Page 44 of My Cruel Salvation

“You think he knows the situation with Blackstone?”

“I don’t know,” Devlin says. “Hopefully he knows something.” He turns to face me as our borrowed truck bounces over the rutted dirt road. “I brought you because I want you with me, always. But information has consequences. And depending on what I learn today—and what Claire and Penn and the rest of the team learn—it won’t go well for Blackstone.”

“Won’t go well for him? Since when did you start dancing around the truth with euphemisms?”

“Fine. As soon as I’ve confirmed to my satisfaction that Blackstone either killed Tracy himself or hired the flunky who did, I’m going to take the bastard out. Do you like that better?”

“Yes,” I say, my heart pounding as I say the words. “Yes, I’m fine with that. The way you phrased it and what it means.”

His hands are at ten and two on the steering wheel, and I see his knuckles go white as he tightens his grip, then relaxes it. Slowly, he turns to look at me. Our eyes lock, and right then I think neither one of us would have even noticed if the truck went over a cliff, and we tumbled off into space. It’s just the two of us and this huge revelation.

“Does this mean—” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Does that mean you’re okay with Saint’s Angels now? I know we talked in New York, but I thought you were just rationalizing that we’re serving justice. Finding a way in your heart to let you and me be together. But … well, are you telling me now that you’re genuinely okay with all of it?”

“No,” I say automatically, but I’m not certain that answer is one hundred percent truthful.

“No,” he repeats as I start to slide back to my side of the bench. He reaches out and puts a firm hand on my leg. “Then why?”

“Because it’s you, okay? Because you’re the one he’s really after. And because I know your code. Your boundaries. But most of all, because there isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break where your safety is involved.”

I expect him to call me out for hypocrisy, but all he does is silently take my hand, then quietly ask, “You’re sure?”

“I am. I can’t cross that line with you. But despite the life I’ve lived—or, I don’t know, maybe because of it—I’m willing to let you go there.”

A moment passes, then another. Then the truck hits a huge pothole, and we bounce. I cry out, just a little, and when the truck steadies again, I realize that he’s taken my hand. I look down at our twined fingers, then up at his face.

He smiles. Just a tiny smile, but it says everything.

It says, I love you.

“Well, I guess you kept your promise.” The man in the front porch rocker has sun-weathered skin, gray-white hair, and deep-set eyes so brown they look almost black. He watches as we climb the farmhouse’s wooden porch steps, his eyes never leaving Devlin’s face. An ashtray sits on the table beside him, a thin stream of smoke rising from a cigar.

“Did I?” Devlin asks, which doesn’t give me a clue as to what promise the old man is talking about.

The man grunts, then lifts his chin, hooking it a bit so that he’s pointing at me, almost as if his chin is another hand.

“Ellie,” Devlin said. “She’s with me.”

“Seen your picture with him,” he says. “You’re Elsa Holmes. The Cinderella reporter swept off her feet by the billionaire philanthropist. You’ve given your competition some pretty nice sound bites.”

“Always ready to help a colleague,” I say dryly.

The man’s mouth splits into a wide grin, showing off a set of blinding-white teeth. “I like her.”

“So do I,” Devlin says.

There’s quiet after that, as if each is unsure what to say. So I figure what the hell and try to fill the yawning gorge of silence. “You have an advantage over me,” I tell him. “Devlin hasn’t told me anything but your name. And that you’re an old friend.”

His eyes cut to Devlin. “Is that what I am? Heh. Good to know. But then I have to wonder whose friend? Devlin, Alex, Alejandro. So hard to keep straight.”

I glance sideways at Devlin, the pieces falling together. “You used to work for The Wolf.”

“Clever woman.”

“Not clever enough to read minds,” I counter.

“Sorry,” Devlin said. “I assumed you realized that.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, then turn back to Mr. Giatti. “You said Devlin kept his promise. What promise?”