Angel's Wings

by Anne Stuart

  "Not quite everything, it seems. Ramsey and I used to be good friends. And rivals. For everything from poker games to the Bendix Trophy to women. I flew the Newfoundland-to-Cuba run on a dare. The best casinos are in Havana, the hottest night clubs, the prettiest women. The moment I did it, Hal decided he had to beat my time."

  "Hal wasn't into anything that petty," she said flatly. "I don't believe you."

  He tilted his head to look up at her. "Don't you?" he asked mildly enough.

  Angela looked uncertain. "Why did he take so long to try it? We'd been working together for two years before he died. Why wait so long if he was simply out to beat you?"

  "He'd tried it twice before. Didn't he tell you that?"

  She nodded reluctantly. "I'd forgotten. So you mean he died all because of a stupid rivalry?"

  Clancy shrugged. "I don't know why he died. I only know why he flew."

  Silence reigned in the cabin for a while, but it had lost its comfortable quality. Clancy had sat up to stub his cigarette out on the stove when Angela finally spoke.

  "That explains a lot of things," she said, her voice flat, hiding the pain slicing through her. "Is that why you came after me? Does this rivalry over flights and women extend even beyond the grave?"

  He stared at her and she didn't know if her eyes were playing tricks on her or if he really turned pale. "Believe what you like," he said finally, rising and heading for the door.

  She was aching for a denial, aching for a declaration of love. "Are you telling me that's not why you came to Chicago? Why you came to work for me?"

  "I came to see Sparks. And, yes, I was interested in seeing the woman who'd finally managed to clip Hal's wings. And I needed work and a place for my plane. Just like I told you."

  "I don't believe you."

  "No," he said after a long moment, his expression bleak. "I don't imagine you do. I'm going to check just how much damage you inflicted on your plane. Get your things together while I'm gone. When I come back, I'm flying you back to Chicago and dumping you, and with any luck I'll never have to see you again."

  He slammed the door behind him. She couldn't rid herself of the totally illogical suspicion that she'd hurt him deeply. Clancy wasn't a man who suffered from hurt feelings. He'd told her he loved her last night, but it was probably all part of his set patter for getting a reluctant woman into bed. She hadn't been reluctant and the memory of her behavior flooded her cheeks with shame.

  She pulled herself to her feet and walked over to the door. The sun was glinting off Clancy's Fokker, and she stared at it, fighting off the hurt and misery that flooded her.

  Suddenly she was running across the tundra, yanking the chocks away from the wheels and vaulting into the cockpit before her better judgment could take over. He'd filled the tanks—with her fuel, curse him—and the engine purred into life instantly.

  He was going to kill her, she thought distantly as she taxied across the frozen earth. When he finally managed to run her to ground, he was going to strangle her with his bare hands, not just for stranding him in the half-frozen wastes of Newfoundland, but for daring to set her Philistine hands on his beloved plane. He didn't let anyone touch the controls of his Fokker, and he was already in a towering rage with her.

  She half expected him to chase her down the wide expanse as she began to lift off, but there was no sign of him. She allowed herself a sudden panic that he might have run into trouble with her plane, fallen and hurt himself, and then she dismissed the notion. She'd never known anyone as adept at taking care of himself as Jack Clancy. He'd be just fine until Sparks and Will arrived with spare parts and more food.

  The flight west passed with surprising speed. For the first few hours she was too entranced with the Fokker to brood, and then for the next few hours she was too caught up in brooding to be bored. She was flying over Toronto when she began to have very real misgivings about abandoning Clancy, and by the time she landed on the familiar runway at Hogan Air Transport she was half wishing she'd crashed rather than face Clancy's awesome rage.

  At least she wouldn't have to do any such thing for at least twenty-four hours. She wasn't sure which would be worse—to send Sparks and Will back in the Fokker, thereby letting another alien pair of hands contaminate Clancy's beloved plane, or send them in the Percival. Probably the Fokker would be best—if she had any luck at all, he'd simply fly away, out of her life.

