Faithless Angel
Kimberly Raye
Leisure Books (1998)
* * *
Tags: Fiction, General, Contemporary, Fantasy, Romance, Paranormal
Disillusioned by the death of her young ward, Faith Jansen retreated from the world and vowed never to love again. Then a handsome stranger with a dark secret showed up on her doorstep. She found herself reaching out, drawn by his brooding intensity and the mesmerizing light in his eyes. Little did she know that Jesse Savage was more than a man. He'd lost everything and now all he wanted was peace from his own haunted past. Embittered and unhappy, Faith was his only ticket back to the Afterlife--for if he could restore her spirit, perhaps he could save his own.Falling in love with Faith wasn't part of Jesse's mission. But sometimes, even the best-laid plans take a turn for the better. And when passion sparked beneath a starry Texas sky, two lost souls found each other--and heaven on earth.
STORMY WEATHER
Faith stood in the darkness, her sadness suffocating her and making her breaths come in short, harsh gasps. The rain beat down on her, but it couldn’t drown the memories or quench the fire that raged inside, destroying the apathy she’d fought so hard to maintain.
“Faith.” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. At first, she thought she’d imagined it, but then she saw large hands close over hers, felt a massive chest pressed to her back, and heard Jesse’s familiar voice.
“Leave me alone,” she cried, her voice fierce, raw with a hurt she yearned to ignore. “Just leave me the hell alone!”
She wrenched her hands from his. Whirling, she lashed out at him, anger and pain and fear making her fight when she wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground and dissolve into the mud puddle beneath her feet. Anything to escape the emotions that she swore she’d never feel again.
Something flickered in Jesse’s dark eyes; then he whispered, the sound barely audible above the rain, “I know what you’re feeling, Faith. I know.” And then his mouth swooped down and his lips captured hers.
FAITHLESS
ANGEL
KIMBERLY RAYE
Copyright © 1999, 2011 Kimberly Raye All rights reserved
For Bonnie Tucker, Jan Freed and Kathleen McKeague, for all the red ink and inspiring trust. You guys pushed me to the next level and I’m forever in your debt!
And for Gerry Bartlett, who lends her help and advice and willingly inconveniences herself time after time. You’re the best!
And special thanks to Carol Gooden with Children’s Protective Services in Houston, Texas, for lending her expertise and answering all my questions, no matter how trivial.
FAITHLESS
ANGEL
Be not afraid to have strangers in your house, for some thereby have entertained angels unawares.
—Hebrews 13:2
Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
This had to be a mistake.
Stepping back, Jesse Savage glanced up, his gaze slicing through the drizzle to study the bold black numbers mounted above the porch doorway. No mistake. He studied the front of the house. The place looked too clean for this neighborhood and too well cared for, especially since the woman who lived inside had supposedly given up caring for anyone or anything. Only the black iron burglar bars covering the windows and the front door gave any indication that this was far from the best part of town.
Jesse moved back onto the porch and pulled his fist from his pocket to press the doorbell. Just shy of pushing the button, he stared at the deep pink scar that zigzagged its way across his hand, from his tattered coat sleeve clear to his thumb.
He closed his eyes to the rush of memories—the pain, the voices….
Lookee what we got here.
This ain’t none of your business.
Get lost, Savage. Your brother’s who we want.
His brother. But Jesse had been the one to go down first. The one who’d smashed into the floor. The one who’d landed in a heap, hurt and bleeding. Dying …
No more! He forced his eyes open. It was almost over, he reminded himself. After he finished with the woman inside the immaculate, whitewashed duplex with the neatly trimmed hedges and the jungle of half-dead hanging plants swinging beneath the porch eve, it truly would be over. He would have his chance to ask forgiveness. One last chance. Then no more scars, and no more regrets. Nothing but peace.
Ignoring the sting of pain as his jacket cuff chafed the tender flesh around the scar, he pressed his finger to the doorbell. A chime sounded, then quiet. Only the swoosh of passing cars on the busy intersection a block away disturbed the drizzly afternoon’s silence.
He stabbed the button again and flexed his fingers, the pain in his hand aggravated by the cold that had swept into Houston that morning. The wind battered him, lifting his hair to creep beneath the collar of his jacket and spread over his skin. He’d almost forgotten how erratic the weather could be in Texas, even in May. Summer one day, lingering winter the next.
A string of high-pitched barks scattered his thoughts. The muffled voice of a woman came from somewhere in the house, and the barking quickly died down. The slow creak of a door followed seconds later and he found himself gazing past the bars, into a questioning pair of green eyes—wide, gold-flecked green eyes that seemed to stare straight through him. Eyes that would have made him think of sunshine and picnics if there hadn’t been rain clouds lurking in their depths.
She wouldn’t want to open the door to a man like him. He knew it even before he saw her hesitation. With his worn clothes, his hair long and unkempt, and his face in sore need of a shave, he looked like nothing more than a bum. Street trash. Scum.
