Angel on Fire

by Jacquie Johnson

  “Cassidy Santos,” a lilting voice announced once the call connected.

  “Hey, Cass.” Angela pictured her friend’s short black curls bouncing energetically and her brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Oh my God, are you okay? Where the hell are you, and what’s going on?” Cass’s questions tumbled out at the speed of light.

  “I was kind of hoping you could tell me,” Angela interrupted before her friend could continue. Cass had a tendency to keep rambling until someone stopped her.

  “Oh. You don’t know?”

  “No.” Angela’s voice remained calm despite the nerves fluttering inside her.

  “Crap, I’ll call you back.” Once again, the line disconnected. Angela made a face at the phone. With a sigh, she closed her eyes again and waited. Ten minutes crawled by before the phone rang again.

  “Sorry, I had to get out of the office. Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but two agents showed up this morning and cornered Michael. They ordered him to keep you out of the office for at least two weeks. He complained - quite strongly in fact - but they insisted you weren’t allowed to return to work.” Cass prattled on, and Angela could picture her chewing on a strand of her hair as she always did when she was nervous. “Look, you’re not supposed to know any of this. The guys who showed up were adamant that you weren’t allowed to know you were being investigated. I only overheard because I was sorting documents in that little cubicle outside Michael’s office. I don’t think they realized I was there.”

  “Investigating? Why would they be investigating me?”

  “I caught something about national security, but that’s all I know.”

  “National security? I swear I don’t know….” Angela’s voice quivered, and her stomach lurched. Her job was all she had left now that her dad was gone.

  “Look, I have to get back to the office. I said I was going for coffee. I’ve got no idea whats’ going on, but it sure looks like someone is gunning for you. Be careful.”

  Angela’s stomach churned as she hung up the phone and she dropped her head to her knees. Tears of anger and frustration welled up in her eyes. She lay down on the couch, her arms covering her face while her mind raced. Why would the FBI investigate her? And, if they thought she had done something wrong, why wouldn’t they bring her in for questioning?

  Angela jumped to her feet and tossed the phone the table. With a grimace, she marched to the stairs to get ready for the day. It was a hell of a start. She could only hope it improved.

  Chapter 2

  Two Days Before the Funeral

  Chase Romero poked his head into Zach Walker’s office. “You wanted to see me, Boss?”

  Zach nodded without looking up and Chase dropped into the chair across from the gray metal desk. “Listen to this.” The head of the Special Services Unit punched a few button and the phone announced that he had a saved voicemail. A minute later, Chase heard a male voice leaving a message. Heavy background noise drowned out the speaker’s voice and over an intermittent crackling sound, Chase thought he heard the words Angela, help and key. “Who?” Chase asked, closing his eyes and trying to isolate the background noises as Zach replayed the message.

  “My buddy Mac. We served together years ago”

  “And who’s Angela? His wife?” Chase asked the logical follow up question even though he didn’t expect a response. Zach didn’t talk about his friends or family. Hell, as far as Chase knew, Zach didn’t have a personal life.

  “No. His daughter. My goddaughter.” Zach pushed his chair back from the desk, stood and paced across the small room. Most men in his position would have insisted upon a grandiose office with a view, but Zach demanded that the Special Services Unit be housed in a dark corner of the basement in an older government building. Down here, Zach and his men were largely ignored and left to their own devices, which was just the way they preferred things.

  “And?” Chase prompted after a prolonged silence. Zach continued to pace while Chase mulled over his boss’s unusual behavior. The fact that calm, unflappable Zach appeared ruffled placed Chase on high alert.

  “Mac left that message yesterday morning. I was in meetings all day as you know. Damn budget cuts.” Zach ran his fingers through his short graying hair. “He died yesterday afternoon. I need you to go to Manchester, Massachusetts and keep an eye on Angela.”

  Chase narrowed his eyes. “I’m on vacation as of 1700 hours, remember?”

  “I know.” Zach spun to face Chase, his gray eyes worried. “I’m asking you to do this as a favor, Chase. Mac and I decided long ago to keep our distance from each other for Angela’s sake. Something had to be wrong for him to call and mention her.”

  “I’m going to stand out like a sore thumb. She doesn’t know me. Isn’t there someone else? A friend of the family? Another old military colleague?” Zach shook his head and Chase grumbled under his breath. He was long overdue for a vacation. “So, how did he die?”

  “They’re saying it was a heart attack.”

  Chase frowned. “You want me to go watch over this Angela because her dad died from a heart attack?”

  “No.” Zach sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  Chase couldn’t remember hearing Zach sigh. Ever. “Then?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a simple heart attack. You and I are both familiar with several compounds that mimic heart attacks.” His fierce gray eyes stared into Chase’s green ones.

  “Why don’t you go see Angela? Surely, if you were friends with her dad, she’ll expect you at the funeral. You’re the logical person to keep an eye on her.” Chase stood, feeling confident that Zach would see how reasonable his proposal was, and waited to be dismissed.

