Undercover Blues

by Undercover Blues (lit)

  Frank knew Angel was watching him. He’d felt the shifting of her arm as she’d turned her head to glance at him and he could feel her gaze as a gentle tingle on his skin. Her touch, no matter how casual, still aroused him. This morning he’d come so close to possessing her. If it hadn’t been for that damned wake up call, they’d have consummated this marriage and she’d be his wife for real. And, Lord, he wanted that. But he reminded himself that things were not settled between them. He found it increasingly difficult to believe she was the informant but, either way, he couldn’t prove anything. It wouldn’t be wise to become irrevocably involved until the whole mess was sorted out. Or more importantly, until there could be total honesty between them.

  Irrevocably! Damn. He’d not only come close to making love with her, he would have done it without protecting her. He’d known there was a chance they might make love on their wedding night, especially after that heated exchange between them a week ago, but he’d assumed she was on the pill. A virgin, for Christ’s sake. This morning could have resulted in total disaster if they’d made a baby together. And yet, why was it that, instead of striking panic in his heart, visions of Angel, round with his child, her brown eyes glowing, awoke a feeling of possessiveness so strong he thought it had the power destroy him. And it would, he realized. If he couldn’t find some way to keep her by his side after their assignment was finished.

  * * * *

  After they landed, Angel clenched her teeth during the chaotic trip to their resort in a local taxi. Her first sight of their private cabin, nestled among hibiscus trees, with a spectacular view of the white, sandy beach and the vivid turquoise water beyond, sent her heart spinning. This was a wonderfully romantic place to start a marriage.

  She sighed, wishing she could forget the concerns of real life and immerse herself in the fantasy. A real honeymoon with Frank. Followed by a real chance at happiness and love-ever-after.

  She started to unpack, but Frank coaxed her into a walk around the resort, then they settled into the central dining room for a quiet candlelit dinner.

  Angel watched the sun sink into the ocean, sending its final good-byes in the form of rippling streaks of colour across the golden-washed waters.

  "It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

  Frank’s voice startled her. They’d hardly spoken since they arrived, each giving the other time to adjust to their new status as husband and wife.

  "Yes, it is."

  She twisted the sea green napkin in her hands. Everything felt so awkward. What should she say to a husband she hadn’t chosen to marry, yet wanted desperately to be married to? She looked at him and one half of his mouth curled up in an utterly irresistible half grin. He sipped his wine and her attention drifted to his full lower lip and the faint sheen of moisture reflecting the candle light.

  "Angel…"

  Her gaze shot to his eyes. Their blue depths darkened, bathing her in a warm, sensuous glow. She licked lips suddenly gone dry.

  "Angel," he repeated, "if you don’t stop staring at me with that hungry look in your eyes, I’m going to drag you back to the cabin right now."

  "I, uh…" she croaked, then grabbed her water goblet and took a quick gulp. "I’m sorry, Frank, I just…" She shook her head, knowing she had no defense.

  "Don’t be sorry. Just understand what you’re doing to me." He reached for her hand — which splayed across the base of her goblet — and covered it with his own.

  "Frank, we really need to talk."

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle, sending trills of pleasure through her. She tugged lightly, but he refused to surrender her hand.

  "Please, Frank. I can’t think when you do that."

  "Maybe that’s the way I want it. We always seem to get in trouble when we think. Maybe we should feel our way along."

  With those words, he stroked his index finger over her wrist along her sensitive inner arm. She couldn’t help but shiver. "Frank, when you first said you loved me, I thought it was too soon — that you couldn’t possibly without knowing me. And you didn’t…know me that is."

  "I think I understand."

  "What I’m trying to ask is…" Her gaze settled on his. "Do you love me?"

  He pulled her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her palm — gentle yet deeply stirring. "I told you I did." The words were a quiet murmur, like water flowing through a brook — sending her blood burbling through her veins in a most disquieting way.