The words filtered through her head to his, as if a current flowed between them, connected them…. Hell, they were connected. That had been part of the deal. But he’d never imagined the feelings would be so strong. So fierce.
He had the insane urge to reach out and reassure her that he meant no harm. Then again, she lived and worked in this neighborhood. She’d sure as hell seen far worse, and Jesse had never been one to comfort. Or to speak his feelings. That was why he was in this damned mess in the first place.
“Yes?” Her question was little more than a sigh. Her bottom lip trembled so slightly that anyone else might not have noticed. But he did. He noticed everything about her. Her scent—a sweet mingling of roses and warm female—filled his nostrils. Her heart beat a frenzied tempo in his head. Her breathing followed the rise and fall of his own chest.
Connected. Linked.
“Faith Jansen?” he asked.
Her eyes, red-rimmed and slightly swollen, narrowed considerably. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet. I’m Jesse Savage.” He extended his hand, fingertips brushing one iron bar. She made no move to accept his gesture, not that he blamed her. Not the way he looked. She continued to stare at him, suspicion swimming in those incredible eyes of hers.
“Is your name supposed to mean something to me?” She looked thoughtful, then shook her head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
It will. Soon. Very soon …
“I’m here about the job,” he told her.
<
br /> “What job?”
“The one listed in the Houston Chronicle.” He fished inside his coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of newspaper. Uncurling the edges, he held up the want ad. “You own Faith’s House, right? That foster home for troubled kids a block off San Jacinto?”
“Maybe.” One slender arm shot out between the burglar bars to take the paper from his outstretched hand. Her fingertips brushed the scar and he jerked back. Not from pain, but from a sizzle of current that went through him at the hint of contact with her.
Her gaze zeroed in on his hand and her eyes went wide. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“It’s nothing.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially since he heard the open concern in her voice, felt it in the sudden stall of her heartbeat.
Concern, when she’d supposedly given up on emotion.
It was gone with her next words, however. The sting of his reply had undoubtedly zapped her back to reality. To her grief.
Damn, but he was stupid.
And determined, he reminded himself. And where there was concern, there was more. Hope. Compassion. Faith. And that was why he was here.
“The job,” he said again, indicating the ad. “I’m here about the job.”
She studied the paper for a few seconds, while Jesse studied her.
She was nothing like he’d expected. With light brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, her face devoid of makeup, she looked a lot younger than her twenty-eight years, and way too innocent. Not hardened or jaded like a woman who’d been around the block one too many times. Nothing like he’d imagined.
He shifted uncomfortably and she turned those green eyes on him again. That was when he saw the truth. A slow-burning hurt simmered just below the surface of those green-gold depths, beneath the suspicion and the anger. She was someone who’d seen too much, felt too much, and he knew then that she was the one.
“I didn’t place that ad,” she told him.
“But you do own Faith’s House?”
“Yes, but my assistant is running things now.”
“I could really use the job, Ms. Jansen.”
“Then you’ll have to contact Bradley Winters.” She shook her head, obviously puzzled. “How did you get this address in the first place? The ad gives the phone number for Faith’s House, not my home listing.”
“This is a small neighborhood. You do a lot for the community. Everyone around here knows you. They all appreciate what you’re doing.”
“Sure they do. Is that why my garbage cans are stolen on a weekly basis?” Her words dripped with a cynicism that Jesse knew all too well. “Garbage cans, of all things. If it isn’t chained down, kids will run off with anything in this neighborhood.”
“I really do need the job,” he pressed.
“Look—”
“I’ve had some college,” he cut in. “I don’t have a degree or anything. I didn’t quite make it that far, but I worked with an outreach program that mentored troubled teens, and I know kids. I had a brother and sister, both younger than me. I’m good with children. Practically raised my brother and sister myself.”
“That’s commendable, Mr.—” She caught her full bottom lip for a thoughtful second. “What did you say your name was?”
“Savage. Jesse Savage, and I’m a reliable worker, too.”
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Savage. But the kids are in Bradley’s hands right now. You want to answer his ad, call the phone number printed there. I’m on leave.”
“For how long?”
Her gaze narrowed at his bold question. “Are you sure I don’t know you from somewhere? I mean, your name isn’t familiar, but something about you is.”
His body tingled beneath her lingering stare. Heat pulsed through veins that had known only cold contempt for so long. Too long.
He forced the notion aside and shook his head. “No, but I really need this job.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.” She went to close the door, but Jesse reached past the bars and grasped the door frame, his hand so close to her face that he could feel the heat that colored her cheeks.
“Maybe you could at least put in a good word for me,” he said, wanting so much to touch her. Just one slow sweep of his hand. Her skin would be warm and supple beneath his fingertip—
“And maybe you could move your hand.”
