Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) (4 page)

Chapter Five

Danielle scowled down at her watch, as if the steadily ticking hand was directly responsible for her running behind. Her first day at work, and she was going to be late if she didn’t get her ass in gear. She’d played a merciless game of peek-a-boo with sleep the night before. When the alarm blared a warning at five a.m., she’d just shut her eyes three hours earlier. Hence the mad dash around the miniscule apartment.

Messenger bag. Check. Purse. Check. CharlieCard for the “T,” Boston’s labyrinthine commuter rail system. Check. And most importantly, stilettos to switch out for her sneakers. Couldn’t forget those, or she’d risk looking like a fashion faux pas on her first day at work.

Exhaling one last stomach-churning gust of breath, she jerked open the hall closet and tugged her coat free from a hanger, then paused in front of the battered mirror mounted on the inside of the door. The cream wool outerwear, like the suit she wore, was a relic from her past. Self-consciously, she rubbed a damp palm down the front of the black fitted jacket and eyed the frilly white shell and pencil skirt. Nerves tap-danced under her skin, and her heart provided the deep, heavy percussion.

More precious minutes skipped by, but her sneakered feet remained glued to the worn brown rug. She studied the petite, dark-haired woman in the power suit. She was so familiar. If the room behind her had contained a tasteful collection of antiques and was appointed in the finest of Southern décor instead of a hodgepodge of yard sale discoveries, the reflection of Danielle Warren in a tiny, dog-eared Boston apartment would’ve been identical to the likeness of Elena Rainier, high-powered, successful Birmingham civil attorney.

But Elena had lived every moment in fear—of making a mistake, of embarrassing her husband. Fear of his silences, rages, and fists. Beneath Elena’s calm exterior, anxiety had replaced oxygen, terror had pulsed through her veins every second. Always on edge, afraid the slightest infraction—real or imaginary—would thrust her into the drowning abuse of pain and humiliation.

Danielle, though… Danielle knew the trepidation of having to glance over her shoulder at regular intervals. She understood the importance of secrets and the necessary evil of lies. But she also woke each morning realizing she didn’t have to please anyone but herself. If she dropped mustard on her shirt or smiled at a stranger, she didn’t shake in terror of the beast that would slash, bite, and hurt her. Danielle dreaded discovery, not living.

Giving the mirror a shaky smile, Danielle stepped back and closed the door.

Now she only had twenty-two minutes left to lock up and arrive at the station to catch her train.

Damn.

She bundled into her coat and grabbed her bags. A slip of paper on the scratched coffee table snagged her attention. The note she’d jotted down Carmen’s address on. A reminder to call about the money. She patted her pocket, and a different piece of paper crinkled. Envelope. Check. Her keys jingled in her pocket as she pulled them free and yanked open the front door.

“Great first impression I’m going to make,” she grumbled. “Wild-eyed, wild-haired—What the—”

A long, slender box with a delicate gold bow skidded a couple of inches across the landing toward the staircase. She hadn’t seen the gift before the toe of her sneaker had bumped against it. Frowning, she lowered her bag and purse to the floor and picked up the box. The name of a florist on Cambridge Street was embossed on a small, white envelope.

A disquieting heaviness settled in her chest as she slowly tugged the bow free. The soft material drifted quietly to the floor.
Silly
. She was being silly. It was probably a good-luck gift from Pat and the diner’s staff. The cantankerous owner hated losing her as a waitress but was truly happy to see her pursuing another career path. Just last night, he’d called her “useless as tits on a bull” even as he’d pressed extra bills into her hand for lunch.

The memory eased the icy, tight band squeezing her chest.
They were just flowers
. She nudged the lid up. A perfectly acceptable token that hundreds of thousands of people gifted each other with for various reasons. Nothing to pass out about or make dire predictions over.

Right. Just flowers…

The box top toppled to the floor, tumbling from her numb fingers.

Roses. Twelve perfect, blood-red roses.

Air sawed in and out of her throat. The frantic pulse of her heart drummed in her ears, crashing against the inside of her head like furious swells pounding against a rocky shore.

The white walls and wood stair railings wavered in front of her eyes, were replaced by lemon and gold silk wallpaper and a huge four-poster bed. An open pale pink box rested in the center of the white coverlet. And inside…crimson, long-stemmed roses nestled inside blue tissue paper.

