"Frank, be serious," she said, but grinned back at him. "I really need to ask you something."
He stroked his hand across her cheek and allowed his face to lapse into a more serious expression. "All right, sweetheart. What is it?"
She glanced at him uncertainly, as though expecting him to drag her off track again at any moment. "I just… I mean, I'm feeling a bit vulnerable this morning. I thought and thought before I decided to… I mean before I thought it was okay to… I…" She dragged a hand over her face. "Oh, rats, I'm doing this all wrong."
"Just relax, sweetheart. I'm not going to bite…" He grinned again. "Not right now, anyway. And never hard." He nibbled at her shoulder with his lips.
She batted at him and giggled, but he could hear the nervous strain.
He pulled back. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm all ears."
"I just want to make sure you're okay with what happened last night. I mean… I probably should have talked to you about it first but… I was pretty sure… I mean, you said you loved me and you've given every indication that you wanted—"
He stroked some hair behind her ear as he stared at her incredulously. "Angel, how can you even ask? Of course, it was okay with me. Better than okay. It was marvelous. Fabulous. Stupendous. Break in anytime with superlatives of your own, honey."
She laughed and he was pleased to hear that the tension was gone. He kissed her forehead.
Angel climbed out of bed, relieved that Frank understood. She'd been worried that after the fact he might be unhappy, since they hadn't really solved anything. After her shower, they spent a lovely day together enjoying each other's company. They started with Sunday brunch at a quaint little restaurant just off Broadway. Then made love. They lit a cozy fire in the stone fireplace and curled up in each other's arms to enjoy the rainy afternoon together. Then made love. They prepared a simple spaghetti dinner and savoured it by candlelight. Then made love. When evening arrived, they decided the phrase 'early to bed' had some interesting connotations.
Angel yawned, opening her eyes to glance at Frank stretched out beside her, his breathing deep and even. Waking up in Frank's arms had to be the closest thing to heaven she would ever know. Pain stabbed through her at the thought of having to give him up, but she steeled herself against it. For now, she would allow herself only to feel the joy of his presence. She would deal with the pain once he was gone.
She slid her fingers through the sprinkling of curly hair on his chest. "Are you awake, Frank?"
"Hmm?"
She nipped his shoulder. "I asked if you're awake."
"No," he murmured. His eyes remained closed, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
She grinned and lowered her face to his skin, intent on tasting his firm male flesh. Her tongue traced the line of his collarbone, then dipped down to his hard male nipple. She licked the tip.
Both his eyes popped open. "I am now."
He smiled at her and she felt her insides melt.
"Don't tell me you're tired?" she teased.
"Heavens, no. Why would I be tired? We haven't done anything interesting today."
"No? Are you saying I'm boring?" Capturing his nipple in her teeth, she nibbled, satisfied at his moan of approval.
"No. Definitely not boring."
His hands stroked her hair over her shoulder, out of the way. She dragged her hands down his abdomen, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles under her fingertips—until she felt her finger drawn along a diagonal line marring his smooth flesh. She blinked and stared at a long white scar extending from the bottom of his left rib cage to three inches over his navel. A sick feeling gurgled through her. She pulled back and stared at Frank's face.
"Frank, where did you get this scar?"
His sleepy smile drew tight, his face turning serious. "Angel…"
"Where, Frank?"
"In the line of duty."
Suddenly, she found it difficult to breathe. She pushed her hair back off her face, holding it there as she stared at him intently. "Which case?"
He hesitated and that told her more than she wanted to know.
This scar, he must have gotten it…
She remembered watching Cavaglione's men hold Frank tightly by the arms when she'd walked into her cabin in Hawaii. She'd forced her face to remain impassive, knowing it could mean both their lives if she'd shown her true emotions. She'd held her cool and calmly told Domenic all about Frank and his partner, watching Frank's love burn away, consumed by hatred. She'd left the room and steeled herself against the sound of fists hitting flesh—Frank's flesh, and his grunts of pain.
She'd managed to get Frank out of there alive, but she'd never allowed herself to think about the physical cost to him. Now, it stared her in the face.
"Angel, don't think about it. It doesn't matter." He reached out to stroke an errant lock of hair from her face, but she jerked back as though his touch would burn her. She spun away from him.
"Angel…"
She felt his hand gently rest on her shoulder and she bolted off the bed. She hurried into the living room, desperate to distance herself—from Frank and from the evidence of the pain she'd caused him.
She grabbed the curtains and stared into the darkness. The drapes billowed around her, allowing her to escape the confines of the room, but not quite giving her the freedom of the night. Rain drizzled down the window, blurring the lights of the city. She tried to blank her mind, but she couldn't block out the memories. And she couldn't block out the feel of Frank's presence in the room. He'd followed her. He stood behind her.
"Angel." He drew her into the room again, tugging the drapes from her numb fingers. They dropped back into place, hiding the night.
"No, Frank," she cried. "I put my job above your safety. I threw your love away to save my cover." Her fingers drifted to the angry scar and she traced the length of it. "I caused you immeasurable pain. How can you forgive me?"
