Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) Read Free

the issue to eliminate the royals altogether and consolidate his growing power, seen by many as a danger to the tiny democracy.
    Head pounding from the incessant barrage about the old robbery, Mara exited the e-zine and reached in the desk drawer for ibuprofen. A few moments later, her headache subsiding, she returned to her research report and clicked the printer icon. While the pages slid onto the printer tray, she leaned back in her desk chair and read an earlier printout—her research on Cortez Jones—one more time.
    After their encounter she’d had to stop the car a block down Crystal Drive until her tears dried. Tears of fear at being face to face with the Jeweler’s son. Tears of anguish at believing her father would never be cleared. Tears of frustration at wanting to trust what Jones said and knowing she shouldn’t.
    Her sister Cassie accused her of always trusting everyone. She’d rather trust people than live behind a wall of distance and distrust like her father. But trust Cortez Jones? No. There lay too much danger.
    “Mara, you’re here late.”
    Straightening at the familiar voice, she stood to greet Thomas Devlin. “I wanted to finish this report on the Chinese horse. The authenticator’s analysis took longer than usual. No excuse. Sir.” She’d been a bit off lately but he didn’t need to know that. She tamped down the swell of emotion.
    The head of Devlin Security Force stood in the doorway of her cubicle. A formidable man, Devlin had started the high-end art-and-artifact security and investigation firm with a few former Special Forces buddies. Today DSF had museum and gallery clients all over the world. Trim and fit in a gray hand-tailored suit, he leaned one muscled shoulder against the cubicle support in a pose that appeared casual, even lazy. Mara had seen him go from languid to deadly in a nanosecond in defense of one of his people.
    She gathered the report, fastened the pages with a banker’s clip, and handed it across. “I’m afraid this bronze horse is a copy. A very good copy. The composition and the measurements are only slightly off, like the one from the British collector.”
    Devlin’s dark brow lowered. “Another. That’s three. Damn! At this rate, we’ll be years tracking down the original.”
    Two years ago thieves had stolen the second-century sculpture from the Tate Museum in London. Since then, copies kept turning up, sold to private collectors as the real thing. The Tate director and Lloyd’s wanted results, not more mystery.
    “I could ask Ivan to go over the data again, in case there’s a mistake,” she said.
    “No need. You’re always thorough and methodical. If you think he’s accurate, I’m satisfied. No data left unturned.” He grinned.
    “Thank you, Mr. Devlin.” She relaxed, warmed. And relieved at the high compliment rather than a reprimand.
    “The death of Leon Jones must be upsetting. Must bring it all back.” His eyes crinkled with sympathy before his gaze settled on the unofficial report beside her keyboard. “I see you’re researching his son.”
    Her stomach tightened and she crossed her arms as she followed his gaze. If he reprimanded her for using company resources for private reasons, so be it. She’d suppressed her anxiety so she could complete her official report. She suddenly felt too tired to stand.
    Nodding, she sank into her chair. “He contacted me. He says he can help clear my father. Claims he has new information but needs to see Dad’s working files.” Telling Devlin seemed to lift the burden weighing on the nape of her neck, where the muscles kinked into walnut-sized knots.
    He bent toward the printout. “May I?”
    “I have no secrets from you.” Devlin knew her past. Her father’s past. He’d hired her anyway. He’d even put a man on the case then, but found no proof of her dad’s innocence or guilt. When the investigation served only to upset her mom and sister, she’d asked him to drop the matter.
    She handed