Page 61 of My Fallen Saint

The bastard barely even flinches.

I’m still straddling his thighs, my palm stinging and my breath coming hard when I hear the squawk of the intercom followed by Gregg’s voice.

“Mr. Saint, there’s a call for Ms. Holmes.”

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes still hard on mine.

I scramble off him, adjusting my clothes as he takes the satellite phone out of the console near his chair and passes it to me. I take it, carefully avoiding his touch and his eyes.

“Roger?” I’d realized that I’d be out of touch in the air. It was a short flight, but since I’d been trained to always be available, I’d texted Anna during the drive. She’d given me the number of the satellite line and I’d had my calls forwarded.

“Great job on the Myers article,” he says as I settle back in my seat, taking deep breaths to try to steady myself. “You went over and above. It’ll be featured on the site tomorrow.”

“That’s great. Is that why you called?”

“I wanted to get an ETA on the profile.”

“I’m shooting for the end of the week,” I tell him. “I’m actually on my way to Vegas right now with Mr. Saint.” My voice, I think, sounds entirely normal.

“Excellent. It’ll be tight, but we should be able to get it in before next month’s issue gets put to bed.”

I do some mental calculations and agree.

“How about the rest?” Roger asks gently. “Any news on your uncle?”

“Working on it.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, the truth is I wanted to talk to you about that. Do you have a sec?”

“Come on, kid. You know I always have a second for you.”

I squirm a bit. Roger’s always been a great mentor, and I appreciate the hell out of it, but I always feel a little squidgy when it’s right there in my face. Because why do I deserve that? Hell, why do I even deserve to still be here when my mom and dad and Peter are all gone?

“Did I lose you?”

“Sorry,” I say, looking up to see Devlin watching me. I turn away, not sure if I’m embarrassed or angry. Mostly angry.

I force the thoughts out of my head and focus on Roger. “Listen, remember when I told you this research about Peter might only be for me? That you shouldn’t plan on an article?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the more I think about it, the more I want to publish. Because I can’t make a difference if I keep it all in my head.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You’re the one who’s always told me that, and you’re right.” I shift in the seat, gathering my thoughts. “I always thought I’d be a cop, but when I actually started, the job didn’t do it for me. But journalism? This is my jam. Because I can make a real difference.”

“You’re thinking about your uncle getting caught up with The Wolf.”

“Exactly. One man with tentacles that reached far and wide who destroyed innocent lives. Peter’s. Mine.”

“I agree. It would make a great story.”

“That’s not all. I want to investigate how it was that The Wolf was never caught or convicted. As far as I’m concerned, he must have had a small army of folks in law enforcement and the judiciary in his pocket. And I want to dig deep into the repercussions of what he did.”

“So not a personal essay,” Roger says. I swivel in the chair, and as I do, I see Devlin studying me, the corners of his mouth pulled down.

“Right. I want to do a hard news piece. From the addicts who consumed The Wolf’s drugs to the mules who carried them to the people he sucked in and used like Uncle Peter. I want to tell the stories of the victims like me who lost family and friends, all because one man wanted power and money, and was willing to take it any way he could.”

“That’s ambitious kid.”