He surrounded her fingers with his own and drew her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her palm.
"I do forgive you, Angel." His solemn gaze held hers, somehow making her believe in forever. "Anyway, you've more than made up for it." He drew her into his arms. "You've given me your love." He nuzzled her cheek. "You've given me your innocence." He stroked his hand along her shoulder. "And once you've given up your cover and we're—"
She stiffened. "Given up my cover? What are you talking about?"
Frank's eyes narrowed. "I'm talking about you and me, married, having kids. I'm talking about leaving the deception behind and pursuing an honest relationship. Isn't that what you had in mind when you decided you'd make love with me?"
She stepped back, horrified. "Why would you think that?"
Pain lanced through Frank as he realized he had misunderstood her intentions, erupting into anger as he realized nothing had changed between them—except one physical barrier. Important as that was, he needed far more. He didn't want Angel for a couple of weeks or months. He wanted her for a lifetime.
"Because, Angel, you'd never been with a man before. I didn't think you'd have done what you did last night—that you'd give yourself to me—if you weren't ready for a commitment."
"Frank, this morning… I thought you said that you were okay with this?"
"That was before I knew this was a temporary arrangement." Blazing fury heated his face. His fists clenched at his sides. "How could you do it?"
Angel's bewilderment suddenly turned to anger. "Do what, Frank?" she asked in a tight voice. "What a million other women do every day? Show the man they love how much they care? Share a loving relationship with him?"
"You should have discussed it with me first."
"Why?"
He spoke between gritted teeth. "Because maybe I wanted to hold out for forever with you, not have some cheap affair."
Her gaze darted up to meet his, her eyes widening. She drew in a shaky breath. "Oh, Frank, I—"
He glared at her. "You made me believe in happily-ever-after, Angel. Just
like you did four years ago." The words came out gruff, anguished. He crossed the room in three quick strides, slamming the bedroom door behind him. A few minutes later, he returned fully dressed and strode out the front door.
Oh, God, what had she done? She'd had no idea Frank would make the kind of assumptions he'd just revealed. Damn it! She had given him her love in the only way she could, and she had hurt him.
Again.
He'd said he'd believed in happily-ever-after. Didn't he know that only existed in fairy tales? A tear crept over her cheek.
Didn't she?
* * *
Angel didn't know what time Frank had come home last night. Which surprised her. She thought she'd be awake all night, frantically reliving their discussion, but she'd finally fallen asleep, exhausted by anguished sobs. This morning, she saw evidence that Frank had been home. An empty coffee mug in the sink. The sports section of the paper lying on the table. A note stuck on the fridge reminding her to make an appointment for him with Vendetti.
When she phoned home later, she got the answering machine and left a message, knowing he was probably there—avoiding her. He continued to avoid her that evening, staying out until late. Oh, God, how long could they go on like this? She heard him come in about an hour after she'd turned out her light and listened as he got ready for bed, disappointed when she saw the light streaming under her door go out. He must have settled in on the couch to sleep.
Her heart ached. She missed him. She longed for his arms around her, to hear his sweet words of love. The longing she'd felt for him before their love-making had been bad enough. Now it was sheer agony.
The following week Frank started working for Vendetti. Frank maintained a polite, professional attitude with Angel at home, as he would with any partner with whom he had no emotional attachments. Which is the way they should have left it, she realized. She had seriously overstepped the bounds of professionalism for the first time in her career, and with disastrous results, for both herself and Frank. At least he was maintaining a professional attitude. At least she could attempt to do the same. So, all the time they were together, she longed to reach out to him, to feel his arms around her, but she resisted her urges and filled him in on the workings of Vendetti's office and prepared him for his new role.
Vendetti intended to work Frank into the organization slowly, giving him a few odd jobs at first, like picking up shipments of money from a number of offices around the city. Frank didn't tell Angel the details of the jobs, but gave her a log of the businesses he picked up cash from, how much he received from each, and where he delivered it. They went through this each day and, in turn, she showed him logs of the calls she handled for Vendetti and the correspondence that passed by her, both paper and electronic.
Angel watched Frank across the table as he reviewed the day's logs, a bitter emptiness gnawing at her stomach. It didn't make sense. She and Frank loved each other. They should be making memories together while they had the chance. But no. She'd hurt him. Again. Her cover—her damned stupid cover—always came between them. Frank had embraced it for now—for the case—but all too soon he'd leave. And then she'd be left alone. Again.
Maybe she'd be better off.
Frank glanced up at her, the blueness of his eyes emphasizing their lack of warmth. A warmth that used to sizzle in their depths when he looked at her.
Better off? Without Frank. Who was she trying to kid?
* * *
Frank drove past the large sprawling warehouses that littered the industrial area. A full moon provided the only light besides the headlights of the pickup truck he drove. He pulled around the back of the building at the end of the lane to park out of sight of the road.
