Page 75 of My Beautiful Sin

“I was trying to catch up with you.” He runs his hands down my arms. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Catch up?”

“I snagged you a computer.” He nods at the padded laptop case on the sidewalk next to him. “Endo was going to give it to Goodwill. Said it’s yours if you want it. I bumped into Tracy and she said you were walking home. It’s only luck that I caught up to you when I did.”

“Hell, yes, it was luck.”

He helps me to my feet. That’s when I tune into the hum of voices and notice the extent of the crowd around us, many of whom are snapping pictures with their phones. Some look excited—like they’ve just watched a parade—but most look shocked or horrified.

“That car didn’t have a plate,” a thin woman with a stroller says. “That’s not legal.”

“That’s not legal?” I can hear incredulity in the skateboarder’s voice. “The fucker tried to run her down.” He flashes a crooked smile at me. “Probably some woman pissed off you’re nailing Saint and she isn’t.”

“Idiot,” another woman mumbles, and I swallow a nod of acquiescence. Except, of course, he could be right.

“Come on,” Lamar says. “I’m walking you home.”

I don’t resist when he takes my arm. We wait for the walk sign as the small crowd fawns over me, and I reassure them that I’m fine. I check and double-check the intersection before finally crossing the street with Lamar, then we start the slow climb up the hill toward Brandy’s house.

It’s dusk now, the area suffused with a hazy gray like a movie from the Forties. “Do you have any idea who that was?” Lamar asks.

I shake my head, but even as I do, I say, “Whoever’s been sending the texts, I assume.” I drag my fingers through my hair, then tell him about Joseph Blackstone.

He pauses by a lamppost as we reach the turn toward Brandy’s house. “But Devlin doesn’t think Blackstone knows he’s Alejandro Lopez?”

“Right. As far as he knows, Devlin is just Devlin Saint to Blackstone.”

“So what’s getting leaked in these breaches?”

“That I don’t know,” I tell him. “But the DSF works with law enforcement and rehab groups to help shut down criminal enterprises. Maybe he’s getting advance notice of raids?”

“Maybe,” Lamar says. “Only way to find out is to ask Devlin. Is he going to be pissed you told me this?”

I shake my head. “No. For one, he told me I could talk to you, and he didn’t put any parameters on that. And two, if that was Blackstone in that car, he’ll be happy with any help you can provide.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“It might have been a drunk driver,” I say, wishful thinking running amok.

He looks down his nose at me, but doesn’t even bother to respond. Just starts walking again.

“I know. I know,” I say, falling in step beside him. “But the bigger point is that there’s no indication Blackstone knows who Devlin really is. But whoever is sending the texts clearly does.”

“Are you sure they do?”

I pause. “What do you mean?”

“The texts only say Devlin is dangerous, right? Have any of them suggested he has a secret identity?”

I think back, then shake my head.

“So maybe this Joseph has it in for Devlin, and you seem like a good way to get at him.”

I frown, but don’t respond. It’s an interesting theory.

“You carrying?”

I shake my head, gesturing to the tiny crossbody that holds my phone, a credit card, and an emergency fifty. I’d told Devlin I was armed, but I didn’t technically mean at that moment.