“Thank heavens, there is a God,” Bradley said, letting loose a relieved sigh.
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Try to cheer up, honey. What happened to Jane was no one’s fault.” Bradley’s voice filled with sympathy. “It was a tragic accident, Faith. These things happen.”
“That’s the problem. What happened to—” Her throat closed around the name and she swallowed, but there was no ache in her chest. Nothing. She wouldn’t let herself feel anything.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Forget it, Bradley. What time should I be there?”
“Around three. I’ll leave your office unlocked, the papers on your desk.”
“Where will you be?”
“Neck-deep in kids, as usual, and hunting like hell for an assistant of my own, since you haven’t decided to come back to the land of the living.”
But how could she live when she’d already died inside?
The question stuck in her brain as she placed the receiver in its cradle. Shoving aside a pile of throw pillows, she sank down onto her cream-colored sofa and stared at the chaos that had once been her living room.
Newspapers blanketed most of the champagne-colored carpet. Old pizza boxes cluttered the coffee table. Balls of wadded tissue overflowed from the brass trash can near one end table. Silver bits and pieces of what had once been her prized CD collection littered the corner of the room near a virtual forest of dying ferns.
Grubby waddled across the floor from his pallet, nudging papers and trash with his nose. Cocoa-colored with white speckles sprinkled across his fat tummy, he was the only redeeming thing in the entire room, and she almost smiled.
Instead, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the rain that beat a steady tattoo on the roof, the sound almost deafening, numbing….
Yes, numb was much better. Easier. Much easier than those few days she’d spent at the hospital, crying and praying and urging Jane to fight for her life. Her words had been wasted, her tears for nothing, her prayers meaningless. Like everything now.
Those kids need you.
Little did Jesse Savage know that those kids were better off without her. What could she possibly offer them?
A roof over their heads. Food in their stomachs. Someone to care for them, her conscience answered for an instant before her cynicism kicked in.
So what? In the end, none of that mattered. It hadn’t mattered that Jane had been like her own daughter, that Faith had nursed her through nightmares, fed her, clothed her, loved her. It hadn’t mattered a bit. Jane was dead, despite everything.
Shoving a strand of hair back from her face, she let her fingers linger at her cheek. She could still feel the brush of warm male skin, the sudden heat that had spread through her and thawed her insides for the split second when Jesse Savage had touched her.
Dangerous. That was what she’d first thought the moment she’d pulled open the front door and seen him standing there, filling the empty space of her porch.
With an overgrowth of stubble, dark, piercing brown eyes, and even darker hair brushing his collar, he’d looked more than simply dangerous. He’d looked downright deadly. She’d been a fool to open the door to someone like him, especially in this neighborhood, even with the burglar bars she’d installed last year.
Then again, cautious people died as quickly, as easily as fools did. Everyone died. Dumb and not so dumb. Rich and poor. Young and old. Everyone. No reason, no rhyme.
As dangerous as he’d looked, he’d also struck her as oddly familiar, as if she’d seen him somewhere before. But where—
The crash of trash-can lids brought her eyes wide open. She bolted from the couch and rushed to the kitchen, reaching the back door in time to see one large silver trash can, newly purchased just last week, take a tumble off her back steps. At the same time, a grungy teen wearing a tattered pair of jeans and a shabby T-shirt snatched up the other gleaming can.
Instead of pulling open the door as she used to, and giving the thieving adolescent a piece of her mind, she simply turned away. She shut out the noise and the sight of garbage littering her back steps and headed for the bedroom to change.
She wouldn’t care.
The firm vow didn’t bring a smile to her lips, or tears to her eyes. There was no freedom, or even guilt. Nothing except the image of a dark and dangerous and disturbingly familiar stranger, his deep voice echoing, Those kids need you….
And for a fraction of a heartbeat, Faith wanted to believe him. But her beliefs, her faith, were now as dead as her dear, sweet Jane.
“Take it easy, Emily.”
