by Stacy Gail
“I think Twist and Ivar have a lot in common.” Angel shook her head and had to laugh in a self-deprecating way. “Part of me still can’t believe it. I’m so used to seeing him as an enemy who’s constantly out to get me that there are times when it’s hard to wrap my mind around what’s going on between us now.”
“And what is going on? Besides great sex, I mean.”
“For one thing, I’m going to dinner at his parents’ house tomorrow,” she said, and knew Scout understood the significance when the other woman’s eyes widened. “Apparently the Sunday family dinner is a huge tradition with the Santiago clan, and not to be missed.”
“He invited you to a family dinner? That is big.”
“I wouldn’t call it an invitation, exactly. More like he told me I was going and didn’t give any other options. Typical Twist,” she added on another half-laugh. “A week ago I would have been screeching over his control-freak issues. Now I’m finding it strangely adorable. Maybe I’m still concussed.”
“Either that, or you’re falling for him.”
“Oh, I’ve fallen,” she said, and shrugged when Scout’s jaw did a slow downward descent. “I’ve fallen, my defenses have fallen, my panties have fallen. You name it, it’s fallen. Kaboom.”
“You seem relatively okay with this huge evolution in your relationship.”
“More like I’m in shock, but in a good way, if that makes any sense.” Angel sighed and dropped her gaze to the practice skin she’d been working on. “I always felt everything more sharply when it came to Twist. Now I get why. There was always this crazy kind of passion simmering there just beneath the surface, and it pissed me off that he didn’t seem to feel it the way I did.”
“So, now that the passion’s being worked out the natural way, can I assume the hostilities are officially over?”
“I want them to be. Just like I want him to understand that he doesn’t have to try to control every last little thing I do in order for him to feel like everything’s in control. I’m still working on that last bit of trust, for both of us.”
“You’re also working on the coolest tat I think I’ve ever seen,” Scout muttered, craning her neck to see the synthetic practice skin Angel was fiddling with. “Oh my God, Angel, that’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like those colors fading into one another. Kind of ombre-like and subtle, with no outlines. What’s this for?”
“It’s just a technique I’ve perfected and now want to put into more designs. This one is going to be a rainbow ribbon that waves in a freeform pattern.”
“Could that be done as an ankle cuff?”
Angel looked down at it. “I don’t see why not.”
“Awesome. Practice on me.” Without hesitation, Scout hopped up onto the table and kicked her high heels off. “While you’re working on me, we can go over the new contract Payne had me get ready for you. Oh, and by the way, next time we go out, you’re buying. The way I figure it, you’re going to be rolling in the dough, baby.”
Half an hour later, Twist and Payne found them that way, with Angel completing a quarter of the wraparound design while Scout ignored her tablet in favor of laughing over the story of why Twist had been so cranky during the press conference earlier in the week. The grim expressions on the men’s faces, however, killed the hilarity in its tracks.
“There was another note, this time left on your car,” Twist told Angel without preamble, and held out a piece of paper to Angel. Still wearing the latex gloves she’d had on to tattoo Scout, she lost no time in reaching for it.
You’re still with that rabid dog, Oliver Santiago. Why? What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re in danger.
“Our new security guard spotted a tall guy in a ball cap putting it on your windshield,” Payne said when she looked up, shocked and suddenly cold all over. “At the time he thought it was just someone putting out fliers on cars, but then he thought that this was an odd time of night to be doing that sort of thing. So he went out into the parking lot and yelled at the dude to stay there so he could be questioned, which is pretty much a sure-fire way to make someone bolt.”
Scout made a sound of disgust. “No kidding. I think I need to review our new security guard’s references in more detail. Moves like that tell me he’s got the street smarts of a kindergartener.” Then her eyes sharpened. “Wait, did you say another note?”
But Angel had more pressing matters. “That’s all the security guard saw? A tall guy?”
“We’re still having problems with the lighting outside,” Payne muttered, looking disgusted. “I’ve already decided to cancel the House’s contract with that piece of shit security company we’re currently with, and find one that knows that the fuck they’re doing.”
“So the guard couldn’t see who it was?”
Payne shook his head. “The best he could do was describe the guy as a tall white man in a windbreaker and ball cap. He also said the dude had a funny way of running, like his feet were made of glass and he was afraid of breaking them.”
“Great,” Twist muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “A guy with sore feet. That really narrows it down.”
“What the hell is going on?” Scout scooted to the edge of the table, looking from one to the other in growing concern.
“Angel’s picked up a so-called guardian angel.” Twist’s face was more somber than she’d ever seen it, while his eyes were unreadable when he looked back to her. “We’ve called the police. This shit stops now.”
It was almost three in the morning when Angel followed Twist into his darkened, quiet house. Throughout the questioning by the police, she sensed Twist’s mood spiraling ever downward, to the point where he was almost mute. But he didn’t have to be a fountain of words for her to know that he was displeased. An ominous aura hovered around him like a black shroud, so much so she could practically see it.
