Devlin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  THANK YOU for reading Devlin, Sea Dragon Shifter Series Book 2!

  Books by CJ Matthew:

  COPYRIGHT

  Acknowledgements:

  DEVLIN

  Sea Dragon Shifters

  Book 2

  Chapter 1

  Devlin

  Devlin Rudraige flinched when the intercom on his desk let out an insistent buzz, cutting short the flow of formal greetings and good wishes from one of his competitors, Shinsuke at Ichiban Global Shipping. What the hell? He glanced down. Terrific. The noisy interruption to the landline call was his own damn fault. He’d been in such a hurry to learn why Shinsuke was calling, and why he insisted they use Muirdris Shipping’s secure line, Devlin forgot to switch the rest of the system to silent mode.

  Now what? With his personal assistant signaling for his attention from her desk in the outer office, Devlin scrambled for any polite solution. Impossible. If he ignored the intercom, the assistant would knock on the door. If he placed Shinsuke on hold, the thin-skinned businessman would assume Devlin viewed the interruption as more important and take offense.

  Shinsuke gave a discreet cough and Devlin hissed through his teeth. In Japan, New Year’s was the time to repay all debts, to reconcile all issues so the new year could start with a clean slate. Certainly not the day to dig himself into an etiquette morass by alienating a colleague.

  He had to do something. Fast. Devlin gripped the handset, bowed politely in the direction of the phone, and in the most formal Japanese, he said, “Honorable Shinsuke, please excuse me. I mean no insult to you, however, I must place your call on hold for one minute.”

  “Equipment trouble again?” Shinsuke’s tone dripped with sarcasm rather than the anticipated hurt feelings.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Just one moment, please. Thank you.” Devlin carefully placed Ichiban’s President of Worldwide Operations on hold and pressed the button to speak to his assistant. “Yes?”

  “Sir,” she said quickly, “your driver asks what time you want him downstairs?” The sweet, soothing voice of his silver-haired, grandmotherly assistant usually had a calming effect on him—not today.

  “Tell him to have the limo in the garage in thirty minutes,” Devlin said. “And be prepared to wait. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anyone still in the office?”

  ‘Just your bodyguard.”

  “After he walks me to the garage, he’s off duty. And you can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Devlin-san.”

  Devlin tapped the system’s privacy mode and returned to Shinsuke. “I deeply appreciate your patience. What can I do for you?” Devlin sank back in his leather desk chair and listened carefully, alert to any hint that Shinsuke was affronted.

  “I find myself,” Shinsuke began, “in a difficult, embarrassing predicament. My problem is of a very delicate nature, time sensitive, and critically important to me and my company. Before I plead for your assistance, I must, in honor, carefully explain the entire situation. And implore you to keep the details absolutely secret. Would it be possible for us to finish this discussion face to face in a trusted location?”

  Devlin suppressed a groan. No wonder dodging the phone etiquette bullet had proved so easy. Shinsuke was distracted by a corporate problem, too consumed with his own issue to notice. The real mystery? Why the hell had Shinsuke chosen to ask him for help? It wasn’t like they were buddies. At best, they were polite rivals. In truth, the top four or five shipping corporations were engaged in fierce competition.

  Shit. Devlin absently stroked his short beard. And did it have to be right now? January—the start of Quarter 1—was the worst of bad timing. Why would he agree to get mixed up in another shipping company’s troubles?

  A little excitement. His dozing sea dragon offered. Business is boring.

  Revenue allows us to expand our Hoard, he reminded the dragon.

  Shinsuke softly cleared his throat. “May I suggest we proceed carefully, one step at a time? Perhaps we could meet briefly this afternoon. Some place discreet, quiet? From there, you can decide if you are willing to move one step forward. Or not.”

  Devlin gritted his teeth. “Yes. I can agree to a preliminary meeting. Do you have a place in mind?”

  “If you’re attending the Moller-Maersk New Year’s Eve party at Disney again this year, I know of several quiet places on the way.”

  “No, not partying with the Danes this year. I’m joining a group at Skytree tower. I can recommend a small soba shop on the way downtown.”

  “Perfect. What time shall I be there?”

  Devlin set a time and rattled off the address in English as he pulled out his list of burner phone numbers and recited the next in line. “When you’re a block away, call this number to let me know. I’ll meet you at the back door.”

  “Excellent. Thank you very much. I’ll see you there.”

  Devlin disconnected and let the suspicious corner of his mind wander. Could this be some sort of trap? Or a genuine plea for help? No matter, there was ‘no excuse for carelessness’. Setting up the burner phone, the corner of Devlin’s mouth curled into a smile as he pictured the intensity on Ji’s face whenever the Muirdris Security Director repeated that mantra.

  Based at the Boston headquarters, the muscular, ebony skinned Ji was a panther shifter. One of only two non-dragon shifters in the company. He was responsible for keeping the worldwide Muirdris leadership, especially the Sea Dragon cousins, up to the minute on all aspects of personal, corporate, and vessel safety, including terrorist threats and pirate attacks.

