A Cold Day in Hell (8 page)

Angel hesitated, then gave her his glass. She drank and made a face. “Cranberry juice. Ouch, that’s bitter after the wine.”

“The wine’s dry,” he said, sounding defensive.

“And you’re getting me drunk while you stay sober,” she said with mock annoyance.

“I have to drive,” he pointed out.

“Oh, boy, you are so holy,” she said.

“Wanna bet?”

Eileen whistled out a breath. “I think I’ll pass on that. What’s the deal with Sonny?”

“I’ve told you most of it. He got caught up in something—none of his doing—something really dangerous. There was some possibility that bad types saw him where it would have been better for him not to be. If they did, they might well have decided to get rid of him. When he showed up tonight, that was my first thought, and I think it was his. But we were both wrong. Those guys don’t miss, and they don’t make mistakes like shooting the wrong person. They can’t afford to if they don’t want to end up on the wrong end of the next gun barrel.”

After much too large a swallow of wine, a big enough mouthful to make her cough, Eileen collected herself and said, “You’re talking about the Mafia.”

He shook his head. “We don’t talk like that anymore. The scene has changed.”

“Who is
we,
Angel?”

“Just people in the business.” He waved an airy hand. “You know I’ve been in various kinds of enforcement over the years.”

“I thought you were out of all that now.”

“I am.” His expression was so innocent, there was no way she believed much of what he said. “This is just something I had to do for an old friend.”

“You’re not used to making up bedtime stories for soft women, are you?” she asked. “Or women you think are soft. Who is this old friend?”

“Eileen. I’ve already told you far more than I have any right to say. I have rules I must live by. They’re for good reasons.”

“You’re still involved. You said you weren’t, but you lied to me.”

He got the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. Eileen made no attempt to stop him.

“I didn’t lie. I’m not on active duty. I quit because I had other things I wanted to do. I came here to talk to Finn because he went through the same thing, changed his lifestyle pretty drastically. And now I’m his manager of operations. That’s not a lie.”

“But you’re doing something that could bring gunmen after you.”

He reached for her hand but she put it in her lap. “Don’t be like that,” he said.

“Who is this friend? You don’t have to give me his name, just tell me what kind of person he is. What he’s mixed up in that makes him so dangerous to know.”

Angel leaned against his chair, tipped it onto its back legs. “He’s not dangerous to anyone anymore. He’s dead.”

She pressed a hand on the wooden tabletop and her mind raced. “I’m sorry. So, why do you—”

“He was Sonny’s father.”

“Oh, no. Your brother. Oh, Angel—”

“Don’t. It’s okay. He was doing something the people he worked for didn’t like.” He looked at the ceiling. “They
really
didn’t like it.” He let the front legs of his chair slam to the floor and put his face closer to hers. “If you talk about any of this, someone could die. Do you understand?”

She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” He looked so desolate. There was a mountain of bad stuff on his back. Loneliness and isolation were the only reasons he was telling her all of this.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she told him.

“Good. They shot him, emptied a Beretta submachine gun with a forty-round magazine into him.”

Eileen held the wine with both hands and drank. “You know these things happen, but most of the time you can pretend they don’t. They thought Sonny saw this, but he didn’t? They may have figured that out by now and they’re leaving him alone.”

“They
could
think that,” Angel said. “I hope they do. But he did see his father shot. He saw him die.”

“Oh, God.” Eileen shuddered. “The good people shouldn’t come out last.”

Angel didn’t answer and she caught his eye. She felt so cold. Knowledge you didn’t want could freeze you. “He wasn’t a good guy?”

“I think we’ve said enough,” he told her without inflection.

“Poor Sonny. I don’t know why he isn’t a worse mess. No wonder he acts so surly and bitter.”

Again he was silent.

She held his wrist on the table. “Thank you for being honest. It helps to know what’s going on…or could be.”

