Stone Angel

by Christina Dodd

  She wanted to deck him.

  Leading her over to a secluded corner of the store full of bins holding everything from pizza cutters to garlic presses, he looked around and when he was sure they were alone, he asked, “What have you got for me? Will Irving come out of his precious mansion soon?”

  To avoid looking into his ridiculous, middle-aged face, Amanda glared at his ridiculous oven mitts. “No, of course not, he’s a very sick, very old man. What is the Sculptor expecting? That Irving will suddenly decide that it’s time for a stroll through New York in thirty-five-degree weather?”

  “The Sculptor doesn’t give a damn what Irving wants. He thinks you, being Irving’s nurse and all, will be able to sneak Irving out of the house.” Liam’s lips formed into a thin line. “Don’t you want Sophia back?”

  Amanda felt the color creeping up her neck as the anger took over. “Don’t you ever mention my sister to me again, unless you’re bringing her home to me. It’s your fault she’s frozen. It’s your fault she’s trapped!”

  Liam’s blue eyes hardened. Flinging off the green oven mitts and dumping them unceremoniously in a display of casserole dishes, he grabbed the glasses from his face, using them to punctuate each word. “I. Didn’t. Betray. You.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Amanda picked up a wire whisk.

  But how much damage could she do to him with that?

  Liam had been claiming his innocence since the first time she had met him to turn over her information on the Chosen Ones. But now she knew what he was. One of the Others. An enemy, nothing more.

  Certainly not someone worth all the sleepless nights, full of yearning. Not worth all the tears she had cried for lost love.

  Amanda decided now was the time to plunge forward with the plan. If he didn’t accept it, he’d probably deliver her to the Sculptor. Life as a sculpture or death at the hands of the Others sucked rocks.

  But she had to take the chance for Sophia. “Look, I have a proposal for you. Are you interested or not?”

  “Darlin’, I am always interested in a proposal from you.”

  “Your charm is overrated. But not your greed.” She dangled the bait. “It involves a lot of money.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LIAM DID skepticism very well. “You don’t have any money. You and Sophia were barely making it with your nursing job.”

  He knew Amanda too well, and it gave her a great deal of satisfaction to retort, “You’re right, I don’t have money. But Irving Shea has tons of it.”

  His eyebrows went up. She had surprised him. “I didn’t think you’d get to the point of killing the old man and stealing his money.”

  “Be serious, would you?” Amanda was already getting exasperated. So much hung on Liam agreeing to the plan.

  And Liam Gallagher had always had the ability to get her riled up.

  “I’m completely serious. How else are you going to get money to pay me for” — he waved him hand in a noncommittal manner — “whatever it is I’m supposed to do?”

  “You’ve been with the Others for too long.” Amanda said bitterly. “You’ve forgotten the idea of simple human kindness and decency.”

  “No, darlin’, I haven’t forgotten about them. I just don’t see much evidence of them in my daily life.”

  Amanda momentarily lost her patience. “Cut it out with the endearments!”

  “I can’t, darlin’. I’m Irish. ‘Tis in our blood.” At Amanda’s warning glance, Liam held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Don’t worry … you’re not the sort of woman that invites endearments.”

  Liam grabbed something at random out of the bin and in his badly faked voice, he said, “As you can see, ma’am, this is what you were looking for.”

  Amanda glanced behind her and caught the eye of the lady who was waiting for his attention. “How does it work?”

  He glanced around, trying to get an idea, and read the sign. “You place the garlic in here and press hard … er … hence the name garlic press.”

  Amanda bit down on a grin. “Really? A garlic press? Wow, that’s so cool! How long did it take you to figure it out?”

  The lady gave a brief guffaw and backed away, looking for someone in customer service who wasn’t so observably ignorant.

  Turning back to Amanda, Liam dropped the horrible accent. “Now, tell me, why is Irving Shea willing to hand you money?”

  “Because I asked for it. Because I need it to get Sophia back.”