  Devlin grinned at his empty office. He’d aced Ji’s latest security training session, secretly proud when Finnian called him the teacher’s pet. A bubble of excitement rose in his gut. Spy shit was a hell of a lot more exciting than computer reports. And without the concern it was a Muirdris problem? This could be his chance to go all 007.

  Starting with a call to his regular limo driver. “Change of plan. Remember that little soba shop we found last year, on the way downtown?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Great. Grab one of the new bodyguards, meet me behind the Little Duckling Book store, three blocks north of the soba place, at nineteen-hundred-hours.”

  An hour later, Devlin, dressed for the evening in his tux, sat behind his usual bodyguard and a company driver in what appeared to be a bulky Japanese sedan. Looks could be deceiving. The drivers jokingly called this specially equipped automobile The Tank.

  The car double parked in front of the soba shop, the bodyguard dashed back, opened Devlin’s door, and hustled him inside. The driver sped away in the Tank. After a brief inspection of the small shop, the bodyguard chose a spot to stand where he had his back to a wall and a clear view of the rest of the place.

  A few minutes later, Devlin’s throwaway phone chimed with an incoming message. Shinsuke was turning into the rear alley.

  Devlin nodded to his bodyguard. “Signal the Tank to pick you up at the back door.” He handed over his iPhone. “My business suit is in a garment bag in the back of the Tank. Secure this phone i
n the jacket pocket, deliver the bag to my condo and leave it with the butler. Then you and the driver can take the rest of the evening off.”

  “Um…thank you, sir.”

  “Let’s check out the alley at the back,” Devlin said.

  As soon as Shinsuke was safely inside, both their bodyguards and vehicles gone, the stooped man behind the counter escorted them to “the little room.” Two faded upholstered chairs with a tiny electric fireplace glowing between them took up most all the space. Add a little side table for beer or sake and his dragon grumbled about claustrophobia.

  Devlin was right at home. If he ignored the Japanese décor and wall hangings, the room was the spitting image of the snug in his favorite village pub back in Ireland.

  Shinsuke ordered a bottle of wine. Even knowing alcohol didn’t have nearly the effect on his sea dragon physiology as it did on humans, Devlin accepted a glass. He smiled, enjoyed the taste of the wine, and patiently went through the ritual of polite conversation before business. Finally, when his second glass was almost empty, Devlin leaned forward, and asked in a low gentle voice, “Is this about the explosion last month on your new container vessel?”

  Shinsuke’s eyes widened and his hand trembled. “How did you hear about that?”

  “It’s not public knowledge, but I have almost as many contacts as you do, my friend. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “We barely managed to keep that blast out of the news. I can’t begin to imagine the public outcry if our customers and stockholders knew it wasn’t the first.” The executive rubbed his eyes.

  Taking another swallow of wine, Shinsuke said, “Devlin-san, this was the fourth incident involving explosives on our ships in three months. Ichiban is under attack.”

  Fuck. What the hell does he want from me? “Have you received any ransom demands? Threats of any kind?”

  The older man slowly shook his head. “Nothing. My corporate offices have reviewed all incoming messages for the past twelve months to make certain.”

  “Is there any sort of pattern to the explosions?”

  “Not one that our security people can detect. The four ships were different ages, varying sizes, and all on different routes. One was transporting automobiles, the second had a cargo of grain, the third was our newest container ship, and actually, the most recent explosion was on a fuel tanker.”

  Devlin’s heart stuttered. “Holy hell.”

  “Yes indeed.”

  While he worked to lower his heart rate, Devlin’s brain continued to race. “Four explosions, all small enough to go unnoticed beyond the ship? And no crew injuries? Cargo damage?”

  “Very minor,” Shinsuke murmured.

  Taking in a deep breath, Devlin studied the wine remaining in his glass. A well-placed explosive and the resulting fire would be devastating to automobiles, grain, and of course, fuel. Highly combustible chemicals were often shipped on the huge ships in specially marked containers. Picturing the potential for loss of life and cargo, Devlin’s stomach twisted. He wanted nothing to do with any of this.

  Lifting his gaze, Devlin saw the exhaustion and worry etched on Shinsuke’s face.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Thank you, Devlin-san. Thank you very much.” Shinsuke bowed so low in his chair, his forehead almost brushed the armrest. “Our computer staff is working round the clock with the security team trying to uncover any patterns, isolate any suspects. If you could look with fresh eyes, at what we have so far?”

  “I can. And you have my word I’ll maintain strict confidentiality.”

  “Thank you. Late this afternoon, one of the investigating teams though they might have found a crew connection.”

  “After I examine the data, if we think I can be of more help, we’ll discuss the next step.”

  Shinsuke reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and drew out a USB stick. “All reports as of 5 p.m. tonight, photos of the damage, and the four crew lists.”

  Devlin curled his fingers around the memory stick. “Shall I call you tomorrow?”

  “I am deeply in your debt.”

  Two hours later, Devlin’s mind continued to turn over Shinsuke’s problem while his regular Muirdris driver inched the company limo through the bumper to bumper traffic toward the private entrance of Tokyo’s landmark Skytree Tower.

