Warrior Angel

by Margaret

  Night had fallen by the time she was near home. Coming in sight of her building, Rachel slowed her pace. She wondered if Derek was still on duty. She hoped he wasn’t. He’d been very polite and considerate this morning, but she was all confused about him and decided that the less she saw of him, the better. He had really been quite sweet last night, all things considered. He was certainly handsome and strong. Every time she thought about him putting his arm around her to help her after she’d turned her ankle, her stomach did acrobatics. And she’d found herself thinking about that a lot today, more than was good for someone who was in a serious relationship with another man—a man who was every woman’s dream.

  There was something mysterious about Derek that intrigued her. He hadn’t really answered any of her questions, not straight answers, at least. He had said he hated being a doorman. If so, why was he? He was good-looking, well spoken, seemed well educated. And he had that unmistakable military air about him. She found it hard to believe that he couldn’t have found another job if he wanted one.

  And he definitely had something against Zanus. There had been a moment last night when she was certain the two of them knew each other.Both he and Zanus had denied it, and she had no reason to doubt either one of them, but still, it was odd. And just as Rachel was telling herself she would be glad if Derek was off duty, she found herself perversely hoping to see him.

  She was reaching into her purse for her keys, when a guy came dashing out of nowhere and bumped into her, hard, almost knocking her down. She felt a yank and looked down at her hands in the light of the street lamp and realized that she was holding her purse’s strap. The purse itself was gone.

  “Hey!” she cried, shocked to see a man running down the street with her purse in his hand. “That man stole my purse!”

  People going past glanced over their shoulders, gave her a look of sympathy, and kept on going. Purse snatching was a common thing in Chicago and the thief was almost always never caught.

  Rachel felt sick. Not only had she lost all her credit cards and her money, but her purse was new and quite expensive. The man was still in sight. She was looking for a policeman, when suddenly, Derek came bolting out the door of her building. Blond hair flying, he ran after the purse snatcher so fast that his doorman’s cap whipped off his head and landed on the sidewalk.

  Rachel stared, amazed. She’d never seen anyone run like that. His speed was uncanny. Rachel watched in awe as he quickly closed the gap between himself and the thief. She couldn’t see what happened next. They had vanished into the shadows created by a burnt out streetlamp. Rachel waited in an agony of fear for Derek. She wished she’d kept quiet. What if the guy had a gun?

  And then Derek appeared, her purse in one hand and the thief in the other. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Derek dragged the thief back toward the building. Calmly, he handed the purse to Rachel, then dropped the thug onto the ground at her feet. She was reminded, suddenly, of a cat doing the same with a mouse.

  “Here is your purse. Are you hurt?” Derek asked anxiously.

  Rachel didn’t answer. She was staring, aghast, at the thief. Her anxiety for Derek evaporated at the sight.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded, her voice quivering.

  Derek appeared puzzled at her reaction. He had been smiling as though he’d done something chivalrous, expecting her to knight him or something.

  “I twisted his arm some to make him drop the purse.”

  “Twisted his arm! More like twisted his neck! I think you killed him!”

  Derek looked down and his words dried up.

  The thief, who was no more than a kid, maybe fourteen or so, lay on the sidewalk. Blood spewed from his broken nose that was splattered all over his face. He had a smashed lip and his face was swelling. His eyes were closed. He was unconscious.

  “I did not do this to him, Rachel!” Derek said in a dazed voice. “I swear! I barely laid a hand on him!”

  By this time, a crowd had gathered. The very people who had ignored the purse snatching hurried over to see the blood. Rachel heard someone say he thought the poor kid was dead.

  “You beat him!” Rachel cried, glaring at Derek. Her fists clenched. She could have beaten Derek up herself. “You brute! He’s a kid, barely half your size, and he was probably hungry, and you beat him half to death for lifting my purse! What is wrong with you?”