“Not necessarily. If you weren’t involved, I’d never reveal any of this to you. But you are in a way and you need to be too scared to open your mouth about anything. You don’t know anything about Sonny, right?”

“I understand.” Like this, he was scary. “I’ll do anything I can to help. And you’ll never have to wonder if I’ve said anything to anyone or if I might for some reason. Nothing could get it out of me.”

“Good,” Angel said, looking at her hand on his arm, “because I can sense things, like when someone is wavering. I’d know if you were thinking about running your mouth off to someone.”

“I never would. Angel?” Her heart thumped. “I really wouldn’t.”

“Good. Because if I got that feeling, I’d have to kill you.”

N
o man’s eyes should look that cold.

Eileen noticed the lines that flared from the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines? She pictured him squinting into the sun through dark glasses, a gun in his hand.

“That was a joke,” he said. “A bad one.”

Maybe it was; maybe it wasn’t.
She stood so quickly, her chair screeched on the wood floor. “Thanks for the wine.”

“Eileen.” He got up, too, and she was aware of how big he was. Fear and intense excitement mounted her spine.

“I’ve stayed too long,” she told him. “Aaron will wonder where I am.”

Angel walked behind her and she held her ground with difficulty. “You never have to be afraid of me,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can smell it. Men like me have a particular relationship with fear.”

And with danger…and violence.

“I know you’ve had a hard life,” she said.

“I chose it.” He didn’t even pretend to smile now. “Aaron isn’t worrying about where you are. Both of them know you’re with me.”

She colored. “I shouldn’t be any longer.”

“Why? Because they might think we’re doing more than driving to my place and sharing a drink, maybe?”

Eileen laughed nervously. “No, of course not. I’m pretty tired. All the hocus-pocus in the swamp must have worn me out. I’m so grateful Aaron’s okay.”

He moved again and this time he stood behind her right shoulder where she could almost, but not quite, see him. She could feel him, hear him breathing.

Eileen stood straighter. She wished she wore high heels because they brought her closer to his height and she felt more powerful then. “Let me wash these glasses out for you.” She reached for them but Angel’s hand on the back of her neck immobilized her.

“Forget the glasses. You’re scared and I don’t like that. Not when I’m the one you’re scared of.”

“I’m not.”

As long as she stayed with her back to him she would appear nervous. She faced him. His hand slid from her neck, over her shoulder and down her arm. He circled her wrist and stroked the tender inside skin there.

The lightning climbed her back again, matched by the same feeling low in her belly, between her legs. Was she that kind of woman? The kind who got sexually excited by fear? She ran the fingers of her free hand across her brow and they came away damp.

“It’s probably not a good idea to call voodoo
hocus-pocus
in these parts.”

She raised her chin. “I’ve lived here all my life. I know to be careful what I say about those things in some circumstances. These aren’t those circumstances.”

“Did you look at Aaron’s body?”

“He wouldn’t let me. You know how boys are.”

He grinned. “Only until they grow up and the women they’re with aren’t their mothers.”

She had to smile. “I guess you’re right. I don’t suppose Aaron counts as a boy anymore, either.”

“I’ve made more progress in the house. Let me show you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to repeat that she ought to get back. “I’d like that.”

Still holding her wrist, he took her to the far side of the room where an archway was framed into a wall. Once on the other side, with the unfinished conservatory to their right, he headed directly for the stairs and climbed. Eileen went behind him, every heartbeat feeling bigger and harder.

“What do you think of Chuzah?” she asked. “I don’t know whether to accept that he was kind to the boys, or be terrified of him. That dog is strange.”

“A shape-shifter?” Angel said, and chuckled. “That was a strange comment you made. He’s a great dog. It’s the breed. Silver ghosts.”

“He looked like a ghost when he moved through the fog,” Eileen said.

“Maybe he is. Maybe Chuzah is, too. He surely doesn’t fit any profile I’ve encountered before.”

She paused, frowning.

