Falcon's Angel (22 page)

Yes, he was violating policy, which could get an operative terminated, but he didn’t care. He had as much trust in these two sitting with him now as he did in his parents.

He shared a past with Roman and Amelie that bound them together in the same way as he was to their daughter. Although it was yet unspoken, Falcon was certain Angel’s parents knew the real reason for his visit.

He told them about
il Dragone
and Amelie was in tears. Roman demanded the names of the kidnappers.

Falcon gave them the same edited story that he and the team had given Darien. In the past, Margaux’s parents had not known of her power. As far as he knew, Margaux had only confided in Carlo. Judging from the way they spoke now, Falcon had the impression that her parents didn’t know of her powers in this life either. How could they when she herself had not yet come to the realization?

“The Organization is handling Alfonso Ruggiero and his cult. I’ll keep you updated on the legal proceedings. With the mountain of evidence against him, Ruggiero and his associates will go away for a very long time,” he assured them.

Roman went to the sideboard and poured vodka into a tumbler. “Armand?”

Falcon shook his head.

Roman drained the glass. “You are very good at what you do.”

“Angelina did her part. The kidnappers never knew whom they held in the catacombs, and so ransom for the daughter of Cardiff Jewels never factored into the equation. It could have been worse.” He left it at that. Better not go into the number of people he and the team had killed in that explosion. Better yet to never mention the number of people he’d killed in the last ten years.

It’s not like he kept track. His barometer was the criminal acts. When they were done, he was too.

Better not to mention that either.

“She’ll bow out of the symphony and stay home, of course,” Roman returned to his seat.

“But she’s lived her life for this opportunity.” Amelie took Roman’s hand. “Chérie, she will never forgive you if you force her to abandon this goal. Armand will be with her.”

If I can get her to stay in the same country with me, he thought.

“Very well,” Roman conceded. “But she remains under your supervision in Italy.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“What’s wrong?” Amelie asked.

“She is very angry with me.”

“Go on.” Roman leaned back in his chair.

Falcon explained how he’d found out who the real violin thief was. “She thinks I was only after the violin.”

“She is not totally unaware of the connection between you,” Amelie assured him. “She chose you after all.”

“Until now, she has been consumed with her music,” Roman added. “Music is her life. That young fellow Jonathan couldn’t get past it.”

Falcon shot Roman a glance. “Jonathan?”

“Just a friend of hers, nothing more. But then, you already know that,” Roman said dryly.

“Ah, yes. Yes, I do,” he admitted. “It just … happened. I wasn’t even aware of our past lives at the time, and I didn’t know who she really was, but we were drawn to each other…” He trailed off, uncomfortable with his new self that woke up in the hospital intent on revealing all.

As awkward as it was to talk to Angel’s parents about her deflowering, he knew that nothing could have stopped the two of them from coming together in Italy.

“It was destined to be.” Amelie’s remark mirrored his own thoughts.

“Quite right,” Roman said. “Armand, I am forever grateful to you for getting her out of Forlì safely. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, anything at all,” Roman said.

Falcon cleared his throat. “There is one thing you can do for me, the both of you, I mean.” He glanced at Amelie.

Amelie touched his cheek. “What is it?”

“I am here to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“And you may have it.” Roman nodded as if that settled the matter, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “But there is something troubling you.”

Falcon sat back. “I am afraid she will say no.” He jerked both hands through his hair. “I can see her trying to claw me to death just for having the nerve to ask the question.”

“She is already yours, she just doesn’t realize it yet,” Amelie assured him. “Besides, now that she has had some time to think, I’m sure she’ll be reasonable.”

Roman’s grin widened into what looked to be some type of bizarre satisfaction. “Ah, therein lays the problem.”

Falcon rubbed his eyes over the quandary. The only other man in the room understood exactly what he was feeling. Roman knew his daughter could be so stubborn it was infuriating. In fact, he appeared happy he wasn’t the only one who found her to be so.

Amelie stuck her spoon back into the chocolate mousse, as if she'd lost her appetite. “Maybe you should wait.”

“Wait for what?” He gave her a doubtful look, but something inside of him was hoping she had an answer.

“Another miracle,” Roman’s mutter turned into a cough when Amelie gave him a look.

They fell into silence once again. And then Amelie’s green eyes glinted. “You must help her remember. Take her to the chateau.”

Chapter Twelve

Sacha went to the Blue Room but Mum wasn’t there. Jewelry sketches in various stages of production were lying on a long table against one wall, and Chopin was playing over the speakers.

Anne arranged flowers on a coffee table, and gave her a slow perusal. “Yellow makes everything brighter. Doesn’t it, my dear?”

“A bit done up for staying at home but yes, you do have subtle ways of interfering with melancholy.” Sacha had to admit that Anne had laid out one of her favorite dresses this morning. The crocheted bodice was special.

“Where’s Mum and Dad?”

Anne chuckled.

