Page 2 of Sinner’s Game

Like nothing could ever hurt me again.

I was wrong, of course.

What hurt me the most was him.

Chapter One

“I’m one day home from my honeymoon, about to turn right back around to go to New York, and you’re telling me this now?” Devlin said. “Christ, Ronan. This isn’t a good time for a vacation. I need you here. We talked about this a month ago. I need you on deck keeping an eye on things.”

Devlin Saint leaned back in his desk chair in his huge office at the Devlin Saint Foundation. His green eyes stayed locked on Ronan as he waited for an answer.

With his Brioni suit and regal bearing, Devlin was the epitome of power and control. A man whose public façade hid a much more lethal version of the man.

Another man might be intimidated, but not Ronan Thorne. Devlin was a dangerous man, but no more than Ronan himself. They’d been as close as brothers since their days in the military, and they knew each other’s secrets. Most of them, anyway.

“Do you honestly think I’m taking this lightly?” Ronan had been standing, but now he took a seat in one of the guest chairs that fronted Devlin’s desk. He leaned back, stretching out his legs, as casual as you please.

A muscle in Devlin’s cheek twitched, but he said nothing.

“Things are quiet right now,” Ronan continued. “Tamra’s more than capable of handling things on both the public side and behind the scenes. And there’s not a damn thing on my active docket.”

“Tamra’s a capable woman,” Devlin agreed, referring to the woman who’d been like a mother to both of them for years, and who now ran Devlin’s businesses like a general. “But we have active teams spread out over five countries. And while I’m away, it’s your job to be on deck.”

“From which I’m taking a week of leave. Task someone else to handle it.” He noted the way his friend scowled. Not so much with irritation, but with curiosity. “I’m sorry, man. This is my line in the sand. It’s non-negotiable. Either I take temporary leave, or I leave for good.”

Devlin’s brows rose. “It’s as important as that?”

“Do you think I’d be sitting here if it wasn’t?”

His friend drew in a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “No, of course you wouldn’t. Take as much time as you need.”

Ronan nodded, accepting the words as an apology. “Appreciate it. If all goes well, I’ll be back in just a couple of days. But this is time sensitive. I’ve got a lead. If I don’t jump now, who knows if I’ll get the chance again.”

Devlin studied him. “We can get the team on it. Whatever support you need.”

“No. This is personal.”

“Everything’s personal,” Devlin said.

“I’m handling it.” The words came out sharper than Ronan intended. “Appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”

Silence hung in the air, and for a moment, Ronan feared he’d have to make good on his threat. Then his friend nodded. “Fair enough. So long as you know I’ll always have your back.”

“Same.” That was the kind of friendship they had, which was probably why guilt was stabbing away at his insides, because he’d never once told Devlin about Sheldon Cartwright or Michelle or anything about what went down all those long years ago.

He caught Devlin’s eyes, saw the question brewing on his friend’s face, and quickly schooled his expression into blank professionalism. Then he grinned. “Still happily married? Not tired of Ellie yet?”

“Ass,” his friend shot back, but the retort was without heat. They both knew that Devlin was blissfully happy. Hell, he practically glowed.

When Ellie had first returned to Devlin’s life, Ronan had feared the worst. The woman was a former cop turned reporter, after all. And that was all kinds of danger, especially since Devlin was the central figure in a web of secrets involving dozens of people. To the world, Devlin was nothing more than the multi-billionaire behind the humanitarian Devlin Saint Foundation. The foundation was real enough, its mission important to Devlin and all the staff.

But another organization lurked in the shadows behind the foundation. Devlin had created Saint’s Angels to do good in a way that a humanitarian foundation couldn’t. The SA was Devlin’s passion and Ronan’s, too. And he’d worked as Devlin’s right hand from the beginning, taking the lead on numerous projects since Devlin had to be the front man for the legitimate foundation that worked hand-in-secret-hand with the shadowy one.

Where the Devlin Saint Foundation could finance rehabilitation programs for victims of trafficking, the ultra-secret Saint’s Angels could go after the criminals themselves. Could hunt them down. Could take them out. Could rid the world of its vermin in a way that sanctioned law enforcement could not.

Only a select few knew about the organization, or that Devlin himself was a billionaire vigilante who lived in the shadows, his gun as much of a weapon as his checkbook. Ronan was right there beside him, the Angels’ mission as important to him as it was to Devlin or anyone else on the worldwide, secret team.

Secret being the operative word.