  People crowded around, some to make comments, others offering to try to help. And, of course, someone had called 911. It seemed to Rachel that half the population of Chicago was clustered around her, including that homeless man, the one who had charged into the Hotel 71 claiming to be Ashley Barrington Something. Rachel didn’t exactly remember him, but she could never forget that hat. Suddenly everything—her worry over Zanus, the purse snatching, her fear for Derek, and her bitter disappointment in him all came crashing down on top of her.

  Police sirens sounded. Red lights flashed. An ambulance was pulling up.

  Rachel pushed her way through the crowd and ran into the apartment building. She ran to Mr. Fraym’s apartment and met him just as he was coming out.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are the police here?”

  “Mr. Fraym, you’d better come outside. Right now!” she said. “It’s the doorman.”

  Mr. Fraym looked grim. “What’s Derek done now?”

  “He’s outside in front of the building standing over some poor kid he beat nearly to death for lifting my purse.”

  Fraym gasped. “He beat up someone in front of the building? Did anyone see this besides you?”

  “There’s a big crowd—”

  Fraym’s lips compressed and he headed for the door, Rachel hurrying along at his side.

  Rachel was furious. All her warm and fuzzy thoughts about Derek vanished. He had seemed charming and kind last night, but at the bottom, he was a brute.

  “This is the last straw,” said Fraym. “I’ve had more complaints about him in a week than any other doorman collected in a year.”

  But, as he neared the door, Fraym slowed his pace. “What is going on—”

  Bright white light flared into the lobby, coming from outside. The light hit Rachel square in the face, half blinding her. She shielded her eyes and saw a man with a large camera balanced on his shoulder standing on the stairs. Next to him was a woman holding a microphone. They were interviewing the homeless man with the disreputable hat.

  “I saw it all, yes, ma’am.” He peered through the glass door and pointed. “There she is!” he shouted. “That’s her! She’s the victim!”

  The woman doing the interviewing said, “Quick, Mac, get a shot of her.”

  Mr. Fraym opened the door, only to have the female reporter shove past him and make a dart at Rachel. The reporter waved the microphone at her.

  “Ma’am, were you hurt in the purse snatching? Did you know the thief? How much money and valuables did you have in your purse at the time?”

  A large white van with Channel 7 News painted on it in huge letters was parked across the street. Rachel looked over the reporter’s shoulder to see the paramedics escorting the thief to an ambulance. He was still bloody, but at least he was conscious and able to walk. Two policemen flanked him.

  “What do you think of the hero who saved your purse?” the female reporter persisted. “What would you like to say to him?”

  “I…don’t know…” Rachel was bewildered, blinking at the dazzling white light. “Thank you…I guess…”

  The female reporter gave her a disgusted look and spoke into the microphone, “Obviously this poor woman is in shock…”

  Derek was being interviewed by another reporter. Rachel recognized him. He was a Chicago celebrity.

  “You are truly one of a kind, Mr. de Molay,” the reporter said, enthusiastically shaking Derek’s hand and smiling for the camera. “Chicago needs more good citizens like you.”

  The reporter turned away from Derek, who looked extremely embarrassed.

 
“For those just tuning in this evening, our crew happened to be near the scene filming an in-depth piece on the homeless with our infrared camera when we caught this crime as it was happening. And we also got footage of local doorman, Derek de Molay catching and subduing this woman’s attacker and returning her purse to her. We’ll be airing that tape on the ten o’clock news. From Chicago’s North Side, I’m Ron Hickford reporting.”

  The light of the camera turned off. The night seemed suddenly, incredibly dark.

  “Okay, that’s it for now, people,” Ron was saying to his crew. “Let’s get home and edit this baby. We have just enough time to make the ten o’clock report. Good work, Mr. de Molay.”

  He shook hands again with Derek, who was also being congratulated by people in the crowd and the police officers. To Rachel’s chagrin, Mr. Fraym was right there in line. He shook Derek’s hand and posed for a picture with him being taken by a reporter for the Chicago Tribune.

  Dear God! Was every newsman in Chicago here tonight? She had led such a quiet, normal, peaceful life up until now…What was going on?

