Nobody's Angel

by Patricia Rice

  His voice should have sounded challenging or belligerent or even offhand, but she heard only weariness. She didn't need to see his features to know the pain etched across his forehead. His hair had come half undone, and it spilled in a black shadow over the pillow he leaned against. They were sitting on a shabby couch in an aging house, surrounded by the signs of poverty, and he was throwing their differences in her face. Something was definitely wrong.

  Afraid it might be personal rather than caused by Tony's screw-ups, she shied away from discussing his problems openly. If she stuck to what she knew best, he couldn't hurt her. “I despise lawyers,” she said calmly. “They're all conceited asses. I probably only went to bed with you because you're not a lawyer any longer. But you're still a conceited ass. So, sue me. I don't need this or you or anyone anymore.”

  She stood up and walked toward the doorway into the hall.

  “Faith,” he said wearily.

  She halted but didn't turn around. She didn't even know if she'd meant what she said. She was too confused to care.

  “I'll do whatever it takes to get my license back,” he warned her. “You've known that from the first.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, but for a while there I thought maybe you'd turn into a human being. My mistake.” This time she walked out without stopping.

  “She's a sloppy drunk. Told my partner all about how she'd been wronged and she couldn't trust anyone and all men are evil,” Jim reported through the phone wire.

  Adrian leaned wearily against the kitchen counter and nodded at the receiver. “Yeah, been down that road, heard that song. What else?” He wished he was a smoker, but growing up, he could never afford cigarettes. And it was too early for a drink. Besides, alcohol wouldn't cure what was ailing him.

  “He says Sammy came home around midnight. He and she had a shouting match that should have woke the neighborhood. Since no one called in a domestic report, I assume the neighbors have heard that before, too.”

  “Guilty parties don't report guilty parties. So she must have told him she saw me and knew about Faith. Wish I'd been a bug on the wall.” Adrian checked the kitchen door to be certain it was closed. He'd seen the kids off to school. The last he'd seen of Faith, she'd been with his mother. That was always a dangerous sign.

  “Yeah, well, she didn't throw Sammy out on his ass. The truck's still there.” On the other end of the line, Jim hesitated. “You know, Adrian, if this goes down the way you say, heads will roll. I could make detective, or I could get kicked out on my ass.”

  “I know.” Adrian rubbed his forehead. “And with Belinda expecting, you can't take chances. I understand. We have to steer clear of the D.A. with this one, if there's any chance he's involved or even suspects who's involved. You and your buddies lay low, okay? Feed me what you can, and I'll take it from there.”

  The door opened and Faith propped her shoulder on the doorjamb, crossing her arms and watching him impassively. He didn't want her looking at him as if he were nothing or nobody. He'd almost rather she came at him with a knife than behave as if they'd never crawled naked all over each other.

  He hung up the phone and reached for his coffee. “Did you and mi madre have a good chat?”

  “Somebody from church is coming over to take her to the doctor later. She has a pretty healthy support system here.”

  “With nobody to rely on for four years, she had to do something,” he said cynically, sipping his coffee.

  “Go to hell, Quinn.” She stalked into the kitchen and poured coffee for herself. “If I'm not of any more use to you, I want to go home.”

  “Not with Sammy on the loose. I have somebody following him, but Knoxville's too damned far away to keep an eye on you.”

  “You found him?” she asked casually, stirring sugar into the cup.

  He knew better than to take the casual tone at face value. “He's staying with Sandra. Not a hard one.” For emphasis he added, “He drives a pickup.”

  “So, you're figuring Sammy is the one who drove us off the road and trashed my shop and apartment?”

  “I figure it's about his speed, yup.” He didn't offer more.

  “And you think he's trying to find out where I'm hiding Tony's money so he can give it to his sister?”

  “Yup,” he said noncommittally.

  “Which means Sammy doesn't know where Tony hid anything either, so he's a dead end.”

  She said that entirely too brightly for his own good. Adrian put his cup down. “Yup. So, are you ready to go car shopping?”

