Triple Time (3 page)

“Well, Mr. Clean looks like your best bet to get your money back. Maybe even find Victor.”

Devin stopped, her hand on the pressure switch of the autoclave. She knew she'd never get the cash back. But it hadn't occurred to her that Gabe could help find her brother. “How so?”

Leo lifted one shoulder and sipped his coffee. “He's in Special Victims, right? He must know people in Child Services.”

Damn. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

Only one problem. It would mean indebting herself to the man she wanted to jump every time she got within ten feet of him. The one she should be avoiding like day old
alcapurrias
.

Her best friend's off-limits, way-out-of-her-league baby brother.

It wasn't just his relationship to Holly that made Gabe untouchable. It didn't take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out he was built for commitment. Marriage. Two point five kids. A minimansion in Scarsdale. The whole nine yards.

And Devin...wasn't.

She flipped the switch on the autoclave and sighed, her breath stirring the loose strands that had already escaped her ponytail.

“I know that look.” Leo leaned against the counter, setting his mug down behind him. Above his shoulder, framed photos of her work—and his—hung against the backdrop of the cheery lemon-yellow wall, constant reminders of how far she'd come since that fateful day when Leo had taken her in off the street. But not far enough for a smart, sophisticated guy like Gabe. “It's your I-am-an-island look. The one you give when you want to scare everyone off and convince them you can go it alone.”

Sure. Fine. Let's run with that.

“There's no shame in relying on your friends every once in a while,
hermanita
.” He crossed to her and tugged her ponytail. “That's what we're here for.”

She softened at the use of his nickname for her.
Little sister
. “I know. I'm just...”

“Not used to depending on anyone. I get that. But this is Victor we're talking about. Your brother. Who you haven't seen in, what, twelve years?”

She winced, remembering their last minutes together. Her shaking with rage, screaming obscenities at the social worker who had dragged Victor away. Him clutching his favorite stuffed animal, a ratty armadillo, his sweet face wet with tears. Both of them scared shitless. “More like fifteen.”

“That's fifteen years too long.” The bells hanging over the top of the door tinkled and he went to the sink to scrub his hands, preparing for their new arrival. “If you won't take my money, at least promise you'll think about calling Gabe.”

Devin's stomach sank at the thought of facing Gabe again, but that was nothing compared to the way it pitched and rolled when she considered the alternative. Victor, stuck in a house of horrors like the one she'd read about it the paper.

“All right. You win.” As usual. She started toward the front of the shop to greet Leo's next customer. “I'll think about it.”

What the hell
, she thought as she pasted on a smile. It wasn't as if she could stop thinking about Gabe anyway.

 

3

P
INSTRIPED
SUITS
.
Pencil skirts. Pocket squares.

She was surrounded by yuppies.

They should post warning signs. Caution: Smart Phones at Work.

Devin slowed her steps as she neared One Hogan Place, home of the New York County District Attorney's Office. She glanced down at her outfit. She'd gone as conservatively as she could, given the limits of her wardrobe—a plain, black T-shirt, khaki cargo pants and black Doc Martens. Clean. Neat. Well-pressed. But compared to the Wall Street types, she looked like a refugee from a doomsday cult.

“Move it or lose it, honey.” One of the pinstripe-suited businessmen shoved past her, knocking her oversize bag off her shoulder, no doubt late for some all-important meeting.

“Thanks, asshole.” She managed to pick up her bag, narrowly missing being trampled by a candy-apple-red stiletto.

Now she remembered why she hated the financial district.

Her Greenwich Village neighborhood, and even the Heights, had a cool, edgy vibe. Sure, people there worked hard. But they knew how to play, too. Here, everything was go-go-go 24/7. Even play was work. Gotta swim more laps than the next guy. Beat him at racquetball. Be the best on the golf course. Or whatever these uptight overachievers did in the name of relaxation.

Yet another reminder of why she and Gabe would be a match made in purgatory. Okay, so the guy kissed like a porn star. But aside from that, he needed some serious help in the recreation department. Probably wouldn't know fun if it jumped out of his briefcase and bit him in the oh-so-delectable ass. Certainly not her kind of fun.

And after a lifetime of struggling, Devin was all about fun.

But not now. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

To find Victor.

She pushed open the ornate brass door. The cool, conditioned air blasted her in the face as she crossed the lobby to the concierge. “District Attorney's Office?”

“Reception's on the third floor.” He gestured toward the elevators behind him.

“Thanks.”

Her boots echoed on the marble tile, and she ignored the stares of the preppy elite as she jabbed at the elevator button. She breathed a relieved sigh when the doors slid open and she could escape into the quiet of the thankfully empty car.

She slumped against the wall, watching the indicator on the ancient elevator inch its way from one to three. For the thousandth time, she mentally rehearsed her speech.

