Never Coming Home (20 page)

‘No.’ She shivered. ‘Let’s just go.’

Devlin leaned down on the boot to close it, eyes scouring the small shady courtyard, behind Kaz’s hotel, where the car was parked. The plastic carrier was crumpled into a corner of the boot. The envelope it had contained was thrust into the front of his jacket.

He gave the broken side window of the car a long, assessing look. Thieves took their opportunities where they could. This could simply be bad luck, but he didn’t like the feeling it was giving him.

He glanced up. Kaz was upstairs, washing her hair. He thought he could see a shadow as she moved around the room, but it was probably imagination. He leaned his back against the wall, conscious of the weight of the envelope against his chest. Pretty soon he was going to have to go into the hotel and find somewhere private to look at the contents, but just now
 
–

He looked up at the window again. Kaz was up there. He didn’t quite understand the curious lift in his chest as he stared at the window. Somewhere between pain and
 
… what? He knew pain. Mental and physical. If he could take hers into himself, spare her even a few seconds of it, he’d do it. Without hesitation. The knowledge twisted his mouth into something that wasn’t a smile.
You’re quite safe, buddy. No one’s found a way to do that yet.

All he could do was what he did. Keep her safe. That was his job. He didn’t have a shred of doubt that what was in this fucking envelope, that was right now burning a place in his chest, was going to lift the game to a whole new level. He rubbed his hand across his mouth. Better go and find out – and pray that he had enough in him to deal with it.

He shoved away from the wall and went inside.

It was a small office. Probably belonged to the housekeeper, from the lists and rotas pinned to the wall.

Devlin wedged a chair under the door handle, testing the fit, before sitting down and taking out the envelope. He weighed it in his palms. Heavy. Rossi had done a good job. He fingered the seal, reluctant. For a second he let his hand drift over to the cell phone in his pocket, wondering if he could raise Bobby or if the guy was still AWOL.
Oh,
for fuck’s sake, Devlin. Let’s just get this done!

He slit the seal, letting the contents fall out onto the desk. Paperwork. Phone and credit card accounts, bank statements, even copies of property deeds. Elmore’s life, in paper. Devlin scanned them, whistling softly before pushing them back into the envelope. They would take time to study.

Which left – another envelope.

The muscles of his back tensed. He ducked his head and undid the flap.

He left the photocopied report alone, fanning the photographs onto the desk in front of him.

It took a full second for his eyes to make sense of the shapes and colours. Then the bile rose in his throat, thick and acrid. He didn’t need the printed dates and locations to tell him this was a crime scene.

He closed his eyes, then forced them open again. The thing in the photographs had once been a woman. A young attractive woman; Giuliana, Jeff Elmore’s girlfriend. Now she was meat, barely human. The slashed and peeled flesh had him swallowing hard. And that was nothing to what had been done to the child. She would have watched her boy die, before her own long, slow agony.

Cursing in a flat monotone, Devlin crammed the pictures back into the envelope, away from sight, only to tip them out again a moment later. Rossi was right, Kaz should never see these. The police had spared her the grim details. She mustn’t get them from him.

Quickly he assembled what he needed. The ashtray was on the windowsill, the matchbooks, bearing the logo of the hotel, stacked on the shelf. He tore the photographs in half, then in half again, before putting them to the flame, watching the grotesque images curl and burn.

When all that was left was a pile of soft, clean ash, he scattered it out of the open window.

He gathered up the envelopes and dragged the chair from the door, half-formed promises of revenge and atonement beating in his skull.

Jeff Elmore had been scared.

Munroe had been scared.

Now Devlin knew why.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Bobby scanned the building, frowning. He was at the right address. Just across and down a way from the multi-storey car park where he’d left the car. He’d found that easily, following the PA’s instructions. Lowest floor, spaces specially reserved for O’Hara’s company. That was impressive enough, but this place, where the meeting was scheduled, looked disappointingly ordinary. Not what he’d imagined for his get-together with O’Hara. A nondescript office block, in some town that he’d never heard of, on the edge of Heathrow. The man had seemed more like the hotel-in-Mayfair type. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Come on, what did you expect – 5 stars, and the guy swinging in with Scarlett on one arm and Keira on the other?

The PA had been quite clear. It was probably like a tax thing, having a place out of town. This meeting was with the money, accountants and stuff. For that you needed an office. This was business, big time.

Bobby yanked at his unaccustomed tie. He’d had to buy the damn thing and it was just about choking him. Now he remembered why he always shoved Devlin, kicking and screaming, into the meetings that needed the suited-and-booted stuff. The dude did that buttoned-down look so much better.

Most clients didn’t give a shit about the Hoag laid-back style of doing business, which no way involved a suit and a tie. If they were that bothered about what the hired help looked like, they could go hire someplace else. But occasionally, with some, you did need that little bit more. He’d figured O’Hara for one of them, which was why Devlin should have been here.

For this his partner was going to pay, and pay good.

There was a brand-new cell nestling in Bobby’s pocket – they called them mobiles over here – and if he’d been able to remember Devlin’s frigging number, he’d have rung him, to tell him about the debt he was running up.

Bobby cursed softly. He didn’t even have that satisfaction. Shit – you lost a phone and you lost, like half your frigging life – phone book, speed dial. Of course, he should have
known
Dev’s number. Getting lazy. Sloppy. A wake-up call to sharpen up. In the old days he’d never have relied on a mess of plastic and micro-chips to do his thinking for him. As it was, it was going to take hours to reprogramme all that crap, not to mention the numbers of all those babes that he’d never get again. Some lowlife kid was probably going down the list right now – and he was standing on the sidewalk waffling inside his own head.

