Page 44 of My Fallen Saint

I’m considering that possibility when I enter the hallway and almost barrel into Devlin, who grabs my arm to steady me. I yank it back. Not because I’m annoyed at being helped, but because I’m annoyed at myself. At my own intense reaction to the sudden and unexpected touch.

“Why are you here?” I demand, with more accusation in my voice than I intend. I’d planned to be calm and cool the next time I saw him. Now I feel like I’ve been robbed of the chance to show him I don’t give a fuck.

“The DSF has done a lot of work supporting therapy and rehabilitation for Myers’ victims,” he tells me. “To be honest, I came to celebrate the bastard’s demise.”

“Celebrate? Somebody took the law into their own hands. You can’t just do that.”

He takes my elbow and steers us around a corner, out of the way of the crowd. “That guy was a monster. He killed children and destroyed the ones who survived. Trust me. I’ve seen the reports. I’ve met the kids. Not one of those children will ever fully recover from what that scum did to them. As far as I’m concerned, the shooter did the world a favor.”

I can’t deny the passion in his voice—or the emotional resonance of what he says. But I can deny the conclusion. “Sorry, but former cop here, and vigilantism just doesn’t fly.”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“I guess so.” I lean against the wall my arms crossed over my chest, and when I look up at his face, the bastard’s smiling. “What?”

He takes a step closer, so he’s only inches away. “You truly are your father’s daughter.”

I draw in a breath, suddenly hyperaware of his proximity. “You never knew my dad.”

“Maybe not.” His voice is flat, and try as I might, I can’t read even a hint of emotion in it. Alex Leto always had a knack for control, but Devlin Saint has mastered it. He takes a single step closer, and the air crackles between us. “But I know you.”

“This conversation is over.” I’m trying for firm, but the words come out shaky. Annoyed, I shove past him and hurry back to the main hallway.

I don’t like running away from him or feeling weak. But it’s a hell of a lot better than succumbing to that damn sizzle I feel under my skin every time he’s near.

I turn into the ladies’ room, clutch the edge of the counter, then stare at myself in the mirror. I’m here on a job, dammit. I’m a former cop and an investigative reporter and I do not turn to mush on a dime.

Except maybe I do.

I let out a frustrated breath as reality hits me. Because I’ve just walked away from a rock solid story angle. The kind that might get me a spread in the magazine and not just a bullshit corner of the website.

Shit.

“Guess I need him after all,” I tell my reflection, then head back out to track Devlin down again.

When I find him, he’s standing in the building’s lobby talking with Ronan Thorne, who catches my eye and waves me over.

“You here to celebrate, too?”

“Pardon?”

The corner of Devlin’s mouth curves up, the way I’d seen Alex’s do so many times before, and I hug myself as he explains. “I told her I was thrilled Myers is dead. Apparently, Ms. Holmes is not a fan of whoever took the law into their own hands.”

“Ah,” Thorne says. ”No, I worked with local law enforcement on the raid, so I thought I’d pop in since I was coming into town today anyway.”

“Oh? What for?” I wave away the question. “Sorry. Reporter habit.”

He laughs as he catches Devlin’s eye. “No worries. I had a few loose ends to wrap up this morning.”

I’m about to ask what he means—and if the work is for the DSF—when Devlin says, “Ronan could be a source. Talk about the raid. Describe what it was like for the kids. What the first responders saw. Makes for another angle.”

“It does,” I agree, surprised by the suggestion. “Thank you.”

“It’s an important story.”

“It is. In fact, I was going to ask if you could tell me about what the DSF is doing. You mentioned helping the kids.”

He and Ronan exchange glances, then Devlin nods. “I can do that.”