Hey, Gabe. Thanks for rescuing me in the park last week. Even though I really didn't need rescuing. Can I ask you for one more teeny, tiny favor? Help find my brother who got separated from me in foster care when I was thirteen.

Ugh. It didn't sound any better in her head than it had in the living/bedroom of her tiny studio apartment. But she was running out of options.

Devin groaned. She hated, hated, hated asking for help. Especially when she didn't have anything to offer in return. Well, nothing a guy like Gabe would want, anyway.

She ran through a few more variations of her speech but wasn't any closer to knowing what she would say when the doors opened.

“Can I help you?” A pretty, way-too-pert receptionist greeted Devin when she stepped off the elevator.

“I'm here to see Gabe Nelson.”

“Do you have an appointment?” She clicked a few buttons on her desktop computer. “I don't see anything on his schedule until after lunch.”

“Um, no. Not exactly.” Devin tugged self-consciously on her T-shirt. “I'm a friend of the family.”

A scowl creased the receptionist's forehead. “Let me see what I can do. Who should I tell him is here?”

“Devin.”

“Just Devin?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Devin hitched her bag up on her shoulder and crossed her arms. “He'll know who it is.”

The receptionist waved her over to a line of chairs against the wall, and Devin sat while the woman spoke in low tones into the telephone. A few minutes later, Gabe rounded the corner, the confused expression on his face not detracting one damned bit from his hotness. In a charcoal-gray suit, pale blue dress shirt and burgundy tie, his dark-framed glasses made him look like a grown up, uber-sexy Harry Potter.

“Devin. What brings you here? Everything okay?”

She stood and wiped her damp hands on her cargo pants. “Can we talk in private?” The last thing she needed was the entire office hearing her sob story. Bad enough she had to tell Gabe.

“Sure.” He led her past the receptionist and down a narrow corridor to his office. It was Spartan but functional. Government-issue desk. Two guest chairs. Filing cabinets along the walls with an array of photos. She spotted Holly, Gabe's parents, his younger sister, Noelle, and what she assumed was Ivy, his twin, a fashion photographer who was always off on some shoot or another. One big, smiling, happy family. Something she sure as hell never had.

He crossed to a minifridge in the corner, opened it and held up a plastic bottle. “Want a water? Or I can have Stephanie get you some coffee?”

“Water's fine, thanks,” she croaked. Nerves were strange things. Moistening her palms. Drying her throat.

He handed her the bottle, took one for himself and sat behind the desk, motioning for her to do the same in one of the guest chairs opposite him. “I take it this isn't a social call.”

He cracked open his water bottle, tipped his head back and took a long chug. His Adam's apple bobbed, and she crossed her legs to control the tingling at her core.

Fan-fucking-tastic.
First chest hair. Now this. What would set her off next? His toenails?

“I brought you something.” She dug into her handbag. Starting with a little bribe couldn't hurt. “To say thanks. For the other night.”

Gabe tilted his head and gave her a cocky smile.

“The cab ride. Freak.” She plunked a Tupperware container onto the desk. “Arroz con pollo. It's homemade.”

“You cook?”

She shrugged. “I didn't say whose home.”

He laughed, a low, smoky sound that made her insides flutter. “You came all the way downtown to bring me food?”

“You looked a little peaked.” She twisted off the cap of her water bottle and sipped, the liquid soothing her throat but doing nothing for her overheated libido. “But if you don't want it, I can take it back.”

He slapped a palm on top of the container and slid it toward him. “My mother always told me it's rude to refuse a gift.”

Devin looked down at her lap and pretended to be fascinated with her fingernails, hoping it masked the stab of longing at the mention of his mother. All her mother had ever taught her was how to roll a joint and make a mean vodka martini. Like James Bond, shaken, not stirred. Oh, and that nothing—and no one—was forever.

“So.” Gabe put the container in the fridge and sat back at his desk, resting his chin on his fist. “Here we are. In private. Are you going to tell me why you're really here?”

She shifted to the edge of her seat and raised her head to meet his gaze. Damn, those storm-cloud eyes were distracting. All dark and distant and moody. She blinked twice to break the spell. “I need your...”

The words stuck in her throat, and she started again. “I need your help to find my brother.”

There. That wasn't so bad, was it?

He sat silent and unmoving, the eyes behind his glasses unreadable, the only sound in the room the hum of the minifridge.

No, it wasn't so bad. It was worse.

* * *

H
OLY
SHIT
.

She had a brother? And, more importantly, she didn't know where he was?

He'd barely had time to process this information, much less respond, when the door burst open and a slick, blond head popped in.

“Where's the Rasmusson file?”

Only Jack would enter his office without knocking. And only Jack would hone in on Devin like a heat-seeking missile, sidling into the other guest chair and pulling it closer to her.

“I gave it to Stephanie.”

So you can beat it. Now
.

