Daman's Angel (Crimson Romance)

by Charmaine Ross

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m starting to be more worried than I already am about you. So cough it up and tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into now.”

  Daman settled into the hard wooden chair as best he could, feeling the uncomfortable bars dig into his back. Knowing how crazy it all sounded, knowing he would come across like he’d lost his marbles, he took a steeling breath and began. He went into police mode, detailing the events in a concise, precise manner. When he’d finished, Pete hooked him a sharp gaze. “I don’t mean this to sound how it will, but are you seeing the police psych?”

  “I’m not making any of this up.”

  Pete’s keen eyes narrowed. “Taken any drugs lately?”

  Daman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Pete knew how he felt about drugs. He’d spent most of his adult life fighting them on the streets. “Yeah, chose some LSD over breakfast this morning. Come on, Pete. When have you ever known me to fabricate anything?”

  Pete shook his head, breathed out a heavy sigh. “You’ve not been the same since Michelle … ”

  “She died three years ago. People change in three years,” Daman said.

  “You took it, are still taking it, pretty hard. Stress like that … Wanting to make sense of it all … Look, all I’m saying is grief works in funny ways.”

  “It’s real. All of it. You should be looking for a new partner by now. I shouldn’t be here talking to you. I should be enjoying the sweet afterlife, not here trying to justify the state of my mind.”

  Pete shook his head. “Cool down. You have to understand, it sounds like something from the X-Files.”

  “Look, a day ago, I’d be saying the same things you are sitting in your seat. I know how crazy it sounds. Like I’ve jumped off the deep end, turning up with a beautiful woman claiming she’s an angel, for God’s sake. But a day is a long time. Things happen and not all of it is logical.”

  “Just saying this is true, and I’m not saying I believe you, what are you planning to do?”

  Daman sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I’m on borrowed time. What I do now will be the last thing I do. I’m taking Vincent down and the whole Lepski network.”

  “Glad to see you’re aiming small.” Pete sat forward. “We don’t have any hard evidence.”

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on them. Been my personal hobby lately. I’ve got photos, names, addresses, a detailed diary of their movements. Everything I need to bring them down.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Pete said, his voice sharp.

  “I didn’t tell you. This is an out-of-office deal. Let’s just say the way I got this evidence is less than above board. But it’ll stand up in court. And it’s all yours. You’ll be the person known for bringing down the Lepski gang.”

  Pete sighed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “The department is keeping too close an eye on me since Michelle’s death. They’d have retired me if they knew what I was doing. Neurotic obsession is what they’d call it. I had to have a functioning badge. I’ve had nothing else to live for except the force. If I didn’t have to get up and go to work every day … ” He let his breath carry what he couldn’t say out loud.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I was going to let you know when I had more information. Everything I’d need. But I have it now. Last night, I got the last piece.” He pulled out a note from his inside jacket pocket. “The address of Vincent Lepski himself. Cost me my last thousand. And my life.” He slid the piece of paper across the table to Pete. “It’s yours.”

  Pete took the paper and unfolded it. One edge was stained with Daman’s blood. He sent Daman a direct look.

  “Luckily, Haki didn’t have a chance to search me.”

  Pete read the address. “Smith Street. Hidden in plain sight. We suspected, but never got the proof.”

  “Now we have. Everything’s there. The mills, the stampers, all his equipment. And a month’s stock of drugs in the warehouse. I had someone wait around the clock to get that.”

  “Who?”

  “A low-life. He needed the extra cash and he had the time to sit and wait. I’ve got photos and a concise month’s list of comings and goings from his house. Easy to coincide with Lepski’s dealings on the street.”

  “Where’s your evidence?”

  “Hidden in my apartment.”

  “Lepski’s bound to have someone watching it.”

  Daman nodded. “Agreed. It’ll take the both of us to get it.” He paused, then asked, “Are you in?”

  Pete pursed his lips. “We’re partners. I’m with you.”

  “We’ll need to work out a plan, but it has to be tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be expected.”

  “We still have an element of surprise. They won’t know when, or how. We’ll create a diversion.”

  “Sounds complicated,” Pete said.

  Angel appeared in the doorway, freshly washed and in the clean clothes he’d given her. The smell of fresh rain and powdery lavender hit him between the eyes, knocking his gut all the way to his toes. He picked up his beer and slammed the last mouthful down his throat. He set the empty bottle back onto the table with a clatter. “At least we have God on our side.”

  Pete watched Angel with a mixture of awe and suspicion. Daman knew what was going on in his mind. The same thing that had gone in his mind only last night. Pete was a cop and he wanted proof. Daman hadn’t expected him to believe what he’d told him, but he couldn’t ask what he was about to ask Angel to do without it.

  He rose and took Angel’s hand, bringing her into the room. He cupped her hand between his own, running his thumb over the back of her hand. It slid over her knuckles and he absorbed the silky feel. His own hands felt coarse by comparison. He wanted to bring her hand to his lips so he could breath in her fragrance, touch her skin with his mouth, taste her as he’d kiss her there. She was life, energy, lightness of being and he wanted to bask in her aura for now and all time.

