Devil's Deception (3 page)

He was in trouble. He had a job to do, and already, on the first night, he was allowing the Patria girl to get under his skin.

Devlin exhaled a stream of smoke and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the upholstered surface of the chair. He was a pragmatist; he believed in facing reality and then dealing with it.

The reality was that he wanted to make love to his charge. He wanted to feel her slim body shuddering under his, wanted to see those gray green eyes unfocused with pleasure, wanted to cover himself with the curtain of her lovely russet hair. He was in trouble, all right.

Shifting his weight, Devlin dragged on the cigarette he held until the tip glowed. He was getting hot just thinking about her. What was it about her that got to him anyway? She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d seen, or even had. He was hardly a starved celibate ready to grab the first female who looked his way. But there was something about her that appealed to him, something that had touched him from the first moment he’d seen her walking, stately and alone, through the crowd of bustling students.

He opened his amber eyes and studied the cigarette burning away between his fingers. He would have to control himself, stay away from her. She still could be as dirty as Uncle Frank, no matter how innocent she appeared. And even if she proved to be as clean as a mountain stream it wouldn’t do to mix business with pleasure.

Devlin sighed and pressed his lips together with resignation.

Whatever happened, his undeniable attraction to Angela Patria was going to make this case one hell of a problem.

* * * *

Angela woke at five in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. Devlin’s presence in the house surrounded her; she couldn’t see him or hear him, but she knew he was there. She lay in bed for almost an hour, watching the sky lighten, wondering how she was going to deal with his constant company. Why, oh, why, couldn’t her bodyguard have been the dull, unglamorous type she’d been expecting? Dealing with Devlin every day was going to turn her into a basket case.

Sighing heavily, she got up and dressed in her sweat suit, intending to take a shower when she returned. She did some stretching exercises and glanced at her bedside clock. Six-thirty. Well, she would go downstairs and make coffee while she waited for him to join her.

Devlin was sitting on the living room sofa, reading the paper that had been delivered the night before. He looked up as she descended the staircase, and then stood, watching her approach.

He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a hooded zip-front sweatshirt. He refolded the newspaper and dropped it on the couch, regarding her with unfathomable dark eyes.

“I thought you might still be asleep,” Angela said.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” he answered.

They stared at each other.

“Well,” Angela said with forced brightness, “I’ll just start the coffee so that it will be ready when we get back. I’ll have breakfast after I’m dressed, if that’s okay.”

He lifted one shoulder to indicate that it didn’t matter to him. Angela went into the kitchen and filled the glass pot at the sink, turning to pour the water into the well of the coffeemaker.

She poured it down her arm instead. Cursing silently, she set the pot down with a resounding clink and wrung out the sleeve of her sweatshirt. If she was going to react to every encounter with him this way she might as well give up right now and sign herself into a rest home. Annoyed with her own immaturity, she completed the task with careful movements, pausing to roll up the sleeve of her top so the dampness wouldn’t show. Then she rejoined Devlin in the other room.

“Where do you run?” he asked as they went out the front door.

“Down to the river and back,” Angela answered. “I run along the embankment; it’s about two miles altogether.”

The sun was just up, filling the city streets with pale gray light. Fog rolled in from the river, darkening the pavement and surrounding the glowing street lamps with halos of glistening pearl. It was cold at this hour in late September. Steam rose from the grates along the roadway, combining with the mist from the water to make the Manhattan neighborhood seem like a dreamy netherworld of billowing clouds and opalescent lights. Angela half expected a Morloch to climb out of one of the manholes and snatch her away to the caves inside the earth.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said softly. “I love the city before the traffic noise takes over and the workday begins. You could almost believe you were alone here.”

The man at her side glanced at her curiously but said nothing. When she ran lightly down the steps and took off, he fell into place next to her.

They ran in silence for some time. Angela glanced over at him. He was trotting easily, looking around, not even winded.

“You can go faster,” she suggested. “I’ll catch up with you.”

His eyes touched her face. “I’ll stick with you. You set a good pace. I’m all right.”

Angela gave up, taking her customary route down to the water and pausing to rest on the landing at the foot of the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge. Devlin leaned back on his elbows against the concrete abutment, looking out to sea. Gathering traffic behind them increased in volume as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Angela wiped her forehead with her sleeve, shivering slightly as her body cooled. Without a word Devlin unzipped his sweatshirt and held it out to her, waiting for her to slip into it.

Angela shook her head. “You’ll be cold.”

He made an impatient gesture. “I don’t feel it. Come on, take it.”

Angela thrust her arms into the sleeves obediently, and he zipped it up under her chin, folding the cuffs back like a kindergarten teacher outfitting her youngest charge for the walk home from school. Then he lit a cigarette as she watched, fascinated.

“How can you smoke so much and run so well?” she asked wonderingly. “Don’t the cigarettes bother you?”

He shrugged. “They don’t seem to affect me,” he said impassively. His eyes roamed the horizon, narrowing against the sting of the smoke. “Of course, I may drop dead tomorrow.”

Angela doubted it. He looked the picture of health. She noticed the insignia on the T-shirt he was wearing. “Lake Placid, 1980,” it said above the intertwined circles of the Olympic symbol.

“Were you at the winter Olympics?” she asked, gesturing to his chest.

He glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing, “Oh,” he answered, “my kid brother was an alternate on the first place hockey team. He brought this back for me.”

“How exciting that must have been for him!” Angela said. “I cried when they won the gold medal.”

His lips curved upward. “You did?”