The boy’s familiar voice stopped Faith’s hand in midair. She glanced up from the stack of papers she’d been signing, her gaze sweeping from the back door of Faith’s House, which she’d entered only minutes ago, to the closed door that led to the rest of the building. Her attention riveted to the knob and she silently damned herself for not thinking to lock the door when she’d first come inside.
But she’d never locked her door. She’d never shut it, even when the house had been full of noise and chaos. But she’d never slipped in the back way, either.
“It isn’t your CD, you pighead,” another voice, this one female, replied. “Bradley told you to keep your slimy paws off my stuff. Now give it back!”
A loud thud and the door trembled.
“Hey, watch it,” Ricky grumbled. “That hurt.”
“Good. Touch my stuff again and I’ll do more than that, understand?”
Ricky grumbled a “Geez, Em”; then rubber soles squeaked against the polished hardwood floor. Everything fell silent again.
Faith breathed a sigh of relief and went back to signing the stack of documents on her cluttered desk. As she stared at the pile of work, she almost felt sorry for Bradley. She hoped he could find a proficient assistant, because she meant today to be her last day at Faith’s House.
She took a small sip of black coffee and stared at the folded blue-bound set of legal papers protruding from the outside pocket of her purse. Once she signed and presented the forms to Bradley and he signed on the dotted line, he would be the official foster parent—CPS had already approved him—and she would be free and clear to “hibernate” at home, as he’d called it. Faith’s House would no longer be Faith’s House, but Bradley’s House.
You’re home, Jane. Home—
Faith slammed her mind shut to that memory. This wasn’t a home. Home was where the heart was, and Faith had lost hers.
The sound of voices penetrated her thoughts. Voices turned to shouts, and she reasoned that Emily and Pighead were going at it. Then she heard it—a vicious bellow of anger that brought her out of her chair.
Her Styrofoam cup of coffee tipped over. Steaming black liquid spread across her desktop. She shoved her papers aside so they wouldn’t get soaked and flew to the door. Yanking it open, she rushed down the hallway. That was when she saw him.
“I ain’t staying here!” cried a skinny, teenage boy who headed straight for her. Long, tangled blond hair hung past his shoulders. His pale blue eyes were slightly swollen, as if he’d been crying, or was coming off the wagon, the second being more likely.
“Calm down, Daniel,” said the woman behind him. Estelle Adams, the foster-home development worker from CPS, held a small, battered suitcase in one hand, and her black imitation alligator purse in the other. “This is the only place that will take you—”
“Come on, man. Give us a chance,” Bradley cut in, following on Estelle’s heels. “You’ll like it here. Promise.”
“Go to hell,” Daniel said in a hiss, his skinny frame shooting past Faith, making her cling to the wall to avoid being trampled. “I ain’t staying in this hellhole, do you hear? I ain’t.” But instead of heading for the back hallway, he whirled and reached for Faith. One wiry arm wrapped around her neck, while the other hauled her up hard against him.
“Anyone comes near me and I’ll cut her,” he said.
And with his words c
ame the feel of cold steel at Faith’s neck. The blade bit into her skin and chased the air from her lungs, and Death himself breathed down her neck.
Chapter Two
Faith watched, the knife at her throat, as Estelle and Bradley stopped short, along with the cluster of kids who now followed them.
“He’s got a blade, Mr. Winters,” one small voice said.
“He’s got Ms. Jansen!” came Emily’s shocked cry.
“He’s gonna cut her!”
“Somebody do something!”
“Quiet!” Bradley held up his hand. “Everyone quiet.” His attention went to the boy holding Faith prisoner. “Don’t do this, Daniel. Please.”
“He was searched before he left Booker Hall. I can’t imagine how he got that….” Estelle’s words faded into the shocked murmurs echoing through the group crammed into the hallway.
“Think, Daniel,” Bradley said in the calm voice he used with all the kids, but he looked anything but calm. Panic flashed in his eyes, and the hand he held out shook noticeably. “You do this right here, right now, in front of everyone, and you’ll be headed for jail. Jail, do you understand?”
“This dump ain’t much better, and if you take one more step, I’ll gut her like a fish.”