  “Are you planning on buying Sammy off with the fifty thousand so I can go home?” she asked with wide-eyed innocence.

  Except there was nothing innocent about a tortured mind like hers. Adrian knotted his hands into fists. “Don't push me, Faith. You've done everything there is to be done. Now, we just have to sit back and wait. If there are more deposit boxes out there, we'll find out once we get answers to our letters. In the meantime, I'll handle Sammy.”

  She slammed her cup down, leaned her hands on the table and glared at him. “If you won't go to Sandra and find out the name of her attorney, I will.”

  He'd wanted her to break out of her polite little box and unleash the passion she hid, but he hadn't counted on that box concealing an iceberg that could freeze him in his tracks.

  Maybe he should be grateful for her reserved upbringing.

  He had no such reserves to call on. If he touched her, he would find better ways of shutting her up than arguing.

  “I can deal with Sandra. The two of you are better off not meeting.” He knew he picked at a raw wound, but he couldn't think of any better way of distracting her.

  “And I'm beginning to think it's time we did just that. Ignorance is not bliss. It breeds anger, distrust, and hatred. You either introduce me to Sandra or I'll introduce myself.” She didn't walk out, but waited for his decision.

  “Don't do this, Faith,” he said softly, grasping for some way of defusing the situation. “I got you into this, much to my regret. Give me a chance to get you out.”

  “No.” She straightened and started for the door.

  “What do you mean, no ?” he shouted after her. “You don't have a choice.”

  She swung around and her hair bounced with her. She brushed at it unconsciously as she glared at him. “I spent too many years letting a man take care of things. To hell with that. From now on I take care of things on my own. I don't need you.”

  She looked like confectioner's spun sugar icing, too pretty and delicate to touch. He wanted to lick her all over and gobble her up like a child deprived of Easter candy. He'd never possessed anything quite so lovely and desirable. Always, he had been content turning his valuables into cold hard cash. Had it been his, he would have sold her priceless clair de lune long ago, right along with a piece of his soul. She was right to tell him to go to hell. She just didn't realize he'd gone there on his own a long time ago.

  “I've already talked with Sandra,” he answered reluctantly. He couldn't stop her. He had nothing left to lose.

  Her fingers dug into the woodwork but she didn't leave.

  He freshened his coffee and sat down. He'd be damned if he let her push him into anything he hadn't thought about first.

  She brushed by him to pick up her cup and refill it. Instead of sitting down, she popped toast into the toaster. “When? Last night?” she asked with a measured tone that seemed entirely too accusing for his state of mind.

  “Yeah.” She had no right to make him feel guilty about meeting Sandra without her. Faith wasn't his wife. She wasn't even his girlfriend. They had no claim on each other but a couple of nights’ worth of fantastic sex.

  Apparently reaching the same conclusion, she didn't comment on his behavior. “What did you find out?”

  “That we're in way over our heads, and I want all of you out of it now. I'm the one who stands to gain or lose on this deal, so I'm the one to handle it.”

  She leaned the lovely curve of her hip against the co
unter as she worked his words through her formidable brain. Adrian didn't bother trying to read her mind. He'd rather look at the way her shirt clung to her unfettered breasts. Faith liked silk, apparently. And she must like teasing him into a constant state of arousal by not wearing anything under it.

  The toast popped, and she threw it on a plate and carried it to the table. “You're saying someone could get hurt or go to jail, aren't you?” She sat down and reached for the jam. “That means someone out there is either dangerous, powerful, or both. I don't understand why Tony wanted that kind of power.”

  “Because Tony was a jerk. It's probably too soon, but you ought to call Annie and see if you've received any reply for your request for a death certificate.”

  She carefully spread the jam to the edges of the toast. “You aren't certain Tony is dead, are you?”

  That worry lingered in the back of his mind all the time. “He was playing in some pretty deep waters. He could be very dead. Or he could be hiding.” There, he'd said it. She would have thought it anyway.

  She nodded. “Wonder if my attorney would consider continuing the divorce proceeding when the other party is presumed dead?”

