by Apryl Baker
The first time he’d met her, she’d been wearing worn jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt of her brother’s, with flip flops flaunting hot pink toenails. They’d been sticking out from under a red 1969 Chevy Camaro. At first, he’d thought she was sixteen or so, but when he’d gone to the strip club that night with his new acquaintances, he’d been blindsided. The girl wasn’t a kid at all, and damn, she’d had a hell of a body that stayed with him.
What hadn’t changed was all that fiery red hair and those cat eyes of hers. And her temper. People had fled in the wake of that temper. He’d witnessed some of the Sicarro family’s scariest drug dealers cower in fear when she got good and angry. Granted, she hadn’t known who they were. She might have suspected they were not on the up and up, but she didn’t know Peter had gotten in bed with Miami’s biggest cartel family, and she was blistering the hides of drug dealers, hitmen, and cleaners.
“What’s the deal with you two, Kincaid?” Bailey moved to stand in front of him, blocking his view of Angel, who was now working with the sketch artist. “Why did she accuse you of killing her brother?”
“Back when I was a detective in Miami, I went undercover in a drug cartel. Her brother and I became friends. He was just a messed up kid who had no idea who he’d really gotten himself involved with. When we busted the drug ring, I made a deal with Peter. Testify against his boss and he’d do no jail time and go into witness protection.”
“But they got to him first?”
Kade nodded. “Yeah. Four of the five witnesses died the same week we arrested everyone. Charges were dismissed when the last witness refused to testify. Case didn’t even make it to trial.”
“And she blames you for his death.” Bailey nodded, his expression understanding, but tinged with pity. Kade didn’t deserve his pity. Angel had every right to blame him. Hell, he blamed himself for it. It was what haunted his dreams at night, what he tried to drown in whiskey so he could sleep. Peter hadn’t been only a witness. He’d been one of Kade’s best friends, and he’d trusted Kade to keep him safe. But he’d let him down, and Kade would live with that guilt forever.
But he could do one thing for Peter, and that was to keep his sister safe.
He’d be damned if he failed this time. Not when it came to Angel.
“Have you heard back on the police protection yet?” He sidestepped Bailey so the man was no longer blocking his view. Kade smiled when her nose scrunched up. It was a habit of hers when she got aggravated. The deep sigh that rolled out of the artist was enough to tell Kade Angel was being difficult. She tended to be a perfectionist in everything. Used to irritate the hell out of him.
“Not yet. I left her a voicemail. She’s dealing with the Chief of Detectives and the press right now. It might be a bit before she gets around to calling me back.”
“Angel’s not going home without a uni on her.”
“I agree. We can ask her to stay until…”
“No.” Kade shook his head. “I’ll take her home.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Bailey glanced over at Angel. “She doesn’t really like you very much.”
“I don’t care.”
“Detective Bailey?” The sketch artist waved them over. “We think we have it.”
That was quick. Less than twenty minutes. Maybe they should have waited until the morning to do this. There was no way it would be an accurate composite. The sketch washed his doubts away. It was so detailed and precise, anyone walking past this guy on the street would recognize him. Hopefully.
“She’s good.” The sketch artist drew their attention back to her. “Knew exactly what she wanted. Fastest I’ve ever drawn up a suspect.”
“This is excellent, Miss Lemoraux.” Bailey took the sketch he was offered and studied it. “He has a scar?”
Angel nodded. “On the right side of his nose. Sort of looks like fingernail scratch.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it, given his line of extracurricular activities.” Bailey took a snapshot of the drawing with his phone before hurrying to the door and calling for an officer. The photo would hit every police and news wire in the state. He really had made his first mistake. Now all Kade needed to do was keep Angel safe until he caught the guy.
“We’re arranging police protection for you and Miss Brown as well.” Bailey picked at the button on his shirt. “I’m just waiting on the approval from my captain.”
“That’s really not necessary…”
“Yes, it is necessary.” Kade interrupted her. “He knows your name, milka. You’re not safe until we catch him.”
“Angel girl, don’t fight them on this.” Pops put a hand on her arm to stop the argument on her lips. “The boy’s right. This ain’t nothing to mess around with. If they want to give you a babysitter, then let them. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe.”
All the fight went out of her, and Kade almost thanked the old man, but he kept his expression stern. She was going to fight him on this, and he knew it, but this was one fight she wouldn’t win.
“Get your things, Angel.”
She frowned. “But the detective just said…”
“Yes, I know what he said. He’ll be waiting here with Miss Brown while I take you home.”
“The hell you will.”
“The hell I won’t, Mrs. Kincaid.” He stalked over to her and braced his arms on either side of her on the desk. “You can either leave here willingly or you can leave across my shoulder for the entire Boston area to see on the morning news. Your choice.”
“Mrs. Kincaid?” Bailey’s strangled voice drifted to him, but he ignored it and focused his entire attention on the spitting mad redhead in front of him.
“I am not your wife!”
“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. I never got the marriage annulled.”
“But it wasn’t real.” Her eyes widened. “It was a lie…part of your undercover operation.”
“I used my legal name, Angel. You are Mrs. Kincaid.”
