Wrong Place, Wrong Time (26 page)

He nodded slowly. “
Very
intense. And not
was
—
is
.”

She heard his intimation loud and clear. “A relationship between us is going to complicate an already tense situation.”

“No argument.” Blake paused. “Are you okay with that?”

“I guess I’ll have to be. You?”

“Fine. Risk doesn’t frighten me. I’ve got good instincts. I’ve learned to rely on them. And to fight for what I want.”

“As opposed to James, who’s more self-indulgent and spoiled,” Devon surmised.

“You said it, not me.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Was James really sick? Because his virus was nowhere to be found when we spoke. He sounded in good spirits.”

“He knows how to lay on the charm. He wants you. He’s not about to expose his weaknesses when he’s trying to win you over.” Blake paused, his brows drawing together. “To my knowledge, he’s not doing drugs. As for his fears, he doesn’t confide in me.”

They were dancing around the blackmail issue, each of them waiting for the other to address it first. Devon knew it was her call, since her awareness, or lack thereof, was the wild card. She wasn’t ready to go there. Not without first getting Monty’s permission. She’d already pushed the boundaries of her obligations to him tonight. She’d breached confidentiality by discussing the details of her involvement with this case. She couldn’t compound the matter by telling Blake she’d been fully apprised of the extortion letter and phone call.

“Does James know about Philip Rhodes’s death?” she asked instead.

“He knows.”

“How did he take it?”

“The way he takes everything. With a grain of salt. He was upset. He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t like him much, do you?”

Blake shrugged. “We have different values. What we have in common is our sense of family.” A wry look. “And obviously our taste in women.”

Devon’s lips curved. “I’m sure I’ll regret telling you this — but, for the record, it was never a contest. You got to me from the minute I saw you when you freed my soggy pant leg from between Chomper’s teeth.”

“That was a turn-on, huh?”

“Big-time.”

“Good to know.” Blake reached out, threaded his fingers through her hair. “What else has that effect on you?”

She felt the sexual electricity between them crackle to life, shimmer through her. “Blake.” She pressed a restraining palm against his chest. Pragmatism was urging her to use these moments of intimacy to learn as much as she could. But pragmatism was being drowned out by desire. “We still have a lot of territory to cover,” she tried.

“Uh-huh — I know.” He leaned forward, nibbled on her shoulder.

“Verbal territory, I meant.” Her eyes slid shut.

“It’ll wait.”

“Till when? I have to get home at a reasonable hour. I have a shift at the clinic tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” He paused long enough to eyeball the nightstand clock. “You’re right. It’s getting late. The way I see it, we have two choices — finish our game of truth, or give a repeat performance of dare. Well, maybe not an exact repeat performance. A variation. Slower, more thorough, lengthier. But just as stimulating.” He moved Devon’s hair aside, kissed her neck, her throat. “Take your pick,” he muttered against her skin.

Devon was having trouble breathing. “We can play truth in the car,” she reasoned aloud.

“Good point.”

“And continue it on the phone.”

“Right.”

“And…” She had no idea what she was going to say next. Nor did she care.

“And…?” Blake prompted, raising his head and gazing at her, sparks of amber fire glinting in his eyes.

“And nothing.”

His smile was darkly seductive. “So what’s the verdict?”

Devon lay back against the pillows, reaching for Blake as she did. “Let’s go for dare.”

Monty and Lane were perched at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee, when Devon flew down the stairs the next morning. She was concentrating on twisting her still-damp hair into a French braid and simultaneously zipping up her boots, when she stumbled into the kitchen.

Spotting her brother and father, she came to a halt. “Hi.” She noted their dour expressions, and her stomach knotted. “Is Mom okay?”

“She’s fine,” Lane assured her.

“Then why is Monty here at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning? And why are you both glaring at your coffee like it’s poison?”

“I’m running interference,” Lane supplied.

“And I’m waiting for you.” Monty set down his cup with a thud. “Have a late night?”

“Excuse me?”

“What time did you get in?”

“I already answered that one, Monty,” Lane reminded him, looking more amused than annoyed. “Three seventeen. Give or take a minute.”

“You time-stamped my arrival?” Devon asked in amazement.

“Hey, waiting up is what big brothers do.”