  Enough, Devlin decided with a shake of his head. Hell, it was Oshogatsu, New Year’s Eve, traditionally a huge celebration in Japan. Time to focus on socializing, networking, and rubbing elbows with celebrities attending the exclusive party at the top of Skytree. For the moment, the highest tower in the world.

  Inside, he worked his way slowly through the party, seeking out business people he knew, greeting them and wishing them a healthy and prosperous New Year. Then, for fun, he began looking for celebrity faces, actors and sports figures.

  As the countdown to midnight drew closer, partiers donned their masks and tried out the noisemakers. Spotting his hosts by the huge windows, Devlin inched toward them. The countdown was shouted in four or five different languages. At the stroke of midnight, the people in and around his group went crazy.

  All the couples kissed. At a slight tap on his shoulder, Devlin politely tried to step aside. A curvy female slid her body between him and the window.

  Glancing down, he found himself mask to mask, pressed against a warm, fragrant woman. She was too close for him to focus properly so he concentrated on his other senses. Her ample curves applied a seductive pressure against his entire length, enveloping him in an intoxicating vanilla-based scent. He could hear the rhythm of her breathing.

  She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him, tasting sweet, like rice candy.

  The instant their lips met, his natural wariness disappeared. He was hit with an all-consuming bolt of lust like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  His sea dragon lifted his head. Who?

  Devlin, desperate for more—to expand the kiss, lose the clothing, take her right here and now—inhaled. He and his dragon recognized the scent of salt air off the sea.

  She’s the one, his dragon insisted.

  He shot an arm around her waist and burrowed his other hand into the thick silky hair at the back of her neck. With a slight adjustment to the angle of her head, he deepened the kiss. Their mouths fit together perfectly.

  Suddenly pulling back, she murmured, “Happy New Year,” in English, ducked her head, and disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 2

  Portia

  Portia snatched the silk half-mask from her face, crumpled the thin wire framework and fabric in her hand. Stupid. And then some. She was a total idiot. Sent here tonight with one clear, simple assignment: covertly monitor the movements of the Muirdris director. Instead, she’d totally screwed the covert part by assaulting the man, in public. At a major Oshogatsu party.

  And if that wasn’t career-jeopardizing enough, now, in her haste to escape, she was creating a visible wake of jostled people behind her. Double stupid.

  Chill, woman, use your training, and slow the hell down. She stopped, took a deep calming breath and dared a quick backward glance. No sign of the tall Muirdris director. Relying on her well-developed flexibility, Portia began to gently twist and turn, to deftly weave her way through the crowd of people. Much better. Now, which way to the elevator?

  As she emerged from the base of the tower into the freezing night air, Portia tugged her coat tighter around her. Long lines of vehicles, mostly limos, waited for their clients to appear. No one was permitted to approach the tower to scoop up the departing party-goers until one of the white gloved traffic monitors waved them forward.

  Portia scanned the lines of cars through the clouds of steam and exhaust. The promised company limo flashed its headlights. She dismissed the monitor and raised her gloved hand for the driver to stay put. Hurrying forward, she opened the back door and slid inside.

  The interior of the car was over-warm, as usual, so her coat and gloves came off fi
rst, followed by the stiletto heels. She eyed the well-stocked bar and decided on coffee. Before the single cup brewer began to gurgle, she tapped the intercom. The privacy divider rolled down.

  “Thank you for coming to us,” the driver said in English.

  “Hey,” she said, “thank you for picking me up. I’ll be checking in with Obasan as soon as I’ve had in a few minutes to decompress. Brewing fresh coffee back here. Either of you want some?”

  The driver held up a travel mug. “No thanks, we just got refills.” The burly security guard in the front passenger seat held up his shiny container.

  “Great,” she said. “Then put the divider back up, please, for the report. After I finish speaking to Obasan, we can chat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The partition rose, cutting off her mild Japanese swear word. On the job, she wasn’t ma’am. Honestly, if you considered that these two men were full time, permanent employees and she was only an outside contractor, they held higher status than she did.

  Portia doctored her coffee with a splash of cream and a level spoon of sugar, then stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes. As she sipped the aromatic brew, she remembered the kiss.

  Devlin Rudraige was a lot better looking and definitely sexier in person than in the few photos of him she’d been given to study. He smelled amazing, and kissed like a damn pro. She chortled. Maybe he was such a terrific kisser because of his tons of experience. If the few and far between gossip reports featuring him were accurate, he was unattached, a playboy billionaire.

  Which made no sense. When ultra-rich hunks dated, they always made the tabloids. Where were all the paparazzi photos? Like tonight, for example, he’d come to the party alone. He’d even parked his bodyguard somewhere out of sight.

  Per the instructions she’d received, Portia had watched for him, noted the time of his arrival, and the lack of an escort. At that point, she figured he’d arranged to meet-up with his date. Nope, Mr. Rudraige spent his time companion-less. Despite the best efforts of that Natalia-bitch. The over-the-hill tennis player had come on strong. And had been politely and firmly rebuffed. When it came time for every couple in the giant room to welcome in the new year by smooching, Rudraige shook hands all around.