  But time was something he didn’t have. Borrowed is the way he looked at it.

  He began gently, “Angel, I’ve told Pete about you.”

  Her eyes widened and her gaze immediately drew to Pete.

  “It’s okay. You can trust him. He’s my partner.”

  She looked back to him, trust infusing the question in her eyes. “If you trust him, I trust him.”

  “Angel. I don’t want to ask you to do this … and I wouldn’t if it weren’t absolutely necessary,” he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, released and drew a breath. “I need you to show Pete that you’re an Angel. He won’t believe until he sees.”

  “You’ve told him,” Angel said.

  “Yes. But he’s a cop and like I did, he needs proof.” He inwardly cringed. He hated to ask her, wanted to keep her secret to himself. He didn’t want to share her majesty, didn’t want to let Pete in on her secret. He could happily covet it for the rest of his life — but that was too short, so he had to ask this of her. It was akin to telling God that unless there was proof, there was no belief.

  He’d been in that place and knew how easy it was to be there. After a time he’d liked it. It felt comfortable, not seeing the life, not letting anyone in. It was no way to live, but he didn’t have to try. Now it was all he could do but despair that his days of self-incrimination were nearly over. What he’d give to have them back and give them another way.

  Lesson learned too late.

  He pushed the thought aside. It would do no good to dwell. He had to concentrate on the here and now. There weren’t many of them left.

  “What would you like me to do?” Angel asked.

  “Your wings … ”

  Angel nodded and Daman stepped back away from her. She closed her eyes, bent her head forward so her hair f
ell as a curtain about her face. The outline of her wings faintly appeared. At first the kitchen cupboards were visible through them, then slowly they grew solid, extending to the walls of the cramped little kitchen. The whisper-soft feathers brushed the doorframe. The high arcs of her wings extended above her head and framed her face with breathtaking exquisiteness.

  It was a sight he could never grow used to. Daman’s legs crumbled beneath him, and with a shaking hand, he managed to pull out a chair and collapse onto it. Pete’s mouth worked wordlessly. His ruddy face had become ashen, his shoulders slack. His fingers slid from the beer bottle and it tipped unheeded across the table, the last of his beer leaving a frothy wake.

  Angel moved toward Pete with willowy grace and bent down to him. Pete wordlessly slipped down in his chair, stopping when the nape of his neck caught on the frame. She placed her hands on his cheeks as would a mother to a child, moving so close their noses almost touched. Her face was serene, washed with care and love. Her wings folded forward and around him, enveloping the both of them, a cocoon of white gossamer feathers. A golden light illuminated from her wings as though they were lit from inside. The room glowed with the light, golden and dazzling. Multi-hued flecks of blue and red swirled in the light, bright twinkling stars, flickering and spinning faster and faster until they zapped like long streaks of light.

  Angel whispered words Daman couldn’t understand. Her tone was comforting and warm, prompting, asking. She stopped speaking. The lights grew so brilliant and the gold turned such a bright white, Daman had to shield his eyes. Pete sobbed. One gut-wrenching sound that pounded through the small kitchen. The light faded. The normal electrical globe gleamed so dull by comparison. Angel unwrapped her wings from around Pete and stood back.

  Pete’s eyes were bright with shedding tears. He rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands, fingers raked through his hair. His frame shuddered as he gulped in air, trying to still his emotions. Daman had never seen Pete so emotional. He always kept himself on a tight lead, careful not to show anything behind his ruddy, efficient police-detective façade. He’d taken on the persona for so long, Daman doubted Pete had the ability to show anything of himself, except to his wife and kids. Angel watched Pete carefully, a serene smile on her mouth. She folded her wings behind her back and they faded from sight.

  Pete stirred. He rubbed his eyes and the moisture from his face before turning to Angel. He took Angel’s hands in his own trembling hands. He pressed her knuckles to his mouth. He looked up at her, eyes light, face open with enlightened happiness. “Thank you. So much. I’ve always wondered and now I know.” His voice was thick and hushed.

  Angel squeezed his hands. “He’s safe and happy.”

  “It’s more than I can ever wish for. How can I thank you?”

  She glanced at Daman and he let himself be drawn into her warm gaze. A smile touched her lips, pulling the firm ends upward. “Believe Daman when he asks you to.”

  Pete let go of her hands and turned his attention to Daman. He reached into his pocket to withdraw a handkerchief and rubbed his nose that was much redder than normal. “I saw my dad. He spoke to me, told me he lived on beyond his death and was always watching me. He asked about Sandra and the kids. Told me he’d seen them at their music recital and was proud. How could he know about that? The recital was last weekend.”

  “Ask me that two days ago and I’d have said you were crazy. Now, I’ll tell you what you saw was real. That was your dad and she is an angel.”

  Pete blew his nose. He smiled, shaking his head. “And I’ll give you all the help I humanly can.” He stood, took Angel’s hand and sat her in his seat. “I’ve got a sudden urge to go to my family and tell them how much I love them. Would you mind? I’ll be back early tomorrow, but just for now … I need to go.”