  Liam stiffened. “Getting Sophia back is the plan? Good luck with that. The last time I stood against the Sculptor, I got a sound beating by two of my brethren. I’ll not volunteer for that again.”

  “When have you ever stood against the Others?”

  Piercing her with his deep blue gaze, he replied, “When I came to warn you. When I told you to get out of town. Remember?”

  “I remember. I remember you waited until the last second.” Liam had led the Others to her. When the Others broke into the apartment, Eric had thanked Liam. Liam was responsible for Sophia’s captivity, for the Sculptor’s ability to blackmail Amanda. Liam worked for the Sculptor, for Osgood, and ultimately for the devil. No matter how cute Liam was, no matter how the dark hair fell over his forehead, no matter how his blue eyes gazed at her in pleading and love like a man who desperately wanted her to believe … she had to remember the truth, to hold it close, and never let Liam back into her heart.

  He must have seen her eyes harden, for his shoulders sagged. “Anyway, I can’t help you save Sophia, not if it means going against the Sculptor. He’s one of Osgood’s favorites, and he has been given great power.” He shuddered. “Just get Irving to come out of the house, let the Others have him, and you might be able to wrest Sophia from the Sculptor’s grasp.” He glanced around at the colorful placemats and bins of serving spoons. “Unless you’re planning on offering me a new identity and enough money to blow this joint and get as far away from Osgood as possible, I can’t help you.”

  Amanda had him. She could tell. Maybe his employee benefits weren’t what they used to be. Maybe somewhere in his evil mind, there was enough goodness that he wanted to leave the Others and their devilish organization behind.

  Maybe he merely needed to be enticed.

  She was the woman who knew how to do it.

  “Liam,” Amanda purred. “Irving is a millionaire. A billionaire. He worked as the CEO of the Gypsy Travel Agency for years and years, amassing stock options and savings. With no family to spend it on, he is an incredibly wealthy man.”

  Liam was taken aback, she could see. Her change from strict nurse and wounded woman to sexy lady-in-need-of-rescue must be astounding to him.

  He had no illusions that she had forgiven him. But possibly … this change he could get used to.

  Cautiously he asked, “Amanda, what are you saying?”

  She could speak the language of a mercenary. A man out for nothing but his own gain. A man like Liam.

  She stepped closer, her gray eyes heavy with sultry thoughts. Leaning in until he could smell her perfume, a heady combination of white jasmine and mint, she whispered, “Oh, Liam. I’m not just talking about money. I’m talking about a mountain of money.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIAM HAD to clear his throat before he could speak properly. He was pretty sure Amanda, sweet, beautiful Amanda, was playing him for a fool. But with all the blood rushing from his head to other parts, it was getting more and more difficult to care.

  He had to focus. He had to make sure her plan was sound. Agreeing to help was one thing … but living through the ordeal was another issue entirely. Another point to consider — dead men couldn’t spend a shitload of money.

  If there was anything a poor Irishman, abandoned by his parents and left to be raised in an orphanage, loved more than having money, it was spending money.

  So this part of the bargain was damned important.

  He had to force the smell of jasmine from his mind and stop imagining
loosening the prim bun at the nape of Amanda's neck and running his hands through her golden hair. Because that sure wasn’t helping him to concentrate.

  Finally Liam focused back on the matter at hand and said, “I’m going to need an amount.”

  Amanda hid her triumph. Digging in the pocket of her peacoat, she produced the paper Irving had handed her earlier. She handed it to Liam, hoping against all reason that this would seal the deal.

  Liam glanced at the paper. “Wow, that’s a lot of zeroes.”

  Amanda smiled, not unlike a shark scenting prey. “Yes, it is. Should be enough for you to buy your own Italian villa.”

  “There’s only one problem.” Liam didn’t relish the notion of being a shark’s prey.

  Amanda’s face fell momentarily. But she cleared her throat, adopting her huskiest voice again. “And what’s that?”