“Bastard.”
“I am a bastard, my darling wife, but I’m a bastard who’s going to keep you safe despite yourself.”
“You can’t make me.”
“I can, and I will.”
“Uh, Kincaid…”
“Shut up, Bailey.” The bite in his voice stopped any argument that might have been on the tip of Bailey’s tongue. “What’s it going to be, Angelique? Do you walk out of here, or do you get carried out with your ass in the air for the cameras to see?”
“I hate you.”
“I know you do, sweetheart.”
She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. He forced himself to ignore it and waited. When she opened her eyes, the resignation in them was all the answer he needed.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Three
Angel climbed into Kade’s SUV, grateful to be behind the tinted windows and away from the press. They’d started shouting questions at her and snapping photos as soon as she stepped out of the bar. Apparently, they already knew who she was and what she’d seen, thanks to some loudmouth. It was the first time all night she’d been grateful for Kade’s presence. He’d shielded her from the cameras and bullied their way through the crowd.
There was no way, come morning, the serial killer wouldn’t know exactly who she was. Her face would be all over the place. How had this happened? She’d been minding her own business and landed slap in the middle of a nightmare. With Kade added into the mix just to torture her. It wasn’t fair.
She glanced over when he slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. The overhead lights came on, and she saw the tired lines marring his face. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and had half a mind to ask if he should be driving, but she was too tired to fight. Kade never drove drunk. It was one of the things she remembered about him. His little brother had gotten into a car accident, thanks to a drunk driver. He’d told her it was something that stayed with him, thinking he’d almost lost the kid because of someone�
��s irresponsibility.
“Where do you live, Angel?”
“A few blocks from here. Just turn right out of the parking lot then drive through three lights. Turn left on the fourth light. I live above the bakery on that street.”
The first fat drops of rain hit the windshield as they pulled out into traffic. The hard splat of the rain was the only sound as they drove. A bright flash of lightning lit up the road ahead of them. Angel could almost laugh if the situation weren’t so dire. The end of a truly horrible night would end in rain. So cliché, but so very appropriate. Perfect end to a perfect day.
She rubbed a hand across her face, trying to dispel some of the weariness. All the adrenaline had finally worn off, and she started to feel the effects of so much stress. First the serial killer, then Kade…it had been a hell of a night. Not to mention he’d somehow corralled her into agreeing to letting him take her home. Ass in the air. She wanted to chuckle, but it would only encourage him, and that was the last thing she wanted. Kade could go to hell and stay there.
It had been raining the first time she’d met Kade. The sound of the storm outside, along with Kade’s scent surrounding her, brought back those unwanted memories.
Peter had given her a car for her sixteenth birthday, a red 1969 Chevy Camaro, but the upkeep was up to her. Their parents died when she was fourteen, and Peter had stepped up at eighteen and raised her. He’d fought social services and won. No one was raising his little sister but him.
She’d taken auto shop in high school so she could learn to work on the car. Peter was clueless when it came to auto mechanics. He took his car to the shop. She did not have the luxury of doing that. The part time job she’d had in school barely covered insurance and gas. So she did the only thing she could. Angel learned how to work on cars.
What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and warn her nineteen-year-old self to run fast and far in the opposite direction of Kade Kincaid.
That day, March 3, 2009, she woke up to pouring down rain. It beat against the tin roof so hard it sounded like gunshots. She still lived with Peter in the small house they’d both grown up in. She’d planned on going over to community college this morning to enroll in their summer semester, but the rain had given her one more excuse not to do it. Peter kept arguing with her about college, nattering on that their parents wanted better for her than working nights at a strip club. She should be honoring their memory and getting the education they wanted her to have.
If he thought he could shame her, he was wrong. Some nights she made a grand, easy. Most nights she came home with at least five hundred in tips. There wasn’t another job around that paid nearly as well. Peter would just have to suck it up. College, she’d eventually do, but first she wanted to live a little, have some fun, and the job at the strip club made it possible. Sure, men she didn’t know saw her boobs and grabbed at her ass, but what did she care? Her mother always taught them to use their God-given assets, and for her, that happened to be her body. Probably not what her mother had in mind, but hey, it was Angel’s biggest advantage, so she used it.
Rolling out of bed, she showered then made herself a bowl of cereal, contemplating what to do for the rest of the day. She didn’t have to be at work until eight, and with the rain killing her plans for the day, Angel found herself bored. She flipped through Star Magazine, but the lives of celebrities did nothing for her today. Restless. That was the word she’d use to describe her mood. She felt restless, like she was waiting for something, but not sure what.
After a good two hours wasting time on Gossip Girl reruns, she’d finally decided to change the oil in her car. It was due, and she’d put it off long enough. Changing into a pair of old jeans and one of her brother’s t-shirts, she went into the garage and jacked the car up enough so she could get under it and work.
She’d just finished draining the oil when she heard the garage door spring to life. She jumped and sloshed a little of the oil out of the pan she’d used for the old oil. Dammit. This was one of her favorite shirts, and now she’d have to spend all day babying the stain to get it out.