  Daman nodded. “I understand. Go. Enjoy. We’ll be waiting for you in the morning.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he bent to her and pulled Angel into his arms in a crushing hug. “Thank you. You’ve given me so much.” Then, to Daman, “We’ll get these bastards. I promise.” He picked his keys from the table and shuffled from the room, wiping his still-watery eyes.

  “I’ve never seen him like that. Half the time he’s one hard son of a bitch, and the other half he’s a rock. What did you show him?” Daman said.

  “I asked his father to come and visit him. I lifted the veil a little so they could see each other.”

  “You can do that?”

  She nodded. “If people ask, I can, although it’s not often done. Humans tend to rely on your mediums for correspondence between the worlds.”

  One desperate thought. Michelle. Maybe Angel could lift the veil for him and he could see her just one more time. Maybe. But Angel was here, and she sat across the dented, cheap pine table and all he wanted to do was talk with her and be in her company.

  He would ask her later. He’d asked so much of her just now helping Pete to believe. He’d taken so much from her and there was little he could give back. Where Angel was life, he was darkness. He’d seen so much murkiness for so long, there was nothing of himself that he could possibly give her. He could only take, but for now he didn’t want to.

  Tomorrow he would pay her back for all the wrong he’d taken from her.

  She was an Angel. A direct creature of God. He had no right to ask anything more of her. All he wanted was to spend time with her. Just by being at her side meant he could mend a little of his torn, battered soul. Around her he could forget the bad in the world, the darkness he’d lost himself in and had in turn had come to like in a self-mocking way, as though that was all he could ever have, that was all he deserved.

  Of its own, his hand slid across the table and held hers. “Thank you,” he said.

  She blinked, her head inclined to the side. “For what?”

  “For showing Pete his father again. For doing what I asked. For being … ” You. He wanted to say, but his throat closed over and he couldn’t say the word. To do so would mean he would entrap her more to this earth.

  Her silver-blonde brows pressed together. “For being what?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Just thank you for showing Pete who you are. He will never forget.”

  A smile pressed her mouth and the small kitchen brightened and lit with warmth. “You’re welcome.”

  He paused for a moment, enjoying just sitting and watching her. He would remember her like this always. Then the urgency of his situation dampened his mood and he hit rock bottom. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He stood, took her hand and brought her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll show you your room and you can rest. Do you sleep?”

  She rose and stepped toward him. Her earthy aroma enveloped him. His senses shuddered with an urgent craving. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a woman before.”

  His throat dried. “You’re an angel.” His voice was raspy.

  She shook her head. Her hair shimmered over her shoulders, framing her face in strands of silvery moonlight. “At the moment I’m both. In this body, I can touch. Be touched. Feel. As a flesh and blood woman.”

  Her eyes roamed his face. His self-reserve faded as he fell into fathomless blue. Self-control was battered by an intense yearning to reach out to her. To have her in his arms. Touch. Explore. Knowing he shouldn’t, that she was completely untouchable and yet not finding the will to deny such a powerful ache.

  He cupped her face with his hand. His hand trembled with the touch as her need poured into him. Their connection was strong and fast. He swayed toward her, his eyes drawn to her mouth.

  “You are forbidden,” he said.

  “Who says that,” she whispered. Her gaze was heavy, pulling him toward her. He shuddered and, using the last reserves of his will, went to pull back. She moved her hand over his, keeping it placed on her cheek. Tingling warmth dispersed
into his skin. He watched her fingers stroking his, almost hypnotized, drunk with a burgeoning craving to touch and be touched. She closed her eyes, pressing his palm to her face. “Something like this can’t be forbidden.”

  She took a shuddering breath. He willed himself not to sweep the mess off the table and lay her across it and love her then and there. Her eyes flew open. Her gaze was intent. She knew what he’d thought. She wasn’t upset by it, or horrified. Instead he felt her eagerness, her own craving blend with his. Intensifying their combining passion.

  He mustn’t. Yet couldn’t deny.

  She moved toward him, so close now he was impaled by his need, read the same need that glowed in her eyes. The overwhelming hunger that fogged his mind so that there was only here. Only now. The two of them. The complete capitulation to utter abandonment.

  With her. Only her.

  She leaned toward him, touching his mouth with hers. It was enough to drive him over the last verge of control. He plunged his hands to her nape, her back, capturing her in his arms. He slanted his lips over hers and when she opened her lips to meet him, he dove with his tongue, stroked, tasted the burning cavern within. Burgeoning want, need, kicked his gut, spiraling his senses into heady compete awareness of her.

  Damn it all if he went to hell. He’d have this to remember. He couldn’t die with such a powerful, surging need unexplored.

  She was pure temptation. It was a sin to give in to temptation. He’d learned that at the altar.

  And if he burned for eternity, then so be it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Unexplored appetite let her take what he gave. The more she felt, the more she wanted. Her mind, body, skin yearned to be touched. She wound her arms around his neck, locking him so close her tingling breasts crushed against his chest.

  She knew there was more, so much more than just kissing. She knew of it, had seen it, but experiencing it made one hell of a difference. Her body was weighted by an enslaving ache. Her insides were hollow. Heated blood flowed through her veins. And all that reverberated in her mind was how much she wanted this to be. With him. Now.