Page 93 of My Fallen Saint

“He found her anyway.”

“I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he drugged her. She wasn’t using. She was clean for her little boy. There is no way she would have gotten both drunk and high.”

“Devlin told me about the wreck.” I don’t say that I met her not long before her death. I don’t remember it, and what’s the point? But it’s still one more thing that ties me and Devlin together.

“I died a little when I learned about the crash,” Tamra says. “I knew the truth, but I couldn’t prove it. And I knew that he’d taken the boy.”

She stands and goes to the window. “I managed to track him down, and when he was fifteen, I met him alone. I told him I knew his mother and that I would help him if he ever needed it.” She turns back to me. “It was a risk. I didn’t know if he’d been indoctrinated. He could have told his father about me. He could have had me killed.”

I shiver, then nod.

“But he trusted me. He told me how much he hated his father. The life he was part of. He wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t. So he learned the business. Trained in weapons and all sorts of similar things. I tried to help him. To be there to talk whenever he needed it.”

My throat is thick, and I’m working hard to hold back tears. “You stood in for his mother.”

“I tried to, at least as much as I could. And when his father sent him to Laguna Cortez to work with Peter, Alejandro called me, and I came, too.”

She smiles. “That’s when I met you when we were both working at the police department. And later, when he joined the military, I kept track of him then, too.” A flicker of sadness crosses her face, but she shakes it off. “Finally, I ended up here.”

My head is spinning just a little from everything she’s told me, but there’s one point that is dominating my thoughts. “You knew about us back then? You knew that Alex and I…”

“I did. I always hoped your story would be something other than a tragedy.” Her smile is small, but it lights her face. “That’s what I’m still hoping for.”

After Tamra leaves, I pack up my stuff and call it a day. I’ve found nothing in the papers that gives me a clue to Peter’s assassin, and I doubt that I will.

That, however, isn’t what’s bugging me. Instead, it’s this small, niggling thought about another assassin. The wall-climber who took out Myers. The ballsy assassin who killed Bell at close range.

I leave the research room, my head full of noise, then pause outside Tamra’s office on my way to the fourth floor. I know Devlin thinks Ronan wasn’t even in Vegas at the time, but what if he’s wrong?

I rap on her door, then enter when she calls out.

“Well, hello again.” She smiles brightly, but it fades when she takes a closer look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

Now that she’s asked, I feel foolish. But I’d rather be a suspicious fool than someone who never spoke up. “Do you—I mean, this is going to sound odd—but do you trust Ronan?”

Her eyes widen. “Well, yes. Why?”

“I don’t know. Just a vibe. I saw him in Vegas after Bell got shot,” I add, and as I speak the words, I can hear how idiotic they sound.

“I imagine a lot of people were in Vegas. You were. And I understand you’re a good shot yourself.”

I screw up my mouth. Now I really do feel like an idiot.

To her credit, she laughs. “I’m teasing, of course. But I do trust him. Devlin’s known Ronan since he first joined up. And Ronan even served briefly with my husband.”

“Your husband?”

Her smile turns melancholy. “He was killed in action.” She waves the words away, blinking quickly. “But he knew Ronan. And he trusted him.”

I hug myself. “I think burying myself in The Wolf’s business has made me paranoid.”

“You need to back away. Go grab a bite and take the rest of the day off.”

“That’s a good plan,” I say, wondering if Devlin can blow off the rest of the day. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, with the kind of firm certainty that reminds me that no matter what, the world will keep on turning.

Even so, I can’t deny that she might be too close to Ronan to see the truth. After all, you can’t make out anything in a Monet painting if you’re standing with your nose to the brushstroke.