  She managed a tricky landing on the darkened runway, wondering what Clancy would do if she'd damaged his precious baby. The place was deserted—Sparks was probably at Tony's, and Parsons would be holed up in his rooms again. She brought the plane as close to the hangar as she dared. She doubted she'd be strong enough to roll her into the hangar—the smaller Percival was almost more than she could manage alone, but at least it was a clear night. Not even a drop of rain would sully the beautiful red paint.

  She unlocked the hangar, stepped inside and sat down by the radio set. The darkness and stillness all around her, the utter loneliness set in. Secure that no one would catch her, she did what she hadn't allowed herself to do during the endless, private hours of flight. She started crying.

  Through her tears she heard it, and for a moment she was certain her ears were playing tricks on her. In the distance she could hear the sound of a plane, one that sounded uncannily like her Lockheed. But her Lockheed was nose-down in a swamp in Newfoundland, not anywhere near Chicago.

  The plane came closer, closer, and Angela's insides knotted as her tears swiftly stopped. She knew the sound of her Wasp engine better than anyone. That was her plane circling the field, heading downward. And there could be no one on board but a very angry man.

  She considered racing to the Packard and driving away, hiding from his awesome wrath. But her landing on the empty tarmac had been tricky enough for someone who knew it like the back of her hand. With the Fokker now taking up an important section of it, Clancy would need the lights. If she ran away now, she was risking his life.

  She stood up, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head as she moved over to the landing lights. She threw the switches, then stepped out of the hangar and waited for judgment day.

  She allowed her eyes an anxious moment to survey her beautiful blue bird. She was mud-splattered but undaunted. Clancy must have managed to patch her together in record time. And he'd managed to outfly Angela, coming in within minutes of her in a small plane with a single, less-powerful engine.

  She leaned against the door of the hangar and waited for him, too proud to run away. He was out of the plane before the propeller had stopped spinning, and he didn't bother setting the blocks underneath the wheels. His first glance was for the Fokker, and she fully expected him to check it out before he dealt with her.

  But that look was only a brief glance, ascertaining it was in one piece. And then his dark eyes focused on her from across the runway, and he started toward her, his big, strong body vibrating with menace.

  *

  He was going to kill her. He'd decided that quite calmly when he heard her take off in the Angel. He'd been tempted when she accused him of sleeping with her for the sake of an outgrown boyhood rivalry. He'd been almost certain of it when she'd given him that cold touch-me-not look. But when he heard his precious plane take off with her at the helm, he knew for certain he was going to strangle her.

  He'd never let anyone touch his Fokker, not since he bought her off an old Dutchman in the Andes. It was a matter of superstition to him, almost as important as the tarnished silver cross he wore around his neck. All pilots, he knew, had superstitions, beliefs that kept them alive in the hairiest of circumstances, and it was suicide to tamper with them. Suicide for Miss Angela Hogan.

  She was leaning against the metal siding of the hangar, waiting for him. His heart didn't skip a beat as he recognized the foolish bravery of her stance, his pulses didn't throb as he noticed her long legs, legs that had been wrapped around him less than twelve hours ago. He looked at her mouth, a mouth he'd kissed i
nto hungry response. And he looked in her eyes, the eyes that drilled so coldly into him right before she'd stolen his plane, and he saw the traces of tears.

  He stopped in front of her, his hands clenched in fists to keep from punching her. She glanced at those fists and winced faintly, but she didn't move, ready to take her punishment like a man. He asked the most important question first.

  "Is she all right?"

  Angela didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Of course she is. I know how to fly, Clancy. She rode like a dream."

  "Like hell you know how to fly. I got an hour-later start and I'm here within minutes of you, in a damaged plane with less power. Explain that?" His voice was sharp, the words bitten off.

  She shrugged. "I guess you're a better pilot than I am."

  "Damned straight. What about you?"

  She blinked at him, momentarily confused. "What about me?"

  "Are you all right?" He couldn't keep himself from asking. She was pale, exhausted, the bandage dark against her forehead, and she looked on the verge of collapse. She wasn't going to collapse in his arms, nosiree. She was just lucky he hadn't decked her.

