Haki saw a small charm that was attached to the thread of beads. Vincent turned it over and studied the image. “He painted an image of his angel on these rosary beads. Looked at it every day, but I never took him seriously.”
Vincent pinned him with chilled black eyes. “Did this angel look anything like this?” He turned the charm so that Haki could see the face painted with such fine, loving strokes. Haki stepped forward so that he could see a little clearer. It was a beautiful, perfectly proportioned, flawless face filled with sky blue eyes and golden hair that looked as though rays of the sun shone through each strand. It was different than the face he’d seen, but it was very similar. No one on earth could possibly ever look as beautiful. They were both faces of angels.
Haki nodded. Vincent turned the charm over into the palm of his hand. His eyes grew distant. Calculating. “Quade was about to depart this life and this angel came for him. Just like my grandfather said it happens. I don’t know why, or how, but it seems this angel’s still here for some reason. That is very unusual. I’ve never heard of an angel staying after death.”
He lightly rose from his chair and walked to the large windows. “Angels have powers, you know. My grandfather also told me an old legend, passed from his grandfather from the Old Country. Angels possess—certain qualities—that I might find useful. Very useful.” He faced Haki. A vein pulsed at his temple. “Get her for me. Rip her out from the grubby hands of that bastard cop Quade if you have to. She’s mine.” Vincent stabbed a finger at Haki. “You make sure he suffers for this. I don’t want him dying on a quick bullet. Make sure his death will be something he’ll remember. Make him suffer for the wrong he’s done to my family. To me. Make him pay dearly. This time, I’ll have God on my side to make sure it happens the right way.”
Haki nodded and quickly moved for the door, frightened by the venom that poured from Vincent.
“And, Haki?”
The Maori paused with a trembling hand on the doorknob. “Yes, boss?”
“You have a sister in Melbourne, don’t you? I don’t want you to come back empty-handed. I will be deeply disappointed. Oh, and find Ben and send him to me. I want to hear what happened from his point of view. Not that I don’t trust you to some degree, Haki, but you don’t get to where I am by trusting just the one source.”
Haki only breathed again when the door quietly snapped shut behind him.
Chapter Four
The scene was familiar, yet it was as though she looked through freshly opened eyes. The soft murmur of people talking at tables filtered through the clinks of mugs kissing plates. Someone laughed and she looked for the source of the sound. A woman with long red hair flicked it back over her shoulder and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. Her friend laughed with her. It was a nice sound.
She studied Daman sitting opposite her. His onyx eyes were filled with worry. The fine lines around his eyes were tense. The severe lines on his forehead were more furrows than creases.
Grooves etched around the corner of his mouth, too. But it was a mouth that could stretch into a smile if he wanted it to. The mouth was slightly too large for his face. And squarish. The lower lip was firm and full. It was the only soft thing about him. It was a mouth that could smile and light his whole face. She thought she’d seen it like that. Many times.
He watched his black coffee as though it was a crystal ball and he didn’t like the answer he’d been given. He rubbed his hand across his cheek. She heard the rasp between his fingers and the black stubble. He sat back in his chair with a sigh, closed his eyes and stretched his neck.
She knew this scene, knew that people came to cafes to eat and drink. She breathed in deeply, savoring the mix of heady aromas that blended into something that reacted directly with her stomach.
“Do angels come to restaurants as well as people?” she asked.
His dark eyes focused on her. There was something about him she was drawn to. She felt as though she could grasp whatever flittered in her mind, but it drifted behind hidden mists.
Daman’s brows flicked upwards. “We’re in a café and I’ve never seen any angels in here before.”
“Would you know one if you saw one?” she asked.
“Only if I could see their wings.”
“But I’ve hidden mine.”
“If you all can hide your wings, then quite possibly, there are a number of angels that come here frequently.” The ghost of a smile touched his mouth, but it died. “Do you remember anything yet?”
She shook her head. “It’s like all my memories have been shut away. Locked out of my mind. I get a feeling I should be doing something, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
A waitress approached their table and set down a plate topped with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages. A delicious aroma rose from the plate. She gasped and put her hand over her belly.
“You’re hungry. Eat,” he said.
She watched as he picked up some silver instruments and balanced food on the one with pronged ends. She picked up the silver instruments, balancing the weight in her hand.
“Like this,” he said. He held them up and she tried to replicate his grip, failing miserably. He put them down and helped her wrap her fingers around the ends. His hands were cool, but an electric energy between them. “Put this one in the food, and cut with this one.”
She raised the eggs to her mouth and placed them on her tongue. An explosion of flavor burst in her mouth. She chewed, feeling the eggs break down. He chuckled and she looked at him, startled. The sound made the swirling in the pit of her stomach heat.
“They’re delicious.” She spooned another lot carefully into her mouth. The flavor soothed her stomach.
“Try your coffee,” he suggested.
She tested the liquid and her mouth was filled with a sharp, rich flavor so different to the eggs. She sipped again. Warmth flooded her mouth, filling her senses. It was a taste she also liked. “That’s delicious too.”