Angel stopped a couple of stairs above her. “Eileen, something’s going on. Something happened in that swamp. Sonny said Aaron was bleeding—a lot—and he had blood on his own clothes. But there wasn’t any coming from Aaron when we got there.”

“Don’t. Aaron’s fine.”

“Chuzah said he threw Aaron’s clothes away because they were such a mess. That doesn’t sound unreasonable to you?”

Eileen thought exactly that. “The man’s unusual.”

“That’s enough for you?” Angel said.

“I’m trying to make it enough.”

He produced his cell phone and pressed a button. Almost at once he said, “You guys okay? Uh-huh. No calls before this one? Good. We’re taking things a bit easy. It’s good to get away from you two now and again.”

Eileen suppressed a smile and shook her head.

“Okay,” Angel said. “Stick with the instructions. See you eventually.” He put the phone away and gave her all of his attention. “I want to kiss you.”

She stood absolutely still, looking up at him in light that hadn’t been upgraded. He was in the gloom but the glint in his eyes, the sexual intensity, was clear. So was the downward tilt of his lips and the tight movement of the small muscles in his jaw.

“That’s abrupt,” she said.

He pulled on her arm so she had to go up another step, and another. “It wasn’t abrupt. You’ve been taking up most of my mind for months. How about you, Eileen? Have I been on your mind?”

Without taking her eyes from his, she nodded.

His expression turned predatory, possessive—and determined.

If she wanted out of this, there wasn’t much time. There wasn’t
any
time.

Angel spread a hand behind her head and lowered his face over hers. He kissed her and she felt instantly weak, and wet, and wanted to get closer to him.

Eileen wanted to be naked with him.

She started hard enough for Angel to raise his face. A new element had appeared, a feverishness. “What?” he said. “You jumped.”

Parting her lips, Eileen stood on tiptoe and delivered her own kiss. She worked their mouths until he groaned and dragged her hard against him. She swayed a little and grabbed for him to steady herself.

Angel put an arm around her waist and walked her up to the gallery, kissing her repeatedly as they went. Without warning, he unzipped her sweat suit jacket and slid a hand inside. She hadn’t put on another top underneath. There was no mistaking his satisfaction when he weighed a breast, hooked a thumb inside her bra.

She pulled out his hand and moved away a little. “You believe in moving right along.”

“And you aren’t ready for that?” Angel said.

“You’re going to show me what else you’ve done to the house, remember?” That anxiety, that conviction that somehow she must be wanting when it came to being with men, returned. Chuck had always said she was boring in bed.

Angel took her from the gallery into a passageway. He reached through an open door and flipped a light switch. The room they entered wasn’t large. The walls were paneled with warm cherry; a deep window seat had yet to be finished, but the floor matched the paneling and, almost in the center of the room, stood a piece of furniture that made Eileen frown. “What’s that? Are you starting an ottoman collection?”

Walking around it, he put his fists on his hips and looked pleased with himself. “I could be. It’s a tête-à-tête.”

“So you say. It looks like a big, square ottoman to me, with a fat post in the middle. It’s really old, isn’t it?”

“It’s something else I salvaged from all the stuff that was here. I was told it would have been in a public room of some kind and people liked them, particularly the young and lovelorn, because it was easy to
accidentally
brush shoulders and arms while sitting side by side. Their legs might even have touched. Imagine that. All that pent-up desire in the heat of a Louisiana night and in a room much bigger than this one but packed with dashing young men, and girls with trembling white breasts spilling from their bodices.”

Eileen stared at him. She swallowed. “I can imagine it. I wouldn’t have expected you to.”

“I’m interested in the history of the area. Particularly the social history. I’ve had enough of war.”

“You and Finn fought together, didn’t you?”

“We met in a field hospital. We kept in touch.”

He wasn’t inviting her to probe further.

“I’m seeing a new side of you,” she said. “You’ll make this a fantastic house.”

“I’ll try. But I’m only showing you and talking about it to keep you with me.” He offered her a hand and she held it. “This is going to be part of the master suite. I’ll show you the best bit to date.”