  "Fine," she said, her voice a mere thread of sound. And she began to crumple.

  He caught her before she fell, cursing under his breath as he hoisted her into his arms. For all her long legs, she didn't weigh much more than a bird. He told himself he should dump her back on the tarmac, but then, she really wasn't much of a burden. It wouldn't kill him to at least get her settled someplace comfortable. Loosen her clothing.

  "Put me down, Clancy," she muttered, batting against him with weak, ineffectual hands as he carried her through the darkened hangar.

  "Shut up, Red," he said, ignoring her. She felt deceptively frail, but he knew all too well the strength in her long limbs, the power in her razor-sharp tongue. She kept squirming, and finally he had enough of it, dropping her down on her feet and shoving her against the nearest wall.

  He didn't know what he'd planned to do, but whatever it was, it vanished with the look in her eyes and the feel of her body. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her, a harsh, punishing sort of kiss, one of despair and goodbye, half expecting her to slap him, to push him away.

  Instead she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her desperation equaling his, her hands on his shirt, pulling it apart as he shoved her leather jacket off her shoulders and onto the floor. He'd reached the waistband of her pants when they both froze.

  A moment later the hangar was flooded with light. Clancy immediately shoved her behind him, ignoring the fact that his shirt was half off. "What's going on?" Sparks demanded. "Is that you, Clancy?"

  Thank God for Sparks's diminishing eyesight, Clancy thought weakly. "Yeah," he said, stalling for time as he felt Angela pull her disarrayed clothes back around her.

  "Is Angie with you?"

  "Yeah," Clancy said again, hoping Sparks wouldn't see that his belt was unbuckled.

  "Where the hell have you two been?" Sparks exploded.

  Angela stepped out from behind Clancy, and her voice sounded almost normal. "Newfoundland," she replied. "What's happened?"

  "Oh, nothing. Sam Watson's taken his business from Charlie Olker and wants to sign a contract with you, but, hey, that shouldn't get in the way of you two having a little fun," Sparks said bitterly.

  "What?" Angie shrieked. "He's Charlie's biggest customer. Not only that, he influences most of the other businesses in the area. If he signs with us, the others will."

  "I've had a few phone calls," Sparks agreed wryly.

  "But why? I thought he said he'd never hire a woman."

  "I think he's relaxing his prejudices. For one thing, Olker's been overcharging him like crazy. For another, Robert Bellamy was caught by the FAA for flying drunk. Olker's on probation, Bellamy's grounded and people are grumbling like mad."

  "I bet it's because of Clancy," she said, her voice giving nothing away.

  "That might have something to do with it, but Sam Watson's no fool. He knows that no pilot's going to stay around forever, particularly someone with Clancy's reputation. Chances are Clancy'll be gone tomorrow, and Watson knows that. No, he's hiring you, honey. And we're going to make a go of it."

  Clancy didn't move. For the first time in his life he wanted to smash his old friend into a pulp as he stood there calmly planning Angie's future and dismissing Clancy's part in it. "True enough," Clancy drawled. "As a matter of fact, I'll be out of here sooner than you think. Just long enough for Red to find another pilot, and then I'm gone."

  "That suits me," Sparks said, the gloves off.

  "I thought it might," Clancy drawled.

  "What are you two talking about?" Angela demanded.

  "You'll figure it out. Ask Sparks."

  "I am," she said mutinously. "Right now."

  Before Sparks could reply, another figure appeared in the hangar door, the familiar, stooped figure of Will Parsons. "Hells bells, what is this, a convention?" Clancy demanded.

  "I was with Sparks. Am I the only one here who's got his priorities straight? I was checking the Lockheed for damage while you two were squabbling," he said in an aggrieved tone.

  "How bad is she?" Angela immediately focused on the only controllable thing in a world gone mad.

  "Nothing a little tender loving care won't fix. Who else is here?"

  "Just us chickens," Clancy drawled. "Why?"

  "I thought I saw someone lurking around the back of the hangar. Maybe I'll just go and check." Parsons turned around.

