Warrior Angel

by Margaret

  Rachel shook her head. “He’s still the doorman so I see him everyday. We don’t talk much, though. He walks my cat.”

  “Wow! Courtly love and a cat walker. He’s a keeper,” Kim said. “Especially after you tried to get him fired for saving your life.”

  “He didn’t save my life! And I apologized…”

  “Maybe you have repressed feelings for Derek and Zanus knows this subconsciously and that’s why he’s gone all cold and businesslike,” said Beth.

  “I don’t have repressed feelings for Derek,” Rachel began and then she stopped.

  Sometimes, when she came in late after a wearing and nerve-racking day at work, the way he looked at her—so kind and gentle and concerned—made her want to lay her head on his chest and let him put his arms around her and hold her tightly, until all the bad things in her life went away.

  The thought made her eyes fill with tears and she took another drink of wine.

  “Thanks for your help,” said Rachel. “Let’s talk about someone else for a change. Kim, tell us more about these salacious faxes you stumbled on at work.”

  Her girlfriends once more exchanged glances and, by nonverbal agreement, Rachel was off the hook for the evening. They started talking about Kim.

  Rachel knew her friends meant well. They were very protective of each other and they all enjoyed analyzing each other’s relationships. Sometimes, though, Rachel just wanted someone to listen and not offer an opinion. Someone like Sampson.

  Thank god, cats can’t talk.

  Fourteen

  A week passed. Rachel had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach about her trades. She was making money, lots of it, but it wasn’t right, and she knew it. She guessed Zanus and his “friend” were acting on inside information or manipulating things somehow. She asked no questions. The less she knew, the better. Zanus’s excitement and his talk about her future kept her making the trades. Of course, she couldn’t neglect her firm or the trades she made for their clients. She also kept making trades for Zanus through the firm, and these also made money.

  Rachel always did her floor trading first, then she would grab a computer at the Merc to trade in what ever markets the strange voice on the phone communicated to her that day. After that, she would go to the office. It made for a long day.

  On Thursday Rachel stayed even later at the office. She was feeling increasingly guilty over the trades and she had decided to talk to Freeman. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish. Maybe he could provide some guidance as to how she should proceed with Zanus. Or maybe this way they’d both go to white-collar prison together. If Freeman shared her concern, then maybe she could come out of this situation clean and still keep her job and her relationship with Zanus. If that was what she wanted. She was so upset and confused, she didn’t know anymore.

  It was after seven. Everyone else had gone home long ago. Freeman always stayed late, however, so Rachel knocked on his door.

  “Mr. Freeman,” she said. “Can I have a moment?”

  “Yes, of course, Rachel,” Freeman called. “Come in.”

  “Thank you, sir. I wanted to share some concerns I have regarding Mr. Andreas Zanus.” Rachel paused, searching for the right words.

  “Yes?” Freeman regarded her gravely. “What’s he done? Has he been rude to you?”

  “No. On the contrary, he’s been quite nice—”

  “Then what’s the problem, Rachel? Has he been unable to cover his trades? Is he short on funds?”

  “No, nothing like that. He’s been…uh…hinting at some unethical activity.”

  “Do you have any evidence of this? Did he say something on our recorded phone line?”

  “No, we were…we were at a social gathering.”

  Rachel looked at Freeman closely, hoping he would read between the lines, hear what she wasn’t saying.

  Mr. Freeman leaned back in his chair. “You were at a social gathering with Mr. Zanus, a very wealthy businessman, and he dropped a hint that he might want to do something unethical. But you have no proof of what he was asking or even that he was planning to do anything about it.”

  “Well, I guess…No, I don’t.”

  “Could Mr. Zanus have been teasing you?”

  “He’s not the type to tease, sir,” said Rachel wearily.

  “I think he was making a joke, and you were just being overly cautious. No harm done.”

  Rachel sighed. Freeman was so dense. “Mr. Freeman, what if Mr. Zanus did ask me to do something unethical. What should my answer be?”

  Freeman eyed her, frowning. Then he got up, walked around her, opened the door, and looked out. He shut the door, walked back to his desk, and sat down.

  “You should tell him no, of course. But Mr. Zanus is our best client, Rachel,” he said carefully. “We make a lot of money off of his trades, not to mention the referral business that he could bring to our firm. I’m counting on you to ensure that his relationship with us stays firmly intact.”

  “Yes, Mr. Freeman. I understand.”

  Damn the man! He’d implied that it was her job to do what ever it took—legal or illegal—to hang on to a money machine like Zanus. But he hadn’t actually come out and said she should do anything unethical for Zanus, and he would deny it forcefully if she claimed he had. Yet she knew that her job was riding on this. Lose Zanus and that was it.

  Rachel should have expected as much. Freeman was old school. It was rumored that he’d built his business on a few shady trades, if not a few outright illegal ones. He was part of the old guard who believed a trade dispute should be solved with a fist fight in the pit, and that firms should bail out the traders by paying the fines they levied for throwing punches.

  What am I going to do now?

  Derek was forced to admit that having the cherub around had been a good idea on William’s part. Rachel told Sampson everything she was doing, and, even though he was shut up in the closet, the cat was able to eavesdrop on her evening conversations with Zanus.

