Death Angel Read online

  She never dreamed about the accident, seldom visited her vague memories of dying. First came that incredible light, somehow both pure and vivid, and then she’d been in that wonderful place. Her recall of both was detailed down to scents and textures, but what came between those two happenings was sketchy and out of focus. Maybe it was because she was sitting across from him, staring at his face and making memories, that abruptly she saw the scene as clearly as if it were taking place in front of her eyes. In her mind she heard him whisper “God, sweetheart,” and saw him touch her hair. She watched him wait with her. Looking directly at her own body was nearly impossible, as if there were some sort of shield around her, but she could see him oh so clearly. She could see the anguish he struggled to control, the pain he could barely acknowledge.

  Like a bolt once more going through her chest, she knew why he’d looked up the newspaper accounts of her accident. He had wanted to find out where she was buried, so he could put flowers on her grave.

  “Andie.” He reached across the table and caught her hand, cradling it in his rough palm. “Where are you?”

  Inside she was shattered, but she had pulled herself back to the present, away from memories she didn’t want to have, but bringing with her another piece of understanding of the man sitting across from her, the man who was trying to be less remote, who was willingly exposing himself by answering any question she asked.

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask any other questions, and in silence they finished what remained of their meal. He watched her, his expression once again still and blank, though she couldn’t say he’d been wildly expressive before. He’d let himself show a little amusement, and occasionally his gaze would settle on her mouth and pure heat would burn in his eyes, but other than that nothing of what he was thinking or feeling had come through.

  He’d taken her home, and gone up on the porch with her, but stood at a slight distance that somehow told her he didn’t intend to come in even if she invited him. Instead he walked to the other side of the duplex, rapped sharply on the front door. What was he doing? Her brows knit in puzzlement as she watched him. Fifteen seconds later, he knocked again. No one came to the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure no one’s home. The car’s gone, but one of them could be at home.” With that sentence he confirmed to her that he’d watched the house enough to know a couple lived in the other side of the duplex, but not enough to know that both of them worked second shift, like her, and were usually gone by one o’clock.

  “Why? What does it matter?”

  “People are nosy. They listen when they shouldn’t.”

  “So?”

  “So this isn’t any of their business.”

  Curious, completely in the dark, she watched as he pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “In case you have trouble accessing the money,” he said, extending the card to her.

  It was her old driver’s license.

  She stared at the license, at the picture on it, and her fingers trembled as she reached out to take it. She had thought Drea was gone, dead even if she wasn’t buried, but there she was again: the mass of long blond curls, full makeup job, slightly vacant expression. She wasn’t that person now. Most people would have to examine the photo very carefully to find the resemblance between Drea’s face and her own.

  “I’m giving the money to St. Jude’s,” she said numbly. “I have a bank account here. I was going to do an electronic transfer to this account, then go to the bank and get a cashier’s check made out to St. Jude’s. The IP number would be different on the transfer, but I have the password and…” Her voice trailed off. She was chattering, not paying attention to what she was saying. He’d know about IP numbers and electronic transfers, though he probably did his banking offshore. She probably wouldn’t have any trouble making the transfer, though she’d thought about calling Mrs. Pearson beforehand and alerting her. By returning her old driver’s license to her, though, Simon had guaranteed she wouldn’t have any trouble doing whatever she wanted with the money even if Mrs. Pearson no longer worked at the bank.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, clutching the license even though she never wanted to see that photograph again. “Why did you keep it?”

  He didn’t answer the question, because evidently her carte blanche in that area had ended when they left the restaurant. Instead he said, “I have a plane to catch,” and left her there on the porch. She watched him drive away, then went inside and sat down on the couch, thinking about the last two hours.

  He had a plane to catch, her ass. She didn’t believe him for a minute.

  She hadn’t seen him since, but she had learned that that didn’t mean anything. He was there, somewhere, still keeping check. He didn’t trust her not to run, even though he’d gone out of his way to reassure her she had nothing to fear.

  On that score, at least, Andie did believe him. She was safe. She was free to live her life in the open, free to stop looking over her shoulder, free to do whatever she wanted even though she would be smart to avoid New York City until Rafael was either dead or in jail. The odds of seeing any one particular person in a city that size had to be tiny, but screwier things had happened; she was living proof of that.

  Evidently she wasn’t smart, because going back to New York was exactly what she intended to do. First, though, she had to slip away from her self-appointed bodyguard.

  The one thing she could do that would most reassure him she was staying put would be to go back to Glenn’s and ask for her job back, which she was certain Glenn would be glad to give her. Unfortunately, that was the one thing she couldn’t do, because she had every intention of leaving within the next few days and she didn’t want to mislead Glenn that way.

  Instead she concentrated on taking care of business. She did call Mrs. Pearson, who expressed heartfelt relief. She’d been worried when no action had been taken on the account since she’d last seen Andie, and her e-mails had gone unanswered; she was afraid something had happened. Something had happened, but Andie didn’t go into it. Instead she reassured Mrs. Pearson that everything was fine. They chatted for a while, and at one point Andie thought Mrs. Pearson had mentioned that she had a granddaughter who would be born in a few months. When she said, “Congratulations on that granddaughter,” though, Mrs. Pearson gasped.

  “How did you know there’s a baby on the way?”

  “You told me,” said Andie, a little uncertainly. “Didn’t you?”

  “No, I haven’t mentioned it. We won’t find out if it’s a boy or girl until next month.”

  “Oh. I would have sworn—” She broke off, and hastily covered her slip, because the explanation wasn’t something she wanted to go into. “No, I remember now who mentioned having a granddaughter. I’m sorry, I’m a little scatterbrained this morning. I must need more coffee.”

  After she got off the phone she made the electronic transfer, then periodically checked her account until the transaction showed up. Once the certified check was on its way, by FedEx, to the children’s hospital, she felt as if an immense weight had been lifted from her shoulders. That money had been a pain in the ass from the moment she took it, which she supposed was only fitting.

  Mingled with relief, though, was a sense of regret. Too bad she couldn’t have kept it, because a part of her really would have liked being rich, even with stolen money—dirty stolen money. Maybe she’d get extra points for getting rid of it, because that so went against the grain. Being virtuous was as big a pain in the ass as having the money had been.

  But the money was gone now, taken care of, and she could move on to the next item on her list. She didn’t have a lot of cash, and she needed some, so it was time to use the jewelry Rafael had given her.

  She got the phone book and started looking for a diamond broker. She could hock the jewelry but she would realize only a fraction of its worth, and the pawn shop would make a killing because she wasn’t interested in redeeming any of the pieces. She had to