It was a relief when the police finally went on their way with the note in a clear plastic evidence bag. She had high hopes that once the problem of her letter writer was left in the hands of the professionals, Twist would begin to enjoy the same sense of relief that she did.
If anything, he only grew more somber.
“I wish you had been okay with me driving my car tonight,” she said, as he locked the door, then went about the living room turning on lights. “I know you’re only looking out for me, and I appreciate that. But following you home in my car doesn’t seem like that big of a risk.”
“You don’t know that.” With a dark scowl shadowing his expression, he stared hard out the front window as if trying to remember all the neighborhood cars and looking for the one that was out of place. Then he reached over and snapped the blinds shut so hard it made her blink. “We don’t even know who this guy is or what he wants, except for you to be as far away from me as possible.”
“Twist, all he’s doing is making you so edgy and paranoid that you’re not going to be any more than an arm’s length away, and that’s something I’m happy to live with.” Tentatively she came up behind him to slip her arms around his waist, her cheek coming to rest against the hard, warm wall of his back. “Maybe I should thank him for that.”
“Thank him?” Instead of breaking the ice that she could feel forming around him, his body tensed until it was as though she had her arms wrapped around a boulder. “Your pen pal has noticed you because of me. He’s trying to get to you through me. And you want to thank him?”
“It was a joke, Twist.” She rubbed her cheek against his back, trying to massage some give into those hard muscles. She’d have better luck working softness into granite. “Just a joke, and a lame one at that. Sorry about that.”
“No.” A sigh heaved out of him before he moved to lace his hands through hers. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I just can’t see anything funny about this since I’m the one who’s let this bastard into your life.”
“What?” That shocked her enough to loosen her hold so she could move around to face him. “How did you mana
ge to come to that conclusion? You didn’t do anything to cause this.”
“He calls me Oliver Santiago,” he gritted out as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “He hasn’t called you by name, but he knows me well enough to call me Oliver Santiago.”
So he’d taken note of that as well. “That doesn’t prove that this has anything to do with you.”
“That proves I’m his main focus, and you’re this unnamed person he sees me with—a person he feels compelled to protect. From me.”
The memory of Joey and Novak explaining how the good guys have an instinct to protect women like her floated through her mind. “Well, he’s certainly going about it the wrong way, because all his stupid notes are doing is pushing me to be closer to you. Which is right where I want to be,” she added, once again sliding her arms around his middle.
His hands landed on her shoulders, and a vague note of disquiet chimed through her when it seemed he couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer, or push her away. “For now, that’s where I want you, too.”
She frowned.
For now?
“Being called Oliver reminds me of when I was in the system,” he went on, apparently oblivious that his words had made a chunk of ice drop into the pit of her stomach. “It’s my legal name, and nobody really gave a shit that I hated it. They just read it on a document, put it together with my inmate number, and that was it. This guy, though, is using it as if it’s the name I go by. That means he doesn’t know me in person. And he certainly doesn’t know you. I’ll bet he didn’t even know that was your car until you started it earlier tonight, and that’s when he decided to put the note on it. And that means he’s watching you, following you wherever you go.”
Grimly she did her best to push away the fear that bloomed at this possibility. “Since he knows your legal name, I would think he poses more of a threat to you than to me.”
“The one way he could hurt me, hurt me in ways that can’t ever be fixed, is through you, Angel. Don’t you get that? This guy sure as fuck does.”
That admission, despite being delivered in a tone filled with bottled-up rage, moved through her like a sweet miracle. “Twist—”
“You should be pissed as hell at me for letting this shithead into your life.”
Good grief. “Well, I’m not. What I am is exhausted. More than anything, what I want right now is to go to bed.”
For a moment he looked like he had every intention of arguing some more. Then with an impatient gesture he waved a hand toward the hall. “Bedroom’s that way, past the studio. Feel free to sleep on whichever side you want.”
Her skin iced over. “Let me rephrase. I want to go to bed with you.”
“I let a threat into my world once before, you know,” he said unexpectedly, making her blink in confusion as he regarded her with eyes so terrible they looked almost unrecognizable. “I won’t be responsible for that kind of agony again, Angel. I won’t. I swear I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”
“I believe you.” Alarm mingled with curiosity, and it burned through her to know what past threat he was talking about. But she wouldn’t ask, not now. His mood was too dangerous to deal with questions. “Right now, you can keep me safe in bed. And as for tomorrow…”
“What about tomorrow?”
“We let it take care of itself.” Determinedly she smiled and pulled him toward the hall, refusing to let him see that her pen pal had unnerved her. Added to that was the looming dinner with his family, an event that would make any girl nervous, so her plate was full. The last thing she needed now was her man trying to carry more than his fair share of the weight of the world on his shoulders. If she could distract him from doing that, even if only for a few hours, then that was exactly what she would do.