Oddly enough, it wasn’t fear that made Faith gasp for a breath. It was the force of the boy’s grip. He was unusually strong for his age and weight; Faith knew, for she’d tackled the best of them during the past five years running Faith’s House. Ricky, “Pig-head,” played high school football, and she’d even wrestled him down once when he’d been uncooperative and a bit too sassy for his own good.
She had faced knives before, too. She’d even stared down the barrel of a gun when Emily had been dead-set on running away the first week she’d come to the house. And always before, Faith had been scared. Terrified.
Not this time. Jane’s image flashed in her mind—mousy brown hair, big, wide brown eyes—and Faith’s heartbeat remained steady, as if her life didn’t hang in the balance. But it did, she reminded herself. It did!
She stayed calm.
The frail chest pressed against her back heaved frantically, and she knew her attacker was anything but calm. He was frightened, as frightened as she should be, and he was all the more dangerous because of it.
She raised one hand and gripped the wrist near her throat.
“Don’t even think it, lady,” Daniel said, his voice shaky despite his threat.
Still, Faith’s fingers wrapped about his wrist. The blade pressed deeper into her throat. She felt his pulse race beneath her fingertips.
“Move another muscle and I’ll cut you,” Daniel threatened. “I swear it.” The knife edged deeper.
Bradley turned stark white, his eyes pleading with her captor. “Let her go, Daniel! Don’t do this, man. You’ll be shipped off to a place a hundred times worse than this.”
“Do it,” Faith whispered. “Stop talking and do it—” Her voice caught as the blade pressed deeper.
“Shut up!”
“You think you’re scaring me? she rasped while Bradley shot her a warning look. He thought she was trying to psyche Daniel out, make him blow his cool and lose his nerve. A bitter laugh rose to her lips. She was saying exactly what she would have said a month ago. The difference was, now she meant it.
“You’re not,” she went on. “You don’t scare me, and neither does that knife, and death couldn’t be much worse than the past two weeks. So go on and put me out of my misery.”
“I said shut up!” he ground out. Knuckles dug into her throat as Daniel adjusted his hold on the knife. “You wanna die? Well, you just might get your chance. Keep talking and you’ll get it good—” His words were cut off, followed by a yelp.
The knife clattered to the floor and Faith found herself free. She stumbled forward, her fingers going to her throat. She landed on her knees, the room spinning around her for a dangerous second.
Then a large, strong hand came from behind, gripped her arm, and helped her to her feet.
Faith stared up into the face of Jesse Savage. Apparently, he’d come through the back door, approached from behind, and grabbed Daniel by the shirt collar. Jesse’s lips formed a deep scowl, his dark eyes alight with anger and worry and something else—something she might have mistaken for fear if she hadn’t known better.
But she’d known men like Jesse Savage. They came from the streets; they fought their way through poverty, most ending up behind bars or six feet under. Fear wasn’t a weakness they indulged in. But neither was kindness, yet here he was, her hero—whether he looked the part or not.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Are you crazy, testing a kid like this?” He glanced at the sullen-looking Daniel dangling by his collar. Jesse’s grip tightened on the boy’s shirt. “He could have killed you! A second more and he would have.” Those intense dark eyes riveted on her throat. “And I can’t say as I would have blamed him, with you running your mouth like that. You were asking for it.”
“He was bluffing.”
“But you weren’t.” Jesse’s fingertips burned into her arm, stirring a strange heat that made her body tingle. “Were you?”
“No.”
His fingers tightened considerably and she wondered who posed the bigger threat: this dark stranger who wore a look as menacing as thunder, or the frightened teenager who’d nearly sliced open her jugular?
She knew the answer as she stared deep into Jesse’s eyes and saw a lifetime of pain and hatred and misery. Fear rippled through her, along with an unmistakable pang of sympathy that crumbled her control. She took an unsteady step back, leaning against the wall as the floor took a dangerous tilt.