As if trapped in that time and the beautiful bedroom, she grazed her fingertips over her throat, seeking out the tender flesh that had once been mottled with dark purple and black bruises. That incident had occurred earlier in her marriage, the roses an apology.

Before the apologies stopped.

She closed her eyes, snapped them open. Coordination abandoned her as she dropped the box and ripped the envelope open. Nothing. No signature, no name.

Just like before.

Stop it!
This—the red roses—didn’t mean anything. It could be anyone, any
some
ones. Roses were common, cliché-ish. They were go-to flowers for any occasion. No one could guess the parts they’d played in her past. No one…

But Alex
. She wasn’t fast enough to prevent the insidious thought from infiltrating her mind. From leaving its inky stain of terror and worry. Nor could she stop the hesitant glance over her shoulder as if her ex-husband would suddenly loom on the staircase like an evil specter.

“To hell with this.”

She seized the florist box and bow from the floor and tossed them back into the apartment. They hit the hallway floor, and Danielle quickly slammed the door shut and jammed the key in the lock. The satisfying click of the tumbler trapped the flowers and her memories behind the closed door.

She dashed down the stairs. As she pushed out the side door, she freed her cell phone and dialed Carmen’s number.
Might need to buy a new phone
, she frowned. Not once since leaving Alabama had she called Carmen twice from the same number. The added expense might not be necessary, but God, she couldn’t afford not to be cautious.
Paranoid
, a voice whispered. She gave a mental shrug. Careful, paranoid—different sides of the same coin.

“Carmen, it’s me.”

“Elena? What’s wrong?” Carmen demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing, I promise,” Danielle assured her sister. Although she hated the note of alarm in Carmen’s voice, the obvious concern warmed her heart. “I just wanted to let you know I wasn’t able to mail the money out yesterday, but I’m going to send it this morning.” She paused.

“Oh.” Carmen sighed, and Danielle detected the relief in the soft sound. “Okay. I’ll look out for it in a couple of days. Hey, El,” a beat of silence passed before she cleared her throat. “El, I know the fifty was your last. And I really want to thank you for sending it.”

Surprise rippled through her. “Thank me?”

“Yes,” her sister drawled. “Thank you. I know that’s a foreign concept.” When Danielle didn’t respond right away, Carmen’s chuckle echoed in her ear. “Did I stun you?”

“Umm…yes.” Danielle admitted.

“Listen, El, I realize our relationship has been a bit…strained. And I haven’t always been honest with you. But I’m really glad you called. Pride kept me from saying it Monday night, but I need to assure you. I haven’t started using again. The money is for groceries. Money has been short since I lost my job, and I’m scraping to get by.”

“Carmen,” Danielle murmured. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her sister sighed. “Because I’m the older sister, El. Too many times you’ve picked up the pieces for me. You’ve started over, trying to build a new life for yourself, and I didn’t want to add another worry on your plate.”

Wow. Surprise, gratitude—love—clogged her throat.

“Well anyway,” Carmen continued, her voice turning brisk. “No need to get emo. I just wanted to thank you and let you know I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. Take care of you.”

A smile curved her lips.
No need to get emo.
Now
this
was the Carmen she was used to.

“Fine, I won’t worry then,” Danielle said. “Listen, I have to get to work. We’ll talk next week, okay?”

“All right. I mean it, El. Take care of yourself.” A beat of silence passed. “Be happy.”

The line clicked in Danielle’s ear before she could respond. Stunned, she dropped the phone in her purse.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, God!” She jumped, her head snapping to the side. Walt blinked at her, surprise slackening his features. “I’m sorry,” she said, barely managing not to press a hand to her chest like a simpering virgin. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I was heading in when I noticed you over here. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Walt paused, lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, and dipped his hands in the front pockets of his khakis. “Uh, I didn’t intend to eavesdrop. Family problems?”

Heat streamed up her neck and poured into her face. “No, actually. For the first time in a while, I can say things seem to be on track,” she said, surprised she could utter the words and mean them.

“Good,” he murmured. More fidgeting. “Danielle, I…”

“Yes?” she prodded, impatiently shifting her bag and purse to her left shoulder. No matter how sweet Walt was, she didn’t want to have this conversation with him. The subject of her family was off limits.

He squared his shoulders. “If you need anything—a shoulder, an ear—I’m here.”