“What is it, Annie?”

Anne smiled wider. “In the Wilton Room, dear.”

Sacha walked across Haddon Hall. The great room boasted two fireplaces, one at each end and in between there were antique tapestries. Glass display cases containing model ships shared space with bronze relief sculptures from her great-grandfather Ian’s travels.

She went through an alcove leading out of the hall, and opened the heavy walnut carved door to the Wilton Room. “I need to talk…”

Armand was sitting at the claw-foot dining table with her parents. He was getting up when Mum put a hand over his to keep him in the seat.

“Ma petite, come, sit.” Her mother gestured to the chair next to Armand.

Sacha’s heart thumped against her ribcage. She looked from her mother to Armand and then to her father, who winked at her.

“Sacha, aren’t you going to welcome Armand?” Her father had the uncanny ability to be both stern and engaging at the same time, surely a requisite for heading one of the most successful jewelry design firms in the business.

When it was obvious that she was not going to greet Armand with kisses, her father smiled at her mother. He got up and held the chair out for her, but Sacha took his seat instead, which was opposite Armand and as far away from him as she would get at this table.

“Right, then.” Her father sighed, and sat down in the seat he’d pulled out for her.

“Angel, how are you?”

The longing in Armand’s words was such that she couldn’t look him in the eye. She folded her hands in her lap. “Fine.”

She had grown accustomed to the intimacy of her nickname on Armand’s lips. She missed even that. It brought back their music-filled days and love-fest nights together in the little apartment in the
Casa di Città
.

He had come for her.
Why?

In an attempt to forget him over the last week, she had convinced herself that she was merely an assignment to him, a job well done. And now, in the middle of the
il Dragone
investigation, he was here in England.

“Well, you two have a lot to talk about.” Her father stood, and took her mother’s hand. He glanced at Armand. “We’ll talk later.”

“Wait, what?” Sacha watched the door close behind them.

The silence lengthened.

Armand’s gaze went from her crocheted bodice to the strappy sunflower sandals.

Anne, the matchmaker.
Her gaze fell to her lap. Whatever had occurred in here today put her parents squarely on Armand’s side.

“Your black circles match mine,” he joked.

She lifted her eyes to his face. He hadn’t slept either, and he looked … hungry.

“
Finirò per impazzire senza di te
.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Was he really going crazy without her? She wanted to believe him, but she refused to believe he loved her as much as she loved him.

Hadn’t he been after the Stradivarius all along?

He got up and sat down in the chair next to her. “I know what’s bothering you. You think it won’t work between us because of … what I do.” He moved to touch her hair, but she turned away.

“And you don’t believe I love you.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Cara, you are every waking thought I’ve had since I watched you get on that plane. I waited as long as I could to come after you, but that was always my intention.” Armand shook his head. “You told them nothing.”

“I was going to but I couldn’t.”

“Well, now they know and they want to talk to you.”

She nodded. “Did you tell them about us?”

“They know why I’m here.” He stared her down, and she had no words.

“What if I told you I’m leaving fieldwork?”

Sacha quirked her lips in wry amusement. “You love your work.”

“I love
you
, Angel.”

“Armand, you are driven by the Organization. You’re only kidding yourself if you think you can do without it.”

“Things are different now.”

“Not so very different. You are still Falcon. The name suits you. You are a tracker, a relentless killer when you have to be.” She looked into his eyes. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“That bothers you.”

“Yes. I mean no. Not really. I just can’t imagine you doing anything else in life. How does an international spy and assassin participate in a relationship? Would you give me a goodbye kiss on your way out the door to kill in Kiev, armed with yet another fake identity—maybe Ruslan or Sergei—see you in six months?”

“Armand! Is that you? I didn’t believe Mum.” Miles came into the room, wrapped in a terry cloth robe and toweling his chestnut curls.

“Miles!” Grinning from ear to ear, Armand gave her brother a bear hug. He stepped back to look at Miles. “You’re going to be tall when you grow up.”

“Dream on, I passed you seven years ago! Go on, get a suit on and we’ll settle this in the pool.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. I can see you’ve already knocked yourself out trying to break my record,” Armand said.

“Your record? Will you listen to this?” Miles glanced at her, but didn’t wait for an answer as they jostled each other. The boys were having too much fun without her. Always had.

“So, where is this American beauty your father mentioned?” Armand asked.

Miles shrugged. “I thought she might drive up with me for the weekend, but something came up. She had to stay home in London. Wait until you see her.”

Sacha groaned. “Lovesick Muddy.”

“Is the pot really calling the kettle black?” Miles grinned when she shut her mouth. He turned back to Armand. “How long are you staying?”

Armand glanced at her, and she looked at the soup tureen in the center of the table. “Not long.”

“Give us a ring next time you’re in town. I want you to meet my American beauty.” Miles tossed the towel onto the table and scanned what was left of lunch. “Speaking of which; haven’t you been lost in the Big Apple all these years?”