She ate more of the eggs, closing her eyes to savor the taste of them. When she opened them he was staring at her. She felt her face heat, unused to being under such scrutiny.
“Your meal will get cold if you don’t eat faster,” he said.
She looked at his plate. His meal was almost finished. “You eat too fast to properly taste your food,” she said.
“Food is a function. Fuel.”
She leaned across the table, placing her hand over his. “You need to slow down. Please. You must try.”
He regarded her with hooded lids, and then he scooped up some eggs. Swallowed. Raised his brows.
She shook her head. “Too fast. You didn’t taste them.”
“Of course I tasted them. I can’t help not tasting them.” He swished the food on his plate with his fork.
“Then slow down.” She scooped some eggs on her fork and held it up for him. “‘Close your eyes. Taste.”
Moments passed. He took the food and chewed.
She watched as his jaw worked. It slowed and she watched as his face transformed. Tense lines relaxed, leaving only shadows around his eyes and mouth. He leaned back, his shoulders dropped from their straight line. He swallowed and opened his eyes. He’d found a moment of peace.
“Now drink,” she said.
She watched, transfixed as he re-discovered something that was so simple, yet so forgotten for him, taking pleasure in the simple enjoyment of food.
He put his silver instruments down and the spell broke. “Angel, you can’t stay here. This is not your world. I don’t know if you should be here at all; It could be wrong, going against one of God’s laws in some way. You were in that alley for a reason. I only know you shouldn’t have lost your memory and I don’t know what sort of repercussions that may have. All I know is that I’m going to have one hell of a judgment day for bringing you here.” He stared at a space on the wall behind her. “I’m going to have to work out how the hell to get you back to where you should be
.”
She placed her hand over his, staring at their joined hands, feeling energy seeping through her hand, her skin and into her veins. She became aware of his essence, of who he was, the center of his being. The sensation threaded through her mind, aligning her senses.
She felt the bleakness, the weary darkness that had captured his soul. That also was familiar to her; she’d felt that before, so many times from so many others.
There was something else lurking beyond the gloom. A spark. A heady appetite that was new to her, which wholly captivated her. She couldn’t name the yearning hunger, but it called to her, stirring up an equally enthralling response.
Her gaze flew to his, locked. There was a burning light in the black depths. She was drawn to it, totally captured in his raw need, locked in an all-powerful pull she was quickly becoming too weak to resist. Her belly fluttered with an un-named sensation. She gasped and put her spare hand over her stomach.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I…I don’t know what it is I’m feeling…only that it is new to me.” Surprise made her smile. “It isn’t unpleasant. I like this new feeling,” she said.
He threw some money on the table and stood. “Let’s get out of here. Go someplace where I can think.”
They stepped into a chilled wind that scraped along the footpath. She shivered as the cold bit into her bones. He pulled the jacket around her, zipped up the front and tucked her hands in the pockets.
A peculiar sensation made her scan the path on the opposite side of the busy road. Cars zoomed past, wheels making a slushy sound on the wet road. A sharp pain seared her forehead. She winced and put her fingers to the pain, hoping to wipe it away.
Daman was at her side. “Angel, what’s wrong?”
“I…don’t know. My head. Something’s making it hurt.”
He drew her hair to the side. “The cut’s gone. There’s nothing there.”
“No. It’s not the cut. It’s something different.” Her gaze flicked from face to face of the people walking. As she scanned, the pain became worse, until a sharpness stabbed, making her vision blurry. “It’s coming from the car.” She pointed to a car that whenever she looked directly at it, made the pain worse.
Daman turned to look at the car and she heard him swear under his breath. “Haki. That son of a bitch.”
The car drew into traffic, pulling away in the opposite direction. She lost sight of it as it turned a corner.
“My head. The pain has gone,” she said.
Daman grabbed her arm, striding down the pavement. “We’ve got to get away from here. I don’t know how that scum knew where we were, but he’s keeping track of you.”
They came to his car. He opened the door and bundled her in, running to his side. They pulled out, Daman threading his vehicle through the thick traffic. He checked the rear-vision mirror and eventually relaxed in his seat. They came to a red light. Daman faced her, his face unreadable. “Angel, if you don’t remember anything, it’s time to really try now. That man in the car. He was the one that shot you.”
Chapter Five
“I need to get a few things from here. It won’t be safe for long. Not now that Haki saw us. Lepski will have his men here as fast as he can organize it. I’ll pack some things for the both of us, and then we’re getting the hell away from here.”
She inclined her head, nodded. It was a new concept to her, but logical to find a place of rest and seek time to think. She needed to work out what had happened to her as much as he did. She followed Daman into his apartment. He closed the door behind her and locked it. She waited as he passed her and led her down the narrow corridor to the sun-filled resting room. He tossed his keys onto a dust-covered wooden side table as he walked, feet clunking on the floorboards with his heavy boots. Her lighter footsteps wove a musical rhythm between his heavier steps.