“Oh.” Annoyance and embarrassment seeped out of her like a blown tire. Well. Damn. Kindness. Such kindness. It humbled her. “Tres, I… Thank you. I really appreciate your offer. You have no idea how much. But,” she smiled with genuine warmth, “I’m fine, really.”

“Okay.” He nodded and moved back a step. “Have a great first day at work.”

“Thanks.” She grimaced. “Speaking of, I have to get out of here if I’m going to catch the train on time.”

He dipped his chin. “See you later then.” He waved, turned, and strode toward the diner entrance.

She hurried across the parking lot, refusing to glance down at her watch.

I’m going to have a good first day. This will be an awesome day
.

Damn it.

Chapter Six

First day almost down; hopefully many more to go.

Danielle strode into the cool sophistication of the reception area with a stack of mail and correspondence that needed to go out in the morning. The long and short hands on the oval, walnut-framed clock aimed at the five and four. Five-twenty. Plenty of time to tidy up and catch the six-ten train. Although, she silently admitted, if she could’ve stayed in the quiet solitude of the law firm office, she would have. In spite of the unconditional acceptance she’d received at the diner, for the first time since arriving in Boston she felt like she belonged. Of all she’d abandoned when she’d left Alabama, practicing law had been the hardest to leave behind. Elena Guerrero had passed the Alabama bar and was a successful attorney, not Danielle Warren. Her career had been the one thing to truly give her joy; it had been
hers
.

And now, she could recapture a fragment of her dream. It was enough—it had to be.

She placed the small stack of envelopes and documents in Bethany’s outbox. The pretty receptionist had left promptly at five, stopping by to welcome Danielle to the firm again. She returned to her office and found herself unconsciously humming along with the song piped through the ceiling speakers. She shook her head, smiling wryly.

Instead of the usual canned music, soft classic rock teased her ears. It had struck her as funny how the blue-eyed soul of Hall and Oates seemed so at odds with the old money appearance of the office. The hidden speakers had been silent the night of her interview, so the music selection had certainly been, uh, surprising. She’d imagined and anticipated stodgy Muzak to go along with the Beacon Hill location and clientele. Instead, she got Perry Mason meets Peter Gabriel.

Unexpected. Disconcerting. Contradiction.

The office was a perfect reflection of its owner.

She shied away from the personal thoughts of her new employer and focused on wrapping up last-minute details before heading out for the evening.

“So I guess you showing back up after lunch was a good sign that you might stay?”

She stiffened but forced herself to relax before turning toward her office door and Malachim. Though “office” was a bit optimistic. Compared to the space she once occupied as one of Rainier, Copley, and Reynolds’s top associates, this room was a closet. But, surveying the cramped quarters with just enough square footage for a small desk, office chair, and file cabinet, she took quiet pleasure in it. Because this office didn’t have tangled, suffocating strings attached.

“It was touch ’n’ go there for a few minutes, but I made it back.” She shook her head. “Bethany’s smile of relief should’ve been a dead giveaway, though. I don’t think she expected to see me again.”

“Honestly, we had a pool going.” He pushed off the doorjamb and entered the room. “Travis didn’t think you’d make it past ten o’clock. Sharon and Bethany bet you’d see the day through but call in your resignation in the morning. I, on the other hand, will be seventy-five dollars richer if you show up for work tomorrow.”

A surprised bark of laughter burst from her. He grinned, the gesture lighting up his already impossibly handsome face.

His skin should have been pasty or pale given his occupation. The observation popped out of her stunned mind like a mental Freudian slip. Didn’t make the opinion any less valid. The honeyed hue—as if the sun itself shimmered beneath his skin—provided a dramatic backdrop for the pale blond hair and violet eyes most likely bequeathed by some distant Norse ancestor. Cloak the man in a mail shirt, leather, and kite shields, and he wouldn’t have been out of place standing on the bow of a dragon ship hundreds of years ago, prepared for raiding and pillaging.

An uncomfortable pressure settled in her stomach. She swallowed and emotionally shuffled away from the lure of his smile. For a moment, she heard the electric sizzle of a mosquito lamp as unsuspecting insects came too near the electric lamp and died in a flash of light and heat.

Yeah. His brilliant slash of teeth portended the same trouble for her. Too close, and she would be burned to a crisp.