  Derek took Sampson for his daily walks in the park and they would stop at a bench to hold their conversations. Thank goodness they could exchange thoughts and Derek didn’t have to speak to the cat aloud. People gave him enough amused glances as it was.

  “Just what Angel William figured, Commander,” Sampson told Derek. “Something to do with the world economy. That’s all they talk about. I don’t understand it. Do you?”

  “No,” Derek admitted, “but apparently Archangel Michael does. I pass along what you tell me to William, who passes it to Michael. And, no, you are not going to sit on me!”

  Derek picked up Sampson, who had jumped up on the bench and was making his way into Derek’s lap, and deposited him in the grass.

  “Ah, c’mon, sir, it’s cold today!” Sampson pleaded.

  “No.” Derek was firm.

  “I’m worried, sir,” Sampson said, sitting down and facing him. “Rachel is growing increasingly nervous about what he’s making her do. She doesn’t eat and she can’t sleep. She tries to object, but he always has some slick answer for her. Why don’t we take him out, sir? Put an end to this?”

  “I would love to, believe me,” Derek said grimly. “But Archangel Michael keeps saying we do not yet have enough information about the big picture—whatever that means.”

  The cat licked his paw and made a swipe at his ear.

  “Yeah, right. Rachel was so depressed and unhappy she forgot to feed me my liver treats before bed last night. I’ve really come to love those liver treats,” Sampson added dolefully. “They’re shaped like little fish. I don’t suppose you could buy some for me?”

  “No, I could not,” said Derek, preoccupied.

  Angel William had reported some strange doings in the worldwide financial markets, but nothing that couldn’t be explained. Yet he and Derek both had a feeling that this was just the lull before the storm. Something dire was in the works.

  “Rachel would think buying me a treat was a nice gesture, sir,” said Samp
son slyly. “She was saying just the other day she was glad we were bonding.”

  “Did she really say that?” Derek demanded.

  “Well, no,” Sampson admitted. “But if you bought me the treats, she might.”

  Derek bought the liver treats.

  Two more weeks passed. Rachel performed a number of trades for Zanus’s “friend.” She came to dread the phone calls from the unknown voice and always walked away from the computer with sweaty palms, a queasy sensation, and the determination to tell Zanus that she wasn’t going to do this anymore.

  One night, as they were dining at the famous Nick’s Fishmarket, and Zanus was going on about how much money they’d made that day, Rachel drew in a deep breath, gathered her courage, and said, “We have made a lot of money. And no one’s caught on yet, but it’s just a matter of time. Let’s stop, right now, while we’re ahead.”

  “Stop?” Zanus smiled at her. “You’re not serious.”

  “I am serious,” said Rachel. She took a gulp of wine. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

  “My dear,” said Zanus, reaching out to stroke her hand. “Am I going to have to make a complaint to Mr. Freeman? Do I tell him that you’re not treating me right?”

  Zanus continued stroking her hand. She shivered at his touch and tried to slip her hand away, but he caught hold of her, held her firmly in his grasp. “What do you think he would say to that, my dear?”

  Rachel knew perfectly well what he would say and she dropped the subject. For they were making money. Lots of money, not only for Zanus and his friend, but he saw to it that she was doing quite well for herself and her company. Mr. Freeman had practically hugged her the other day when he passed her in the hall. He would be furious if Zanus complained about her.

  She would keep going for a little while, at least.

  The next day was Monday. Rachel did her time in the pit and then headed back to her office to go over the day’s trades.

  Her assistant stopped her before she went inside her office.

  “Head’s up, Rachel, Mr. Zanus is inside your office. Freeman told him he could wait there until you came back.”

  Rachel tensed. That was unusual. Zanus never came to the office. He always called her. She wondered what was wrong.

  Opening the door, she found Zanus seated at her desk in her chair. For some reason, that irritated her.

  “Hello, Kitten,” he said. “Rough day at work?”

  Rachel quickly closed the door behind her.

  Zanus walked over to her. He removed her briefcase from her shoulder and set it on the desk, then pulled her into his arms, almost lifting her from the floor, and kissed her. Rachel stiffened in his arms. Zanus released her from the kiss, but continued to hold her, though she tried subtly to break away.

  “What was that for?” Rachel asked nervously.

  “This is me showing my gratitude for having such a wonderful woman in my life,” he replied.

  “Really?” She gave a forced laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you came here to ask me to do something.”

  This time, she made no pretense. She broke free and walked behind her desk. She did not sit down, however. Sitting while he stood made her feel vulnerable. She faced him, equal, eyes on the level.

  Zanus smiled. “Of course, you’re right. You’ve seen right through my surprise visit. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Rachel tried to sound casual. “Okay, ask away.”

  Zanus leaned near her and said in a low voice, “Rachel, what if I told you that tomorrow the value of the Euro is going to drop fifty percent?”

  Rachel drew back away from him. She didn’t like the sudden cold, hard glitter in his dark eyes.

  “You couldn’t possibly know that!” she said, and she tried again to laugh it off. “No one could.”

