by Anna Katmore
Summer of my Secret Angel
ANNA
KATMORE
GENRE: YA/PARANORMAL ROMANCE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
SUMMER OF MY SECRET ANGEL
Copyright © 2013 by Anna Katmore
Smashwords edition
PRINT ISBN: 978-1494700386
Cover art by J.D.Stroube, www.dreamscapebookcovers.com
Edited by Annie Cosby, www.AnnieCosby.com
All cover art copyright © 2013 by Anna Katmore
All Rights Reserved
Original first title: LOVING YOUR LIES
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
To Helga and Franz. Amazing parents.
I could never break my wings as fast
as you gave me a new pair.
*
And to my grandmother, Katharina.
May your angels take care of you. Always.
I SHOULD HAVE RUN THE OTHER WAY
I FACED A moral dilemma.
Take it…don’t take it…take it…don’t take it?
The soft cotton of the purple sweater in my hand tempted me sorely. It wasn’t covered with holes or stains, but perfectly intact, like nothing I’d worn since I was five years old. I could even rub the hoodie on my cheek, and the threads wouldn’t scratch my skin like the nasty gray hand-me-down pullover I wore today.
Only the price tag stood between this perfect sweater and me.
I searched the Friday afternoon crowd at Camden Market. The place brimmed with people. Everyone was busy scanning clothes, jewelry, shiny little knickknacks, or small toys. The stand-owner had her back to me as she talked to a customer. If I wanted to nick the sweater, then it had to be now or never.
Take it?
“What are you waiting for, Montiniere?” Debby purred in my ear. “Take it or leave it. But make it fast, because I just had my hand in her till.” Her blonde brows waggled.
Debby Westwood was not my friend. At least, not in the sense of Hey girl, let’s have a pajama party and tell each other our weirdest secrets. I used to hang out with her. Debby’s the-entire-world-can-kiss-my-arse attitude totally impressed me. She’d become my idol from the moment she rammed into me on Earls Court a few months ago. If I remembered it right, she’d been on the run from the fuzz for the theft of a pair of crocodile stilettos. Jeez, I should have known consorting with a criminal would only get me into shit.
Debby wasn’t a resident of London’s youth center like me but spent her life on the streets. As for me, my warden, Miss Mulligan, allowed outings from the Westminster Children’s Home only on Tuesdays and Fridays. And I was lucky, because anyone under the age of seventeen wasn’t granted even that.
Praise my seventeenth birthday! I’d been ecstatic when I no longer had to attend group excursions. London was way more fun alone. No teachers, no rules, no nothing.
Just me. And this pretty purple sweater.
My fist tightened around the fabric. Thump-thump-thump. The sound of my heartbeat boomed in my ear, faster and faster as I got closer to taking what I wanted. I knew it was wrong. My throat went dry. I had difficulty swallowing.
Suddenly, my backpack was unzipped, and the sound raised the small hairs on my arms.
“What are you doing?” I hissed as I swung around to face Debby.
She flashed a mischievous grin. “Helping you.” Covering me from the view of the stand-owner, she stuffed the sweater halfway into my bag. “Look at you. Your rags even scare the dogs away. You’re lucky I spend time with you.”
I glanced down at my ripped jeans and tattered boots. Heat flooded my face. Even though Debby didn’t have a permanent roof over her head, she dressed like the queen of Oxford Street. If her slacks or shirts got dirty, she discarded them and stole new, brand-name ones. Simple as that.
When I first met her, it hadn’t taken the girl long to convince me that there was more than enough stuff for everyone. Debby’s Shoplifting 101 philosophy: The exaggerated prices people paid for high heels and leather jackets made good on the few pieces we nicked from time to time.
Like this sweater.
I kept my eyes on the freaky-looking stand-owner, dressed in striped tights and a straw hat, and waited another heartbeat before I shoved the sweater all the way into my backpack. She must have heard my heart pounding, because she turned around at that moment.
After staring for a second, she glanced down at my backpack. “What in the world—”
My gaze snapped to my bag. Crap! A sleeve peeked out.
An instant later, she pulled a whistle on a chain from underneath her collar, and her cheeks bloated like two tomatoes on a vine, setting London’s entire South End on alarm.
“Go! Go! Go!” I pushed Debby forward as I dashed away from the clothes stand.
“Thief! Stop!” The shrill voice echoed down the street followed by another alarming whistle. Heads turned our way. From the corner of my eye, I spotted two men in uniform stepping away from a kiosk and scanning the crowd. They were searching for us. My adrenaline kicked in, tensing each of my muscles like an over-stretched rubber band.
“This way!” Debby tugged on my backpack, almost tipping me sideways. She pulled me behind another stand with yellowed books and silver cutlery. There were more stands ahead. Shoppers turned annoyed eyes on us as we pushed through the crowd.
“Jona.” Debby was breathing hard. “We need to split up. They can’t catch us both. You go left, and I’ll keep straight.”
I turned to the left. A bloody dead end.
“You want me to play bait for the cops? Are you nuts? They’ll get me!”
