Page 52 of My Fallen Saint

Chapter Seventeen

Ihave my laptop out and am deep into drafting the article when Devlin comes in. Christopher looks up briefly, but he’s got his earbuds in and returns so quickly to the folder he’s scanning, that I assume he’s fully in the zone.

“I spoke with Ronan,” I say, keeping my voice flat and level.

“Good. I haven’t seen him today. He helped?”

I study his face, trying to decide if he really has no idea that Ronan classified me as a distraction, but I see nothing.

That may not mean anything, though. Once upon a time, I could read his expressions. Now, not so much.

We are, however, being civil to each other, and since he’s essentially handed me a rock-solid article on a platter, I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that Ronan is being a protective prick all on his own.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Talking with him definitely made the article better.” And that, at least, is completely true. “Thank you. Considering I was only assigned to cover a press conference, I’m going to impress the shit out of my editor.”

“You’re welcome. And I’m glad I’m on your good side at the moment, because there’s been a change of plans.”

I lean back. “Do not tell me you’re cancelling tomorrow’s interview.”

“Not cancelling. Moving.”

I sigh. “To when?”

“Actually, the better question is to where.”

“I’m not following.”

“You want to write about the work we’ve done in connection with the disbanding of the Nevada ring? Come with me to Nevada.”

I start to speak, but he continues.

“I have to go to Vegas tomorrow. Unfortunately, it’s unavoidable. Which means I have to postpone our interview unless you join me. You can take the files on the plane, work in the room when I’m out, and have the opportunity to visit the foundation’s local office.”

“Room,” I repeat.

“We’ll be staying at The Phoenix,” he says, and I shake my head, not knowing what that means.

“It’s a hotel and casino on The Strip. You’ll have your own room.”

I stare at him, not sure I’m fully understanding. “You’re inviting me on this trip and basically giving me full access? And no strings? Why?”

“Because the story is important and deserves to be told. The more good press the foundation receives, the more money we can raise and the more people in need will reach out to us. Which means it’s in my interest to help you not only get your story, but a full understanding of how the foundation functions as well.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but I hear the rest of it nonetheless—because as soon as you’re done with your research, you can leave Laguna Cortez.

And you know what? Maybe that’s reason enough for me to say yes.

So I do.

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing,” I call as I drag myself out of my bedroom around nine-thirty Monday morning.

“Chocolate chip muffins,” Brandy hollers back, and I immediately start to salivate. “And a package came for you.”

In the kitchen, Brandy can beat most any baker I know. And she almost always has fresh cookies and muffins. All her life, she’s been able to eat whatever she wants and her clothes still fit the same. As someone who goes up a pant size if I gain three pounds, I used to hate her for it. Now, I’m only insanely jealous.

And I’m definitely eating a muffin.

I yawn as I reach the kitchen. I got my article to Roger in plenty of time, but then I’d stayed up late into the night following a rabbit trail of research on The Wolf. Just basic internet stuff, but there’s a lot of it. And as Chief Randall said, pretty much the entire world knows that Daniel Lopez was The Wolf, but nobody’s ever proved it.