  He grunted. With anyone else, he might have laughed. The idea of Faith still being married to Tony was not a laughing matter, however. “He could serve papers to the grave site if there was one.”

  “Let's not borrow trouble. Unless you have some evidence he's still alive, I'll just keep trying for the death certificate. You don't have any such evidence, do you?”

  That, he could honestly answer. “Nope. I'm pretty much figuring Sammy is behind the break-ins. If his brains are as fogged as his sister's, threatening people locked in a bathroom is right about his speed.”

  “And driving people off the road is something he's seen on TV. He thinks we'll just pop back to life after being flattened, like Wiley Coyote. Got it. Stupid is dangerous, but not powerful. Where does the power come in if Tony's dead and Sammy is stupid?” She waved her half-eaten toast in the air. “No, don't tell me. Heaven forbid that you should tell me anything. Let me guess—Tony's power broker, his investment banker, his partner in crime. Tony latched onto someone as crooked as he was. Charming.”

  Adrian clenched his jaw and said nothing. If she kept it up, she'd have the whole thing worked out, right down to McCowan. Maybe while she was at it she could tell him what to do about the bastard once she did. Without evidence, his hands were tied.

  She chewed thoughtfully, sucked a stray piece of jam from her finger, and drove Adrian's blood pressure straight through his eardrums. How the hell did she think he could concentrate when she did things like that?

  “This crook must be big enough to be untouchable.” She narrowed her eyes over the rim of her cup. “It doesn't make any difference. Once we find all the boxes and have Tony's books, they'll prove your innocence. If we're lucky, they'll also prove who the guilty parties are. We only have to wait. So, what's your problem?”

  He had more problems than he wanted to count. This one, though, was hers as well as his. “My problem is that Sammy and friends don't know if we have access to those boxes or any other evidence that might implicate them. My problem is that they may choose to off us rather than speculate.”

  “Off us.” She leaned back in the chair and rolled her eyes. “Off us? Is that something you learned in criminal school?”

  “Yeah, right up there with how to strangle annoying females.” He shoved away from the table and stood up. “Now, we're going car shopping. Unless you have any better ideas?”

  “Off the bad guy first,” she whispered softly.

  Off the bad guy first. It had sounded brave when she said it. At the same time, Faith knew how stupid it was.

  She waved her hand to indicate erasing what she'd just said. “I mean, we have to go on the offensive. We have to nail the sucker.”

  Adrian paced the narrow floor as if he'd rather be anywhere else, but somehow his problems had become hers, and neither of them would sleep at night until this was over.

  When he started smacking his fist into his palm, she thought she ought to be concerned, but the more he boiled, the more she cooled down. His fury provided impetus. Her calm added focus. Crazy, but it worked.

  He dragged out a chair and straddled it. She slathered jam on a piece of toast and handed it to him. Savagely, he tore into it.

  He hadn't shaved this morning, and beard stubble darkened his jaw. His hair still hung half loose, and in the morning sun his earring sparkled against his brown skin. He should look like a dangerous criminal, but Faith's heart did a little jig of joy just watching him.

  Finishing her toast, she let Adrian have his anger. He had a right to it. Just as she had a right to do what she thought best for herself. What an adult attitude. She might never manage a relationship again, but she finally had her head on straight.

  He growled, drank his coffee, and polished off his toast. “You really can't do anything,” he reminded her. “I grew up in this town. You didn't. You don't know the political ropes.”

  “If we were actually talking politics, I imagine I could out-think the entire city council in my sleep, but I assume we're talking a different kind of political rope?”

  He shrugged. “Semantics. Ropes are ropes. They'll hang you no matter what you call them. This isn't your fight, and I don't want you hurt.”

  So, maybe he hadn't come quite as far as she had in interpersonal and personal development. She felt qualified to teach a college level course. “Let's get this straight one more time, Quinn.” Teacher to student, that was the tactic. “Someone ‘offed’ my car, my apartment, my shop, and terrorized my friends. They damned near killed us. I'm involved. I'm staying involved. And you have no power to change that.”