  "I… Frank, what does that mean to us? I mean, we’re married and…"

  His blue eyes darkened still. "What are you asking, Angel?"

  "Well, you love me, and I love you, and here we are on our honeymoon…"

  The burning flames of the candle flickered in the depths of his eyes.

  "Angel, let’s go back to the cabin," Frank murmured huskily.

  "Frank, no, I… I mean, we’re here on our honeymoon, but we didn’t choose to get married. If we had met again under different circumstance — if we weren’t forced to marry because we’re working together…"

  "Then I’d still believe you had betrayed me and would have wrung your neck," he teased. He nipped her fingertip. The feel of his teeth dragging across her flesh stole her breath away. She tugged her finger free of his mouth, but didn’t pull away entirely, needing the physical contact.

  "Frank, you know what I’m asking. What does this marriage really mean to you and I as a couple — not you and I as working partners?"

  "You want to know if I want the marriage to be real — if I want it to continue after the case is closed?"

  "That’s right." She knew hope filled her eyes. It was impossible to hide her feelings, and she shouldn’t even try, not when such an important question was posed.

  "Angel, there’s still so much that has to be worked out. I can’t make any promises. Believe me, I want to. I just can’t."

  She drew her hand out of his grasp, fighting the tears that threatened. She knew her disappointment shouldn’t be so complete. His honesty was admirable. And realistic. Neither of them could promise anything for the future.

  The waiter came by to see if they wanted anything. Angel pushed away her half eaten plate of Chicken Marenga and told him there was nothing else she wanted. Except Frank and a lifetime together, her heart cried out.

  They walked back to the cabin under a full, tropical moon, hands joined. The hibiscus blossoms perfumed the air. It was a night designed for romance, she thought. Frank closed the cabin door behind them.

  "Frank, under the circumstance, I don’t think —"

  Frank stopped her words with his lips, pressing her into a ravenous kiss. No sooner was she warmed by his hungry lips than he released her.

  "Angel, I can’t make promises about the future, but I will promise I won’t push you into anything you’re not ready for."

  The huskiness of his voice and the look of raw desire in his eyes told her that promise cost him a great deal. Unable to stop herself, she stroked his face, reveling in the feel of the raspy whiskers shadowing his cheeks.

  "Frank, I —"

  He grabbed her wrists to still her caressing hands.

  "Angel, I’m only human." He pointed to the bedroom door. "Go."

  * * * *

  Angel pushed back a few spirals of hair, enjoying the feel of the warm sand under her bare feet. Over the past few days they had enjoyed tennis, scuba diving, and one sailing excursion that ended with Angel in the drink. Her muscles still ached. She loved spending this time with Frank. It reminded her of their happy days in Hawaii.

  She smiled. What she enjoyed most was lazing on the beach. Especially watching Frank in his brief black trunks, muscles rippling with his movements. Seeing him nearly naked like that made her want him all the more. True to his word, however, Frank spent every night on the couch in the sitting room. And Angel spent every night needing a cold shower.

  Gazing out over the ocean, she watched the fiery sheen of the water as the sun drifted below the horizon. T
his had become a ritual, taking a walk on the beach every evening at sunset. Frank stopped at their usual outcropping of rocks and sank down onto the sand. She dropped down beside him.

  "Frank, I don’t really know anything about you. Where are your family? What are they like?" Do you think they’d like me? Angel bit back that last question just in time.

  "My family? They’re in Denver." He hooked his arms around his knees. "My mom’s as sweet as they come. Always has time for her family and friends, always makes a visitor feel at home." He leaned back against a rock, settling into his story. Angel could see the affection in his eyes as he spoke of his mother. "My dad, he’s a bit crusty." Frank picked up a broken shell and twirled it absently between his fingers, his eyes unfocused, obviously picturing the man while he spoke. "But we always knew he cared about us. I guess being a cop, and seeing death close up on a regular basis, made him aware of how important it was to tell the ones closest to him how much he cared. He didn’t do it with words — he wasn’t comfortable with that — but he made sure we knew."