  “I’m going to need proof that Irving is willing to give you this kind of cash.” Liam doubted it. This much money could make his wildest dreams come true. He really could buy his own villa. A place where he could relax, learn to grow grapes, maybe have a family … and be safe.

  “Yes, I figured you would. That’s why you have to come back to Irving’s mansion with me.”

  Liam laughed out loud, drawing the attention of a husband clearly searching wildly for a gift for his wife.

  “Whoa, whoa. This could very well be a trap, you know? As sexy as you are, darlin’, I don’t savor the idea of walking into the Chosen Ones headquarters.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “They’re kind of the enemy, you know.”

  Amanda’s face took on what Sophia always referred to as her strict schoolmarm look. He had thought it funny before … when it wasn’t turned against him.

  “Liam, I shouldn’t have to explain the rules to you. You know that agents of the devil, such as yourself” — she waved her hand toward him in disgust — “cannot be held against their will by the Chosen Ones when you have gone to them of your own volition.”

  “Rules are made to be broken.”

  Amanda's gray eyes turned stormy and her jaw set. “This is a fight for good or evil. The Chosen Ones are unlikely to break the rules for my sake, or yours. It’s not as though you’re the devil’s right-hand man. You’re merely a lowly minion.”

  Not that she wasn’t right, but … damn. To be held with such contempt galled him. “Thanks so much for reminding me.”

  “No problem. Now are you coming or not? Irving usually lays down for his nap after lunch, and I’d rather not have you breaking his routine. It’s very important for his rehabilitation.” She was back to all business, her cheeks no longer flushed with a heady combination of hatred and fear.

  Liam should have been concentrating on his options here. Should have been considering the ramifications of putting himself into the way of the Chosen Ones or living through the day … saving her sister or living through the day … defying Osgood or living through the day.

  But Amanda distracted him. She was working so hard to appear calm and casual, trying to project assurance. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it — or perhaps he simply read her too well.

  Really, what difference did it make whether he lived through the day? Things were disintegrating fast, and if Irving didn’t arrive at the Sculptor's house pretty soon, the Sculptor was going to have one of his famous tantrums, and Liam knew who was first in line for calcification.

  And … and … he’d always been an “everything for me” sort of a guy, but every week when he was forced to visit the Sculptor and he viewed that statue of Sophia, the tears frozen on her face, an unfamiliar emotion rose in his heart. Horrible thought, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought it was … selflessness. Or gallantry. Or something that involved him getting his ass captured, tortured and killed.

  Worth remembering; he seen the torment on the face of every statue in there. Amanda had some hare-brained idea; if it failed, the Sculptor would take cruel, particular pleasure in freezing Liam in stone.

  He paced away. Paced back.

  But look at Amanda's eyes… She might hate him. She might blame him. But underneath the fury and reproach, the face of the woman he loved was pleading, and so, so sad.

  He was such a schmuck. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go with you to Irving’s house.”

  She beamed with pure joy.

  “But I’m not agreeing to anything. First we’ll discuss the plan and my involvement in it. For this amount of money, it can’t be a pleasant thing that I have to do.” He bent all his charm on her. “But for you, darlin’, I would do almost anything.”

  Amanda had a brief moment where she forgot the danger she was in and the horrible fate of her sister if she didn’t succeed. All of the anxiety, the sleepless nights of the last months fell away in the face of Liam’s smile, the one she used to believe he saved for her.

  In that moment, she remembered the months before Sophia was taken, when Liam had escorted the two of them around New York – for a Broadway showing of West Side Story, an idyllic picnic of cheeses, cold meat and champagne in Central Park, a slow Sunday stroll through the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  She remembered the nights she and Liam had stayed up after Sophia had gone to bed. When they had watched When Harry Met Sally and cuddled long after the movie had ended. He had brought her flowers – lilies, roses, once a fresh cut bundle of hyacinth – at work so many times, her coworkers had taken to calling him Casanova. Those months together had been magical.