  “Even if I tell you who else is involved, you won't understand the implications,” he insisted. “You still believe the cowboys in the white hats always win.”

  “I will wear whatever color hat it takes to win,” she said coldly. “I will not take this lying down. Besides, whoever you're afraid of is thinking I'm a big zero and isn't even worrying about me.”

  “Then he sure the hell doesn't know you.” Giving up, he drained his cup. “My money is on a guy called Al McCowan, Jr. Know him?”

  Faith grimaced. “Porky. Sweats a lot. You'd think, with his money, he could afford a good daily workout in a gym.”

  He sighed in exasperation, then jerked up straight and glared at her. “You're putting me on, aren't you?”

  She grinned. “You're listening at last! Score one for the hottie in the earring.”

  He choked on his last piece of toast, swiped his mouth with a napkin, and visibly restrained himself by clenching the chair back. Faith smiled sweetly and waited for him to calm down. Given the slow heat lighting his eyes, she didn't think it was anger skyrocketing his blood pressure this time. She really, really liked turning him on.

  “I'm not going to live through this, am I?” he asked rhetorically. “All right, so what intelligent things do you know?”

  “He's a lazy pig. His daddy isn't a bad man, just kind of busy and d istant. But Junior cheats at golf, likes cheap blondes and changes them as often as he does cars, and has poor personal care habits,” she finished primly.

  “You heard this from Tony?”

  “No, from the women at the country club. What do you think they do while sitting around the pool and bar all day?”

  “Gossip,” he said with disgust. “And not even relevant gossip. Knowing Junior is a pig gets us nowhere. And he isn't fat, just well-padded.”

  “For your information, since you haven't bothered telling me, I'm trying to figure out why Junior would care if Tony or you fried in hell. It doesn't make clear sense. Junior's father practically owns Charlotte. If Piggy needs cash, he sells something. If he wants power, he has it.”

  “McCowan is the lawyer Sammy ‘hired’ to help Sandra.” Adrian sat back and waited for her to take that in.

  She widened her eyes th
oughtfully. “That's definitely not the act of a sane man. Junior must be running scared over something.”

  “And that something would have to be us. You were perfectly safe until we showed up at the bank.”

  McCowan, Jr. Faith shook her head in disbelief. “He was the VIP waiting outside your friend's office that day. He saw us together.” She thought about it a moment longer. “He was a golfing buddy of Tony's. They both went to UNC. Junior could have afforded Duke, but my impression was that he didn't like exercising his brain, and it was easier being the rich frog in a poor pond.”

  “Tony was growing pot with Sammy while in college.” Adrian dropped that little bombshell into the waters as if testing her.

  Faith stood up and poured the coffee dregs from the pot. “He said he went hunting. I knew that was a lie. Tony didn't like dirtying his hands. I figured he was studying but didn't want to admit he needed to spend so much time with his books. I think I must have been insane back then.”

  “Just very, very young.” Adrian leaned back in his chair and caressed her hip.

  Faith almost dropped the coffeepot. She wasn't used to these casual touches. She could get used to them real easily. Taking a deep breath, she tried to ice her hormones while repressed desire licked hot flames under her skin. “Anyway, I can't see him growing pot any more than hunting. I'd wager he went out and chose the fields, brought Sammy the equipment and seeds, and let Sam do the real work.”

  Adrian waited until she had the pot on the burner and the coffee dripping before he hauled her down on his lap.

  As if she'd done this every day of her life, Faith wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his shoulder, soaking up the closeness. This was much better than snapping at each other. She liked a man who understood that. “You can do what you will with my body, but you can't have my soul,” she quoted mockingly in his ear.

  “What the hell would I do with your soul?” He kissed the skin above her scooped neckline and cupped her breast.

  Faith smacked him and fought free of his grip. “You're not talking me out of this. If Junior is our guilty party, I'm nailing him to the walls of City Hall.” She retreated to her side of the table and sat down.