She returned her attention to the computer monitor, running through the process of shutting the computer down for the day.
Keep your head!
This was the man who could snatch away her future and safety with his perceptive scrutiny and quick mind. If she intended to remain under his radar, she had to calm down and perfect this charade. Her life depended on Malachim not suspecting her secrets…her lies.

Her very Catholic aunt would’ve made Danielle clasp her wooden Rosary beads and utter three decades on her knees for her niece’s deception. But then, Aunt Flor had believed in a benevolent, generous God who never forgot His faithful. Yet, her devout aunt had been struck down by a stroke, left paralyzed and completely reliant on strangers for her daily care before dying in the prime of her life. Aunt Flor had insisted all Danielle had to do was pray and entreat God for help, and He would show up to save her in any situation. But the God Flor had so fervently worshipped hadn’t saved Danielle, hadn’t stepped in and prevented her mother’s death, her sister’s plummet into addiction, or her own marriage to Alex, who hadn’t turned into a monster until after their wedding. She was tired of depending on an omnipotent but distant deity, an oblivious Fate, or unjust Karma. Rationally, she understood free will and poor choices had caused the tragedies that plagued her family. Which was why she had to forge her own path, create her own destiny, determine her own future.

“Well? Am I going to win?” he asked.

“Depends,” she said. “Do I get half of the cut?”

“Depends,” he echoed her. “Do you plan on ratting me out if I don’t?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t rat you out.” She paused, slid a look at him over her shoulder. “But who knows what I may let slip during conversation. Mistakes happen.”

“I believe the legal term for that is
extortion
.”

He perched on the edge of her desk, the smooth material of his dark blue slacks pulling across the tight muscle beneath. She blinked, stared, fascinated before jerking her gaze away. But she couldn’t avoid the clean, fresh scent that tagged along with him and invaded her office. Crept into her nostrils, slid across her tongue, and left a delicious aftertaste.

She cleared her throat and yanked open the bottom drawer where she’d stashed her purse and bag.

“Compensation.”

He grunted and levered off the desk. She released a silent sigh of gratitude. His closeness set her on edge. Malachim didn’t inspire calm—even sitting still, he radiated a kinetic energy that pulsed over her skin in unsettling waves. In some ways, he was worse than the men who harmlessly teased and hit on her at the diner. None of them inspired the slightest desire to respond or take them up on their offers. But Malachim… The zooming-too-fast-down-a-hill sensation in her belly labeled him a danger—a danger to be avoided at all costs.

“So.” He returned his hands to the front pockets of his pants. “Did today go well?”

“Yes,” she said, her steady voice a contradiction to the thick pounding in her chest.

“I know it may have seemed as if we bombarded you as soon as you walked through the door. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed. Especially on your first day.”

“No, it was okay.” Unease skittered down her spine. Maybe it was the casual questions that belied his eagle-eyed intensity. Maybe it was his close proximity in the tiny space. Either way, a warning to tread carefully niggled at the nape of her neck. “Everything was pretty straightforward.”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head. “I was worried, considering you didn’t have previous work experience. Classes provide information and facts, but diving in head-first can be a little intimidating.”

She slowly straightened and placed her bag and purse on top of her desk. The small task provided her with precious seconds to devise an excuse for her excellent work ethic and phenomenal knowledge for someone who’d supposedly never spent a day in a law office. The onslaught of summaries, briefs, contracts, and research waiting on her desk that morning would have undoubtedly engulfed an untried, babe-in-the-woods paralegal. But for someone who’d interned at a bustling law practice at twenty-two, passed the bar, and become an associate at the same successful firm at twenty-five, the load had been familiar, even welcome. Like the greeting of an old friend.

Damn. Who knew competence would be her first mistake on the new job?

“I had a few rough moments, but I managed.”

He nodded but remained silent. Measuring.

“I don’t want to hold you up tonight, but in the morning, stop by my office. I have a few more things for you to fill out.”

“Oh?” Calm. Remain cool and calm. “Was there something wrong with the paperwork I signed earlier today?”
Like the fraudulent Social Security number I provided on the W-2 forms? Or the nonexistent references? Had the phony Certified Legal Assistant exam scores and documentation not passed muster?