  "He was a cop?" Angel hugged her knees close to her, envying him his close-knit family. She’d cared about her parents and she’d never doubted that they’d loved her, but there had always been a distance between them.

  "Yeah, or at least he was until he retired two years ago. So were my uncle and my grandfather. It’s sort of a family tradition."

  She rested her chin on her knees. "I guess they wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’re consorting with my type."

  He shot her a questioning glance. "Your type? If anything, you’d fit right in. You’re just what Dad would love in the family. Another crime fighter."

  Angel picked up a stone and tossed it into the surf, irritation lancing through her. "Yeah, I can see it now. You take me home to dinner with the folks and say ‘Mom. Dad. Meet Angel. She works for Carlos Vendetti and she’s been a member of the New York syndicate for the past ten years.’"

  "Angel —"

  "What, Frank?" She glared at him. "No matter what our involvement, we wouldn’t be able to tell them I’m working undercover. How do you think your dad would react to you being involved with a mob bimbo? Think about it."

  "Angel." He slid over to sit beside her, his arm going around her waist. "My family is important to me. But so are you."

  "Are you saying you’d turn your back on their wishes? Let them believe you’d gotten involved with a criminal? Or would you just keep us from ever meeting?" Like you were ashamed of me? She didn’t voice that last question but he could probably read it in her eyes, in the slump of her shoulders. She threw her hands up. "I don’t know why I’m even talking about this."

  "I agree. You —"

  "The fact is, you’ll never be able to go see them while you’re involved with me. We couldn’t risk anyone making the link between Frank O’Connor and Frank Cortina. Face it, Frank. The only way we can be together is if you come undercover with me. You’d have to change your whole life — everything. Do you really think you could do that?"

  He raked his hand through his hair. "I don’t know."

  "I can’t see you accepting a role where you’d be associating with criminals as friends. Not on a long term basis."

  "You do it, Angel."

  "Yes, but I was raised to it. Be truthful, Frank. Do you really think you could accept that kind of life?"

  "It wouldn’t be my first choice." He took her hand and sandwiched it between his own. "Look, Angel, wouldn’t you even consider giving up your undercover life to be with me?"

  She snatched her hand away. "Let me explain something to you. I told you that my father was a member of the mob and both my parents were killed when he tried to pull out. What I didn’t tell you was…" She paused, then her eyelids fell closed as the sudden flare of anger faded and unwelcome memories flooded through her. "I… was there when it happened."

  Frank watched Angel pull her legs closer to her chest and press her chin tightly to her knees. He felt a sudden chill in the pit of his stomach. What she was about to tell him would not be pleasant.

  "I was lucky they didn’t see me when they charged into our house," she continued, a deadly calm to her voice. "The thugs must have figured a punk kid like me, all of fifteen years old, was probably out on the streets making trouble." She clenched her fist around a small stone laying by her hand. "My mother had been helping me with my homework when we heard them come in." She raked her fingers through the sand, leaving deep grooves. "She pushed me into a closet and told me to stay there."

  Angel’s jaw quivered. "I was so afraid." Her voice had diminished to a hoarse whisper. Tears swelled from her eyes. "Oh, God! I was such a coward."

  "No, Angel, you were just a scared kid." Frank slid beside her. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, trying to infuse some warmth into her frigid limbs.

  "My mother started screaming and I heard my father pleading with them to stop." She shook her head, looking like a soul lost in time. "Her screams went on and on and on…" She covered her ears as though she could stop the sound that tortured her from the past. Tears flowed freely now, but she ignored them. Frank wanted to reach out to her, to pull her from her waking nightmare… a nightmare that was all the more horrific because it was real. "But you know… you know what was the worst?"

  Frank’s arm came around her and he pulled her to his side. He wanted to stop her, to tell her not to do this to herself… but he realized that would only help him. He didn’t want to see her suffer like this. But Angel needed to tell someone. She’d come this far. He had to see her through the rest.