  “The last time I had contact with Angela a terrorist group attempted to kidnap her. That’s why I distanced myself from Mac.” Zach looked pained by the admission and Chase hid his surprise. The younger men referred to Zach as Robot Man behind his back because of his clinical and detached manner. Zach was known to warn each new recruit that attachments of any kind, especially romantic ones, were not welcome in his organization. Emotion had no place in the world of covert operations.

  “Okay, but she’s not a kid anymore. Surely, just showing up at a funeral wouldn’t endanger her.”

  “I’m not willing to take that risk,” Zach retorted, in his normal brisk tone. “That’s why I want you to go in my place. Just watch Angela from a distance.” Zach paused. He sighed and Chase frowned, recognizing that he wasn’t going to like whatever Zach had to tell him. “She’s FBI though, so you’ll need to be careful.”

  “You want me to watch an FBI agent without her knowledge?”

  “She’s an analyst, not an agent. She’s only had minimal field training. Mac did teach her how to use a gun though, so I wouldn’t recommend cornering her in a dark alley. What? Lost your touch? Think you can’t handle a woman?”

  Chase’s frown deepened at the smirk on Zach’s face. “Hardly. Just trying to figure out what your angle is here.”

  “Just make sure no one hurts her. If Mac actually had a heart attack, it should be an easy job, and I’ll approve an extra week of vacation,” Zach bargained.

  “Two weeks.”

  “One, Romero. It’s not like you have any real plans anyway. You wouldn’t know what to do with three weeks off.”

  “Fine,” Chase grumbled. Zach was right. His only plans involved a lake and a fishing pole. He wouldn’t be able to handle three weeks of quiet inactivity.

  *****

  The Day of the Funeral

  Chase swiped at the rainwater dripping down his forehead as he watched Angela kneel before her father’s grave. Contrary to his training, he closed his eyes, fighting the sympathy that welled up as the wind carried her sobs toward him. She’s a job, nothing more. He opened his eyes and scanned the immediate area for threats. Threats… he laughed to himself. As if anyone wanted to hurt the girl next door in small town America. He found himself wondering if Zach was getting old
and losing his edge. No, just overcautious.

  From what Chase had gathered through gossip and eavesdropping, Mac had died from a heart attack outside a bar named Jackson’s in Boston. Chase smiled. He knew Jackson’s. It was a hard core drinking kind of bar where the ladies, if you could call them that, knew the score - a single night of lovin’ with no names exchanged. Sounded like Mac at least had more of a life than Zach.

  Chase followed at a distance as Angela walked to the car. She started the car and drove home with Chase trailing several car lengths behind her. He pulled his car into Mrs. Nicholson’s driveway and stepped inside the tiny, cramped house. Mrs. Nicholson was on a two-week cruise, compliments of Holiday Winnings, a cover company Zach created years ago. To Chase’s surprise, this plan had been in existence for more than ten years. Zach apparently took his goddaughter’s safety seriously.

  Chase settled in front of the window, keeping one eye on the house across the street as he flipped through a magazine. Lightning flashed in the distance and thunder followed. He stepped away from his post to find a flashlight just as the power went out. He searched the kitchen using the LED light from his key chain. It took a while but he finally found an old green flashlight in the back of the pantry. Humming under his breath, he ambled back over to the window just as the lights stuttered back on.

  He glanced at Angela’s house and froze. The back door stood wide open. Shit! He leaned closer to the window, his eyes searching for Angela through the glass. He released a small sigh as he caught sight of her on the floor in the kitchen. His instincts urged him to race across the street and check her while his training ordered him to sit tight and scope out the situation.

  After pulling out his gun, he slipped out of the house and moved across the street under the cover of darkness. As he approached the house, he noticed Angela stirring. She grabbed the phone and, when he heard sirens in the distance a few minutes later, he faded into the shadows, returning to the house across the street.

  He watched from the darkened living room as the police and paramedics invaded the house. As the lights flickered on in each room, Chase tried to catalog the damage. By the time the police departed, Chase had come to the conclusion that Angela either interrupted a burglar or the intruder was searching rather than stealing. Setting that thought aside for the moment, he reported in to Zach. Five minutes later, he dropped into a chair near the window, relieved that the conversation ended without bloodshed - his blood of course. Zach was known to hit ruthlessly first and ask questions later.

  Chase sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. A mission in Bolivia or the Middle East was looking better and better. At least there, he knew what to expect. Here, he was working in the dark. He frowned as he watched Angela move through the house, turning on all the lights. Her actions didn’t surprise him. Even a strong woman would be spooked after having her home vandalized.