“He knew where you were?” Sacha looked from one to the other.

“No,” Armand said quickly.

“Of course I did,” Miles said. “I saw Zio in Germany a couple of months ago. He told me what you’ve been up to.”

Armand turned to her. “I didn’t know he knew,”

“Right. Well, it’s comforting to know I’m not the only one you were hiding from.”

“Angel…”

“Have you finally come to stake your claim? She’s been pining away for you, you know.” Miles picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and started chomping.

She got up from the chair. “Muddy!”

Miles was staring at Armand, who was staring at her.

She moved further away from the heat in his eyes.

Miles guffawed. “Oh, ho! You have already claimed your prize!” He clapped Armand on the back. “Now, wouldn’t I be remiss in my duties as big brother if I neglected to ask when’s the wedding?”

“Angel, wait.”

But she was already running out of the room.

* * * *

A kaleidoscope of faces blended into each other, scenes of places she’d never been. She tried to hold on to the fleeting snapshots, some familiar to her, though she couldn’t say why. Others were confusing. Images from history lessons, long dead kings and courtesans that impressed her enough to be part of the dream.

It was a potpourri of strange notions that her mind had somehow gotten mired in, repeatedly projecting her psyche into this loop of imagery.

She knew this, and so didn’t cry out when the flames sprouted up out of nowhere and the lush gardens of the beautiful mansion disintegrated into hell before her eyes.

Black smoke scratched at her lungs, choking off her air supply, and fear gave way to determination. She was desperate to learn what these scenes meant. This time she would stay until she found out what they had to do with her. But the question remained unanswered as she felt the inexorable pull on her consciousness.

She was moving up out of the blazing inferno, up into the light where she could breathe again. Far below, she heard the dragon roar…

Sacha sat up in bed, choking. Instead of reaching for the water glass, she picked up the pencil and pad on the nightstand.

A king, the mansion, gardens. She quickly jotted down these things on the pad, her hand jerking with each cough, but she couldn’t get any further. Just like that, the images slipped away from her consciousness. Gone.

She dropped the pad in frustration and picked up the glass.

What is my subconscious trying to tell me?

Sacha got up, moving to the bureau where there were scribbled notes from other unsolved fantasies she’d recently experienced. A king was involved, but she didn’t know who he was or what country he was from. Period clothing, she remembered this. Gowns and ermine-trimmed robes from an earlier century.

There was nothing to do but to wait for another dream. Maybe next time she would solve the mystery.

Her bedroom had become a portal to some other world she couldn’t comprehend. She needed to get out of this room, maybe go for a swim.

Sacha found a swimsuit, but then realized Armand might be swimming. The last thing she wanted was to run into him in the poolroom. She settled for a shower.

When she came out of the bath, Mum was waiting for her, but she tried nevertheless.

“Would you please ask Cook to send a tray up?”

Mum ignored her and held out a green satin cocktail dress with a studded belt. “This will take the focus off those bags under your eyes.”

She didn’t know how she would get through dinner with Armand, but held her hair up while Mum zipped up the back of the dress.

“What’s wrong with the bags under my eyes? They match the dress.”

Her mother turned her around and pulled her along to the vanity. “This is no laughing matter. And I won’t let you sleep this joyous occasion away.” Frowning, her mother examined her face. “Your nap doesn’t seem to have done you much good.”

For some reason, she couldn’t tell her mother about the dreams. First, her claustrophobia and now, she might be going crazy. She couldn’t bring herself to give her parents the news.

Her mother erased the bags under her eyes with a cover pencil and down to the formal dining room they went.

Cook prepared a feast for Armand’s homecoming, but dinner was anything but warm and fuzzy that night at St. Clair Manor. Mum frowned at her, Dad was Armand’s best mate, and Miles was, well, Miles.

“Armand, will you extend an invitation to your mother to attend the symphony when you return to Italy?” Judging from the look in his eye, Dad was asking much more than that.

Miles’s chuckle had her waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Armand was watching her with that hunger in his eyes, although they were well into dessert now. “Angel, I think it’s time we head back.”

“I’m not going…”

“That is a great idea. After all that’s happened, I will feel so much better knowing that you are with Armand.”

Sacha gaped at her father. His complete turnabout of shielding her from the world to literally handing her over to the assassin known as Falcon was just as disconcerting as the way he emphasized the word ‘with’ in his statement.

“At least until we can join you for the symphony, ma petite.”

Sacha glared across the table at Armand.
What have you done to my parents?

He met her eyes with a resolute look of his own. “Our flight leaves in the morning.”

“But you’ve only just arrived.” Leif, who had just come in from London, strode into the dining room. He went straight to the empty chair next to Armand. “Am I too late?” He sat down, oblivious to the tension hovering over the table. “Caro, is there any more of that cake with the strawberry drizzle on the sides?”

The only sound in the room was the clink of china as Caroline served him.