Chapter Twenty
“That should just about do it.” With an air of finality, Angel ran clear packing tape from its dispenser over the top of the box she’d packed full of what looked like ordinary desk junk to Twist’s way of thinking. The dusty, high curtains that belonged somewhere in the last century had also been pulled down and thrown out, and sunlight poured into the small wood paneled room. Around them were neatly stacked boxes marked “Office,” a rolled up rug that she’d taped tightly shut, a dinosaur-aged desktop and a collection of serious looking office furniture that she’d gone to the trouble of dusting.
That was Angel. If he ever had to move, she would be his number-one choice to call on for going above and beyond the call of duty.
Then again, Angel would be his choice for one hell of a lot.
Right now, that was his biggest problem.
Pulling himself out of his darkening thoughts, he glanced at his watch and gave a faint whistle. “I don’t believe it.”
She looked up from counting boxes and typing something down in her phone. “What?”
“It really did only take you a couple hours to finish packing things up. Just like you said.”
“I even have a couple minutes to spare.” Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she looked around the hollow-feeling room with a smile of satisfaction. “Just think, tomorrow the movers will be here in the morning, my parents will be back tomorrow around noon, and I will be officially done with this place.”
“Don’t forget you’ve got the handyman coming in at nine to switch out the pantry doorframe,” he added, closing the distance between them. “I wish I could be here with you when you let all these strangers into the house, but I’ve got my first concierge appointment tomorrow at nine as well. Are Joey and Novak available to be with you to play bodyguard?”
She scrunched her nose. “No, it’s playoff season. They’re flying to New York in the morning.”
“Then I’ll have either my dad or Nick here to keep you company while you’ve got people going in and out of the house.”
“I know you’re worried, but that’s not necessary—”
“Angel, even if that letter-writing asshole wasn’t jerking us around, I’d still insist on someone being here for you to keep you safe while strange men come in and out of this place,” he said, not in the mood to argue about it. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m pretty goddamn pissed that your parents don’t seem to have a clue that they’ve set you up for potential trouble by making you deal with all this in their stead. It’s like they think the whole fucking world is as safe as Candy Land.”
She grimaced. “They kind of… don’t live in the real world the way the rest of us do. And it doesn’t help that my mom’s always been a bit of a sweet little flake.”
“Sweet little flake or not, if her thoughtlessness ever puts you in danger, she forfeits the right to be anywhere near you.”
She gave him a smile brimming with self-assurance. “With Nick or your dad here, I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Even with someone here with you, I need you to be smart, okay? Before you let anyone in, I need you to ask who they are, who hired them, and what specific jobs they’ve been hired to do,” he went on while his guts churned themselves up into acid-filled knots. Logically he knew he was probably overreacting; the notes had never threatened Angel in any way, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping a tight lid on the situation so it never had the opportunity to boil out of control. “I also want you to have your phone with you at all times.”
“I always do.”
“In your hand, ready to dial for help if you need it,” he went on, then blew out a short breath when she just looked at him. “I should have told Payne I couldn’t do that concierge gig for this Monday. I’m the one who should be with you.”
“I can handle this,” she assured him, in that moment looking so small and ethereal it was all he could do to not lock her in the nearest basement for safekeeping. In her baggy, rolled-up denim overalls, a zombified My Pretty Pony T-shirt and neon pink Converse high-tops, she didn’t look like she could handle a hard-selling Girl Scout looking to unload her allotment of cookies.
But if he told her that, he was sure
she would knock his block off.
“So, the concierge service starts tomorrow.” A smile curled her mouth as she looked up at him. “I can’t believe that was such a big deal to me a couple of weeks ago. Are you looking forward to your first in-home tattooing session?”
“Considering I’d rather be here with you, not really.” Then he sucked in a calming breath and tried to get his damn one-track mind onto another rail. “When I finish up my in-home tat session, I’ll swing by here to take you to work. Luckily my concierge appointment doesn’t live too far from where we are now.” It was definitely lucky, he reminded himself. If she needed help, he was no more than a few minutes away.
What he tried not to think about was how much damage one human being could do to another in just a few minutes.
Unbidden in his mind, memories cascaded in—the harsh glare of the emergency room’s fluorescent lighting, the stringent scent of disinfectant mixed with the coppery tang of blood, his mother’s sobs and his father’s broken voice, and the relentlessly calm questioning of the police.
And Essie. Her beautiful face swollen and unrecognizable. Teeth smashed to a bloody pulp, raw and ragged stitches holding her scalp in place, her nose a bloody, misshapen mess. And the terrifying rasp she made as she spoke, putting a name to the monster responsible.
The world as he’d known it had ended then—right there as he stood in the ER supporting his mother so she wouldn’t fall. Innocence was lost for his entire family, but even more so for Essie.
And himself.