  Chase smiled faintly at the picture Angela made. Lying on the couch with her weapon within reach, she reminded him of a fiery angel ready for action. Few women would have had the courage to remain alone, but Angela had kicked the well-meaning visitors out of her house. Like her father, she appeared to have excellent instincts, plenty of courage, and an inner strength that most people lacked. At first, Chase hadn’t realized who Mac was but after reviewing his file, Chase recognized Mac as a fierce and deadly warrior about whom elite soldiers still talked. Some of Mac and Zach’s missions were legendary.

  Originally, Chase thought watching over Angela was waste of time. But now, his initial assessment changed. The presence of an intruder combined with the dirty, white cargo van he had noticed at the funeral raised some suspicions. He was pretty sure the cargo van held two FBI agents, but he couldn’t figure out why Angela’s employer would watch her from a distance like that. If the FBI suspected her of wrongdoing, her boss would just order her back to the office so agents could watch her like a hawk or the agency would bring her in for questioning. Ordering surveillance was an extreme option, usually only exercised when someone was accused of a crime like treason. Somehow he just couldn’t picture Angela as a spy. He sighed. He’d been wrong before, especially about a woman.

  As night waned, Chase settled on the couch, mirroring Angela’s position, though he kept the lights off. He sipped cup after cup of coffee, keeping watch as Angela dozed, Ruger in hand, on the couch in the brightly lit living room.

  Chapter 3

  Angela slammed the phone down and blew out a breath. Instead of sleeping, she spent the previous night lying on the couch and waiting for the intruder to return. All that sitting and thinking had made her wonder if there wasn’t more to her father’s death than she initially suspected. In the light of day, her suspicions seemed silly, and she had hoped to set them aside by talking to the Medical Examiner in charge of her father’s case. Instead, she had learned that her father’s death had been ruled a heart attack without an autopsy or further investigation. Apparently, a Dr. Richards had provided proof that Mac was under his care for a heart condition when he died. Richards’ word had eliminated the need for an autopsy according to the medical examiner’s office. Angela fumed. What heart condition? Dad didn’t have any medical problems. And what kind of ME just accepts a doctor’s word without proof? They didn’t even ask for medical records!

  She tapped her pen rhythmically against the kitchen counter. To the best of her knowledge, her father had had no health problems. Plus, he’d always seen Doc Bernard. Things weren’t adding up, and no one appeared interested in helping her solve the puzzle.

  Sighing, she rested her head on her arms, her heart aching. She hadn’t made much time for her father in the last year, focusing instead on building her career with the FBI. If she had agreed to work for her father instead of choosing the FBI, would he still be alive? The ringing of the house phone interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped up to answer.

  “Miss McKenzie?” The caller had a smooth, cultured voice with a hint of an accent.

  “Yes?” Angela leaned against the granite counter.

  “I’m interested in the item you possess.”

  “Excuse me?” Angela wrinkled her brow. “Who is this? What item?”

  “My name doesn’t matter. I am willing to pay a fair price for the item your father stole. I shall meet you at the bar in the Fairmont Copley Plaza tomorrow at 9:00 p.m.” The caller disconnected, but Angela continued to stare at the phone in her hand.

  Angela plopped into her father’s chair and grabbed a yellow notepad from the desk. Her father had always told her a good investigator starts with a list of facts he knows and works his way forward from there.

  Dad went to Boston

  He collapsed on the street later that day

  He was dead when the paramedics arrived

  Someone broke into the house but didn’t take anything

  As she nibbled on the pen, Angela turned her thoughts into questions.

  What was Dad working on when he died?

  What was he doing in Boston?

  What was the caller referring to?

  Who is Dr. Richards?

  When did Dad change doctors?

  With those questions in mind, Angela headed for her father’s office. Ten minutes later, she pulled her father’s Mercedes into the small lot behind Investigations Inc. and parked in the spot labeled N. McKenzie. Her hand shook as she unlocked the door and stepped into the file room, relieved that the office was empty. She really didn’t want to deal with Derrick right now. She hurried to her dad’s office, a small smile crossing her face when she noticed a framed copy of her high school graduation picture on his desk. Her dad had always been her biggest fan. He supported her dreams, even when those dreams took her away from him. As she recalled some of her favorite moments in his arms, a lone tear trickled down her cheek. Breathing in and out slowly, she regained her control and began sorting through the stacks on the massive desk. Almost an hour later, the office phone interrupted her thoughts, and she instinctively snapped it up.

&nb
sp; “Investigations, Inc.”

  “Is Mr. McKenzie in?” a man inquired.

  “No,” Angela choked out. “May I help you?” Her voice quivered slightly.

  “Well, I suppose.” The caller paused. “This is Charles Jenkins from J & J Jewelry. Mr. McKenzie’s package is ready to be picked up.”

  “A package? What kind of package?”

  “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t say. Would you please pass the message to Mr. McKenzie?”

  “Actually,” she hesitated. What she was about to say was more painful than she had anticipated. “This is Angela McKenzie. My father passed away a few days ago.”