Warrior Angel

by Margaret

  “Is that what they are?” Derek asked. “There’s nothing to them. You might as well be walking barefoot.”

  “They show off my feet. I may not have much else to brag about, but I do have pretty feet,” said Rachel, looking down at her manicured toes with satisfaction.

  “One thing you cannot brag about,” he said. “You run like a girl.” He dashed off again.

  Laughing, she chased after him. He was a swift runner, obviously in top physical condition. She was going to ask if he had been in the military, but decided that if she kept asking personal questions, he’d get the wrong idea. Or maybe the right one. She didn’t know. She was so confused.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon goofing off, having fun. They threw grapes at each other, trying to catch them in their mouths. Derek dove wildly to catch the ones she cheatingly overthrew, ending up with grass stains down his shirt. She could have never done that with Zanus, she thought. He had a horror of looking ridiculous.

  They laughed—a lot. She liked hearing Derek laugh. He laughed loudly and deeply, putting his whole body into it. Rachel couldn’t imagine Zanus doing that either. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever hearing Zanus laugh at all. He sometimes gave a chuckle at some of her wittier remarks, but she always got the feeling he was just being polite. He had no sense of humor. And he’d probably never heard of the Knights Templar.

  You’re not being fair, she scolded herself. Zanus knows lots of things Derek doesn’t, things you’re interested in.

  That was true. She had tried, when they first sat down, to explain to Derek what her job entailed, how commodities like pork bellies and wheat and money, like the dollar and the Euro, were bought and sold based on what people thought they might do in the future. He’d listened politely, but after a while, she saw his eyes glazing over. He regarded her in perplexity (especially when it came to pork bellies). She had the feeling she might well have been talking a foreign language and quickly changed the subject.

  That didn’t stop her from enjoying herself. When, quite suddenly, gray clouds moved into the sky and it started to rain, Rachel found herself disappointed that their fun afternoon was at an end.

  “Quick!” Rachel gasped. “Your food!”

  “Never mind that,” said Derek, regarding her with concern. “You’re getting soaked!”

  “I don’t melt,” she said, laughing. “Remember the other afternoon? I’m the idiot who likes walking in the rain.”

  “I remember,” he said softly.

  She looked up at him. He moved closer to her, his lips parting, his eyes half-closed. She felt a thrill go through her and she hesitated a split second, then turned swiftly away.

  “We have to save this food,” she said, not looking at him. “This will make lunch for you for a week.”

  They scrambled around, grabbing the leftovers, putting lids on plastic containers and stowing them in the backpack. She sneaked a peek at him, to see if he looked disappointed that she hadn’t let him kiss her. She hoped he understood. They were friends—finally. She didn’t want to ruin that. He glanced up, saw her looking at him, and he smiled, reassuring.

  And then he threw a grape at her.

  Twelve

  The rain stopped as quickly as it started, though the skies continued to look threatening. Derek and Rachel headed for home at a fast pace, hoping to beat the next downpour. They were just leaving the park when Derek saw William, standing beneath a tree where he’d taken shelter during the storm. Sighting them, William started waving a battered hat and flapping his arms.

  Derek walked faster, pretended he didn’t see him.

  “Derek,” said Rachel. “I think that man is trying to get your attention.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah, maybe,” said Derek.

  William came walking up to them. He gave Rachel a smile, then said in concern, “How are you, my dear? Recover from last night?”

  Rachel stared at him. “How did you—Oh, I remember! You’re the man they were interviewing on television. Yes, thank you, I’m fine.”

  “Good,” said William. He beamed at her, then said in a low voice to Derek. “We need to talk—”

  Derek nodded. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I need to take care of this. I guess you can make it home by yourself all right?”

  “So long as there aren’t any purse snatchers,” she said, smiling. She continued to stare at the man. “Excuse me, sir, but weren’t you in the Hotel 71 the night—”

  “Hotel 71? Me?” William chuckled. “Too rich for my blood.”

