Page 21 of Sinner’s Game

Ronan recognized Devlin’s voice, steady and professional as always. He didn’t worry that Devlin would say something to tip Lamar off; Devlin was too much of a professional. He knew there was a situation from Ronan’s text, and he’d play it cool until he learned what the problem was and who held what information.

Quickly, Ronan manipulated the dead man’s phone, going into settings and turning off the lock feature. Then he stood and slipped the phone into his back pocket as he rounded the corner to see Ellie giving Lamar a hug.

“Hey, Watson,” she said, calling the detective by the nickname that Ronan knew they’d had for each other since their police academy days, a complement to her nickname of Sherlock, the pair of names signaling the close relationship of the two friends.

Recently, that relationship meant that Lamar had been willing to bend the rules for Ellie’s sake in order to protect Saint’s Angels. But whether or not Lamar would continue to color outside the lines, Ronan didn’t know.

And that made him more than a little nervous. In Ronan’s experience, if things had the possibility to turn to shit, they usually did.

Lamar had his arm around Ellie’s shoulder, and Devlin caught Ronan’s eye, his brow raised just enough that Ronan could interpret the question—any indication this’ll blow back on us?

Ronan shook his head, the movement so minuscule he doubted anyone but Devlin noticed it. But he knew Devlin understood—nothing obvious, but still an open question.

“The gang’s all here,” Lamar said, looking between Ronan and Devlin. “Why do I have a feeling there’s more going on than a drippy sink?”

Brandy had been watching Lamar, but now she turned to Ronan, as if he was the only one she trusted to navigate these waters. He nodded his assent, her faith both flattering and terrifying him. She thought of him as some stalwart against the horrors of the world. A superhero who could protect her no matter what the cost.

But Ronan knew better than most just how futile faith really was. More than that, he knew that even best intentions could go horribly wrong.

“It’s bad,” Brandy began, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her capris. “It’s my landlord.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “He’s dead.”

Lamar’s eyes landed on Ronan. “And you called Devlin before 9-1-1? Hell, before me?”

“Are you really surprised?” Ronan had considered telling the detective the lie he’d fabricated for Brandy—that they’d just arrived and were about to call him and 9-1-1 when Lamar showed up—but decided the detective deserved the truth. Some of it, anyway.

“Shit.” Lamar drew a breath. “Does this have anything to do with you?” He pointed a finger at Devlin. “Either of you?” He twisted, moving his hard glare to Ronan.

“Only in that it affects Brandy,” Ronan said. “As far as we know, this has nothing to with our work.”

“Work,” Lamar repeated, his voice tight.

Ronan’s entire body went tense. He’d never been completely comfortable letting the cop in on the secrets in Devlin’s past or present, but Devlin had made that decision when Ellie re-entered his life. It was a decision Devlin believed in, primarily because he knew that the cop would never do anything to hurt Ellie, and exposing Saint’s Angels to the world would do exactly that.

But Ronan had never been as certain. People hurt people for their own agendas all the damn day. And he didn’t know Lamar well enough to be able to see his breaking point.

None of which mattered at the moment. Lamar was here, he knew the situation, and they were stuck with trusting him. So might as well make the most of it.

“The body’s in there,” Ronan said, cocking his head. “By the sofa.”

Lamar knew the way, and Ronan fell in behind him. Brandy was right beside him, and as they drew closer to the body, she reached over and took his hand, squeezing gently. He squeezed back, wishing he had the power to make this all go away. Brandy was one of the kindest, sweetest, most genuine women he’d ever met, and right then, he’d be willing to go toe to toe with whatever power in this fucked-up universe kept throwing hardballs at her.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Ronan, my fingers.”

Shit. “Sorry.” He relaxed his grip, mentally kicking himself.

“Jesus,” Lamar said from where he’d stopped beside the sofa. He turned to face them. “You haven’t called this in?”

“We barely beat you through the door,” Ronan said, falling back on the lie. “I cleared the house. Was about to call when you rang the bell.”

“Did either of you disturb the body?”

“No,” Brandy said firmly, her grip tightening just slightly, and right then, Ronan wanted to kiss her for her loyalty. Then again, when didn’t he want to kiss her? As far as Brandy Bradshaw went, want was never up for debate.

Lamar looked between Brandy, Ronan, and Devlin. “Anything else you can think of?”

Ronan shook his head, not bothering to look at the others. “Not a thing. What you see is what you get.”

Lamar stuck his hands in his pockets and walked the length of the body before turning back to look at Ronan again. “I can’t help you, and I might accidentally hurt you if I don’t know the full score.”