Page 77 of My Cruel Salvation

“I trusted him,” she says. “Am I the most naive person on the planet?”

“Oh, sweetie, no. Of course not. I trusted him, too. Do you think Devlin or I would have ever let you alone with him if we hadn’t once we knew about Joseph?”

“We had all these talks. I shared so much with him.” She hugs herself. “If he did this, then he’s a freaking psychopath. Or sociopath. Or, hell, both. I can’t ever keep that straight. He’s not a good person.” She sniffles, then chokes back tears. “I thought he was a good person.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, taking the hand that isn’t stroking Jake.

“I know. But that doesn’t help. And—well, I know he could do it. A bomb, I mean. I read his first book. There was a bomb in it, and he did all sorts of research. It said so in the back. He would know how.”

“That’s why we’re looking into him,” Devlin says from behind us, making us both jump. “Because it’s possible, and we want to be smart. But Ellie is right—it’s not your fault.”

She nods, but doesn’t look any more convinced than she did when I told her the same thing.

“It would help if we knew where he was. Did he ever say anything that might give you a clue?”

She shakes her head. “But he left that note for me, so we know he caused the leak. But this is so much more serious. Why would he have put a spotlight on himself like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Devlin agrees. “But like you said, he has the knowledge, probably even more than we know because of his connection to Joseph. It’s possible that when he essentially confessed to being behind the leak, he didn’t expect to be put in this position.”

It takes me a moment to figure out what he means. “You’re saying someone ordered him.”

Devlin nods. “Or his relationship with Joseph was on better terms than we believed. Grief and anger can drive a man to do foolish things.”

“Like blow up the house of the man who killed your brother,” Brandy says. “Even if you know you’ll be at the top of the suspect list.”

“I’m sorry,” Devlin says. “But yes.”

Her throat moves as she swallows. “I wish I could, but I can’t think of any place he might be.”

“Don’t worry about it. We have resources, and it might not be him.” He presses a hand to Brandy’s shoulder, then offers to bring her a cup of cocoa.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“Well, I’m getting one, so let me know if you change your mind.”

She nods, and he heads toward the kitchen. I get up and follow him, not ready to be done with this conversation. “Surely it’s not Walt,” I say, cornering him at the pantry. “So if it turns out Christopher’s text was telling the truth, then what does that mean? Somebody new on the radar?”

Devlin sighs, looking completely exhausted. “At this point, I’m not taking anything on faith. But, you’re right. I don’t think it’s Walt. His claim sounds like opportunism to force me to settle in light of the bad press surrounding the revelation about my father. What happened to my house, on the other hand, is payback.”

“Agree,” I say as I loop my arms around him. “But by who? Tied to Blackstone, most likely, but he’s dead. So what are you going to do?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”

I frown. What I know is that he’s going to go back upstairs and get on the phone with Ronan and Reggie and Penn and Claire and Charlie and Grace and all of the other Saint’s Angels that I haven’t yet met. They’re going to make a plan for finding out everything they can, using whatever methods they can, including the kind of methods that law enforcement doesn’t have access to. Not legally anyway.

As for Walt, though he’s not saying so, I’m certain the team will be poking around there, too. Devlin may believe Walt had nothing to do with this, but he won’t completely write it off until he’s sure. He’ll poke around in that cretin’s life again, utilizing the kind of tools that constitutes cutting corners in the world of police procedure and judicial conduct.

I want to say that I disapprove. That he can’t do that. That he needs to let the process be the process, and trust that the authorities will find the answers. I want to say it, but I can’t, because I’m not sure I believe that anymore. So instead I just hold him close. “I’m going to stay with Brandy down here. You do what you have to do, okay?”

His brows rise just slightly, and I’m certain he understands everything that I’ve left unsaid. Then he nods, kisses my forehead, and turns and goes toward my room.

“Devlin,” I call, fighting the urge to join him, to listen in on his meetings and think about whatever information they’ve come across, to see if I find something in the bits of gossip and information and evidence that perhaps they don’t see. But when he stops turns and looks back at me, all I can think to say is, “Let me know if you find anything.”

A hint of a smile touches his lips, and I know he understands. “Of course I will,” he says. And then he’s gone.

Chapter Thirty-One

I wake on the couch in the morning with a blanket over me feeling groggy and disoriented. I push myself up, my head pounding. I stumble into the kitchen to start coffee, only to find that Brandy is already there, sipping on something cold and green.