  “Ma’am, would you like to make a comment now?” The female reporter was back in her face.

  “Uh, no, no comment,” Rachel said. She was turning, planning to escape back into the building, when a policeman came up to her.

  “Ma’am, if you could step out to the squad car. We’ll need a statement…”

  Rachel gave them their statement. She didn’t have much to tell, really. It had all happened so fast. Once the cop was finished with her, Rachel walked slowly up the stairs toward the front entrance. She caught a glimpse of Fraym with his arm around Derek, promising him a raise. Rachel shook her head. She started to open the door, but there was Derek opening it for her. Doing his job.

  “Rachel,” he said earnestly, “I want you to know, I did not beat that young man. Really. He must have hit his head when he fell—”

  “Forget it,” she said. She found it hard to look at him. She remembered the fear she had felt for him, how real, how terrible it had been for a moment. “You’re a hero now. On the news and everything. Oh, thanks for retrieving my purse. They’ve taken it for evidence, otherwise I’d give you a reward—”

  Derek gave her a hurt look. “I don’t want your money,” he said coldly. “I thought we were friends.”

  Rachel shook her head. She couldn’t speak for the lump of tears in her throat. Derek’s expression softened. His hand closed over hers.

  “You’re safe, Rachel. That’s all that matters,” he said.

  His hand was strong and warm, his nearness comforting. She was tempted, once again, as she had been tempted last night, to lay her head on his shoulder and cry out her worries and frustration. Then it occurred to her that the hand holding hers was probably still drenched with the blood of his victim. She wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed in Derek or herself for toying with the idea that she might have feelings for him. He had betrayed her. Zanus had betrayed her.

  Rachel tore away from his grasp and walked through the door without a backward glance.

  The crowds finally went off about their business. Mr. Fraym returned to his apartment, eager to call his mother and tell her he was going to have his picture in the paper. The light went out in Rachel’s apartment. Derek stood on the door stoop talking with William.

  “That was a close one,” said William, mopping his forehead with what was left of his hat. “You nearly got yourself fired—again. Good thing I was around to keep an eye on you. We’re not out of the woods yet, though. You’ve managed to lose credibility with Rachel—again.”

  “I did not hurt that young man,” Derek said heatedly. “I swear to you, William, on my honor I would never do such a thing! No true knight would ever strike anyone who was defenseless, no matter what he had done.”

  “I believe you,” said William, and he looked grave.

  “Then what happened? The thief didn’t beat himself up—”

  “Oh, yes, he did—in a way.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense—” Derek began, then he stopped to stare, appalled, at William. “Zanus!”

  “I’m afraid so. That was no helpless teenager, Derek. That was a demon. He was sent to snatch Rachel’s purse and afterward he used his demonic powers to make it appear that he’d been beaten to a bloody pulp. Of course, you played right into their hands. Zanus knew how you would react when you saw that Rachel was being threatened, and you did just as he hoped you would. You rushed to the rescue.”

  “But why would he do it?” Derek asked. “Why make me look like a hero in Rachel’s eyes?”

  “Do you look like a hero to her? Or do you look like a low-life schmuck who beats up starving kids?”

  Derek remembered Rachel’s horrified expression and he swore softly.

  “I warned you to be on your guard. I told you Zanus wouldn’t attack you physically,” William continued relentlessly. “He doesn’t have to. You’re doing a fine job of destroying yourself on your own. Fortunately I was on hand. At least, I’ve saved your job. I’m not certain about Rachel. You may have irreparably harmed our cause there.”

  Derek shook his head dismally. “I should have seen this coming.”

  “Of course, you should have.” William sighed. “I think I must take you off this case now.”

  “I will not go,” said Derek firmly. “I can’t go, William.”

  “Why not?”

  Derek smiled bleakly. “Mr. Fraym just gave me a raise.”

  William answered his smile with one of his own, but the smile didn’t last long. Growing serious, the archangel laid his hand on Derek’s arm.