“Oh, yes. I know nothing about hockey, never saw a game in my life before that one, but there I was, at eight o’clock on Sunday morning, glued to the television. I didn’t even understand what I was seeing, but I got the point when all the announcers started screaming. Wasn’t it wonderful to see all those boys so happy? Laughing, crying, they didn’t know how to contain their joy. And I felt so sorry for those poor kids from the losing team, how forlorn they looked watching our boys in their triumph. Their hearts must have been broken. Things matter so much at that age.”

Devlin dropped his gaze, turning his head. “I suppose.”

Angela continued enthusiastically. “And to think that everyone said our team didn’t have a chance at the start. They showed the world what a bunch of American kids could do, didn’t they? I was so proud of them.”

Devlin glanced back at her, searching her face. Was this an act? Could this girl really be as ingenuous as she seemed?

Angela saw his intent examination, and bit her lip, flushing.

“Silly of me to carry on like that,” she said quietly.

He exhaled slowly, saying, “Not at all. My mother had an American flag draped over the porch for a month after they won.”

“Where is that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your mother’s porch.”

“My mother’s porch is in Kansas, along with my mother,” Devlin said, smiling. “And my seven brothers and sisters.”

“What does your father do?” she asked.

“He grows corn,” Devlin replied dryly. “That’s mostly what we do in Kansas, grow corn.”

“A farm, in Kansas, with seven brothers and sisters,” Angela said wistfully. “It sounds wonderful, like a scene from
Picnic
.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you’d waited in line for the bathroom every morning of your life until you were eighteen,” he replied, stubbing out his cigarette and dropping the butt in a receptacle. “We fought over everything: clothes, food, who got the bed by the door, whose turn it was to feed the horses. It was like
Boys Town
without Mickey Rooney or Spencer Tracy , but with two girls thrown in to tie up the phone.”

“Six boys?” Angela said incredulously.

“Yup.”

“Your poor mother.”

“My poor mother, at sixty-two, could run both of us into the ground.”

“How did you get into this line of work?” Angela inquired. “I mean, it seems an odd choice for a Kansas farm boy.”

Devlin turned his back on her abruptly. What the hell was the matter with him, telling her so much? He hadn’t talked like this since his oral exams at the academy. The information he’d given her so far was harmless, but she was venturing into dangerous territory now. He glanced pointedly at his watch.

“Hadn’t we better get back?” he said. “You’ll be late for your first class.”

Angela got the message. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she said in a small voice. “I’m not usually so inquisitive. Please forgive me.”

Her elaborate apology made him regret his rudeness instantly. “Forget it,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go.” He sprinted ahead of her and Angela had no choice but to follow.

They entered the house in a strained silence. Angela went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, taking it with her to the stairs. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” she called over her shoulder.

Devlin watched the graceful curve of her back until it was out of sight, and then retired to his quarters to shower and change. He removed the pistol from the waistband of his jeans and tossed it on the dresser in disgust.

This was not going well. This was not going well at all. He briefly considered calling agency headquarters and asking for a reassignment, but then realized that would only make the girl suspicious. But what this job really needed was somebody about seventy years old, with great grandchildren, who wouldn’t want to drag Miss Angela Patria off to the nearest bed every time he saw her. In addition, lying to her was bothering him. A lot. He stripped quickly and headed for the bathroom, a most unhappy man.

Devlin beat Angela back to the kitchen and decided to start breakfast to make amends for his earlier behavior. He found the necessary pots and pans, and had managed to burn the toast and mangle the eggs by the time he looked up to see her standing in the doorway.

“I tried to make breakfast,” he said. “I failed.”

She managed not to laugh. “I see.”

“I can’t cook,” he said unnecessarily.

“You won’t have to in future,” Angela said reassuringly. “Josie is usually here by now, but she’s late today because of her daughter. She generally makes breakfast.”

“I’m very relieved to hear it,” Devlin said grimly, handing Angela the plastic spatula, which was coated with the remains of several eggs.

Angela lifted the fried mass he’d been cooking onto a plate. They stared at it in thoughtful silence.

“It looks like the State of New Jersey,” Devlin finally said.

Angela giggled. It did.

“What do you say we toss it and get something on the way?” he suggested.

Angela fed the mess to the garbage disposal.

Devlin poured himself some coffee and they sipped companionably. He eyed her over the rim of his mug and asked, “How are you explaining my presence in class to your professors?”

She shrugged. “I just told them I would be bringing a visitor for a while. As long as you aren’t trying to get credit for the courses without paying tuition, they don’t care much who shows up, provided no one creates a disturbance.” She smiled slightly. “You were planning on being unobtrusive?”

“Invisible,” he corrected her, stacking the dishes he’d used in the sink.

Angela glanced at the fit of his tight chinos, the sharpness of his profile, the way his dark hair caught and reflected the overhead light. That would be a good trick.

While Angela gathered her books Devlin’s eyes traveled up the staircase, measuring the distance from his room to the second floor. He was itching to get up there and look around, but he knew he had to wait for several nights, until she was accustomed to having him in the house, before he could undertake a search. She wouldn’t sleep easily, deeply, until she was comfortable with his presence. In the meantime, he would have to be patient and derive whatever he could from her conversation without actually asking her any questions.

“I’m ready,” she announced, catching his pensive glance at the upper hall.

“Is there a third floor?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll show you around later. I guess you should be familiar with the layout of the whole house. My uncle uses the top floor as a study; it’s really sort of a loft with a skylight.”