by Cassie Miles
“I told the officers how scary it was—being a woman alone and all. And they bought it. Actually, they were fairly nice about the whole thing.” She spoke with incredible sweetness for a woman who had just come face-to-face with her first murder victim and her first grilling from the cops. “And, you know, I’m lucky as sin that they didn’t want to see those yellow pieces of paper I’ve been keeping my notes on. Those were in my purse, too.”
“But not anymore?”
“On my way home, I tore them up into tiny pieces and tossed them in a trash can.”
“Why? I thought that was your organization?”
“Too dangerous to carry that stuff around.” She tapped her forehead. “It’s all up here.”
He preferred that method himself, but he didn’t agree that all of her skill was in her head. It was also in her bright blue eyes that were so adept at observation, in her quick hands and in her warm heart, where she knew intuitively what was right and what was wrong.
She was made for this kind of work, he thought. She was made to be the perfect other half for him.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked. “Don’t angels eat?”
“We don’t need to,” he said. “It’s a pleasure, and I eat sometimes because I like the taste.”
“Like smoking?”
“Same deal, precious. Angels aren’t affected by time or disease or aging or bodily needs. Our physical forms are always the same, always perfectly functioning.”
“You never gain weight?” She shoveled a forkful of chow mein into her mouth. “Never catch a cold?”
“That’s why they call it heaven.”
After she finished her dinner and splashed cold water on her face, Liz claimed to be ready for more action. “Sarah’s place?” she said.
Being a detective was one thing, but he noticed how her eyelids drooped. Her posture was slouching instead of her usual shoulders-thrown-back pose. “Not tonight,” he said firmly. “You need some rest.”
“No, I’m fine. I’ve read enough crime novels to know that the best leads are found within the first forty-eight hours after a crime is committed.”
“Tomorrow is soon enough. We can visit Sarah and, if you’re up for the real boredom of detective work, we’ll stake out Hector’s house.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not just saying that, are you? You’re not going to put me to bed, then go flitting off to do your own investigating?”
“No,” he said. “Now that the police are involved, everything is complicated. As you pointed out, the coppers are going to be doing their own interviews and stakeouts. There’s no need for us to bump heads with them at every corner.” Dash had been through enough murder investigations to know better. “It’s best if we leave them a clear playing field.”
“But we could do it better,” she said.
“You bet we could. And that’s not because we’re so slick,” he said. “We’ve got the inside track on information.”
“You mean Agatha?”
“That’s right, Agatha the angel. You hit it right on the nose.”
“Oh, Dash,” she said with a heavy sigh. “When are you going to back off on this angel story?”
“Wish I could, sweetheart.”
For the first time in his remembered existence, he envied mortal men. If he was mortal, she’d believe him. She’d trust him. If he was mortal, he would have no hesitation in founding a relationship with her, maybe making love to her. That thought was so delicious that he savored it for a moment. Making love to Elizabeth. Heaven took many forms, he thought, and this would be one of them.
“All right, Dash. You might as well tell me about it,” she said as she headed toward the leather couch and stretched out on the cushions. “Have you been an angel for all eternity?”
“Only since the 1930s.” He took the chair opposite the sofa and stretched out his legs to rest his heels on the coffee table. “I was an angel before that, but I wasn’t assigned to the Avenging branch. There were a bunch of choirs and harps and tasks. I don’t remember it very well.”
“So, you’ve been a private eye since the 1930s.” She grinned at the ceiling. “That’s why you act like Bogart. His Sam Spade was the quintessential private eye of the time.”
“I liked his style,” Dash admitted. “Sam Spade was cool and smart and he always knew right from wrong. He wasn’t scared to make the tough decisions, even when he knew it would hurt.”
“Like you,” she said.
“And you, sweetheart. You’ve got the instincts.”
“Really?” She brightened. “Do you really think I’ve got a talent for being a private investigator?”
“I hate to say it, but yes. There’s some skills you could brush up on. For instance, I’ve never seen you fire that gun you were dragging around. And your interview technique could use some polish. But you’ve got it, Liz. You understand justice.”
“So I could do this work,” she said. “Liz Carradine, private eye. Dash, you’ve got to recommend me at your offices.”
“I already have. The boss—” he decided not to mention that the boss was St. Michael “—he actually looked as if he was considering the possibility.”
“Then I’ve got a new career, the kind of job I’ve always wanted, something with excitement and adventure. Could I always work with you?”
“Count on it.”
She lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “But there’s this whole angel thing, isn’t there? I mean, does everybody at your office think they’re angels? Is that a job requirement?”
“Used to be. But things change.”
“Let’s have it, Dash. Get all this angelic weirdness out on the table.”
“At my office, on Logan Street, the boss is always looking for good operatives. And he hasn’t had much luck in recruiting from the ranks of the angels. They don’t have an edge, if you know what I mean. Or they want to be Avengers for personal reasons.” He thought of Cherie and her desire to take on solid form. “A lot of Guardian Angels think they can do this, but they can’t.”
“Guardian Angels?” She frowned. “So there are Guardian Angels, too?”