  “Be careful, son. You’ve tangled with Zanus twice now. And you’ve beaten him twice. He won’t be so subtle about getting rid of you next time. I’ll leave you on, at least until your partner arrives on the scene.”

  Derek scowled at the mention of this partner. He would have liked to register another protest, but he was on shaky ground already. He figured it was better to keep his mouth shut.

  “I can take care of myself,” he said. “And Rachel. Don’t worry.”

  “I do worry. Speaking of Rachel, she’s really upset with you right now.”

  “Yes, I know. I bungled this. Again.” Derek sighed. “I tried to explain, but she would not even look at me. I can’t say that I blame her. After all, the evidence is against me. How do I explain it?”

  “You may not have to…” said William thoughtfully.

  “Can you fix things?” Derek asked.

  “Not me,” said William. “Zanus. He may be able to use his powers here, but there’s one thing he can’t do—he can’t let ER docs start cutting open his demons…”

  Rachel had just crawled thankfully into bed when her home phone rang. She peered at the caller ID and sat up and switched on the light.

  “Yes, Officer, this is Rachel Duncan.” She paused, listening in astonishment. “He did what? How can someone disappear out of an ambulance? You think he jumped! So I take it he wasn’t badly hurt, after all. Just some scratches. You’re right, it certainly did look much worse. Probably no chance of finding him now. When will I get my purse back? Yes, thank you for calling, Officer. I was concerned…”

  Rachel hung up the phone and lay back on her pillow and sighed deeply. She owed Derek an apology. A big apology. And this was one she would be glad to pay.

  As she drifted off to sleep, Rachel reflected that her life had certainly become a lot more interesting since Derek de Molay had arrived to open doors for her.

  Eleven

  Saturday morning, Rachel woke early with a mission. She would apologize to Derek. But she didn’t get up immediately. After the events of the last two nights, her head and her heart both felt muddled. She looked outside her window. The sun was shining brightly. It was going to be a beautiful day. She decided to forget the charts and go for a run in the park. Running would give her time to think and clear out the cobwebs.

  She brushed her teeth, pulled her hair back, and ti
ed it with a scrunchie. She paused to stare at herself in the mirror.

  Rachel felt silly for being so out of sorts. Zanus was really a great guy, even if he was jealous of Derek. Jealousy was good for a man. It was flattering to watch him go totally alpha male with Derek.

  But what about Derek?

  He was a complete mystery to her. His preoccupation about protecting her, his vague warnings about Zanus had her concerned, but she didn’t know precisely what to be concerned about. Either Derek was right and Zanus did pose some kind of threat or Derek was a complete loon and she should run screaming for the hills. But if he was a loon, he was a convincing loon. She had to give him that.

  And that strange business about the purse snatcher. The policeman had claimed he’d simply vanished. The theory was that he’d jumped out of the ambulance when it had stopped for a traffic light. But wouldn’t someone have noticed? Or maybe these things happened in Chicago all the time. The policeman hadn’t sounded overly concerned. At least, Derek was telling her the truth. The kid must not have been that badly hurt if he could perform such an amazing feat of acrobatics!

  She was almost out the door when her home phone rang. She hoped it was Zanus. She looked at the caller ID, sighed deeply, and answered.

  “Yes, Mr. Freeman. That was me you saw on the news last night. Yes, sir, I had to give a statement to the police. Yes, I had to tell them where I worked. I didn’t say anything to the reporters. The name of the firm will not be involved. No, there’s not going to be a trial. The police called me late last night. The guy escaped. No, sir, there’s no need to worry. I don’t think they’re likely to catch him. Yes, sir. I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame. I think I can promise you there won’t be anymore televised appearances.”

  She hung up the phone and stood there glaring at it. Sheesh! She would be so glad to get out from under that idiot man’s control. Blaming her—as if she’d gone out of her way to get her purse snatched so she could be on the nightly news. The deal with Zanus was sounding better and better all the time.