manufactured reasons availed Devlin little in achieving the desired result. After wrangling with the G-21 for thirty minutes, Devlin slammed the receiver into the cradle in disgust. He was stuck in this assignment for the duration.
Which meant that he was going to have to exercise extreme caution at all times. Angela had penetrated his defenses, and that put him at a tremendous disadvantage. He would have to be more distant than ever.
Two weeks of unbearable tension passed. They went through the motions of normal activity, but beneath the veneer of civilization beat the steady pulse of their true relationship and they both knew it.
Devlin no longer suspected Angela of involvement in her uncle’s activities. She was what she appeared to be, a law student unaware of her relative’s shady dealings. Devlin had watched her too closely to believe anything else. But he needed to be absolutely sure she wouldn’t interrupt his nocturnal searches, so he took to slipping knockout drops into her after dinner coffee. They were harmless, with a delayed action of about six hours, so that she went out cold around midnight, and he could be sure that she would sleep through until morning. But when she complained of headaches a couple of times at breakfast he stopped doing it. He was getting nowhere anyway.
He couldn’t find the safe in Patria’s study. He’d managed to get inside, but the room was as plain and innocuous as a monastic cell. Metal filing cabinets contained folders of invoices and bills of lading that indicated nothing more than the operation of a legitimate business. He pored over their contents several times, until he knew the documents almost by heart, and could detect nothing wrong. On the basis of what he’d found so far, Patria could run for Congress, and possibly for President, without a whisper of scandal attached to his name.
Harold Simmons was no help. Devlin contacted him twice, and discovered that the lawyer knew less than he did. Simmons had no knowledge of a safe in the house and couldn’t tell him where to look.
That left Angela as a source, a reality that didn’t sit well with Devlin. He felt bad enough to be duping her this way, but pumping her for information would be worse. He knew he had to do it, but the idea wasn’t putting him in the best of moods. It had to be done carefully, very subtly. She was innocent, but not stupid. Devlin felt trapped—by his duty, his conscience, his growing feelings for Angela. He went through each day like a man living in a pressure cooker.
Angela wasn’t happy either. She continued with her regular routine because she didn’t know what else to do, but her estrangement from Devlin made her miserable. He hardly spoke to her and kept his distance from her physically as if she were surrounded by a ring of fire.
At night, in bed, she remembered his kiss and relived the moment over and over in her mind.
Philip left town again two days before her birthday. She had almost forgotten it herself, but arrived in the kitchen that morning to find that Josie had deposited a gift wrapped box and a card on her plate. Devlin watched as she opened the present and crowed delightedly over a handmade scarf that Josie had crocheted for her. He dropped his eyes, looking away.
For a girl who’d been raised with everything money could buy it took very little to please her.
“I suppose you’ll be seeing Cronin tonight?” he asked neutrally.
At the stove Josie stopped stirring the oatmeal. Angela met his gaze candidly.
“No. Philip is out of town again.”
“Not around much, is he?” Devlin observed acidly.
“He’s very busy,” Angela answered, trying on her scarf.
“He must be,” Devlin replied.
Josie turned to look at him; he became absorbed in drinking his coffee.
“I’ll leave a plate for you in the oven for dinner,” Josie said to Angela. “I have that meeting tonight at Maria’s school.”
“Okay,” Angela said, rubbing the soft wool against her
Which meant that he was going to have to exercise extreme caution at all times. Angela had penetrated his defenses, and that put him at a tremendous disadvantage. He would have to be more distant than ever.
Two weeks of unbearable tension passed. They went through the motions of normal activity, but beneath the veneer of civilization beat the steady pulse of their true relationship and they both knew it.
Devlin no longer suspected Angela of involvement in her uncle’s activities. She was what she appeared to be, a law student unaware of her relative’s shady dealings. Devlin had watched her too closely to believe anything else. But he needed to be absolutely sure she wouldn’t interrupt his nocturnal searches, so he took to slipping knockout drops into her after dinner coffee. They were harmless, with a delayed action of about six hours, so that she went out cold around midnight, and he could be sure that she would sleep through until morning. But when she complained of headaches a couple of times at breakfast he stopped doing it. He was getting nowhere anyway.
He couldn’t find the safe in Patria’s study. He’d managed to get inside, but the room was as plain and innocuous as a monastic cell. Metal filing cabinets contained folders of invoices and bills of lading that indicated nothing more than the operation of a legitimate business. He pored over their contents several times, until he knew the documents almost by heart, and could detect nothing wrong. On the basis of what he’d found so far, Patria could run for Congress, and possibly for President, without a whisper of scandal attached to his name.
Harold Simmons was no help. Devlin contacted him twice, and discovered that the lawyer knew less than he did. Simmons had no knowledge of a safe in the house and couldn’t tell him where to look.
That left Angela as a source, a reality that didn’t sit well with Devlin. He felt bad enough to be duping her this way, but pumping her for information would be worse. He knew he had to do it, but the idea wasn’t putting him in the best of moods. It had to be done carefully, very subtly. She was innocent, but not stupid. Devlin felt trapped—by his duty, his conscience, his growing feelings for Angela. He went through each day like a man living in a pressure cooker.
Angela wasn’t happy either. She continued with her regular routine because she didn’t know what else to do, but her estrangement from Devlin made her miserable. He hardly spoke to her and kept his distance from her physically as if she were surrounded by a ring of fire.
At night, in bed, she remembered his kiss and relived the moment over and over in her mind.
Philip left town again two days before her birthday. She had almost forgotten it herself, but arrived in the kitchen that morning to find that Josie had deposited a gift wrapped box and a card on her plate. Devlin watched as she opened the present and crowed delightedly over a handmade scarf that Josie had crocheted for her. He dropped his eyes, looking away.
For a girl who’d been raised with everything money could buy it took very little to please her.
“I suppose you’ll be seeing Cronin tonight?” he asked neutrally.
At the stove Josie stopped stirring the oatmeal. Angela met his gaze candidly.
“No. Philip is out of town again.”
“Not around much, is he?” Devlin observed acidly.
“He’s very busy,” Angela answered, trying on her scarf.
“He must be,” Devlin replied.
Josie turned to look at him; he became absorbed in drinking his coffee.
“I’ll leave a plate for you in the oven for dinner,” Josie said to Angela. “I have that meeting tonight at Maria’s school.”
“Okay,” Angela said, rubbing the soft wool against her
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