“And Ministering Angels, who work a lot in hospitals. And Cherubs. And Choirs. And Scholars who do inspiring. The heavenly host, you know. They’re usually around when you need them.”
“Strange that I’ve never seen one before you.”
“Invisible,” he explained.
“Let me have the whole story. I’m in the mood for a fairy tale.”
During the next few hours, he told her what he knew about the ancient hierarchy of the angelic realms, the rules and regulations about sin, the limitations and the freedoms. Like flight. It was hard to put the sensation of flying into words, and while he talked, Dash realized that he could never give that up.
He needed to stay an angel. It suited him. It fulfilled his nature. But if he stayed an angel, could he stay with Liz? How could he give her up? And how could he stop being who he was?
“Now,” she said, “tell me about yourself. What have you been doing since the 1930s when you decided to become as cool as Bogie?”
“You’re tired, precious. You ought to go to bed.”
“I want to hear. I’ll try to stay awake.”
But she lost the battle. He was barely through his war stories when her eyelids clamped shut.
He fell silent, watching her as she slept. The emotions that rose in his chest were almost painful in their intensity. He admired her courage and intelligence, and he adored the way she looked with her long brown hair spilling over her face. She was a beauty, all right. The curve of her slender waist entranced him. He liked her small, neat hands. And those legs! She had the longest, most graceful stems he’d ever seen.
He moved nearer to her, hovering above her. His mouth poised above hers, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. Dash was so drawn to her that he could scarcely hold back. He longed to make love to her, to give her the most exquisite pleasure a man can give to a woma
n.
He had no right! If he touched her, if he had sex with her, the heavens would surely open and he’d be snatched into terrible retribution. But how could these emotions be wrong when they felt so right?
Caught on the prongs of a moral dilemma, he needed to go deep within himself to find the answers.
Gently, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
Still sleeping, she instinctively snuggled against his chest, and he groaned with his desire for her, for her happiness. And for his own.
When he stretched her out on the bed, he considered undressing her so she would be more comfortable as she slept. Immediately, he abandoned the idea. That temptation would be too much for him. He removed only her shoes, then gently covered her.
For most of the night, he stayed beside the bed, watching her sleep and wondering what would become of them.
Chapter Twelve
It was Sunday, usually Dash’s favorite day of the week. Though the rules and regulations did not strictly require a day of rest, he liked to observe that idea, taking off one day for quiet contemplation. Usually on a Sunday he would fly, invisible, to several churches and listen to the choirs singing. Corny though it was, he enjoyed organ music, especially when the choir director threw out all the stops and blasted the music to the heavens.
He and Liz took a long stroll, passing several churches, and she asked one of those deep theological questions that had tortured humanity forever. “So, Dash, if you’re really an angel, tell me a secret. Which religion is on the fast track to heaven?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“I’m an Avenging Angel, Liz. A fighter. A warrior. All those decisions about the weight of sin are better left to the bureaucrats, the pencil pushers and the bean counters.”
She laughed, and the sound of her laughter was sweeter to him than the combined singing of a dozen celestial choirs. “Are you telling me that there’s a division of angels who do nothing but keep track of us mortals and tally up when we’re dead to decide what’s going to happen next?”
“It’s computerized, I think. But I don’t have anything to do with that.”
“You’re crazy, Dash. But, God help me, I’m beginning to enjoy your craziness.”
When she easily looped her arm through his, he had to concentrate mightily to keep his desire for her at bay. When his arm brushed the side of her breast, he could feel a heavy excitement building within him. He patted her hand and disentangled himself from her grasp. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what? Hold hands?”
“If I touch you, I feel like I’m going to lose it, precious. My will is strong, but not that strong.”
“Well, all right. If you’re going to be that way, let’s get back to the case.” A tiny frown tugged the corners of her lips. “Or is there some kind of angelic restriction about working on Sunday?”
“It’s not a hard and fast rule.”
“Lucky for us,” she said wryly. “Let’s head out to Sarah’s. If nothing else, I want to offer her my support in dealing with Jack’s murder.”
When Liz parked her little red Honda on the street outside the house that had once belonged to Agatha, she was the fourth car on the street, not counting the three television news team vans. Members of the press and camera crews stood in clusters, talking among themselves. “Must be a slow news day,” she muttered. “How are we going to get past this mob? It’ll take a minor miracle.”
“No problem. Minor miracles are my business,” Dash said. “Let’s go.”
“What do you mean, let’s go? Do you think we can just stroll through these people? If they’re hovering around Sarah like this, they’re surely going to want to ask me questions. I’m the person who found Jack’s body.”
“Nobody will bother you,” he said.
“And why not?”
He grinned broadly. “You’re invisible.”
“Oh, sure.”
He came around to her side of the car and opened the door for her. “Stick close to me, precious.”
Though she didn’t believe for a minute that they had actually dematerialized, she couldn’t explain how they were able to stroll casually past the several people who were drinking coffee in convenience store cups and chatting among themselves.
When they stood in the midst of a crew, Liz turned to a well-groomed television news reporter and asked, “Excuse me, but do you have the time?”
