Page 24 of My Fallen Saint

I lift up a hand to stop his words, because that’s something I just don’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry. But you can’t ignore the possibility.”

I nod, determined not to cry. I was a cop, dammit. I can deal with this. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. The one thing I know for sure is that he would have done anything to protect me,” I say. “He may have been gone a lot, but he loved me. And we were the only family either of us had left.”

What I don’t say is that he would have protected Alex, too. And if he warned Alex of a threat…

Well, that’s even more proof that Alex ran because he feared for his life. And it raises the question of how much Alex knew—and if he was dealing, too. Because that is the only reason I can think of for him to have remained both gone and silent.

I drag my fingers through my hair, craving answers I have no easy way to find. “I want to know which one of The Wolf’s flunkies really shot my uncle,” I say, as I stand and start pacing.

“And I want to know if Peter was dealing on the side because he was forced to or because the money lured him in or because he’d been in deep all along.”

I draw a breath, my mind whirring. If Peter was truly part of The Wolf’s organization, maybe he’d been in deep for a long time. I think about my mom’s things. The box of diaries and papers and personal effects that are tucked into a box I keep high in my hall closet in New York. Would there be answers there? Had she seen anything dicey about her brother?

I shake the thought off, but I’m already making a plan to call Roger and ask him to get into my apartment and ship me that box.

I frown as I continue to pace. “I want to know what the tipping point was,” I say. “Why they decided to take him out. Because something must have happened. The Wolf was too smart to take out a hit without a damn good reason.”

“You know what we know,” Randall says. “Any files you want to see, you shout. Just tell me where you want to start.”

“Thank you, and I will,” I say, but the truth is I already know. I’m going to start tonight. And I’m going to start with Alex.

“Coffee?” Lamar asks, as we leave the Chief’s office. “I’m meeting an informant in Dana Point in an hour, but we could grab a quick one across the street.”

“That works. I still have shopping to do before I go home and make myself gorgeous.”

His brows rise. “Hot date?”

“Stag,” I say. “But I scored tickets to the gala, and I plan to corner Saint.”

“What an enterprising little reporter you’ve become.”

“Asshole,” I say, hip bumping him as we push through the double glass doors. The police station is a few miles south of the Arts District near the courthouse. The bakery across the street has fulfilled the very clichéd job of serving donuts to cops for longer than I’ve been alive, and I’m surprised to see that the signage has been upgraded, now informing the world that they also serve lattes, pastries, and even gluten free fare.

I nod that direction as I side-eye Lamar.

“Don’t worry. Their box of glazed is still damn near close to heaven.”

“Phew. I was starting to worry.”

We settle at one of the sticky outdoor tables, and he goes inside to order as I scroll through my phone, checking for messages from Roger. Nothing, which I appreciate. He knows I’ll send notes when I have them.

What I do have is a text from Brandy telling me to meet someone named Inez at a boutique called Escape. I haven’t seen her since last night before coffee and parking lot shenanigans. This morning, she’d already left for the LA garment district by the time I’d rolled out of bed. But I’d texted her an SOS for fashion help, and she’d promised to come through for me.

If Inez can’t find a gala dress for you

that’ll burn Devlin Saint’s eyes,

the outfit doesn’t exist.

At cost, too. She owes me a favor.

XXOO You are the best.

Believe me. I know.

I start to tell her about Devlin and Alex, Mr. GT, my twisting stomach, and my high levels of confused adrenaline. But I stop myself. That’s a conversation to be had in person.