Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 30

"This time?"

"Yes. I'm taking Monday off. I'll be driving up to my mom's house. After that, I'll go by your family's place and look for Vista. Hopefully, he and his truck will be there, and we'll have a talk. Maybe there's a tie-in between him and that Uruguayan horse farm. If not, I'll have something else to check out. I'll poke around the stables if that's what it takes."

Blake shook his head, his eyes narrowing in thought. "There's a snag to that plan. My grandparents are up at the farm. They'll be there through midweek. Which means James will probably stay up there while he's home. It also means that there'll be business meetings going on, and Pierson staff members will be zipping in and out all day. It'll be too hard for you to get to Vista - at least without a deluge of questions." A pause. "I have an idea. But first things first. Tomorrow night, I want you to tell James about us."

Devon stopped eating. "Does that request relate to your idea, or is it just another burst of possessiveness?"

"Both. Plus, it's the only way you'll retain credibility. What's going on between us is out of the bag since Louise walked in and saw us together. You'll have one shot at getting information out of James before he hears that you and I are involved. And that shot's tomorrow night. He won't have spoken to anyone yet. He'll go straight to your place from the airport. Once your date's over, someone will clue him in. Nothing this juicy stays a secret for long."

"That makes sense. How does it factor into your idea?"

"It clears the way for it. I'll escort you up to the farm on Monday. My family will have already heard about us from James, so it'll seem perfectly natural. We're in a new relationship. We're both in the middle of family crises. We need to chill out. What better place to do it than the farm?"

"I see your point." Devon nodded. "And you're also right about James. It's better he hears about us from me. But not until after I finish delivering the script Monty's preparing. I need to catch James off guard and get him to admit something." Her brows knit. "It's still hard for me to picture him as a killer."

"He probably doesn't view himself as one. Remember, even if he's guilty, he didn't commit the crimes firsthand. He has an ironclad alibi for both the morning of Frederick's murder and the night of Philip's. He was in Wellington. So he'd have to have hired someone to do the dirty work. That way, his hands - and his conscience - could stay clean. Typical James - self-indulgent, self-serving, and cowardly."

Devon looked up from her wine. "You're still hoping he's innocent."

"I'm hoping a lot of things, and not counting on any of them," Blake answered roughly. "Besides, I've got my own demons to fight."

"Your grandfather," Devon surmised quietly. "It must be hard not sharing this with him."

"Hard? I feel like Benedict Arnold." Blake shoved aside his food. "If James turns out to be guilty, it'll destroy my grandfather. Then after that, to find out I betrayed him, too? I'm lucky if it doesn't kill him."

"You're not betraying him."

"Not in your mind. In his, I'm s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my family. That's the ultimate betrayal." Blake blew out a breath. "Let's not go there. Not yet. One step at a time."

Leaning forward, Devon lay her palm against his jaw. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm doing what I have to." He met her gaze. "And tonight, I'm doing what I want to."

She understood. Tonight was for losing himself. For losing both themselves, in something that felt good and right.

Her expression softened. "Does this mean I'm not getting a chance to polish off my third slice?"

Blake's hand slid beneath her hair, cupping the nape of her neck and pulling her closer. "You'll eat it cold."

THE MAROON COUPE slid slowly by Blake's apartment.

Inside, the man punched up a number on his cell phone.

"She's still in there," he reported. "A hundred bucks says she's spending the night."

CHAPTER 23.

"You have the plan down pat?" Monty demanded as he finished taping the audio transmitter to the small of Devon's back.

"Down to the last word." Devon peered down the front of her sweater, checking to make sure the microphone was securely attached to the front clasp of her bra. "Are you sure this will stay put?"

"Positive. Just make sure Golden Boy keeps his hands to himself, and you'll be home free." Monty straightened, tugging down the back of Devon's sweater. "The receiver will be in my car. It has a built-in micro-recorder and incredible audio quality. No matter what room you and Golden Boy are in, I'll hear every word you say. And if you need me, I'll come running."

"I'll be fine, Monty," Devon a.s.sured him. "James isn't going to attack me. And I'm not going to give him reason to. I'll stick to the script. With any luck, we'll have what we need in a few hours."

"You've become quite the pro."

Devon knew that tone. Her father wasn't issuing a compliment.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Only that your social life is certainly hectic these days. Filled with Edward Pierson's grandsons."

"That's the angle you told me to pursue, remember?"

"I don't remember telling you to make overnight house calls."

Devon got the message loud and clear. "Where are you going with this, Monty?"

"You spent the night at Blake's."

"You're right. I did. Although I didn't think you noticed. You were late arriving here this morning."

He snorted. "Yeah, well, my meeting ran longer than expected. I had to show my client some unpleasant photos. I never thought he'd take it so hard - not when he already knew what his gold-digger wife was doing. I felt like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The guy crumbled right in front of me. He was popping nitroglycerine pills like they were going out of style."

"He's ill?"

"A bad heart. That seems to be the theme of the day."

"Speaking of which, you still haven't told me what's bugging you about Emily Pierson."

"Later. Right now, let's concentrate on James." Monty glared at her. "Which brings me back to the original subject."

Devon rolled her eyes. "Drop it, Monty. My relationships are off-limits."

Monty ignored her protest. "I like Blake. He's a smart, decent guy. But the jury's still out on whether he's good enough for you."

"Well, I'm the jury."

"And I'm the judge. I can overturn your verdict."

Devon couldn't help but laugh. "I'm glad I lived with Mom during my teens."

