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That hit home.
“I don’t believe Philip had anything to do with Frederick’s murder,” Blake stated flatly. “Or with your mother’s disappearance.”
Devon’s brows arched at the adamant tone of his words. “You sound certain.”
“I am. I’m also certain Philip didn’t kill himself. So’s your father.” Blake’s lips twisted into a wry grin at her startled expression. “Gotcha.”
She wet her lips. “Actually, you’ve lost me.”
“No, I haven’t. You understand me perfectly. Someone murdered Philip. Probably the same someone who murdered Frederick. That someone tried to make it look like a suicide, thereby framing Philip and getting rid of him in one fell swoop. What I don’t know is who or why. But your father will figure it out. Tell him if he needs my help to just ask for it. Not via his daughter. Face-to-face.”
Clearly, Blake was waiting for a reaction.
He got it.
Devon twisted around and stared up at him. “I have no idea where your theories are coming from. Are they based in fact, or are you a frustrated PI?” She waved away his response. “Before you answer that, let me say this. I resent your implication that I’m here as some kind of carrier pigeon. And I more than resent my realization that whatever’s happening between us is just a cover for your version of Spy versus Spy.” She started to get up.
Blake’s hand snaked out, his fingers wrapping around her forearm, keeping her in place. “Wrong,” he said with a hard shake of his head. “What’s happening between us is the only honest part of all this. So let’s stop playing Spy versus Spy. Let’s lay our cards on the table. Fair enough?”
“That depends. What cards are we talking about?”
Another glimmer of amusement. “You’re good. I see a lot of Pete Montgomery in you.”
“So I’ve been told.” Stick to the truth, Devon reiterated silently. There’s less to remember. “I might have been a cop or an investigator, if I’d had the guts. I don’t. So I’m not.”
“I’ll feed your competitive spirit. We’ll play an adult version of truth or dare. Only sans the dare. There’s no way we’ll outdo the one you took downstairs. Besides, we’re past that point.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning what just happened in this bed.”
“I got the dare part. I was questioning what it is we’re past.”
“I’ll spell it out, then. What’s between us is real. So whatever mind games we play, our personal involvement doesn’t factor into them. It’s separate and apart. Agreed?”
“Okay. Agreed.”
“Fine. On to our game of truth. I’ll ask you a question. You either answer frankly or tell me to go to hell. No lies. We’ll see who capitulates first.”
“It sounds more like chicken,” Devon observed.
“Maybe.” His brows rose quizzically. “So, are you game?”
“I’m game. Ladies first?”
Blake made a wide sweep with his arm. “Sure. Go for it.”
She nodded, a challenging glint in her eyes. “Did you start pursuing me because your grandfather asked you to? Was he hoping I knew where my mother was and I’d tell you?”
“That’s two questions,” Blake pointed out. “But they’re related, so I’ll let them slide.”
“How very generous of you. Are you going to answer them?”
“Yup.” Blake traced the curve of her shoulder with his fingertip. “I went after you because I wanted you. And because my grandfather hoped you’d spill the beans about your mother’s whereabouts. He also wanted me to act as a distraction, so you’d lose interest in James. My cousin’s easily diverted by a beautiful woman. Grandfather wants his concentration to be focused on the show circuit.”
“Oh.” Devon hadn’t thought of the last part. She’d been too centered on the murders.
“My turn,” Blake reminded her. “Are you officially working with your father on this case? Or did he just ask you to keep your eyes and ears open when you’re with me or James?”