“Well, hello, gorgeous.” Gabe's skin prickled as Jack eyed Devin up and down, lingering a little too long on the tattoo peeking out from the V neck of her T-shirt. Was that a bird? Or a butterfly? Knowing her, it was probably something more provocative, like an arrow with the words “place tongue here.”

“Gabe's been holding out on me. I'm Jack Kentfield, the real brains of this operation.”

Gabe kicked at the leg of his desk. So much for his psychic powers. Jack wasn't going down without a fight. “Easy, Casanova. How do you know she's not a victim? Or a witness?”

Jack shrugged. “You always meet with them in the conference room.”

“Devin Padilla.” She held out her hand to him. “I'm friends with Gabe's sister Holly.”

“Any friend of Holly is a friend of mine.” Jack brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, making Gabe's skin crawl all over again.

“Please. You've met my sister what, twice?”

“Three times, but who's counting?”

“You, apparently.” Gabe clenched and unclenched his fists under the cover of his desk, fighting the urge to pop his colleague in the jaw. The only thing that stopped him was Devin, who was looking at Jack as if he was dog doo on the bottom of her boots. “Now, if you don't mind, I was about to take Devin to lunch.”

“You were?” She cast a sideways glance at him, her forehead wrinkled.

“Fine, I can take a hint.” Jack got up and crossed to the door, throwing one last parting jab over his shoulder. “You know, Gabe, Holcomb wouldn't think you were such a stick-in-the-mud if he knew you hung out with someone as hot as Devin. Probably endorse you on the spot.”

“Endorse you?” Devin leaned in, resting her elbows on her knees. “For what?”

“Never mind.” Gabe took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn Jack and his big mouth. Gabe wasn't sure how he'd gotten wind of what had gone down with Holcomb. Gabe sure as hell hadn't told him. But the guy had an uncanny knack for digging up dirt. Suddenly, transferring him to Public Assistance Fraud seemed like a brilliant idea.

Gabe rolled his chair back and stood. “Let's go.”

He moved to a coatrack in the corner of the room for his suit jacket and she followed. “You don't have to take me to lunch.”

“I don't want to risk any more interruptions.” Or give Jack another chance to hit on her.

“I'm not dressed for any place fancy.”

“You're perfect for the place I have in mind.”

Half an hour later, they were seated across from each other at a table at the Big Apple Burger Bar.

“So.” She bit into her burger, closed her eyes and moaned. Her tongue darted out to catch a rivulet of juice but not fast enough to stop it from running down her chin. He gripped the edge of the table, white knuckled, resisting the impulse to wipe—or, better yet, lick—it away. There was something about a woman who enjoyed her food that got him right in the groin.

Devin opened her eyes and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Who's Holcomb? And why does he think you're a stick-in-the-mud?”

“Nice try.” Gabe took a bite of his burger. “But we came here to talk about you. And your brother.”

She licked her lips and his nether regions stirred again.

“I'll pry it out of you eventually,” she said. “You know I will.”

“I'm up for the challenge. First tell me about your brother. How can I help?”

“You know people in Child Services, right?”

“Sure.” His mind whirred, trying to come up with a reason why Child Services would be involved. Was her brother a minor? Had he run away? Been abused? Abandoned?

She munched on a French fry. “Victor and I were separated in foster care when he was ten and I was thirteen. I haven't seen him since. He's the only family I have left. I filled out an application with the adoption information registry, but...”

“Let me guess. Nothing.” Gabe was all too familiar with the registry. It only worked if both parties signed up.

“Yep. I'm not even sure whether he was adopted or stayed in the foster system until he turned eighteen. And the PI I hired was a total bust.”

“And now you want me to see what I can find out.”

“In a word, yes.”

“I'll do what I can.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. He'd figured Devin had had it rough as a kid. He just didn't know how rough. It made him even more eager to help her, if he could. “But if your brother was adopted, and the adoption was sealed...”

“I know. It's an uphill battle. But I have to find him, Gabe. He needs me.”

Her hand shook, causing her to drop the fry hovering at her mouth, and Gabe frowned. Something more was going on. Something she wouldn't—or couldn't—tell him. But he wasn't going to press her. Not yet.

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. A jolt of lust traveled up his arm and through his chest.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell was wrong with him? The woman was distraught, and here he was acting like an overeager teen on his first date.

Gabe gave her hand a quick squeeze and let it go. “I'll do my best. I promise. I'll make some calls tomorrow and let you know what I can dig up.”

“Thanks.”

She gave him a sad pseudo smile, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Okay,” she said finally, plunking her water glass down on the table. “Now that that's settled, I want the whole stick-in-the-mud story.”

Damn.
He thought she'd forgotten. Should've known better.

“It's not all that exciting.”

Kind of like me.

“I'll be the judge of that.” She pushed her chair back from the table, stretched out her long legs and crossed her arms, waiting for him to begin.