Page 47 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I went inside to see if James was up yet.

The house was quiet, and his bedroom door was closed.

I was starting to get hungry, so I checked the fridge and the cabinets for breakfast food, finding eggs, bacon, and bread.

I spread some aluminum foil on a cookie sheet and spread out six pieces of bacon, then set the pan in the oven and turned it on.

I didn’t want to start the eggs or toast until James was up, so I freshened up my coffee and walked over to the photo on the mantel.

There was something about the other girl in it that pinged my memories, but I couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit me.

Neely Kate was J.R. Simmons’s daughter, albeit illegitimate.

Which meant Joe Simmons was her half-brother.

And Joe had a four-year-old daughter with Rose Gardner. I pulled out my phone and searched for Rose Gardner, then pulled up the article about her nursery I’d found last week, scrolling down until I found the photo of Rose, Joe and their two children.

The girl in the photo was Hope Simmons.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that information. It made sense that the two cousins would have their photo taken together, but why would Neely Kate send him a photo of both girls? Why not just her daughter?

Or maybe I was just reading too much into it.

I walked to the window and looked outside, thinking to myself that James had the right idea. He spent most of his life at the tavern, but when he wasn’t at work, he had the perfect place to relax and escape from everything.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” James said from behind me.

I turned to look at him, wondering whether I’d see contempt in his eyes. Instead, he seemed open and relaxed.

The tension in my shoulders eased. “I am. I’ve been sitting on the porch getting some work done. My father’s law partner saw my dad get out of a car about a month ago, and it was driven by the woman who showed up at my mother’s house last week. He suspected my dad was having an affair.”

“Does he know who she is?”

I shook my head. “No, but he also created a new will for my mother about three weeks ago. In the will, she granted me access to her safe deposit box.”

“That’s good news,” he said, walking into the kitchen and pulling a coffee cup out of the cabinet.

My stomach twisted as I watched him fill it with coffee. “James, about last night…”

He held up a hand. “What’s done is done.”

“I don’t like how we left things.”

He took the cup over the peninsula and put his hand on the counter. “You were right. I was keeping secrets, and you were tryin’ to solve a case. Of course you’d call Deveraux.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you or setting you up.”

He held my gaze. “I don’t.”

I watched him, not sure I believed him. If our roles were reversed, I’d be watching my back. How could he forget it had happened? He shouldn’t forget. There was a good chance Deveraux might start breathing down his neck.

“But Deveraux…”

He gave me a grim smile. “There’s a reason Deveraux is breathing down my neck. I can tell you part of it but not everything. The fact is, I can’t tell you everything about my life, because some of my secrets protect other people. I refuse to put them at risk.”

“I’d never ask you to.”

“And that’s part of the reason I’ve decided to be more open. If I tell you something that could end up hurting someone, I believe you’d keep it to yourself.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked. “I called Mason Deveraux.”

“I’d already suspected you did,” he said. “Even before you told me.”

“ What? ”

“I checked the number on your phone yesterday afternoon and had Carter look into it. It’s Deveraux’s personal cell.”

My mouth dropped open. “You snooped on my phone?”

He grimaced. “I didn’t snoop, but I checked the number when it vibrated while you were asleep.

I thought it might be your father or your friend Louise.

I made note of it. I sent it to Carter after our fight, but it took him a few hours to get back to me last night.

” He grimaced. “Right before we pulled up to my house. I admit, when he told me who it belonged to, I was furious, but I decided to see if you’d tell me.

” He shrugged. “Of course, at that point, I only knew that he’d called you and you hadn’t answered.

I didn’t know you’d been the one to initiate the call, or that you’d talked to him after I left. Now I know both.”

“So you trust me because I confessed?”

“You had no reason to confess, other than to prove I can trust you.”

“What if I only confessed because I thought you’d find out and I wanted to get in front of the situation?”

“Is that why you did it?”

I flinched. “It occurred to me that you’d probably think I betrayed you if you found out. But mostly I wanted to warn you that Deveraux might be sniffing around so you can watch your back.”

He gestured toward me with his cup. “I believe you.”

It felt too easy, which set me on edge. We both had trouble trusting—would we always be suspicious of one another?

“So why is Deveraux out to get you?” I asked.