Closing the door behind him with a quiet click, he climbed the splintered, age-worn wooden steps leading to a steel security door. He pulled and it opened easily. The darkness inside felt like a smothering presence as the door drifted closed behind him. He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the blackness, listening for any sign of movement. He pointed his flashlight toward the ground and flicked it on. With slow, careful movements he made his way to the office that he knew was twenty paces forward and five to the left. A rustling sound alerted his senses and he snapped the flashlight towards the noise, but all he saw were a couple of mice scrabbling around some old boxes, then flickering out of sight. They'd been gnawing on the cardboard, judging from the ragged, torn edges of the cartons.
"Frank."
Frank jerked around, shooting the beam of the light towards the voice. "Dennis. I didn't think you were here yet. I didn't see your car."
"No. Our man left the bay door unlocked, so I pulled inside tonight. Come on. I've got those lists you asked for."
Dennis swung around and turned on his own flashlight, leading Frank the last few steps to the office. Dennis snapped open a briefcase lying on the table in the small, walled-off work space and handed Frank some computer printouts.
Frank scanned the headings and rows of data. "So you got lists for all of them?"
"That's right. Our guy in the phone company pulled up the data for the past six months. You've got the numbers and names associated with each, just like you asked. I've given you a full list of addresses and company names, where appropriate, to go along with them. If you need any more, let me know."
Frank nodded. He sat down and flipped through a few pages of the printout. He suspected that one of these companies was used as a front to make payoffs to the informant. If he could get a look at Vendetti's files, he might find the account number used and somehow link it back to Hal. Or Angel.
But he knew it couldn't be Angel. Just because she wouldn't give up her cover to be with Frank didn't make her a traitor. He'd seen her relive the horror of her parents death. No one could act that well.
Could they?
If anyone could, it would be a woman capable of living under cover for ten years. A woman capable of turning the man she claimed to love over to ruthless killers without a second thought—and making him believe she wasn't affected in the least. And then later making him believe she was.
Was there anything about Angel he could really believe?
Yes. He believed she wasn't the informant. Despite the anger that gnawed at his gut at her refusal to give up her cover. Maybe she couldn't leave her past behind, maybe she'd thrown away their chance at a future together, but an informant? He wouldn't believe it.
"And, Frank?"
Dennis' tone made Frank glance up sharply.
"I checked for call-forwarding on the numbers as you suggested. Take a look." Dennis handed Frank another sheet of paper with a list of phone numbers cross-referenced. Frank knew that if a number was call-forwarded to a second number in the same calling area, only the first number would show up on their regular lists.
He glanced at the list. Two lines had been highlighted with a blazing neon green. One frequent number called by Vendetti was call-forwarded to 555-6792 and one on the list of calls from Angel's home was call-forwarded to the same number.
"It looks like our girl might just be the one."
Frank's stomach clenched at the damning evidence in front of him. There had to be an explanation. "That doesn't make any sense, Dennis. If Angel were the informant—"
"Which is looking more and more likely."
"—then why would she need to call some number to leave the information? She could just give it to Vendetti in the office."
"I have a hunch that Vendetti doesn't know who the informant is, that all the information is passed on via a phone message system and payments made indirectly. It would make a lot of sense in her case. She was a clean agent for a long time, I'm pretty sure of that. So she's not going to waltz up to Vendetti and let him in on the fact that she's been working undercover for the FBI for years and now wants to sell him information. She'd be at the bottom of the Hudson River by now if she tried a stupid trick like that."
Dennis sat down in the wooden swivel chair, clasping his hands on the
armrests, eyes narrowed as he watched Frank. "So how's it going with you and the little woman?"
Uneasiness prickled through him under Dennis' watchful eye.
"We're managing." Dennis was his closest friend, but Frank didn't want to tell him he'd fallen in love with his undercover wife. Not yet.
Frank stood up. "Dennis, it isn't Angel."
It couldn't be. Dennis could show him a file full of evidence, but he just wouldn't believe it.
Dennis stood up too and planted his palm on Frank's shoulder. "Are you sure of that, Frank? Could you be a little biased?"
Frank jerked back, knocking over the chair behind him. "It's not her!"
"Damn it, Frank. If you've lost your objectivity, I should pull you out."
"It's too late for that and you know it. We've come too far." He paced across the small office space then glared at Dennis. "I'll find a way to prove it."
Dennis leaned against the desk placing his hands on his knees, staring intently at Frank. "Just make sure that while you're trying to prove her innocence, you don't miss the proof of her guilt."
"Dennis, I'm a professional."
"I know, but lust can do strange things to a man. Look, I've got one more thing." He lifted the top of his briefcase again and pulled out a small tape recorder. "It's a safe bet she won't leave any incriminating messages while you're around. She usually makes her calls to that number while you're here. Right after her report to Hal. After I found out about this," he pointed at the list of call-forwarded numbers, "I put a tap on the line."
"I thought you weren't going to touch Angel's line." Dennis had vetoed the idea of tapping Angel's line right from the start, suggesting it could endanger Angel's cover. A tap might be discovered by someone else in the Bureau and questions would be asked.
"I didn't. I mean the destination number. I didn't expect to get anything until this evening, but I checked before coming here and this came in yesterday."
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 113