  And every moment had been a lie.

  Amanda shook herself. It did not do to dwell on the past. She was no longer a girl in the first throes of love. She was a bitter woman, betrayed and alone, tired to her very core.

  Sighing with regret, she replied, “You’d do anything for money, Liam, not for me. Don’t try and make yourself into a knight on a white horse. I already know who you are, who you work for. You’ll do the job. Irving will give you money. You can go do whatever it is you want. As long as you leave Sophia and I alone. After tomorrow, whether we succeed or fail, I never want to see you again.” Her voice cracked slightly, the emotions taking their toll. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Never.”

  Liam looked for a moment as though he might argue. But the expression on her face must have changed his mind. He smoothed his bottle green apron and adopted an air of studied indifference. “If that’s what you want.”

  Amanda thought he looked almost sad. But it was probably just that he enjoyed seeing her every week, remembering that he had played her for a fool. Perhaps he liked to watch the dark circles under her eyes get worse and worse as the nights passed in fitful dream-filled sleep punctuated by hours of wandering the corridors of Irving’s mansion. She was sure that must be it – Liam hoped to watch her deteriorate, see her beauty fade and her hopes of happiness wash away. “Yes,” she said. “It is what I want. Now perhaps you could take off that apron so we can go visit Irving and his millions.”

  Liam adopted a truly annoying tone of superiority. “Amanda, if you think I’m the only one watching you right now, you’re being naïve. There are two Others outside of this store right now. They follow you at all times, in case you don’t have a chance to report Irving’s movements and he exits his home.”

  “Really?” She had never considered that her every move was under surveillance. “Are they in the store, too?”

  “They should be. But I chose this place specifically because those guys would never go into a kitchen store. Being around a pink carrot juicer might make their wee-wee shrivel.”

  She couldn’t help it. She had to say it. “Is that what happened to you?”

  “No, darlin’. The only shriveled thing on me is my ego, and you caused that.” Liam’s lips compressed into a thin line. “I’ll have to change into someone else if I’m to go to Irving’s. So I’ll take these eyeglasses back to the fellow I knocked out in the break room and get hopping.”

  Amanda felt her cheeks flush again, this time in horror. �
��And your plan is to knock another person out and take their identity?”

  A man who was clearly a husband with a gift-buying deadline glanced toward the corner where Liam and Amanda had sequestered themselves. Hurrying over, he grabbed a set of three silicone pastry brushes tied with a bright blue ribbon, and turned to Liam in triumph.

  Liam adopted his gruff voice again. “Let me take you over to the cashier, sir.” Leaning in toward Amanda, he whispered, “I’ll meet you at Irving’s. Tonight.”

  As Liam and his next unsuspecting target walked away, Amanda heard the man say plainly, “My wife is a utensil fanatic. She’ll like these, right? What are they anyway?”

  When they reached the cashiers, Liam patted the man on the shoulder. He walked quickly to the backroom. A few moments later, the worried husband emerged.

  But … the worried husband was still standing at the cashier’s, offering his credit card and pleading for reassurance.

  Amanda glanced between the two of them.

  Worried husband number two winked at her, walked outside, and blended instantly into the crowd.

  Amanda sighed. No matter how often Liam did that, he always surprised her. She pulled her Fair Isle gloves back on, placed her indigo fleece hat over her tightly coiffed blond bun, and went back into the cold to hail a cab.

  And saw Robbie. Robbie, the guy who had broken into her apartment with Eric the thug. The guy who had been so surprised and oddly dismayed when his cohort had been killed by a ricocheting bullet.

  She glared at him.

  He stared back at her as if puzzled. As if her hostility puzzled him. Or as if … he was struggling to remember something, and couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  She couldn’t maintain her indignation. He seemed so … dumb. In over his head.

  Well, aren’t we all?

  Still … she smiled rather bitterly. Part one of the plan to save Sophia had been a success.

  Looking relieved, Robbie smiled back.