Covet

he had, and not as in his real estate or his cars or his statues and marble, but what really mattered, maybe he'd turn his life and soul around.

Devina blotted at one of her tears. “I'm running out of faith, it seems.”

“Don't. I'm here to help.” Jim took a deep breath. “I'm going to make it okay.”

“Oh, God…you're making me cry more.” Devina laughed and clasped his hand. “But thank you so much.”

Damn…those eyes of hers made him feel as if she'd reached in past his ribs and taken his heart into her delicate palm.

“Your name,” he whispered, “suits you.”

A blush flared in her cheeks. “In school, I used to hate it. I wanted to be Mary or Julie or something normal.”

“No, it's perfect. I can't imagine you being called anything else.” Jim glanced down at the phone and saw that the light was off. “He's ended the call.”

She dabbed under both eyes. “I must be a mess. Here…let me give you some amuse-bouche. Take them to him and keep him busy in the study while I go fix myself.”

As he waited for her to come back from the kitchen, Jim finished his beer and wondered how in the hell he'd found himself in the role of Cupid.

Man, if those four lads even thought about getting him to wear the wings and a diaper while he nocked his arrow, he was so renegotiating his employment contract. And not with words.

Devina returned with a silver tray of bite-size somethings. “The study's down that way. I'll come get you both when I don't look so weepy.”

“Roger that.” Jim took the tray, prepared to act the waiter and babysit diPietro. “I'll keep him in there.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Before he said too much again, Jim took off, carrying the tray with both hands through an endless spread of rooms. When he got to the study, the door was open and diPietro was sitting behind a big marble desk that had a lot of computers on it. The guy wasn't staring at the machines, though. He was turned around and focused on the bank of windows and the twinkling view.

Something small and black was buried in his palm.

Jim knocked on the jamb. “I got some amusements for your mouth.”

* * *

Vin pivoted around in his chair and tucked the ring box next to the phone. As Heron stood in the study's doorway with a tray in his hands, the guy made an unlikely waiter, and not because of the flannel shirt and the jeans. He simply wasn't the kind to be anyone's servant.

“You know French?” Vin murmured as he nodded at the amuse-bouche.

“She told me what they were.”

“Ah.” Vin got to his feet and went over. “Devina's a great cook.”

“Yeah.”

“You try one already?”

“Nah, I'm just going by the smells coming out of your kitchen.”

They both took a stuffed mushroom cap. And a tiny sandwich with paper-thin slices of tomato and leaves of basil. And a flat-bellied spoon with caviar and leeks on it.

“So have a seat,” Vin said, nodding at the one across from his desk. “Let's talk. I mean, I know you want food…but there's something else, isn't there.”

Heron put down the tray but didn't take a load off. Instead, he went over to the windows and looked out at Caldwell.

In the silence, Vin resettled in his leather throne and measured his “guest.” Bastard had a jaw like a two-by- four, hard and straight, and he was playing his cards close to the chest: There was no tell in his face whatsoever.

Which suggested the territory they were going to head into was dark and tricky.

As Vin twirled a gold pen around on his blotter and waited for the ask, he wasn't worried about dark and tricky. Most of his money had been made in construction, but he hadn't started out in the legitimate land of boards and nails—and his contacts with the black-market side of Caldwell were still good.

“Take your time, Jim. Money is easier to ask for than…other things.” He smiled a little. “You want something that isn't readily available at the local Hannaford, by any chance?”

Heron's eyebrow twitched, but that was about it as he continued searching the lights of the city. “What exactly are you talking about.”

“What exactly are you looking for.” There was a pause. “I need to know about you.”

Vin sat forward in his chair, not sure he'd heard right. “Know about me how?” Heron turned his head and stared downward. “You're about to make a decision. Something significant. Aren't you.”

Vin's eyes shot to the black velvet square he'd hidden. “What's in there?” Heron demanded.

“None of your business.”

“A ring?”

Vin cursed and reached for what he'd bought at Reinhardt's. As he tucked the box into a drawer, he started to lose his patience. “Look, stop bullshitting around and tell me what you want. It's not dinner and it's not to get to know me. Why don't you assume that there is nothing in this town that is unavailable to me and let's get this over with. What the fuck do you want.”

The soft words that came back at him seemed so wrong: “It's not what I want—it's what I'm going to do. I'm here to save your soul.”

Vin frowned…and then busted out laughing. This guy with the Grim Reaper tat on his back and the tool belt wanted to save him? Yeah, that made sense.

And PS: Vin's “soul” wasn't drowning.

When he took a break to do some deep breathing, Heron said, “You know, that's exactly how I reacted.”

“To what?” Vin said as he rubbed his face.

“Let's just say the call to duty.”

“You some kind of religious freak?”

“Nah.” Heron finally went around and sat in the chair, his knees falling to the sides, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, why the hell not.” Vin found himself echoing Heron's pose, just easing on back and relaxing. At this point, the whole thing was getting so weird, he was beginning to think it didn't matter. “What do you want to know?”

Heron glanced around at the first-edition books and the artwork. “Why do you need all this shit? And I'm not being nasty. I'm never going to live like you, so I'm kind of wondering why anybody has to have it all.”

Vin was tempted to blow off the question, and later he would wonder why he didn't. But for some reason he answered truthfully.

“It gives me weight and grounds me. I feel safe with beautiful things around my home.” The instant the words were out, he wanted to take them back. “I mean…shit, I don't know. I didn't come from money. I was just an Italian kid over on the north side of town, and my parents were always scraping to get by. I fought my way up because I wanted much better than where I'd been.”

“Well, you're waaaaaay up, all right.” Heron glanced at the computers. “So you must work a lot.”

“All the time.”

“Guess that means you've earned this amazing view.”

Vin swung his chair around. “Yeah. Been looking at it a lot lately.”

“You going to miss it when you move?”

“I'll have the river to stare out at. And that house you and your boys are building is going to be spectacular. I like spectacular things.”

“That beer was probably the best one I've ever had.”

Vin focused on the guy's reflection in the darkened glass. “Is Heron your real name?” The guy smiled a little.

“Of course it is.”

Vin glanced over his shoulder. “What other languages do you know aside from French?”