“He can’t hear you,” Dash said.
“That’s impossible.”
She reached over to tug on the sleeve of the reporter’s navy blue blazer, but her fingers had no sensation. She couldn’t feel the material. It was as if she could push right through him and he wouldn’t know she was there.
“This is scary,” she said. “Am I a ghost?”
“It’s a trick of the light and energy forms,” he said. “Come on, let’s get moving. I don’t like to do this for a long period of time.”
“But this is amazing.”
She jumped up and down. Though she was aware of her own physical movement, she didn’t feel the pavement beneath her feet. “How can this be?”
“You want to investigate? Or do a tap dance?”
“I want to know how you’re pulling this trick. It’s got to be a trick of some kind. I can’t really be invisible.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
He pointed her toward the door. When they stood on the stoop, she balked. “We’re not going to walk through the closed door, are we? Because I don’t know if I can do that without being completely freaked out.”
“You’re okay,” he said.
He opened the door and ushered her quickly inside. As soon as she was in the foyer, Liz felt solid again. She had a sense of gravity she’d never realized before. What had happened out there? Had she really and truly been invisible?
“Ready?” he questioned. “Let’s talk with Sarah.”
“Was this like some kind of out-of-body experience?”
“It happened,” he said. “Accept it and move on.”
“You must have done this with mirrors or something. Don’t get me wrong, but it’s an illusion.”
His eyes snapped into sharp focus. His voice was as harsh as a slap in the face. “When will you learn to trust me? Believe in me, Elizabeth.”
“But I-”
“I am the only truth.”
And that was what frightened her more than anything, more than facing Hector, than talking to the police. If she trusted Dash and believed in him, she would lose her distance. And she would be closer to him than she’d ever been to anyone in her life.
Liz turned away from him and called out, “Sarah? It’s me, Liz.”
“Liz?” Sarah appeared in the hallway leading from the kitchen. She rushed toward them and grasped Liz in a clumsy, one-armed hug.
Tears coursed down Sarah’s cheeks. For a moment, she wept violently. Deep, gasping sobs shuddered through her body.
When Liz tried to comfort her by patting her on the shoulder, Sarah winced.
“What happened?” Liz asked. “Did you hurt your arm?”
“It’s not important. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. This has been terrible, just terrible. First Agatha. Now Jack. What’s become of our family? It’s like there’s some awful curse on the Orbens.”
Liz knew it was nothing so dramatic. However, after having just passed invisibly through a crowd, she wouldn’t doubt anything. “I kind of expected Gary to be here with you,” she said.
“He was, last night. But now he’s at the office, trying to put things in order. He says there’s a ton of paperwork to be done.”
Gary’s behavior sounded cold and unfeeling to Liz. He ought to be here with the woman he supposedly loved. Quite obviously, Sarah needed company.
“This paperwork he’s digging through,” Dash said. “Does it have to do with Jack’s death?”
Bleary-eyed, she nodded. “There’s some kind of insura
nce policy, and Gary says the company needs the cash infusion to make up for loss of sales due to Jack’s…” Her voice cracked. “His demise.”
“I’m wondering,” Dash said. “Do you happen to know who inherits the bulk of Jack’s stock?”
Liz gave him a hard, dissuading look. How could Dash be so insensitive and unfeeling? Now was not the time to discuss the case with Sarah. She was distraught.
Still, Sarah answered. “His inheritance? I’m not sure. Probably his children from his first marriage. All I know is that Gary is executor of the estate. That’s why he’s so nervous about getting everything right. It’s usually a lawyer who’s appointed executor, you know.”
“Yes,” Dash said quietly, “I know. Why did Jack choose Gary for the job?”
“Because he’s good with money.”
“I don’t know the two men well,” Dash said. “But they didn’t seem to get along. Wasn’t that why you were nervous about announcing your engagement?”
“What are you saying?” Sarah growled like a mother bear protecting her cubs. Obviously, she needed to cherish her memory of Jack. And to defend her fiancé, as well. “Sure, Jack and Gary had their spats, but underneath it all, they were friends, trusted co-workers.”
“Of course they were,” Liz said gently. “Now, let’s go into the kitchen and make ourselves a cup of coffee, and you can relax.” She frowned at Dash and placed her arm around Sarah, who winced with pain at the touch of Liz’s hand. “Are you hurt, Sarah? What happened?”
“I’ve just been so upset, you know. I stumbled and fell and knocked my arm against the coffee table.”
They sat around the kitchen table, and Liz found herself feeling troubled by Sarah’s explanation of her injury. She’d once been a battered wife who covered her abuse by claiming to be clumsy. Was it happening to her again? Sometimes abused women were attracted to the same sort of men. Abusers. But Gary Gregory?
Liz didn’t think the accountant had enough fire in his belly to lash out. Gary always seemed totally preoccupied by his roses or his figures.
When Sarah sat down, Liz reached over and took her hand. “We’ve spoken to Sister Muriel, and she told us why you are so in favor of turning this house into a shelter. Your first husband beat you.”