“He blames me for losing his fiancée.”

“Rose Gardner?”

“Yep.”

“ Are you to blame?”

He hesitated as though considering his answer. “If I’m honest, yes, I’m completely to blame. She had a skill set I could use to my advantage, and in return, I agreed to help find out who was trying to kill Deveraux.”

“That doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”

“It depends on how you spin it,” he said stoically. “But the truth is, when I first started using her skill set, I forced her into it.”

“You blackmailed her?”

“I was in a precarious situation, and she came to me asking for help with something. The first instance was a fair trade of services, but I contacted her again and, in that instance … let’s just say I forced her hand.”

I let that sink in. He’d been a crime boss. A little ruthlessness shouldn’t surprise me. “But she ultimately decided to work with you?”

He was silent for a moment. “Turned out she was very good at it and part of her liked it.”

“You both took down J.R. Simmons?”

“Simmons wanted Deveraux taken out, and I wanted Simmons taken out. It benefitted us both.”

“Simmons had Rose kidnapped?”

“Yeah, but we used it to our advantage.” Something about the way he said that told me he wouldn’t be expanding on the subject.

While I wanted to ask more questions, I decided to accept what he’d told me.

“You haven’t asked what her skill set was,” he said, eyeing me carefully.

“If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me,” I said. “You mentioned that some of your secrets are to protect people. I can’t imagine it would help Rose’s public image if it was widely known she’d worked with a crime boss. I suspect you’re protecting her because she helped you.”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “You’re right. There’s no reason for her involvement to get out. It would only hurt her.”

There was fondness in his voice, and I wondered if he had the photo of Rose’s daughter on his mantel out of sentiment.

Did James regret not having a family of his own? Was he living vicariously through the people he’d grown fond of?

“Are you still in contact with Rose?” I asked.

He coughed, then said derisively, “No.”

“For the same reason you’re not in contact with Jed? To protect her?”

“That and her husband’s not too fond of me.” He sighed. “I’ve found it’s better to leave the past in the past.”

I wasn’t so sure he was right, but I didn’t feel like calling him on it. Not that I was one to talk. I’d put own past in my rearview mirror when I’d left Little Rock.

I made breakfast while I told him everything I’d found before he’d gotten up. He sat on the other side of the peninsula, working his way through two cups of coffee while I talked, his gaze tracking my movements around the kitchen.

I deliberately avoided looking at him, though I couldn’t help noticing the way his long-sleeve T-shirt clung to his shoulders and hugged his biceps. Or the way he leaned back in his stool, all casual confidence. Like he owned every space he occupied.

Yesterday, in front of my grandparents’ house, I’d come dangerously close to doing something I’d probably regret. Or maybe not regret at all, which made it even more dangerous. The more distance I kept between us, the better.

“So, you’re going to the bank after we finish here?” he asked as I set his plate on the peninsula. I placed mine on the opposite side, still needing space. Sitting next to him didn’t feel like the wisest idea.

But he must have read my mind—or thought the same thing—because he picked up both plates and moved them to the table, placing us directly across from each other.

He scooped up the silverware on the counter while I freshened my coffee, trying not to read into the fact he wanted me to sit down.

Oh, wait. He’d asked me a question.

Get it together, Harper. You’re acting like a horny teenager.

“That’s my plan,” I said, sitting at the table, across from him. “I think I might also call Detective Jones, the guy I worked with on Burton’s case, and ask him if he knows why the Jackson Creek police investigated Ambrose’s death and not the sheriff’s department.”

“You’re not worried it’ll get back to your father?” he asked. We were sitting closer than we’d been at the peninsula, and I caught a hint of cedar.

“I’ll say my aunt mentioned hearing about someone else going off that bridge, so I looked it up. It might come across as suspicious, but I’ll try to spin like I’m just curious. Maybe along the lines of I was relieved the Jackson Creek Police Department hadn’t investigated.”

He nodded his approval. “Then what?”

I made the mistake of looking into his dark brown eyes, and I found myself mesmerized for a moment.

Something flickered in his gaze—something I wasn’t ready to name—before I jerked my eyes back down to my plate, my pulse unsteady.

“I suppose it depends on what I find in the box,” I said, my voice a little too tight.

“I need to figure out if I want to confront my father.”