Truth was, although he’d set up the deal, just like he’d set up a hundred others, he’d kind of relied on Devlin being around to help him close it. Mr Cool, he just
looked
the business. Impressed the hell out of the suit-and-boot clients, all that silent menace stuff.

Well, tough shit. Devlin is in Italy, chasing after his woman – which in itself is a pretty weird concept – and this deal is gonna be done, and Bobby Hoag is going to do it. So get your butt in there.

Bobby straightened his shoulders and gave the tie another yank. Showtime. Pretty soon he was going to have a whole new list of babes in that brand-new phone – Hollywood babes!

Devlin was back in the courtyard. The envelope was safe in the car, buried deep in his overnight bag. His gut was settling, but he didn’t want to go in just yet. He scraped one hand through his hair and then the other, making it stand on end. He had to forget what he’d seen, what he knew, before he could face Kaz. He had to get things straight in his own mind, before he could think of telling her. And if he told her, would she even want
 
…?

He flattened himself against the wall as a door at the back of the hotel opened and a maid emptied a bucket of water into an outside drain.

Devlin leaned into the cool stucco, concentrating on the pattern that was emerging in his mind. It seemed too incredible to believe. What he was groping towards chilled his blood, but he just couldn’t see what else
 
–

He thumped his palm against the wall. He needed to run this by someone. To find out if it still sounded just as crazy when you said it out loud. He’d got used to kicking things around with Bobby.

The thought had him reaching for his phone.

It went straight to voicemail.

Swearing under his breath, Devlin gathered his thoughts. ‘I don’t know where the hell you are Hoag, but it had better be a good one. Call me as soon as you can. As soon as you get this.’ He hesitated. ‘Rossi came through with some stuff.’ He glanced round, eyes sharp. ‘Looks like Luce isn’t as dead as everyone thought he was. And he hasn’t lost any of his skill with a knife.’

Bobby stalked into the murk of the multi-storey car park, where he’d left the car. His shoulders were hunched, his stomach seething between fury and panic. He couldn’t fucking believe it! He’d come to the wrong fucking place! Cold sweat dripped down his spine. He wanted to hit something. He’d made a stupid,
stupid
mistake. Right now O’Hara was sitting waiting someplace else, ready to close the deal with Bobby Hoag
 
… And Bobby Hoag was stuck in some fucking parking lot, at the back end of nowhere.

He stared around, trying to locate his car. Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix this. He dragged the piece of paper with the address out of his pocket. If he could just figure out
 
…

He stared at the paper, squinting in the dimness of the parking lot. The overhead lights were out and the lowest floor, this one, seemed to have been dug into the back of a hill. He didn’t remember it being this dark when he drove in. But then he’d been buoyed up and buzzing, ready to get to the meeting. He turned the paper until he could make out the words. The address wasn’t wrong. He’d checked it twice, got the girl to spell it out for him. And the place existed, as he’d written down. He’d just been there. Except O’Hara could never have had an office there, because the address that he’d copied and checked was the local police station.

Fury of a different kind powered through him as realisation dawned, making him see red. He hadn’t fucked up. He’d been
set
up. The whole thing was an elaborate scam. He’d fallen, like a prize asshole. Let himself be sucked right in. Hollywood megabucks and movies stars! Christ, was Devlin going to laugh, or what?

He stopped. Why would someone
 
–

The slight sound of a footstep behind him made him turn, so the first blow missed connecting with the back of his head. Instead the padded cosh cracked down on his shoulder, breaking bone, sending him to his knees.

The second blow tumbled him into the dark.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Her hair clean and dried, Kaz sat down on the bed, wondering where Devlin was. She shifted uneasily. Could he have taken off again? There was nothing at all of him here. The few articles scattered around the room were hers. Devlin had turned up yesterday and they’d spent the night in the place he’d found near the vineyard. He’d never even been in this room

She gathered her knees up under her chin, rocking slowly, gradually relaxing. She didn’t have to worry about it. Her mouth curved slightly. She’d forced herself not to be reliant, not to expect
anything
. And then, when she needed him, there was Devlin.

He’d just been there. Waiting outside the police station, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Even when he’d left her before, and gone back to the States, he’d been putting all that information together. About Jeff.

She shivered. She wasn’t going to think about that now. Or analyse what it meant that Devlin had come for her. She would simply be grateful that he had. It didn’t have to mean anything at all.

When she’d recognised him outside the Questura and realised she didn’t have to go out alone to a grave site in the corner of a quiet field
 
…

Her lower lip quivered. She controlled it ruthlessly. She couldn’t look back, and she wasn’t ready to look forward. All she could do, for the present, was
be
. Minute by minute. She stared into space, watching dust motes dance in a column of sunshine, slanting in from the window.

Devlin’s knock made her start. She slid off the bed and went to the door. He looked pale, eyes smoky. The line between his brows was more deeply etched. She put out her hand to draw him in. Pushing the door closed, she raised her arms to his neck, resting her head against his chest. They stood like that for a while. Then Devlin stroked his hands down her back.

‘We have a couple of hours yet, before we have to get to the airport. Do you want
 
…’ His voice faded. She could feel him holding himself together. Puzzled, she ran her hand over his chest, probing the tension of muscles held rigidly under control.

‘I want whatever you want,’ she said cautiously.

‘Right. Good.’ The way his breath exhaled made his chest rumble under her ear. She snuggled in, inhaling him, comforted, content to stay, until something happened. They could both just
be
, for a while.