"Me, too. I might have shot one of your dates and wound up in prison."

Monty's cell phone rang.

"It's Jenkins," he announced, checking the caller ID. "I told him to call ASAP if he turned up anything else we could use tonight." Monty punched on the phone. "Yeah, Jenkins, what've you got?" A long pause. "You're sure? d.a.m.n straight it's good. It's exactly what we need. Thanks." He disconnected the call and gave Devon a thumbs-up. "Bingo. We hit pay dirt."

"I'm all ears."

"Seems our friend Gerald Paterson has a gambling problem. Not with horses, with casinos. He's in the hole for thousands, and that's just from the preliminary info Jenkins has dredged up so far. Also, he's managed to pay back some creditors in substantial chunks. The dates of those payments coincide with the dates payments were issued to him from that offsh.o.r.e account."

"So we've got motive and opportunity." Devon pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That helps. It gives me direction when I broach that part of my conversation with James."

"Right." Monty glanced at the wall clock. "It's seven thirty. Golden Boy should be here in an hour. Anything you want to go over?"

"Nope. I'll just fix my makeup, put out the fruit and cheese platter I ordered, and do some deep-breathing exercises. Wish me luck."

Monty shot her a quick wink. "No luck's necessary. The guy's toast."

EIGHT THIRTY ON the nose.

Devon carried out a tray of crackers and placed it beside the fruit-and-cheese platter. She then stood back to a.s.sess her handiwork. Everything was set. The food, the wine, and her.

She adjusted the neckline of her sweater, reaching around back and groping beneath it until her fingers brushed the transmitter. It was firmly in place. It wasn't going anywhere. Neither was the microphone. She'd checked it five minutes ago.

The rest of the stage was set, too. Lane and Merry had left for a local concert, Monty was poised outside in his car, and James had called to say his plane had landed.

Now it was up to her.

She mentally reviewed the topics she had to delve into. Getting at them was only part of the challenge. She had to come across as relaxed, casual, not suspicious or prying. James was a shrewd guy, one who was used to manipulating others. He'd see through her in a minute if she didn't play this exactly right.

The doorbell rang.

Devon turned, inhaling slowly, then blew out her breath. "Okay, Monty," she muttered into the scooped neck of her sweater. "It's showtime."

She walked to the door and pulled it open.

James was leaning against the doorjamb, wearing a cashmere overcoat and leather gloves, his collar turned up against the cold. He was carrying an overnight duffel.

"Hi," Devon greeted him.

"Hi yourself." Giving her an appreciative once-over, James smiled his approval. "You look beautiful. Worth braving the frozen tundra for."

"It is freezing," Devon agreed. "Come on in." She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

He stepped into the house, dropping his bag. He captured her shoulders in his hands and bent down to kiss her. Devon was prepared. She kissed him back - lightly - breaking away when he tried to deepen the kiss.

"The weather must be quite a contrast to Florida," she said, plucking a hanger out of the hall closet. "I don't know how you tore yourself away."

"I was inspired." James didn't try to kiss her again. Instead, he handed her his coat and walked into the living room, taking in the spread she'd laid out. "Everything looks great."

"I had planned to cook." She followed him in. "Then I thought better of it. You competed today. I didn't think you'd want a heavy meal."

"You're right. I don't."

"I also didn't know how you'd feel about wine, so I didn't open the bottle yet. Would you like some, or are you abstaining?"

A corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm not riding for three days. So, absolutely, let's open a bottle. But not wine. Champagne."

Devon wrinkled her nose in disappointment. "I'm sorry. I don't have any champagne."

"No problem. I do." He strode back to the door, unzipped his duffel, and yanked out a bottle of Dom Perignon. "Shall I do the honors?"

"Please," Devon replied, flourishing two champagne flutes. "What a lovely surprise."

"I pride myself on those." James uncorked the bottle and poured, handing her a flute. "To this evening," he said, raising his gla.s.s. "May it yield one surprise after another."

"To this evening," Devon echoed. She took an appreciative sip, then gestured toward the sofa. "Please, have a seat."

"After you." He stood beside the sofa and waited.

Devon sank down on the cushion, angling her legs toward him to keep a conversational distance between them. "How was the Grand Prix?"

"No complaints." He perched on the adjoining cushion. "Stolen Thunder and I took first place."

"That's wonderful. Congratulations."

"Thanks." He flashed his dazzling smile. "Today's just my day. I sensed it the minute I woke up. Probably because I knew I was seeing you." He glanced around. "Your family's out?"

"For the evening, yes."

"It's very quiet. Where are your pets?"

"Terror's upstairs with a stack of socks to chew on, and my mom's dog, Scamp, to play with. Connie's in the laundry room sulking because I'm with you instead of her, and Runner's in his cage in Merry's room."

"All for me? I'm flattered."

Devon's lips curved. "It's hard to concentrate with chaos erupting. I wanted to give you my full attention." She paused, smile fading. "I know what a difficult week this has been for you. First, that horrible accident involving your groom. Then Mr. Rhodes's death. This nightmare never seems to end."

Soberly, James nodded. "It's hard to believe so much can happen in so short a time. Frederick, your mother, the Wellington fiasco, and now this." He leaned forward, taking her hand in his. "Still no word from your mother?"

"None." Devon's lips thinned into a grim line. "I'm worried sick about her."

"Of course you are." James's grip tightened. "I wish there was something I could do."

"There is. You can be honest with me."

A hint of wariness. "I'll try."