“You’re not eighteen yet. They can’t nail you for anything.” Her hand curled around my upper arm. She shoved me forward as she scanned for the policemen. “Your teacher will save your arse. She does every time.”
“No! She threatened to let me rot in prison if I ever stole again.”
“Don’t be such a wimp.” Debby’s shoulder collided with mine, shoving me sharply to the side. My lungs stopped sucking in air. Mouth open, I pivoted to face Debby. Her evil grin was the last thing I saw as she vanished into the crowd.
“The brats ran this way,” a gravelly voice reached me.
I peeked over my shoulder. Bloody hell! The cops were fast on my heels. Their blue caps bobbed out from the crowd and moved steadily forward. I was an easy target for them.
Not today.
Debby had gone straight on, so I angled to the right. There had to be a way out of this open market. The pounding in my ears shut out the murmur of the shoppers. My gaze darted over the crowd. Bobbing heads moved like waves. Dammit! Which way would get me out of here?
I stopped, trying to catch my breath, then I pivoted. There was no thinning of the crowd, but the blue police caps came on, angling my way at a speed that should have been impossible in the packed market.
Beads of sweat dotted my face and the back of my neck. Miss Mulligan would kill me if I got involved with the police again.
I used my hand as a shield against the gleaming afternoon sun. A dowdy overweight man with a green hat shoved me aside. I lost my balance and nearly knocked over a toddler sucking on a lollipop with huge brown eyes gaping up at me. Instead, I collided with an old lady whose shrill
cry not only pained my ears but also gave me away.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I muttered, noticing her hunched back and the scarf wrapped about her gray hair. Her glasses sat askew across her nose, and one of her crutches had dropped to the ground. I bent to pick it up for her.
“Are you all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I ducked my head and adjusted the glasses with shaking fingers. My feet were already bouncing in the direction of escape.
“Get off, you nasty child!” The lady dropped the crutch to swat my hands away from her face. “Don’t any of you kids have eyes in your useless heads?”
That got me moving. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled away, doing my best to dodge the oncoming pedestrians. A heavy boot with rubber treads landed on my fingers. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. Maybe crawling wasn’t the best way to move through a crowd as thick as Miss Weatherby’s vanilla pudding. I jumped to my feet.
“Move!” The same gravelly voice I’d heard earlier parted the crowd like the Red Sea.
“Riley, I got her!” called a very angry bobby.
The man leaped forward, lunging for my arm. I spun on my heel, ready to dash away to safety, but instead I bounced right into the solid, uniform-clad chest of my captor’s partner. He was smaller, and stout, but his grip on my shoulder was iron.
Ice-cold fear settled in my veins. “Let go!” I kicked his shin and wrenched free from his grip.
The man yelped and hobbled on his good leg. People surrounded us like this was a stupid carnival, only they all had the same judging look in their eyes. They’d caged me in. My stomach slid to my feet. No chance of escape.
Oh dear Lord, I was in deep shit.
The tall officer ripped my raggedy backpack from my shoulders before he shoved me to the pavement. He dug his knee into my spine.
Brilliant. Just the position I wanted to be in.
I thought my shoulders would pop out of their sockets when he wrenched my hands behind me. Cold metal closed around my wrists. The ominous click of the cuffs resonated in my ears, sending a red haze of hysteria through my head. Oh please, not again.
Debby’s first rule when caught shoplifting: Deny everything.
Swallowing hard, I gathered what was left of my courage. “Leave me alone!” The words were muffled with my cheek grinding painfully against the pavement. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
My long hair caught in the officer’s hand as he yanked me up. I groaned. This was going to end nastily. I needed a Plan B. Fast.
“Of course you didn’t do anything, kid.” The officer named Riley laughed harshly as he rummaged through my backpack. “Let me guess, you’re a kleptomaniac, and you have a medical certificate for legal pilfering in London?”
Making fun of me?
Debby had also taught me not to show fear in those moments. And she’d taught me well. I stuck out my chin. These jerks wouldn’t get the best of me. “Take off the cuffs and I’ll fucking klepto your balls!”
“Watch your tongue, missy. You’re in no position to threaten a police officer.” Riley gave me a hard stare. “Is this your backpack?”
I glowered back. “Nope. Never seen it before.”
“Ah, that’s funny. Because here is an identification card from the Westminster Children’s Home, which coincidentally holds your picture.” He held up the ID and flashed an ugly grin. If he’d moved his hand an inch closer, he could have shoved the small yellow card up my nose.
“I lost my wallet last week. Seems like someone found it.” I fought to keep my expression neutral.
“Of course. And that person forced this bag on you then. Oh, and the sales lady stuffed this”—he pulled out the purple sweater and dangled it in front of me—“into the backpack as you walked by her shop, right?”
I stared him straight in the eye and cocked a brow. “Shit happens.”
The tall man behind me grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “That’s enough. You’re coming with us.”