Annoyance laced her words, but he heard something else, as well. Desperation.
Yes, she was the one.
Unspoken challenge charged the air between them for several long moments before he finally let go of the door frame. His knuckles brushed her cheek then, a bold move he regretted instantly. She was warmer than he’d expected, and softer.
He watched her stiffen. Fear fought a battle with the anger that blazed in her eyes.
Then again, she was right to fear a man who looked the way he did. She’d be stupid otherwise, and careless. She might have lost her hope, but she hadn’t lost her smarts. Not completely, anyway, despite the fact that she’d answered the doorbell in the first place.
“You said the guy to contact is Bradley Winters?” he asked as she moved to close the door.
She stopped just two inches shy of completely closing it and stared at him through the small space. “He’s the acting administrator right now. Hiring and firing are in his hands.”
“That’s a shame. I hear you’ve got quite a reputation with the kids.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Mr. Savage.” An unmistakable bitterness fueled her voice.
“I don’t,” he replied. “And I don’t talk just to talk, Ms. Jansen. Those kids need you.”
He saw something flicker deep in her eyes. Then the shrill ring of a phone sounded somewhere in the house, followed by a quick succession of barks mimicking those he’d heard when he’d first rung her doorbell. Her lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed. “And I need to be left alone, if you don’t mind.”
“But I do mind.”
She stared at him for the space of two heartbeats, a puzzled expression on her face. Then the door shut, the lock clicked, and Jesse found himself standing alone, the cold swirling around him, inside him.
Turning, he stepped off the porch into the steady drizzle that quickly grew to a frenzied shower. He lifted the collar on his jacket and thrust his hands deep in his pockets, his fingers tight around the scrap of newspaper.
Maybe Faith Jansen wanted to be left alone, but that was the last thing she needed. The last thing Jesse intended to allow. He needed her, and she needed him, though she didn’t realize it.
Yet.
“Just drop the papers off here, Bradley,” Faith said into the phone seconds after she closed the front door. She stared past the lace curtains covering her front window.
Her gaze followed the stranger as he headed down the driveway toward the street, the rain pelting him, his faded jeans now drenched. The material clung to his thighs, like a denim skin that outlined the lean perfection of every muscle.
“No can do,” the man on the other end of the phone said. “Megan eloped with that bagel guy last night and I can’t leave a house full of kids unchaperoned. She won’t be back until after the honeymoon. Three weeks minimum.”
“So bring the papers over after she gets back.” She forced her attention higher, to Jesse Savage’s broad shoulders outlined by a faded high school letterman’s jacket. He moved through the downpour, head held high, his body swift and sure, even when the rain came harder. The fiercer the storm grew, the more purposeful his step, until he seemed to blend in with the elements and become one with them.
“… you there?” Bradley’s voice penetrated her thoughts.
“I’m here.” She let the lace curtain fall back into place and bent down to scoop up the tiny puppy she’d unwillingly adopted last week when she’d found him abandoned in a cardboard box behind a nearby trash Dumpster. “What were you saying?”
“I said Children’s Protective Services is bringing the kid today. If you�
��re not here to sign, CPS will keep him in protective custody for God knows how long. You have to come over here.”
She stroked the puppy’s head, the gesture rewarded with a barrage of ticklish licks to her fingers. “I can’t, Bradley.”
“Dammit, Faith! You leave me high and dry, working my tail end off for the past two weeks while you hibernate at home—”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I wish you could understand.” She held the dog close, absorbing the warmth of his small body, wishing with everything she had that it was enough to penetrate the ice surrounding her heart.
“I understand perfectly. You’re the one out in left field, Faith. You’ve turned into a hermit lady.”
“I have not.”
Silence stretched between them for several seconds before Bradley finally spoke, his voice soft, pleading. “Face reality, Faith. Jane’s gone, but there’s a whole houseful of kids who still need you.”
Those kids need you. Jesse Savage’s words echoed in her head, and oddly enough she felt a small pang of guilt. Strange, considering she’d been numb for the past two weeks—ever since she’d watched them lower the coffin into the ground, heard the first plop of dirt hit the lid.
“Aren’t you advertising for someone to help out?” She put the puppy on the carpeted floor and watched him waddle toward the pallet of blankets in the corner. She glanced at her fingertips and saw they were still smudged with newsprint from Jesse’s soggy want ad.
“Yeah, but that won’t solve today’s dilemma. CPS won’t release a child to anyone’s custody but yours. I’m your official assistant, but you’re the foster mother. Unless you want to send this kid back where he came from—and I hear he’s been living the past few weeks at that hellhole Booker Hall—then you’d better pull yourself together and come down here.”
“Okay,” she said after a hesitant moment. “I’ll be there, but just to sign the papers. In and out of my office; then I’m gone. And … don’t tell the kids.”
Faithless Angel Page 1