  She gulped in a breath of air, then continued in little bursts. "It was… when the screams stopped. I… knew I shouldn’t feel that way, but… it meant that…" She clutched Frank’s sleeve, screwing the fabric into a spiral snake. "Oh, God, it meant her pain had stopped."

  He pulled her against his body, stroking her hair. "It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right." Stupid words. Senseless words. He cursed himself. Of course, it wasn’t all right. But there was nothing he could say — nothing he could do — to make it all right. To ease her pain.

  "But, don’t you see, Frank?"

  He didn’t like the glazed look in her eyes, the cold look of death.

  "As long as she cried out, she was still alive and… and that meant there was still hope. As long as she was still alive, I could have done something, I —"

  "No, Angel. You couldn’t have done anything."

  "Yes, I —"

  He shook her slightly, desperate to draw her back to now, out of the past, out of her private hell.

  "No," he said firmly. "If you had stepped out of that closet, you’d be dead now, right along with her. That’s not what she would have wanted, Angel." He pushed back a few strands of her riotous curls. "Cindy," he corrected, remembering her real name, the name her mother would have called her. Angel’s gaze shot to Frank’s and for a moment they connected — really connected. For that brief time, Frank thought he could see into her soul — and what he saw troubled him. Too large a burden lay on such a small pair of shoulders.

  "Frank?" she whispered.

  "You have nothing to feel guilty about. Cindy, there was nothing you could have done."

  Her head fell forward, resting against his chest and great wracking sobs shook her frame. He held her and crooned comforting words, stroking her hair, holding her close while she let out the grief that had darkened her soul far too long. She’d probably never told anyone what she’d told him tonight. She’d probably never had anyone she could tell. The authorities would have gotten the facts, but the anger and frustration, the guilt — she’d have hidden those away.

  His heart throbbed knowing she’d chosen to tell him, that she trusted him enough. The need to be there for her burrowed into his soul, starting an ache that he knew would transcend time. God, he wanted to be the one she turned to. Always.

  Slowly, she pulled away a couple of inches. Her voice quiet and calm, she started talking again. "After tha
t, I heard my father sobbing. A gun went off, then… silence wrapped around me in that dark closet… a choking, chilling silence." She rubbed at her upper arms. "The police found me later — I don’t know how long — still in the closet. I couldn’t make myself come out. I couldn’t…" She clutched at the fabric of his shirt. "…face the blood. Couldn’t face —" Her knuckles whitened at her tightening grip. "Oh, God, Frank. I relived that night for years. I was afraid to go to sleep at night for fear of seeing them again… seeing… what those butchers had done to them."

  Frank’s stomach churned violently at the thought of the gruesome sight that held Angel in its grip. His hands clenched into fists as he longed to get his hands on the bastards who had caused Angel this kind of suffering. Feeling her shift against him, he thrust the thoughts aside, realizing he had to concentrate on Angel, on helping her through this. He tightened his arms around her, pressing her face against his chest and tenderly stroking her hair.

  "Angel. Cindy, I wish… If I could only…"

  "No. Don’t worry about me, Frank. It was a long time ago."

  When he looked at her, he was shocked to see his concern for her mirrored back in her warm, brown eyes. How could she be worried about him while still suffering from her own personal nightmare?

  "Cindy…"

  Her lips curled up in a tiny smile. "Frank. I think you should stick with Angel, okay?" She drew her finger down his cheek all the way to his chin. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Thanks for listening."

  "Anytime, Angel."

  She sat back against the rock they shared and sighed. "You have a question you want to ask me, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes."

  "It may not be the right time."

  "Go ahead, Frank. Right now, I think I could face anything."

  He picked up a stone and flung it across the sand, watching the water turn blood red with the dying rays of the sun.

  "Angel, how did you ever come to work undercover? How could you possibly bring yourself to work with the same kind of people who had killed you parents?"