“I don’t believe this.” Devon finished braiding her hair, then opened the cabinet and reached for a mug. “My daddy and my big brother lying in wait like a posse.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “Last time I checked, I was an adult. Has that changed without my knowledge?”

“Adults remember to call in,” Monty stated flatly. “So do partners. Especially if that partner is the other partner’s daughter, and she’s been out with a guy who’s key to their investigation.”

A twinge of guilt intruded on Devon’s irritation. “I meant to call. But as Lane pointed out, it was late. And this morning, I overslept.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what went on last night.”

“On that note, I’ll leave you two alone.” Polishing off his coffee, Lane rose and flashed Devon a wry grin. “I’d suggest omitting the sordid details. I don’t think Monty’s open-minded enough for that.”

“Gee, thanks.” Devon’s glare was blistering. “Why is it I wanted you home again?”

“Because I keep life interesting.” Lane tugged her braid and headed for the door. “Play nice, you two.”

Devon watched him go, then turned back to her father. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Monty took a gulp of coffee. “And I didn’t mean for you to get involved with Blake Pierson.”

“I know. Neither did I.” She sank down onto a stool. “I just have a few minutes. So let’s get right down to what I learned. Blake knows I’m working with you. He also knows that you have doubts about Rhodes’s death being tagged a suicide. In fact, he knows pretty much your whole MO on this case — with a few exceptions.”

Monty’s jaw tightened. “How?”

“Mostly by asking the right people the right questions, then drawing his own conclusions,” Devon answered honestly. “The rest he got from me. I took a calculated risk. In my opinion, it paid off.”

“This had better be good.”

“It’s bits and pieces of the puzzle, and securing a bunch of loose ends. Louise Chambers, for instance. She showed up at Blake’s door while I was there. She’s definitely angling for him. She turned green when she saw me. Blake sent her on her way. I grilled him. He’s not involved with her. That doesn’t mean she’s not the killer. Although Blake doesn’t think so.” Devon filled Monty in on Blake’s rationale.

“Same thoughts I had,” Monty acknowledged. “Still, there’s something about that woman….” A frustrated grunt. “I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. I’m not ready to cross her off the suspect list. She’s a barracuda.”

“I agree. Speaking of trust, Blake doesn’t trust James any more than we do — although he’s hesitant to slam him outright.”

Monty’s brows rose. “How much about James did you get into? Did you discuss the extortion?”

“No. That’s one of the things I held back on. I knew from you that Blake was privy to the blackmail scheme. On the flip side, he wasn’t sure how much I knew. He was waiting for me to broach the subject. I didn’t. I needed your permission first.”

Monty studied her intently. “You really trust this guy.”

“In the ways that matter most, yes, I do.”

“You’re about as objective as Juliet was about Romeo.”

“Cut it out, Monty.” Devon waved away his comment. “I’m not a starry-eyed girl. Nor am I wearing blinders. Yes, Blake is a Pierson through and through. And, yes, he’s determined to protect his family. I can’t exactly fault him for that. If I did, I’d be a hypocrite, since I’m doing the same for my family.”

“What about the fact that he went after you hot and heavy? Did he admit it was Edward’s idea?”

“It was more complicated than that. But yes, Blake admitted that his grandfather told him to stick close to me, in case Mom showed up at my door. Blake’s keeping tabs on me, just like I’m keeping tabs on him.”

“Go on.”

“He’s dead set on finding out who killed his uncle and Philip Rhodes.” Devon paused. “Like I said, he has a good handle on you. He spelled out the whole theory he believes you’re operating on — and he was right. What’s more, he agreed with it. He asked that you go to him directly, and he’ll do what he can to help.”

“You’re kidding. What made him…?” Monty rubbed a palm across his jaw. “Never mind. I’m not going to ask what prompted Blake’s unexpected burst of candor. Lane’s right. I don’t want to know.”

Devon hid her smile. “With regard to what else I
didn’t
tell Blake, I kept quiet about Mom, except to reiterate what he already knew. Anything pertaining to her whereabouts stays in this house.”

“Damn straight it does.”

Interlacing her fingers on the counter, Devon turned to Monty. “That’s it in a nutshell. What’s the verdict?”