Sound of all sorts filtered around her. Some loud, others quiet. Soothing, jarring. She heard them all. Even silence held its own tenor. She was entranced by it all. There was immediacy in hearing them and she was a part of it. Belonging. Making her own sounds. Her own noises. It labeled her a part of this world. There was something enticing about it, this fitting in amongst all the things she saw, a part of the whole. Here she made her own sounds, took up her own space, saw what she chose and felt what she picked.
Daman slipped his heavy coat from his shoulders and slung it over the back of a high-backed stool that was positioned at the kitchen bench. His eyes met hers. His breath gushed out as he ran both hands through his hair. The rain had made it shiny and wet. A drop splashed to the floor. She smelled a particular scent, intensified by his wet hair that she was becoming to recognize as purely his. It was distinct. His invisible fingerprint. Musky, masculine. She breathed in, filling her lungs, savoring its spice.
That was the other thing that had stood out. The smells. It made the world vivid. Alive. It made her feel here, so—present—but she couldn’t put her finger on why she knew it as different.
The ‘café’, Daman had called it, burst with noise and smells, each enticing in its own way, but combined, they had intoxicated her. She walked to the large windows that overlooked the busy street below. There was so much more out there. The need to experience was overwhelming. She wanted to fly through the windows to the street below and just be.
She pressed her fingertips to the window. The cold weather had chilled it and she could see white rings of condensation where her warmer fingers touched the glass. It was solid. She rapped her knuckles, listening to the hollow sound they produced. It seemed too solid to go through. How could something so transparent be so hard? She knocked with more physical force.
“If you do that any harder, it’ll break.”
Daman came to stand close behind her. She momentarily closed her eyes as his scent gently enveloped her, opening them again as she turned to face him.
“I was wondering how people go through it.”
“The glass?” He raised his brows and indicated the window with a tilt of his head.
She nodded.
“We have to open it. Like this.” He stretched past her and turned a little winding handle. The window wheeled open. The cooler air from outside rushed through the widening gap. She reached to feel the air filter through her fingers. Touch. That was another amazing thing she was now aware of. “The temperature. In here it is warm, but outside it is cold. I can feel it. My skin…feels…everything.”
Daman leaned past her, closed the window and shut off the flow of air. “You’ll catch cold if you don’t keep warm.” His shoulder brushed hers when he moved. The heat from his body transferred to hers. Heat…and something else.
A moment of awareness. Of him. And her body’s rapid physical response.
Skin heating, senses tingling. Touch, but reaction in a different way. A split second that animated her body, contained the total of her mind, the whole of her awareness. A connection.
Intimacy.
She watched him straighten, saw the moment of confusion enter his eyes, perception, then just as quickly was blinked away as though it had never happened.
But she knew it had. She still felt it. That strange feeling that overtook her was somehow more familiar than the range of sensations that enveloped her new body. As though she knew what was in her mind, but it now sharpened and blossomed in her physical body.
His hand was at her shoulder. She watched as it settled there, long fingers curving, as though in slow motion. Pressure as his hand weighed on her shoulder. Pleasant. She looked again to his eyes. They were black, sharp. Changed. She went to place her hand on top of his; then before she could move, he said, “Your jacket’s wet. Let me take it.”
The moment was over. He took her jacket from her shoulders with clean efficiency and transferred it to the back of another kitchen chair, slinging it across the back next to his with weighted movements. He turned, went to drag his hands through his hair, stopped himself and plunged
them into his pockets.
“I…errr…”
She stepped toward him. It was an easy movement, one that came naturally to her. She sought to comfort, take him in her arms, ward off the dark feeling she knew lay behind the tough veneer. He went rigid. Just a little, but enough to make her hesitate and still.
“Shit.” The mono-syllable was uttered under his breath, but still she heard.
He paused for a moment then bolted into the kitchen, opened an overhead cupboard and took down a bottle half empty with brown liquid that sloshed as he moved. He clutched it in both hands, fingers turning around the slender rim. His head dropped, shoulders set in a tense line before he pushed the bottle back into the cupboard, slapping the door shut. He faced her but didn’t look at her, instead dropping his eyes to the floor.
“I need a shower. I need to think. Can I…leave you here for a few minutes?” His voice was gruff, out of place. “When I come back, we’ll work out what we have to do to…get you back...where you came from.” He turned what he called the television on for her and told her to make herself comfortable in the sofa, before heading into the bedroom she’d woken in. The click of the door separated them.
It was clear he felt responsible for her being here, in flesh and blood. She could only sense that any fault, as such, lay with the both of them. He could not be the only reason she found herself without memory and in a breathing, feeling, human body.
Muted sounds of water falling began, then the sounds of him stepping under the heat. Water was such a cleansing tonic. Images of people swimming, bathing, soaking in water touched her mind. People making love in river streams, lost lagoons and private pools. Such intimate moments that the eyes of the unseen were privy too. But never fully understood.
Daman's Angel Page 3