  Rachel was obviously about to pursue the matter and Derek was trying to think of some way to get out of this when a couple walked up to them.

  “I beg your pardon, Derek,” the man said. “If I could have a word with your friend…”

  Derek groaned. It was the Cyruses, that couple from the other night. The couple William had berated—Jimmy Raye and his wife. Of all the bad timing! Rachel was looking flustered and ill at ease. Of course. She wouldn’t want them gossiping about seeing her in the park, frolicking with the doorman.

  Derek was about to say something, to try to get Rachel off the hook, but Mr. Cyrus ignored him and Rachel and walked up to William.

  “Why, hello, Jimmy Raye,” said William, smiling. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

  Jimmy Raye looked slightly puzzled at this, considering that it was once again raining.

  “What can I do for you?” William asked.

  Sheltering beneath his umbrella, which his wife was holding over their heads, Jimmy Raye began to fumble about in an inner coat pocket. He brought out an envelope, and handed it to William.

  “I’m glad I found you. I was looking for you. You see, I got to thinking about what you said,” Jimmy Raye told William earnestly. “And I want to do something for your people. People like you.”

  “The homeless,” his wife clarified.

  “Inside the envelope is a copy of a letter that I plan to send to my money manager instructing him to set up a trust fund to be used to provide food and shelter for the homeless. If you could specify where you’d like the money to go—if there’s a soup kitchen or a shelter—all you have to do is provide me with the names and addresses. I’ll make all the arrangements.”

  “Thank you, Jimmy Raye!” said William, pleased. He took the envelope and thrust it into his pocket. “Your granddaddy would be proud of you.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” Jimmy Raye said, red-faced. “You were right, you know. I couldn’t sleep all night thinking over what you said. I’m going to try to fix things, though. I’m getting involved in the business again. A good thing, too. I found out…Well, never mind. Let’s just say that I might have lost everything if it hadn’t been for you reminding me of my responsibilities.”

  “And we have no problems with you visiting your friend here,” his wife added. She sidled over next to Derek and said quietly, “Though if you could persuade your friend to bathe—”

  “Come along, my dear,” said her husband hurriedly. He nodded in a friendly fashion to William and he and his wife walked off.

  Rachel was staring at Derek. Her eyes were bright with admiration and astonishment. “I didn’t know you were involved with the homeless! I think that’s wonderful.” She smiled at him, then said, “I guess I’ll be going. Thank you for lunch. I had a good time.”

  “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  “Nice meeting you, my dear,” said William, taking off his hat.

  “Yes, nice meeting you…” Rachel gave him an odd look and then walked off, keeping one eye on the blue-black clouds massing overhead and the other on Derek as she passed. He and the homeless man were very quickly deep into conversation.

  So on top of running down purse snatchers and walking crippled dogs and studying medieval history and being extremely handsome, he helps the homeless, Rachel thought. Not only that, but somehow he convinced that old crab, Mr. Cyrus, to help the homeless! Who would have known?

  Still, she had to admit there was something strange
about him. She was sure that homeless guy was the same one at the hotel. And the same guy who just happened to show up when her purse was being snatched. And now he was here in the park…odd. Very odd.

  Rachel would have given it more thought, but at the moment the rain started falling in earnest—a cold rain, not suited to flip-flops. She increased her speed.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said William contritely, wringing water out of his hat.

  “That’s all right,” said Derek, shrugging. “We were just having a friendly lunch.”

  “Was that what it was?” William asked, concerned.

  “Yes, that’s what it was,” said Derek. “I did what you asked. I’m trying to gain her trust and I think it worked. She apologized. I apologized. We’re friends. By the way,” he added, hoping to change the subject, “you were right about Zanus getting rid of any evidence of demons. The police called Rachel to tell her the kid who took her purse disappeared on the way to the hospital.”

  “I’m not surprised. So lunch went well?” William eyed the well-stuffed backpack. “Anything in there you’d like to share?”