Monty swished the coffee in his mug around, staring broodingly into it. “You’re a maverick like your father. Also like him, you’re lousy with rules. But you did good. Let me meet with Blake and call him on his offer. The conversation I have planned will tell me if he’s for real.”

“Explain.”

“There’s a big piece not fitting here. It got lost in the shuffle after Rhodes’s death. But it’s bugging me. It should be bugging Blake, too.”

Devon inclined her head, waiting. Late for work or not, she had to know where Monty was going with this.

“The extortion. It’s way out of whack.”

“That’s bothered you since the beginning.”

“Yeah, but now it’s a glaring red flag.” Monty pivoted on the stool, his hand slicing the air as he spoke. “Bad enough that the timing was off on Frederick’s murder and James’s near miss at Wellington. But what about the extortionist’s demands? It’s been three days since I prepped Edward for that phone call. None came. Why?”

“The logical assumption would be that Rhodes was the blackmailer, and now he’s dead.”

“That assumption sucks. Rhodes called Edward the night he died. He never mentioned any demand for millions. Plus, suicidal people don’t stock up on money before blowing their brains out.”

Devon nodded. “So whoever killed Rhodes wants him to look like the blackmailer.”

Monty’s gaze narrowed. “That theory falls flat, too. In order to frame Rhodes, the blackmailer would have to give up on his windfall. Any attempt to collect would mean Rhodes was innocent.”

“You’re right.” Devon’s mind was racing. “You think the blackmail was staged.”

“I sure do. And I know just the guy who’d do it.”

“James.”

“Yup. Golden Boy himself.”

Devon held up her palms in a quizzical gesture. “But why? To get his uncle and Rhodes out of the way? It doesn’t fly. James doesn’t want the company; he wants Olympic notoriety. Plus, Rhodes was no threat to James’s rise to the top. He wasn’t even a Pierson.”

“True. But he might have had damning information that would screw James out of his place in Grandpa’s life. The same goes for Frederick.” Monty pursed his lips. “What if the argument your mother overheard at the Pierson barn wasn’t about Rhodes? What if it was about James? What if James was the one Frederick didn’t trust?”

“That’s not the picture Edward painted when he hired you. You think he was protecting his grandson?” Devon shook her head, negating her own question. “No way. Not if James killed Frederick. He was Edward’s son.” A pause. “Besides, we confirmed that James never left Wellington on Wednesday night. So how could he have shot Rhodes?”

“He could have hired someone. As for the first part, you’ve got too soft a heart. Edward Pierson would protect his grandson no matter what — even if he committed murder. And, yeah, even if the victim was Edward’s own son. James is the light of his grandfather’s life. No way he’d let him rot in jail.”

Devon blew out a breath. “That’s a pretty tough scenario. You plan to run it by Blake?”

“Yup. It’s a great way to test the sincerity of his commitments.”

“What commitments?”

“To find the killer. And to you.”

“Monty…”

“Don’t bother. I’m not listening.” Monty waved away her objection. “You’re my daughter. You’re falling for this guy. Which means I’m allowed to play macho dad. End of story.”

“Great,” Devon muttered. “Do you plan to wave your Glock in his face or just flash the holster at him for effect?”

“Give me a little credit for finesse.” A hint of amusement lit Monty’s eyes. “Although I like the image. I might use it if he pisses me off.”

“You’d better be joking.”

“I’ll let you know afterward.” Monty’s grin faded as his thoughts reverted back to the investigation. “I’ll lay out the James theory for Blake. I want to see how he reacts, and how much he spills to Grandpa. Oh, and I’ll tell him you know about the blackmail aspect of the case. I’ll do that when I inform him you’re keeping your Sunday night date with James.”

Devon’s head came up. “You
want
me to see him?”

A nod. “Right here in this very house. For dinner and alone time. He’ll be thrilled. It’s just what he’s been angling for.”

“Monty, what are you cooking up now?”

“Lane and Merry will go out for the evening. You’ll be wearing a wire. And I’ll be outside in my car, listening. You and I can write your script beforehand. I’ll record every word that’s said. If James is our guy, we’ll find out. And we’ll nail him.”

EDWARD SLAMMED HIS car door shut.

Turning up his collar against the cold, he glanced around, ensuring he was alone. The frozen acres of land that composed his farm were deserted. The house was far enough away, and occupied only by his staff. And the stables were shut tight.