“Angel!” Her brother’s voice was loud in the small space of the garage.
Did he really not see her feet sticking out from under the jacked-up car?
“Is that her?”
Now, that voice, she didn’t recognize. It was deep and rich, with an accent. Russian, maybe? It was hard to tell from under the car.
“Angel, get your butt out here and meet Kade.”
Leave it to Peter to bring people over when she was greasy. Not that any of his friends were cute, anyway. Well, a few were, but she didn’t like the way they leered at her. Just because she worked as a stripper didn’t mean she was a whore. She’d only slept with one guy in her life, and that was her high school boyfriend of three years. It ended when he went away to college over the summer.
She scooted out from under the car, the bowl balanced haphazardly on her chest. Someone grabbed it before it tipped over, and she looked up to say thank you, but the words froze in her throat.
This was not a cute guy. No. This was a man. A very sexy man. She blinked slowly, trying to sort out what she was seeing. He winked at her, his grin sporting dimples. Dimples. It was the only thing her brain was capable of focusing on. He had dimples.
“Angel, are you drunk?”
“Drunk?” she murmured, still unable to tear her gaze away from the sexiest piece of man she’d ever seen.
“Yeah, drunk.” The sarcasm in her brother’s voice was hard to miss, but she ignored it. The view was too good to let his bad mood spoil it.
“No, I’m not drunk.” His short cropped dark hair reminded her of rich, dark fudge. Broad shoulders hinted at a football player’s physique. Tall, Good Lord, he was tall. He towered over her brother who was six feet. He’d dwarf her.
“Then why are you still lying on the ground staring at Kade?”
She blinked again and her face flamed up. Shit. She was lying here like an idiot, staring. She sat up and scratched her nose, which had taken to itching. Something it tended to do when she was embarrassed.
Peter sighed, but the stranger winked at her. “You’ve got something just there, on your nose.”
What? She reached up, but before her fingers could touch her face, she saw the oil on them. Sweet baby Jesus. She’d smeared oil on her nose. Her face burned hotter and she ducked her head, getting up faster than if her ass was on fire.
Without a word, she ran from the garage and slammed the bathroom door behind her once she’d made it upstairs. Her reflection confirmed her worst fear. Her face was splotchy red, and her nose had a big old oil streak down one side.
She looked ridiculous with motor oil on her face, not to mention the double plaits she’d done her hair in. Why had she decided to do that? Her mom used to braid her hair like that when she was twelve. Shit, shit, shit. What was his name? Kade. That was what Peter called him. Kade had to think she was just a kid the way she looked today. She’d heard them laughing as she’d fled. Peter probably told him some snarky joke about his kid sister.
Dammit.
No way in hell was she going downstairs until they left. She’d embarrassed herself enough for one day, but she couldn’t erase Kade’s dimpled grin from her mind. It stayed with her all day.
Angel could no more stop the small smile from creeping in thinking about the past than she could stop the dawn from breaking.
Kade glanced over at Angel as he turned at the red light. He’d watched her from the corner of his eye the entire time they’d been in the car. She’d been lost in her thoughts. Maybe thinking of their past? He couldn’t stop thinking about it either. Memories had broken past the dam he’d built around them and flooded his mind the moment he’d locked eyes with his Angel.
While he hated to interrupt whatever thought made her smile, he slowed and asked, “Is this the place?”
“Yeah. Pull around the back, though. You’ll get a ticket if you park in front.”
Kade did as she directed and found the back lot as dark as he’d feared. Anyone could snatch her from here. One dim light in the center of the back of the building fought the darkness, and it didn’t so much as make a dent. There was no way he was going to let her stay here by herself. She’d just have to stay pissed at him.
He parked the car and got out, going around to open the door for Angel, but she was already climbing out. It was another quirk of hers. He’d always tried to open doors for her, and she’d beat him to it. She maintained she wasn’t some debutante who couldn’t do things for herself. He just thought it was a man’s place to do those things for a woman. It was what he’d been taught by his father in Russia, and that had been hammered home by his uncle once he’d come to the States to go to school.
Angel stalked ahead of him, her back rigid. She still had a figure that made his mouth water. And that cute little ass of hers bounced as she stomped up the stairs. He shook his head. He needed to get his mind out of the gutter and focus on the situation at hand. The woman was in danger, and she needed protecting. She didn’t need him lusting after her.
The small apartment he followed her into was neat, tidy, and so very Angel. The floors were white, and he took his shoes off before he could muddy up the carpets. He noticed Angel did the same. She still wasn’t speaking to him. She moved from the front door to the kitchen where she flicked on the lights, and he took a moment to look around.
She hadn’t gotten over her purple obsession. There were hints of it everywhere, from the little purple flowers in the white curtains to the deep purple accent pillows thrown on the couch. Textbooks were strewn across the coffee table, her laptop resting next to them. A vase of fresh tulips sat on the end table next to the door, a purple dish beside it where she’d tossed her keys. The place was small, but it was cozy. He could imagine her sitting here late at night, the TV on low, studying. He and Peter both had wanted her to go to college. He was glad she’d finally done it.