I cast a sneer over my shoulder as he pushed me forward. “How could I ever resist when you beg so nicely, Officer?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he restrained from speaking. His grip on my arm tightened as he led me out of the market. Shaken, I walked alongside the officers with my gaze on the ground to avoid the curious stares of pedestrians. Their stares tormented me more than the steel cuffs cutting into my wrists.
When we reached their patrol car, I lifted my eyes. Across the street, Debby-the-bitch-Westwood lurked in the doorway of a dirty gray house with a snide gleam in her eyes. I stopped short, my anger heating my blood, then I jerked my arm free from the officer and marched forward. “I hope you’re happy now!”
But Debby disappeared even before the bobby grabbed me again and pulled me back to the car. “This one’s mental,” he whispered to Riley.
Bearing down on my molars until my jaw hurt, I scowled at the two men.
The taller officer shoved me into the backseat and slammed the door shut. My body shook as the truth of my dire situation washed over me.
The officers climbed into the front seat. My gaze hardened once more as Riley inched the car into London’s traffic.
The tall one curled his lips as he looked at me through the cage partition. “I always wonder what drives kids like you to steal. Doesn’t the system provide you with all the luxury you need?”
I gathered my saliva to make a good spit at him. But that wouldn’t exactly help my situation, so I struggled to swallow my anger along with the phlegm. He wasn’t the only one in London who rated homeless children as lower than dirt.
“I get a kick out of riding in police cars,” I replied, my tone dripping saccharin sweetness. “It’s always the highlight of my week.” The steel around my wrists dug uncomfortably into my back. I shifted a few times, ending up propped against the door with my legs pulled to my chest and my dirty boots resting on the worn-out beige cushions of the backseat. The heat of early August had warmed the cabin like a sauna. In the stuffy air, tickles of sweat rolled down the valley between my breasts.
At a traffic light, my gaze drifted upon a bus and skated over a black woman inside it. She carried a baby, trying to cool the kid down with puffs of her breath. A sigh escaped me. She would never let her child down or send him off to an orphanage to fend for himself. Her child would grow up in a cozy home, with a loving mother, far away from the kind of mess I was stuck in. Always falling into a pile of crap. I cleared my throat to stop it from constricting.
Riley pulled up in front of a narrow, familiar brick building. Seconds later, he opened the car door for me. I decided my butt had grown roots as I scowled at his blotchy face. It seemed the heat troubled him even more than me.
“What? Does the Skillful Dodger need an invitation to get out of the car?”
“What? Is Mr. Donut actually referring to Dickens?” I pulled a wry face then scooted over to climb out. “You better read the book again, moron.”
With the damn cuffs on, getting out was a bitch. I bumped my head against the doorframe. Pain exploded in my skull, followed by a shower of stars dancing behind my eyelids.
Just another bright spot in my crappy day.
“That serves you right,” Riley snorted between hiccups of laughter.
“Lord, let him choke on his giggles,” I mumbled with my gaze raised skyward. With my wrists crossed in the small of my back, I tugged up my hand-me-down jeans that always sat loosely on my hips.
The taller officer marched into the building, holding the door open like a gentleman. If only I’d had my hands free to open the door on my own and then slam it in his goddamn face.
Riley fought to keep up with my quick stride, but I beat him to the stairs.
“Don’t worry, I can find the way myself.” I climbed the steps to the first floor where the main office was located. Unfortunately, I had to wait for one of the oafs to open the door.
As Riley and his partner arrived on the first floor, my exaggerated sigh drew their attention. One flight of s
tairs had Riley gasping like a puppy.
The tall cop planted a hand on my shoulder. “No need to hurry, lass. You’ll meet justice soon enough.”
I shrugged his hand off. “I’ve got news for you, Riley and Riley’s partner. I’m only seventeen. That means I’m not old enough to face legal punishment for a minor crime like…borrowing a sweater.” I gave them a wide grin, which didn’t come as easily as I had hoped as Miss Mulligan’s warning rang in my head.
“Borrow?” Riley puffed. There was amusement in his tone, but his angry face confirmed I would be walking out of here—without cuffs. I turned my face away and exhaled, relieved.
Riley twisted the doorknob then walked into the office first. Shoulders squared and back straight, I followed him into the room with the high, arched ceiling. The sun shining through the narrow, tall windows blinded my eyes for a second, while the stench of sweat and the smell of police dogs hit my nose.
A handful of cops lingered behind wide desks, sipping from coffee mugs and chatting to each other. No one glanced at us, so I avoided the German shepherd sprawled out on the floor and strode down the aisle between two straight lines of desks, directly to reception.
Hip against the counter, I gazed down at the black-haired guy with designer stubble. His bright eyes stood out against the dark blue of his uniform.
“Hi, Quinn. How you doing? Sorry, I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid that right now—” I twisted and raised one shoulder, displaying my shackled wrists. “I’m slightly indisposed.”
Quinn rubbed his hands over his suntanned face. The moan came through muffled and somewhat choked. “Shit, Jona! Tell me you were part of a sick party gag and now you’re here to get trick cuffs removed.” He peeked through the slits between his fingers.
A sheepish smile crept to my face. “You might want to take a second guess.”
