Page 94 of My Beautiful Sin

I take a step back, feeling sick. “No.”

He holds up his hands, shaking his head, and when he speaks, I hear the emotion in his voice. “I know it’s not what you want to hear—and honestly, there might be nothing there. But you deserve to have all the facts.”

“And what are the facts?” My voice is harsh and cold, and I don’t want it to be. Whoever Peter was—whatever he did—I want to know the truth. And I feel like the worst of friends for lashing out at Lamar since Peter isn’t there to field my pain and disappointment.

To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch, and that sweet understanding helps me settle myself. I square my shoulders and say more gently, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, I’ll deal.”

“Like I said, it may be nothing,” he says. “As far as I know, the department never had its eye on Peter for pornography.”

I shrug. “That doesn’t mean much. The LCPD didn’t have its eye on Peter for drugs until after he was dead.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Lamar says. “But there’s also nothing in the Mulroy interview to suggest there was any sort of steady business. He said he dealt with him. That word specifically. So it could’ve been a one-time thing.”

I nod, trying to process everything. “And you think the blonde…”

He lifts his hands. “It’s only a hunch. Maybe I shouldn’t have even said anything to you. Not until I had more, anyway.”

I move close and take his hands. “No. Thanks. I’m glad you told me. I don’t know what it means, but it’s a solid hunch. But I doubt he’d have taken her up to LA and introduced her to his mechanic as his girlfriend if she was tied up in porn, too.”

“Good point. Still, it’s an angle. You want to find out more about Peter—what he was into, what motivated him to get dirty in the first place—you should talk to Mulroy.”

“Can you get me an address or phone number?”

“I’ll track him down,” he says. “Maybe between him and the blonde—if you ever find her—you’ll get more of a picture.”

“I hope so,” I say. Because the truth is, the more I learn about my uncle, the more I realize how hard it is to really know anything about anybody.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lamar holds the door open so that we can go in and join the others, but as I’m about to walk through, I hear my name.

I turn and see a woman with a vaguely familiar face behind us. “Carrie? Oh my God.” I turn to Lamar. “I knew her in high school. Go on in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He nods, and I hurry toward Carrie, who’s hurrying down the sidewalk toward me. “Carrie Bartlett! You look amazing.” Tall and blond with wavy hair, tight jeans, and as much attitude as she had in school, Carrie looks like she should be on a catwalk.

“Are you really fucking him?”

I stiffen, my body turning cold from the harshness in her words. “Excuse me?”

“Devlin Saint,” she says. “He’s a liar and a prick.”

“What are you talking about? Oh, fuck.” Without thinking, I reach out and grab her upper arms. “Are you the one sending me those texts?” I demand, practically spitting with fury. “Is it you who’s harassing us?”

She jerks free of my grasp, her blue eyes as cold as ice. “Texts? What the fuck? I’m trying to do you a favor, you idiot. Don’t trust him.”

I just stand there stupidly, my mind spinning as I try to process where this is coming from. “Wait,” I say. “I remember. You dated him. In New York, a few years ago. You were with him at some event he was speaking at.”

I hadn’t paid attention to Devlin Saint back then, but The Spall had covered the black tie event where Saint had announced that he was building a permanent location for his foundation in Laguna Cortez. It was a weird coincidence that my old high school friend was his date, but at the same time, it wasn’t too surprising. God knows Carrie has the model-like looks of a woman often found on the arms of billionaires.

I might have even called the hotel and tried to catch up, but I’d been mugged that weekend, and after the attack, all thoughts of the rich philanthropist and his date from my past had fizzled from my mind.

Now I wonder how long they’d dated … and what had happened to end it.

“Nothing he says is real,” she continues, before I can ask. “Remember that, Ellie. Nothing he says is real.”

I shake my head. “Whatever happened between the two of you—”

“You are so naive. Believe me, Ellie. I’m not some jealous twit. I’m trying to help you.” Her eyes bore into me. “Get clear, okay? Because Devlin Saint is a fucking monster.”