  “I don’t need you to believe me, Rachel,” Zanus said coolly. He placed his hand over her hand. “I do, however, need you to be there first thing tomorrow morning to trade for me.”

  “I can’t do that!” Rachel gasped. “It’s illegal. You know I can’t do that.” She tried to move her hand, but he kept firm hold of it. “Even if I did believe what you’re telling me, I can’t make trades on nonpublic information or even a rumor of such information—”

  Rachel stopped and stared at him. She did believe him. It was ridiculous, but she suddenly realized that Zanus knew what he was talking about.

  “Dear God!” she breathed. “It’s true, isn’t it? But how do you know? What—”

  “That is my business, Rachel,” he said, pressing down firmly on her hand. “And I’m not asking you to do this, my dear. I am telling you. This is not open for debate.”

  He gave her hand a pat, then walked past her and resumed his seat in her chair. He looked at his fingernails, frowning, as he though he’d had a bad manicure.

  “Considering what you’ve already done for me, Rachel,” he said smoothly, “I didn’t think this would bother you. You’ll get your share of the money, of course, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Rachel couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “What I did for you before wasn’t like this,” she told him. “What you want me to do now is totally different. Not only is it against the law, it could affect the world’s financial markets. This could cause economic damage worldwide. Not to mention the little matter of me going to jail for thirty years.”

  Zanus looked up at her. The dark eyes were cold, so cold that she felt her blood freeze to prickly needles of ice.

  “Rachel, my dear, I find that I am running out of patience with this discussion.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to go to your boss and explain to him that I believe that your ethics are compromised. I don’t want to show him the evidence of the trades you placed with my friend, evidence that I’ve kept very carefully. That would most certainly get you fired, and probably blacklisted from the industry. A smear like that could ruin your career.”

  Rachel staggered, came near to falling. She clutched at the edge of the desk for support. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was dreadful, some sort of nightmare.

  “Why are you doing this?” Rachel stared at him, horrified. “I don’t understand! You come in here and kiss me and now you’re threatening me?”

  Zanus rose from the chair and walked toward her. He tried to take her in his arms, but she backed away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said hoarsely.

  “Rachel, darling,” he said, and his voice was black velvet, only now it seemed to be smothering her. “You’re making this too hard for yourself. Relax. Just do as I say and everything will be fine. It will be better than fine, I promise. This is worth millions. I’m trying to make you one of the wealthiest women in Chicago!”

  Rachel turned her head away, avoiding his gaze. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

  “I know this has been a shock,” he said. “I’ll let you think about it for a while. I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight at seven.”

  And with that, he strolled out of her office, closing the door behind him.

  Rachel collapsed, shaking, behind her desk. How was she going to extricate herself from this mess? She gave a sob, let herself lose control for a moment, then clenched her fists, and tried to pull herself together.

  She picked up the phone, called her manager’s assistant. “Tell Mr. Freeman that I’m not feeling well. I’m going home for the day.”

  That wasn’t a lie. She’d never felt so sick in her life and that included a bout with double pneumonia. Rachel took her mirror out of her purse, dabbed powder on her red and swollen nose, and wiped off the ruined mascara. She didn’t want to look as if she’d been crying when she left the office. Rumors would certainly fly then. First Zanus leaves, then Rachel comes out crying. Everyone would think he’d dumped her.

  If only he had!

  Rachel drew some deep breaths and prepared to leave. She made it all the way out the door and into a cab b
efore she broke down again. She stammered out the address of her building to the cab driver, ignored his, “Hey, lady, are you okay back there?”

  When he pulled up to her building, Rachel paid him and hurried into the building. Derek was on duty. He rose to his feet, startled that she was home from work so early.

  “Rachel, what is it?”

  She swept past him without a word. She took the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. Not with him looking at her like that—so caring, so concerned. There was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could do.

  She breathlessly reached her apartment and then stood fumbling with the keys. She couldn’t see the lock for her tears. At last, she managed to open the door and stumbled inside. Slamming shut the door behind her, she ran to her bed and collapsed.

  She felt something soft touch her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Sampson. He touched her again with his paw, claws retracted, and licked the tears from her cheek. He was so sweet and he was looking at her with such compassion that she sobbed out everything.

  Derek had heard Rachel sob as she fled into the stairwell. He guessed immediately that Zanus had done something to her. But what? He had to find out.

  “If he has harmed her in any way, I’ll kill him,” Derek muttered. “Orders and Archangel Michael be damned.”

  Derek was tempted to rush up to her apartment and demand to know what happened. He forced himself to calm down. The most dangerous thing a warrior could do was rush headlong into battle in a rage. Anger blinded a man, left him open to the enemy. Derek had to go about this cool, level-headed, disciplined. He had to have a plan.

  Derek stared at the clock, gave himself a half hour, long enough to make it seem plausible, then he went to Rachel’s door and listened for a moment, to find out if he could hear anything from inside.

  Only silence. That was worse than objects smashing and hysterical weeping. He had to know if she was okay.

  Derek knocked gently on her door. At first he was afraid she wouldn’t answer, but then he heard her.

  “Who is it?” Her voice was muffled.