  "Do that," Clancy suggested. "Why don't you take Angela home, Sparks? She's dead on her feet. I have a few things to take care of around here."

  Sparks didn't need a second invitation. Like a perfect little gentleman he took Angela's arm and herded her over to the door. She went willingly enough, too weary to argue, to even look back at him when Clancy finally realized what was bothering him.

  "Hey, Sparks," he called out. "You didn't spill any gas, did you?"

  "Not recently. Why?"

  "I thought I smelled some. Maybe it's my imagination."

  Sparks paused, releasing Angela, and his busy eyebrows knotted in worry. "There shouldn't be any. Will and I have been working outside, and we've had the windows open. There shouldn't be anything left."

  Angela suddenly stiffened, all her weariness vanishing. "I can smell it, too," she said sharply. "And it's not just a spill. I smell fire."

  "Angie..." Sparks began, but she was already running across the nearly empty hangar, straight toward Clancy, a stunned expression on her face. A moment later, the west wall exploded in a sheet of flames.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clancy saw her running toward him, and he knew his first real moments of panic. He met her midway, spinning her around. "Get out of here, Red," he shouted.

  Higher priorities suddenly reasserted themselves. "The planes!" she cried. "We've got to get the planes out."

  Sparks was already on the move, sliding the hangar doors fully open to the night air. "Get out!" Clancy yelled again, but she was beyond listening, already behind the tail of the Percival and shoving. A second later Clancy joined her, then Sparks, and within moments the Percival was rolling out into the night, away from the inferno.

  "Now the Avian," Angela said, starting back when Clancy grabbed her and yanked her away.

  "Let it burn. It's not worth that much."

  "The hell I will!" she screamed at him, tugging futilely.

  "Then let Sparks and Parsons get it."

  "I haven't seen Parsons," Sparks called as he dove back into the billowing smoke.

  "I'm going after my plane," she shrieked, hitting at Clancy. "I won't let this happen, I won't—"

  He silenced her quite effectively with a right cross to her stubborn little chin. She collapsed onto the tarmac, and he took just enough time to drag her farther away from the blazing hangar before heading after Sparks.

  It was a damnably close call. The steel walls were buckling with th
e force of the heat, and Sparks was choking, on his knees, the smaller Avian almost at the hangar door. Clancy dragged his old friend out first, dumping him beside Angela's prone body, and then he went after the plane.

  By the time he managed to roll her out onto the tarmac, the fire engines had arrived, along with half the sparsely populated neighborhood. Someone had wrapped a blanket around Angela, another person was checking on Sparks. It took Clancy a moment to realize it was Parsons crouched over Angela.

  "Where the hell were you?" Clancy demanded, towering over them. Angela was still out but beginning to stir. Will was fussing over her like a mother lion.

  "I don't like fires," he said flatly, glaring up at Clancy. Whether he liked them or not, he'd come a bit too close for comfort. Part of his beard was singed off and he'd lost his thick glasses in the fray. Clancy stared down into a face he'd hoped he wouldn't recognize and his anger hardened.

  "Did you happen to start this one? Was that mysterious figure you saw some convenient scapegoat?"

  "Why would I burn down the hangar?"

  "Hell, don't ask me? Why would you take this job in the first place?"

  With all the noise and commotion going on around them, there was a sudden silence between the two men. One of understanding and wariness. "You should be able to guess that."

  "You think it was one of your old friends torching the place?" Clancy asked coolly.

  "In a manner of speaking. It looked like Olker."

  "Damn," Clancy muttered, moving away. After a brief conversation with the policeman he moved back just in time to see Angela's blue eyes flutter open groggily.

  He squatted down beside her. Parsons had her half on his lap. If it had been anyone else, Clancy would have flattened him.

  "What—what happened?" Angela murmured dazedly. "Is that you, Will?"

  "It's me," he said, casting a warning glance up at Clancy. "The fire company's here and the blaze is under control. There's only so much damage you can do to a metal building, even one that's been torched, and it looks like they got to it fast enough."