Double doors, which he closed behind them, took her into an amazing bathroom. Tiled from floor to ceiling with large, unglazed white stone, a shower large enough for an intimate party sloped down from all sides, and had no doors. Stone benches lined the sides and several showerheads jutted from each wall.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Eileen said.

It was too intimate, too personal—but he knew that and had brought her here deliberately.

Angel turned a knob on the wall and she expected lights to brighten. Instead, a fan of white fabric finished like parchment swung open to reveal a skylight. Tonight she saw raindrops on the glass and heard more falling, but on a clear night it would be filled with stars.

She lost the battle to keep her attention away from a bathtub made of heavy glass. It stood on pewter feet in the center of the room and since vertical strips of mirror were incorporated into each wall there would be no way to bathe without seeing yourself from every angle.

And the tub was huge, curved, almost an oversize Victorian shape.

Eileen would not keep looking at that bath. “You must have brought in a designer,” she said. “What an imagination!”

“A guy over in Toussaint,” Angel said, “Marc Girard. Finn’s cousin Annie recommended him and he’s responsible for all the plans. He’s my architect, but someone in his firm consults on design.”

“I know Annie. She used to live in Pointe Judah.”

Small talk.

Another set of double doors, also closed, stood on the other side of the bathroom. Angel caught her looking at them. “That will be the bedroom but it’s pretty basic at this point. Okay to sleep in, though. I haven’t tried out the bath yet. I’m always in a hurry so I shower—not that the bath would be much fun on my own.”

The glow Eileen felt had to be visible. She must be luminous.

“Don’t you think there’s something sensual about water, Eileen?”

She drew in a breath through parted lips. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

He turned on the bathwater and almost at once, steam rose.

“What are you doing?” Eileen said.

“Showing you how it looks with water in it. We could put in some soapy stuff, if you like.”

How was she supposed to answer a comment like that? She didn’t.

Angel stopped smiling. He pulled his dark T-shirt over his head and Eileen took a step backward. His body shouldn’t be covered, ever. Muscle and sinew, every line defined. Not a millimeter of spare flesh. His jeans settled low on his hips and she couldn’t look away from his hard belly, the bands of muscle; the start of dark hair she didn’t have to see to know how the rest of it would look.

He walked straight at her, unsnapping his waistband as he came. When he reached her, Eileen backed up and kept backing up all the way to the wall where steam had dampened the tile. Her back hit solidly and she raised bent arms, palms out.

“We don’t want the bath to overflow,” he said.

“Christian?” she said. His real name came naturally. “We aren’t thinking.”

“I always know I’m supposed to be in trouble when you call me that.” He unzipped her jacket and pushed it from her shoulders. “Sure we’re thinking. I’m thinking about what I want and what you want.” Quickly, he pulled down her pants and panties, went to his knees and freed her feet.

He parted her thighs with inflexible hands, pressed his face low against her belly, and drove his tongue into the folds between her legs. Eileen cried out and pulled at his hair with both hands.

If it hurt him, his shudder said he liked it. Pushing up on her buttocks, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and held her in place while he nipped and probed at her pulsing flesh. She released his hair and threw out her arms, tossed her head from side to side.

A climax ripped through her. Eileen sobbed and heard sounds she knew she made, but hadn’t heard before.

Moving so fast that he disoriented her, Angel tossed her over his shoulder and went to turn off the bathwater. Then, with no ceremony and her bra still on, he dumped her into the tub. It was deep and she slid, dousing her hair and face. When she sat up, she swiped the water away and slicked back her hair.

There was nothing she could think of to say to him. She still throbbed, her heart still raced, but she wasn’t a fresh girl and she knew what he wanted.

He stood over her, his head on one side, studying her. And he took off his jeans. His penis sprang free of his underwear and when he turned his hips to toss the clothes aside, she gasped at the sway of his flesh.