  Derek smiled and handed it over. “Now, what was it you wanted? Besides cheese and olives.”

  “Olives? I love olives! Black ones, I hope?” William unzipped the knapsack and began rooting around inside.

  “William,” said Derek, turning up the collar on his jacket and hunching his shoulders. “It’s raining. What did you want?”

  “Oh, yes.” William zipped up the knapsack. “I just wanted to let your know your partner has arrived. I’m not sure where or when or how he’ll contact you. Michael was vague as to details. But he’s here.”

  “Great,” Derek said grimly. “Just great. I finally manage to gain Rachel’s trust and now someone else turns up to complicate matters.”

  “I think you can trust us to manage better than that, Derek,” said William soothingly. He patted Derek on the arm. “Thanks for the grub. You know where to find me if you need me.”

  He turned and trudged off through the rain.

  Derek shook his head and continued on his way home. He walked slowly, despite the rain, reliving in his mind an afternoon that had been, for him, heavenly.

  Rachel was still a few blocks away from her building, thinking what a fool she’d been to wear flip flops in April. Her feet were chilled to the bone from sloshing through the puddles in the street. She was thinking that the first thing she was going to do tomorrow was go out and buy one of those little umbrellas you could stick in your purse, when she stopped to look around. She had heard what sounded like a child crying over the deluge of water pouring out a rain gutter.

  There it was again—a long, plaintive wail. Rachel turned toward the sound and finally located it. The wail was coming from a bush near a two-story brick walkup. Rachel peered inside the bush.

  A small orange cat looked up at her. When he saw her, he let out another wail. The cat was soaked to the bone, shivering, and skinny. Very skinny.

  “For the love of…” Rachel whispered under her breath. “It’s Sam!”

  The cat was the spitting image of a cat she’d had when she was a little girl. This cat looked so much like Sam, the memories brought tears to her eyes. She’d loved that cat. He’d been with her through the bad teen years all the way through high school. She’d told Sam secrets she’d never been able to tell anyone else. When her mother wrote to her, while she was in college, that Sam had died at the ripe old of age of eighteen, Rachel had cried for two days straight.

  She knelt down and hesitantly reached out her hand to him. She was afraid he would take off, but as soon as she came to the ground, the cat crawled out from under the bush to greet her. He shook the water from his head and gave her a meow and a lick on the hand.

  “Where’s your owner?” Rachel asked. She saw a woman coming down the stairs from the apartment building.

  “Pardon me, ma’am, is this your cat?” Rachel asked, indicating the scrawny little thing.

  “No,” the woman said brusquely, barely glancing at it.

  “Do you recognize this cat?” Rachel persisted. “Do you know if this cat belongs to someone in the building?”

  “I’d be surprised if it did,” the woman answered. “No pets allowed.” She walked off.

  Rachel looked back at the cat. He wasn’t wearing a collar and he looked as if he hadn’t been fed in days.

  “Do you belong to someone around here?” Rachel asked the cat.

  As if in answer, he jumped into her arms and crawled inside her jacket. He nestled close to her. She could feel him shivering.

  “You poor cat, you must be freezing. Okay, kitty, I’ll take you home, but tomorrow we’ll ask around to see if you belong to anyone. We’ll have to buy you some cat food and litter and a litter box. This is all temporary,” she told the cat.

  He winked his green eyes at her. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere tomorrow.

  She really didn’t need a cat, she told herself, even as she tucked the cat deeper into her jacket, then headed to the convenience store on the corner.

  She had killed numerous plants, including a lucky bamboo plant Kim had given her, assuring her that you had to work really, really hard to kill bamboo. Rachel hadn’t worked that hard at it. Within two weeks, the bamboo had turned yellow and all the leaves had fallen off.