“Faith, are you all right?” Bradley was beside her, concern wrinkling his forehead. A visibly shaken Estelle followed him.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Estelle chimed in. “Daniel was searched at Booker Hall. I can’t understand how—”
“It’s all right,” Faith rasped. Her throat burned like the devil, distracting her from the strange feeling Jesse Savage had stirred.
“The show’s over,” Bradley said, turning to the group of kids clustered behind him. “Everybody back to your chores.” His words met with several grumbles, but after a fierce look from him and a nod from Faith, the crowd started to thin. The sound of a vacuum cleaner resumed. The chatter of voices drifted from the kitchen. Dishes clattered, and Faith’s House returned to its usual buzz of normal activity.
“We owe you, mister.” Bradley shook Jesse’s hand. “And it’s back to Booker Hall for you,” he told Daniel, who still dangled from Jesse’s right hand.
“No.” Faith shook her head. “He’s staying here.”
“You can’t be serious?” Estelle gripped Faith’s hand. “It’s too dangerous to have him at a place like this. The other kids—”
“—were just as bad when they first got here,” Faith finished for her. “Richard attacked me with a baseball bat, and Drew set the living room drapes on fire. But look at them now.” Her gaze shot to the two boys barely visible down the hall. One had a can of furniture polish and a rag in his hand. The other boy sprawled on the sofa, his nose buried in a library book.
“Besides, that was the whole purpose of this, wasn’t it, Daniel? To get out of staying?” Faith fixed her gaze on Daniel, whose pale blue eyes widened considerably beneath her inspection. “You don’t get your way around here by bullying people. Cooperation and hard work are the only things that pull any weight.”
Daniel dropped his head, and studied his worn tennis shoes. He tried to shrug away from Jesse, whose grip seemed to tighten.
“Well pair him up with Mike,” Faith told Bradley. “Mike!” A few seconds later a young man in his early twenties filled the hallway. Wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, he looked like a lumberjack—big, brawny, intimidating…. A definite badass, the kids called him.
“Daniel’s our newest arrival,” Faith told him, doing her damnedest to block out Jesse’s pre
sence. But her body seemed insistent on paying attention to him. Her skin still prickled with awareness where he’d touched her.
He’d felt strong. And warm. And so—
“Yeah, it sounded like quite a show.” Mike’s voice derailed her train of thought. “I was in the shower when it started, so I only heard the tail end, or I would have been here a heck of a lot sooner. You all right?” he asked Faith.
“I’m fine, but I think Daniel needs a little one-on-one until he gets used to the routine here. Think you can keep an eye on him and show him the ropes?”
The young man, a deep frown on his face, his brown eyes solemn, studied Daniel for a long moment. The boy actually swallowed beneath the careful scrutiny, and a smile tugged at Faith’s lips. He wasn’t so hard beneath that tough-as-nails exterior. He was just a kid. A scared, lonely kid.
“You want me to go with him?” Daniel stared at her as if she’d just sentenced him to the electric chair.
“Think of him as your shadow for the next few weeks.” Faith stared pointedly at Daniel. “And don’t even think about taking advantage of him. He’s got a black belt in karate and he’ll eat you for breakfast if you give him a reason.”
“Oh, yeah?” Daniel tried to shrug away from Jesse’s grip again, but the effort was useless. “Well, I guess he can’t be much worse than Hercules here.” He cast a resentful glance at Jesse.
“Don’t count on it,” Mike said, and Daniel visibly paled.
Faith fought back the urge to laugh. Most everyone had the same reaction to Mike. He was huge, all muscle and menace, but he had a kind heart and a way with troubled kids. But then, Mike could relate. He’d been one of them not so long ago.
“Come on, Daniel,” Mike said, holding out one beefy hand. Daniel took another step back, coming up hard against Jesse, who scowled at him.
Despite Jesse’s expression, Faith didn’t miss the amusement dancing in his dark eyes. The look drew an unwilling smile to her own lips.
“Go on, Daniel. He won’t bite,” Faith said. “Unless you try another stunt like the one you pulled on me.” At Faith’s nod, Jesse released Daniel, who straightened his T-shirt and glared at everyone around him, as if to say stand back.
Faithless Angel Page 2