He shook his head. “No, everything is fine. I even had an opportunity to check your reference. The diner owner? Patrick Duncan? He gave you a glowing recommendation.” The corners of his eyes crinkled though his mouth remained in a straight line. “He also informed me with no equivocation that if I didn’t hire you, it would be my loss. And right before he hung up, I think he might’ve called me a ‘fecking idiot,’ too. I’m not 100 percent sure, though.”

Danielle snorted, amused and slightly horrified. Oh, she had no doubt Pat would’ve called Malachim his favorite nickname for those he considered dumber than a box of rocks. He didn’t hold much esteem for the “high-falootin’ namby-pambies” south of Cedar Grove. And he didn’t believe in pulling verbal punches.

“I liked him, though. Most people wait to call me names behind my back.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she murmured.

He didn’t reply, and she struggled not to fidget and duck his piercing contemplation. His parents had named him after the wrong angel. Instead of Malachim, he should have been christened Michael, the fierce archangel of justice and power. She received the impression of being weighed. His expression didn’t betray his verdict, but she suspected if he judged her unworthy, nothing would save her from the brunt of his displeasure.

“What do you want, Danielle?

“What?” she stammered, taken aback. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“I mean, what do you want for yourself?” He eased his hands from his pants pockets and crossed his arms. “What future do you see?”

Staying one step ahead of an obsessed, abusive ex-husband. Staying alive
. Since she couldn’t vocalize those two options, Danielle shrugged.

“A job I can enjoy waking up to in the morning while earning a decent living.” There. General. Vague. But acceptable with a ring of truth in it.

“No ambition to do more? Law school, maybe?”

She controlled her body’s instinctive jerk. Been there. Done that. And lost it all with one blind, unwise decision.

“I’m almost thirty-one years old. A little too late in life and light in the pockets to dream of attending college.”

“Is that why you sought out my firm?” His voice didn’t rise or fall, yet she detected the note that chilled the casual question, transforming the odd conversation into an interrogation. “Because a position with my office is your last opportunity?”

She went still. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s not pretend you aren’t aware of who I am or what I’ve been accused of lately. A simple Internet search on your part would have pulled up the latest free press about me. And a woman as smart as you would have conducted a bit of research on a potential employer.”

There didn’t seem a point in denying his assumption. It was true.

“Yes, I do know.”

“And yet you still applied. Did you count on my desperation, too?”

“If you’re asking if I gambled on the fact others wouldn’t be so quick to work at a firm where the owner has been charged with aiding and abetting a murder because it might hurt their reputation or future employment perspectives, then yes, again.”

Surprise then satisfaction flared in his eyes. Almost as if he hadn’t expected her to answer truthfully. Oh, if he only knew. Those were easy questions. What might have further shocked Malachim was the knowledge that she didn’t blame him for his actions. Protecting a loved one, a friend—an innocent—notched him right under Batman and Lorena Bobbitt in her book. If only she’d had someone who’d been brave enough to speak up on her behalf, who’d been willing to risk their own interests to protect her. No. If he was seeking judgment from her for helping to conceal the murder of a pedophile who preyed on young, defenseless boys, he’d have to look elsewhere.

“But you’re not concerned?”

“I need a job, and you require a paralegal. Your personal life is yours and not my business. And with all due respect, hopefully you’ll offer me the same courtesy.”

A bite of frost entered his expression. Then the cold melted, and he acknowledged her answer with a small dip of his head. The tension bled from her body. The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on this man. God, he must be dynamic and terrifying in the courtroom, depending on which table a person sat behind.

She rose from her chair, glad her not-quite-so-steady legs remained hidden behind the desk.

“Can I ask you something?”

Her instincts screamed for her to keep her mouth shut. To walk away while he was still pleased with her. “Of course.”

“Why didn’t you ask me these questions Monday night? Why now after you’ve already hired me?”

A slow smile eased across his face, stealing her breath. “Because I was desperate. Couldn’t scare you off then, could I?”

In that moment, she received an inkling of why his trial record was so impressive. Any female over ten and under death wouldn’t be able to resist the sweet, sensual promise in his full mouth or the subtle light warming his amethyst gaze. Heat swirled in her stomach, crept up her chest and neck.

Damn.

She stumbled back, snapping out of the trance she’d tumbled into head-first.
Jesus Christ, what are you thinking?
She didn’t do desire—didn’t experience the bloom of arousal or intensity of passion. Her body had shut down long ago. Too many assaults. Too many…