Angel on Fire (8 page)

She shrugged before announcing rather sheepishly, “I feel closer to Dad here, as if he’s going to walk through the door at any moment.  The house feels lonely and empty, but…” she paused.  “I can still feel his presence here.”

A suspicious look crossed Derrick’s face, and Angela swallowed hard as she met his gaze.  She coaxed a few tears from her eyes before continuing, “It’s been so hard to be home without him.  I thought maybe spending some time at the office would help.” 

“Well, you don’t belong here, Angela, especially when I’m not here,” Derrick snapped.  Angela’s eyes shimmered with rage.  She had practically grown up in this office!  How dare Derrick deny her access especially in light of what she had just learned?

“Now, now,” the sheriff soothed, encasing her in a gentle hug while frowning at Derrick.  “I’m sure Derrick didn’t mean that the way it sounded.  There’s nothing wrong with you being here, honey.  After all, you do own half of the company.  We just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Sniffling, Angela enjoyed being held, feeling safe and warm in Sheriff Bates’ arms.  “Sure, Sheriff,” she replied, her tone making it clear she didn’t agree with his assessment of Derrick’s position.  “May I go now?”

“Of course, honey.  I’m going to have Clark follow you and check out the house before you go in.  This was probably just a random event, but I’ll have a car swing by every few hours tonight just in case.  Call me if you need anything.” 

“I will, Sheriff.”  She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and the older man blushed. 

“Clark?” he called out gruffly.  “Follow Angela home and make sure nothing’s been disturbed before you leave her.”

“Will do, Sir.”
 The young officer, who reminded Angela of an eager young puppy who hadn’t grown into his legs, hurried toward Angela and escorted her from the
room
. 

Two hours later, Angela had thoroughly inspected the papers documenting her father’s purchase of Investigations, Inc.  She smiled broadly imagining Derrick’s reaction when she unveiled her new-found knowledge. 
This must be what Derrick’s afraid I will find.  What I don’t understand is why he’s acting this way?  Clearly, Dad employed him after he bought him out.  Why would Derrick think I’d change things? 

Angela mulled over what she had learned until the phone rang, the shrill sound piercing the air and making her jump.  “Hello?”

“Ah, Ms. McKenzie.
  It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” a deep voice with a prominent French accent announced.

“Who is this?” she demanded.  Something about the voice chilled her to the core, and she placed a hand on her gun.

“You may call me Intermédiaire,” the caller replied firmly.  “Ms. McKenzie, I understand you have need of my services.”

“I do?  What services?”

“But of course, ma
chérie
.  You possess something you need to get rid of, and I’m just the man to help you.  With your possession and my connections, we will make quite the team, as you Americans say.” 

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.  What is this item I allegedly possess and why would I need to get rid of it?” 

The caller chuckled unpleasantly.  “Don’t be coy, Ms. McKenzie.  May I call you Angela? 
Such a pretty name, Angela.
  You need me.  I have several buyers interested in the code.  Believe
me,
your life expectancy is far greater with me than without me.  I shall contact you again in two days.”  The caller disconnected. 

Aggravated, Angela slammed the phone onto the cradle and bit back a frustrated scream. 
Code?
 
Code to what?
 
A safe?
 
A bank account?
  I’m working completely in the dark here, and it’s driving me crazy.  And who the hell is the Intermédiaire?
 

As she prepared for bed and, in her opinion, another sleepless night, the phone rang again.  She debated not answering, but her dad had taught her to face problems head on.

“Yes?” she demanded 

“Stop poking around in things that are none of your business,” a voice hissed.  “Go back to Washington, or you’ll suffer the same fate as your father.” 

“Who is this?” Angela challenged but heard only the dial tone in response.  

Morning dawned far too bright and early for Angela.  Sunlight streamed through the window and cast its glow upon her face.  She blinked open her swollen, red rimmed eyes and stumbled to the kitchen.  After starting coffee, she stepped onto the front porch to grab the paper.

As she leaned down, her eyes encountered a pair of dark brown leather top-siders.  Looking up, she bit back a groan.  “Morning, Derrick.”

“Angela,” he responded with a nod.  “We need to talk.”

“So talk.”  She crossed her arms across her chest defiantly while leaning against the doorjamb. 

“Inside.”
 

She shook her head, the normal warmth absent from her greeting.  “Here or not at all.”

“Fine.
  Look, Angela, I don’t know what’s going on with you all of a sudden, but Mac would expect me to take care of you since he can’t.  It’s pretty damn clear you aren’t taking care of yourself.  You’ve got circles under your eyes; you’ve been hit by a car; you’re gallivanting all over Boston.  What in heaven’s name are you trying to prove?”  He stepped closer to her, so close she could feel his breath upon her face, his brown eyes darkening with anger. 