  But Rachel continued to keep the cat in her jacket. She remembered how comforting it had been to share her feelings with her dear old cat. A cat was not judgmental. A cat would love her unconditionally. A cat would be there to greet her when she came home and he would not want to talk about the Nikkei index or pork bellies. He would only want to sit in her lap and purr. She felt happy with this sopping wet little ball of fur pressed close against her. And it had been a long time since she’d been happy.

  Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. She’d been happy this afternoon with Derek. For the first time in a long while, she hadn’t thought about her charts or the market or Freeman or making money. All well and good, but a girl couldn’t live on happy afternoons in the park.

  Rachel bought cat supplies, including liver treats and a catnip mouse. Once home, she fed her cat and gave him a bath, blow-dried him with the hair dryer (he didn’t much like that), and wrapped him in some warm towels to make him feel more comfortable.

  “Hmmm, you need a name,” Rachel said. “I can’t keep calling you ‘cat.’”

  An image came to her—a picture of a cat on the cover of a book. One of her favorite stories as a child had been about a cat that took it upon himself to watch over a group of church mice. She hadn’t thought of that book in years. Yet, the name seemed oddly appropriate, somehow.

  “Sampson,” she said, trying it out.

  The cat meowed loudly. Rachel wasn’t sure if he was yowling in agreement or if he was just hungry.

  “All right, Sampson,” she said. “How about a liver treat?”

  Sampson curled around her ankles and winked at her with his green eyes.

  They were sitting on the couch together—the cat purring and Rachel relaxing with a glass of wine—thinking about the lunch and how much fun it had been, when her phone rang.

  “Darling, it’s Zanus, I just heard about your attack. Are you okay?”

  How had he not heard about this until now? Rachel asked herself. Was he living under a rock?

  “Yes, I’m fine. Everything is fine. Derek collared the thief and retrieved my purse.”

  “Ah, Derek the doorman. Of course. He’s quite handy isn’t he? Always around when you need him.”

  “The robbery did happen outside the front door. Where Derek works,” Rachel said, annoyed. She couldn’t help but add, “I’m surprised you didn’t call to check on me sooner.”

  “I didn’t find out about it until I picked up the paper a moment ago,” Zanus explained. “I was out of town on business. I just came back. I thought I told you I was going to be gone. That’s why we couldn’t go out last night.”

  So he really
had gone out of town. He wasn’t mad at her.

  “Yes, right,” she said. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “And I’m sorry I made that crack about Derek,” Zanus added. “I’m thankful he was there to help. It’s nice to know someone is looking out for my girl. Which brings me to the reason for my call. Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Rachel looked down at Sampson. He was sound asleep, still purring. She didn’t want to leave him alone tonight, but she was feeling a little guilty about her lunch with Derek. She’d had such a good time with him. She still felt a little thrill run through her when she remembered the way his lips had come so close to hers. But there was no future in this. None. She and Derek were from two different worlds. A night with Zanus would help convince her that Derek was simply a passing fancy and nothing to get worked up over. Yes, dinner with Zanus would be exactly what she needed to take her mind off of Derek.

  “Dinner would be wonderful.”

  “I’ll come round for you at eight.”

  Rachel hung up the phone and looked at the cat. She knew she was probably being silly, but she didn’t like leaving him alone while she was gone. And maybe she wasn’t being all that silly. He’d scratched about in the litter box, but she wasn’t certain he would use it. And she’d caught him already digging his claws into the sofa.

  “What you need,” she said to him, “is a walk in the park.”

  At about ten minutes before eight, Rachel went down to the lobby and stopped at the front desk. There was no one there. Behind the front desk was a closed door. A sign on the door read: “For Assistance After Hours, Please Ring Bell.” Rachel pressed on the buzzer.

  The door flew open.

  “No, Mike,” said Derek impatiently, “I am not going to cover while you go out for a smoke!”

  He was not wearing a shirt, just blue jeans, and he held a towel in his hands. His hair was wet and rumpled; he’d probably just come out of the shower. He smelled good—of soap and aftershave, nothing fancy. Just smelled good. He looked good, too. Muscular, firm, and strong.