Page 53 of Devlin

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I can do this myself.” She offered a slight smile, because even though she was more than capable of handling things on her own, there was something undeniably steadying about having him offer to be by her side.

“Okay,” he agreed, but sounded reluctant. “I’ll go speak to Percy.”

With his arms still around her, she reveled in the strength he offered. And right now, she wasn’t going to turn that down.

21

While Mia went to speak with the head of the camp and Todd and Cole installed additional security cameras, Devlin decided to pay Percy a visit. The man had passed their initial financial investigation, but Devlin wanted a one-on-one with him and had learned long ago that gut instincts were rarely wrong.

Taking a camp Jeep, he drove toward one of the primary schools. The tires kicked up dust as he maneuvered over the rough terrain. As he approached the school, the laughter of children drifted through the air. The scene before him was a rare, bright contrast to the harsh realities of the camp—kids playing on a grassy playground enclosed by a low, concrete wall.

Devlin pulled the Jeep to a stop and stepped out, his eyes immediately drawn to Percy. The man was out in the field, effortlessly kicking a ball to the children, calling out their names with easy familiarity. His lean frame moved as someone accustomed to physical activity, and from the beaming smiles on the children’s faces, it was clear they adored him.

A woman appeared at the school’s doorway, briskly ringing a handbell. At once, the children scrambled, rushing to line up in neat rows before disappearing into the building. Percy remainedbehind, walking the field as he collected the scattered balls, gathering them into a net bag.

Devlin took his time approaching, watching the way Percy moved—casual, at ease, but aware. There was no nervous energy, no stiffness that might indicate someone with something to hide. He wasn’t sure if that made him more or less suspicious.

Bending down, Devlin scooped up several stray balls and carried them over, dropping them into Percy’s outstretched net.

"What an unexpected surprise." Percy flashed a broad smile. But the flicker of curiosity in his eyes was sharp and assessing as he stared back at Devlin.

Devlin trusted his instincts. Percy hid behind quips and one-liners, and Devlin wanted to know what was behind the mask. “Can I ask what the draw is? What brought you to Uganda?”

Percy opened his mouth as if to respond but then hesitated, staring off into the distance. Finally, he turned back, expression unreadable. "I was trying to decide whether I wanted to give you a flippant answer or simply flip you off," he said.

Devlin smirked. "What did you decide?"

Percy chuckled, shaking his head. "I have a feeling neither would faze you."

They continued collecting the remaining balls, working in a rhythm of silent understanding. Once the net was full, Percy inclined his head toward a couple of wooden benches beneath a lone tree. Devlin followed, taking a seat on one bench, facing Percy as he set the bag at his feet.

“There’s a time for flippancy,” Percy said, exhaling, “but I don’t feel like this is it. I like Mia. I hate that she’s stressed about food being taken from the camp. Smuggling is rampant, but I confess, I probably deal with the least of the problems.”

Devlin turned slightly, studying the man. Up close, Percy had the lean build of a runner, dark hair curling slightly at the ends, and deep-set blue eyes that missed nothing.

“Well, since we’ve both sized each other up,” Percy said, smirking, “I suppose we should talk.”

Devlin found himself appreciating the man’s candor. "I guess we should. What did you mean about you dealing with the least of the problems?"

Percy sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Regarding things people want to smuggle, children’s books are probably the least requested on the black market." He gave a wry smile. "Medicine, food, supplies—yes. But children's readers, picture books, and math textbooks? Not exactly in high demand. If anything from the schools goes missing, it's usually taken by a child or a teacher who wants to share it at home. And those kinds of losses?" He shrugged. "I’m good with."

Devlin nodded, considering. "You have an interesting background for someone here."

"If you want a pat on the back for digging into my background, I’m afraid you won’t get one," Percy said dryly. "I’m an open book, Mr. Devlin."

Devlin remained quiet, letting the silence stretch. Finally, Percy sighed, squeezing the back of his neck before continuing.

"I often make fun of my family’s title." He adopted an imperious tone. "My father, Lord Percival Wilson."

Devlin arched a brow. "I take it your father’s not pleased with your career choice."

"Ding ding, give the man a gold star." Percy’s laugh was self-deprecating. "It’s a worthless title, but it means something to my parents. I can’t really blame my father—he was raised with certain expectations. But it was never something I wanted. As his only son, the title would eventually come to me. But I wanted to teach. My father hated that.”

Percy shook his head slowly as his gaze drifted off to the side. "After graduating from Oxford, he insisted that if I had to teach, I should at least do it at an influential school. He nearly had anapoplectic fit when I said I was going to teach refugees." Percy leaned back, draping an arm over the bench. "I moved to London and started teaching refugee children there. Listening to their stories made me realize I could do more. So I left." His smile faded slightly. "I've been at this camp for four years."

Devlin studied him. "Is this what you want? A life in Uganda, eschewing everything you grew up with? Living in basic military quarters in a refugee camp?"

Percy’s gaze sharpened. "You seem to find that unusual or even impossible to believe. Yet you believe it of Mia." His expression softened, but his voice remained steady. "You will find, Mr. Devlin, that the beautiful Mia is not the only person with the desire to help."

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