She pushed against his chest, but he held his ground.  “Dad didn’t die of a heart attack!”  Her eyes glittered with rage, and anger loosened her tongue.  “I know Dad bought you out, Derrick.  Why?  What happened between you?  Dad dies, and suddenly you’re intent upon getting me to leave town?  To leave you in charge of a business you no longer own?  Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I own half of Investigations, Inc.,” he snarled, “and you can’t prove otherwise.”  Reaching out, he grasped a chunk of her hair and yanked hard.  “You’d be wise to remember that.  You’re in way over your head, little girl.  Go back to your happy, little life in Washington, or you might just suffer the same fate as your father.”

“That’s funny.  Angela received a threat a lot like that one just last night.”  

Angela jumped as her Good Samaritan stalked across the lawn and stepped onto the porch, his voice loud and clear.  He removed Derrick’s hand from her hair before wrapping his arms around her.  Startled, Angela squeaked.  She opened her mouth to ask say something…anything, but he squeezed her waist. 
Who is he and why does he keep showing up when I’m in trouble?

“Sorry it took me so long to get here, babe.”  Her rescuer rested his chin on top of her head, keeping her secure within his embrace where Derrick could not reach her.

Angela relaxed into his embrace, trusting he would explain what was going on later.  He had had ample opportunity to hurt her yesterday, so she doubted he intended to harm her.

“Care to tell me who you are and why you’re threatening my girlfriend?”

Switching gears quickly, Derrick smiled suavely and extended his hand.  “I’m Derrick Blakely, Angela’s father’s partner.  Angela hasn’t mentioned a boyfriend.”  He arched an eyebrow.  “Who are you and how long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Long enough for me to recognize that Angela needs her morning coffee.”
 The Good Samaritan nudged Angela toward the door.  His eyes raked over her body, clad only in booty shorts and a tight tank top, and heated with approval.  “Next time, call first if you need to talk to Angela.”  Opening the door, he pushed Angela inside before closing it with an audible click, leaving Derrick alone on the front porch. 

Inside, he placed a finger against his lips in the universal gesture for quiet, before taking her hand and leading her upstairs to her bedroom.  Glancing out the window, which gave him a perfect view of Derrick standing in shock, he shook his head.  “He’s still standing there,” he advised her, a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“Who are you?” Angela stood just inside the door, her arms crossed under her breasts, keenly aware that she was in her bedroom, dressed only in her pajamas, with a man she didn’t know. 

“A friend.
  Name’s Chase,” he answered, as he stared out the window. 

She cleared her throat and shifted her weight back and forth. 

Chase glanced over his shoulder.  “Why don’t you get dressed, and then we can go for breakfast or something?  You’ll feel more comfortable in public.”

“Okay.”  Hurrying to the closet, she grabbed a denim skirt, coordinating top and pair of sandals.  She glanced over her shoulder, making sure his back was to her, before opening her lingerie drawer and selecting a white, lacy bra and matching panties.  She darted to the bathroom and started to turn on the shower when she decided that getting naked with a stranger in the house was probably a very bad idea.  She dressed quickly before tackling her unruly mop of curls.  Without a shower, she couldn’t do much to tame them.  Finally, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and called herself ready. 

“Angela? You dressed?”  Chase tapped on the bathroom door. 

“I thought you might need this.”  He passed her a steaming cup of coffee. 

“Are you some sort of guardian angel?  You keep rescuing me, look like an Adonis and deliver hot coffee.”  She accepted the cup and sipped, feeling better the moment the caffeine hit her system. 

Chase tossed his head back and released a bark of laughter.  “I’ve never been called an angel in my life, sweetheart.  You, on the other hand….”  His eyes caressed her curves.  “Definitely remind me of an angel.”

Twenty minutes later, Angela nibbled on an apple fritter while sitting on a blanket on the beach inhabited only by a few other individuals.  Chase leaned back on his elbows, long since finished with his bagel sandwich, and watched her pat at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.  His lips tilted up in amusement, and she shot him a questioning look. 

“What?”  She wrinkled her nose, not liking the idea of him laughing at her. 

Chase’s smile grew momentarily, before he reached for her hand, becoming serious.  “Do you know who Zach Walker is?” he asked, drawing circles on her palm.

“Uncle Zach?”  Angela straightened her spine and turned to face Chase.  Although his touch sent shivers up and down her spine, she found it strangely comforting as well. 

“Uncle Zach to you, but General Zachary Walker to me.”
  Chase shifted closer to her.  “Zach sent me to watch over you because he’s afraid you’re in danger.”

“Why?”  Angela pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. 

“Mac reached out to Zach the day he died.  They didn’t connect, but Zach suspects Mac ran into some kind of problem.  The feds are sniffing around you.  It looks like they think your dad had something important, but we haven’t figured out what it is or even what your dad was working on when he died.”