arms firmly planted on her hips, she went to the breezeway. “Door’s locked.”

Cassie laid her smoke in the ashtray and swung out of the deck chair. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to take those files.”

Cort retreated to a dark corner of the unlit kitchen to watch the battle.

Mara chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “They’re Dad’s files. I have as much right to them as you do.”

“But it’s my house now, not Mom’s. What you’re doing can lead to nothing good. Dredging it all up again.”

Mara looked like she’d been slapped. “You think he’s guilty.” Apparently she’d just realized the source of her sister’s resistance.

Cassie lifted one shoulder in dismissal. But the red flush on her face said the accusation hit the bull’s-eye. She was named right. Cassandra, the predictor of doom.

Time to step in. This was his fight. “Mara isn’t doing this only for herself,” he said. “It’s partly because I asked her.”

“You just want the
loot
.” Cassie’s mouth was tight with emotion.

“I want my life back. I paid my debt to society, but the FBI won’t let me move on. If I can lead them to the crown jewels, I’ll be free once and for all.” He could hold up his head instead of holding out a damn tin cup for crumbs.

“Not my problem, is it?”

“Cassie!” Mara knitted her hands together in supplication. “This is for us, for Mom. She could have Dad’s pension if he’s cleared.”

“And if he isn’t?”

“At least I tried.” Mara’s mouth was tight, her shoulders hunched. “Don’t forget you still owe me thousands for my half of this house. If I took you to court, that line you’ve drawn in the sand would be blown away. Is keeping me from Dad’s files that damned important to you?”

Red faced, Cassie shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “I didn’t think of the pension. This search, investigation, whatever—it better not hurt Mom. The key’s in the junk drawer.”

A short while later, Cort followed Mara outside with one of the two file boxes. He enjoyed how her low-slung jeans fit her curvy butt. He wanted her but couldn’t afford to alienate her. He needed her. But no stopping the fizz of chemistry in his veins. And he liked her. She was feisty and smart.

“You know I hate this, Mara,” Cassie said, her smoker’s rasp adding another layer of doom. “Opening up Dad’s last case. Cozying up to this, this—”

Sparks flared in his veins. “Thief? Ex-Con? Those the words you want?”

He shoved the two boxes into the truck bed and slammed shut the cap gate. When he saw her tears, the fear and pain, he reminded himself she was justified in her fear.

On a deep breath, he calmed his expression, his voice, kept it even. “I promise to do all I can to keep Mara safe. She believes in your dad. If we can figure out who my father’s accomplices were, your dad is in the clear and so am I. So chill.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat and breathed deeply in a rhythmic pattern—an exercise he’d learned in prison anger management classes—while he waited for Mara.

***

Cassie reached for her sister’s hand. She had to try to talk her out of this misadventure. “If he has to keep you safe, what didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s just the protective sort. I’ll be all right, Cass,” Mara said. “Mr. Devlin’s going to help us with the investigation.”

How could Mara bear to go through this again? Her throat tight, Cassie shook her head. “Let Jones take the boxes. You stay out of it.”

Mara’s eyes widened. “Now you trust him more than I do. I don’t plan to let Dad’s files out of my sight. If Cort took off on his own, clearing Dad would be a dead issue.”

“He’s a good-looking guy. I saw the way he looked at you. You sure this isn’t—”

“Whoa!” Mara held up her hands. “No way. You can back off on that one. He may be a hunk but I’m not going to be like Mom.”

“Whatever. But what if you go on this wild goose chase and still don’t clear Dad? You don’t know what dangers you might be facing.” Cassie sniffed back her tears.

Mara looked about to say something but only handed her a tissue and hugged her.

Cassie mopped at her eyes and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You always were stubborn. Just make sure your methodical ways keep you safe.”

Mara grinned. “I never even asked you about Livvie. How’s my fave niece?”

“Your only niece, kiddo,” Cassie replied. The tension in her throat relaxed now they were on safer ground. “What can I say? She’s eight going on twenty. Wants a tattoo on her ankle. I’m hanging tough but I only hope Walt doesn’t cave under the wheedling.”

Mara opened the truck passenger door. “Look it up on the Internet. Tattooing anyone that young is probably illegal.”

Cassie heaved a sigh. The ash on her cigarette had grown nearly an inch and she tapped it onto the pavement. “You’ve just saved me a headache.”

“Until she’s sixteen or so.” Mara held the door partway open. “And promise me you won’t tell Mom about this. I don’t want to worry her.”

Cassie pressed her lips together in thought. “I don’t know.”

“Look, I’ll tell her myself if we get anywhere. If nothing pans out, she doesn’t need to know. Okay?”

“I guess. Deal.”

Cassie watched as the big black truck pulled around the corner and disappeared. Too-trusting Mara didn’t know what she was getting into. After all these years, no way were they going to get anywhere finding proof of Dad’s innocence. Or those jewels. All they’d find was more trouble. And more pain.

***

The truck rolled away and Mara waved goodbye. She noted Cort’s thin slash of a mouth and set jaw as they reversed their route. He kept his emotions under tight control, but she was beginning to read him. He kept a lot of hurt buried.

Cassie’d gone on the attack but even she yielded to his potent maleness and the internal scars he couldn’t conceal. “Sorry about my sister. She’s five years older and defensive.”

He hit her with his stone-gray gaze. Hypnotic when he really looked at her. As if she were the only person in the world. She could barely drag her gaze away.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I just want to get these boxes opened up.”

“Exactly what I want.” Why she’d never examined them before, she wasn’t sure. Maybe too heavy a burden to go through what the FBI had already searched. If they came up empty, what could she find? And, like Cassie, she dreaded the pain of opening old wounds. But now with a ray of hope, she had to take the chance. “Plus, the divorce has her all on edge.”

“I gathered that. The daughter was with the ex.” He frowned at the side mirrors.

“Tough situation. Cassie came home from work early to find Walt in bed with her best friend. To her credit, she kicked both of them out of her life that very day. Walt and the best friend aren’t together now but Cassie doesn’t forgive.”

“Don’t blame her. I know what it’s like to be screwed over.”

So did she. Her dad was innocent. He had to be.
Once a crook, always a crook.
His favorite saying. Too painfully ironic if it applied to him. And her as a transgressor.

“You tell her about being attacked last night?” Cort asked.

“No way. She’d have called Mom, gotten her on my case. One of her Korean lectures is all I need.”

“Your mom teach you girls her language?”

“We learned some when we were kids but both of us lost interest by high school. Even in Korean I’d know I was on the receiving end of a scolding.”

He grinned then straightened in his seat as he checked the mirrors again. “Get a hold on that safety handle above you.”

She blinked. “What?”

He reached across her, blocking her view. “This.”

She slid her gaze along his sinewy forearm to the handle above the door. “You don’t trust the seatbelts or something?”

“You’re gonna need it. Humor me.”

As soon as she had a firm grip, he shifted to Neutral. He yanked the steering wheel a hard left and stood on the brakes. In the middle of traffic, the truck swerved into the opposite lane in a tight U-turn.

Tires shrieked. Horns blared.

The move flung Mara right shoulder first into the passenger door. Her breath blew out in a whoosh. Her fingers froze around the safety handle.

When the truck threatened to fishtail, Cort corrected the steering. His jaw set in stone, he shifted to Drive. The truck shot forward, laying more rubber with an ear-splitting squeal. The G-force thrust Mara back in her seat. They zoomed the opposite direction down the street, zigzagging around traffic so fast she barely registered the other vehicles.