Phoenix Aflame (Alpha Phoenix Book 2)

by Isadora Montrose

  Yet he still loved his job. Even if he didn’t get to go on missions anymore, teaching had definite appeal. Still he missed the rush of being the guy on the ground. Part of a phoenix shifter’s makeup was an urge for adventure and risk.

  He had only to look at his family to see how that had played out. The Air Force was more like a calling for the D’Angelos than a career. George D’Angelo had started as a pilot and wound up a five-star general. Lincoln and Pierce and his sisters Frankie and Eleanor had also followed Dad and Granddad into the Air Force.

  Like Harrison, his brothers had fought to qualify for Special Forces. Since women were ineligible for Special Forces, Frankie had settled for flying test aircraft. And Eleanor was volunteering for every risky operation she could. After a long period on medical leave, Pierce was back at work. As he had feared, he had been assigned a desk. Rather than do that, when Special Forces gave him the boot, Lincoln had retired from the military. Pierce was just too damned stubborn to quit.

  Only Grant had taken different path. It still astounded Harrison that his baby brother had settled on a career as an opera singer. Sure phoenixes liked to sing. It was part of the whole package, but he couldn’t understand how such a tame life appealed to Grant. D’Angelos were meant to be warriors.

  Dad had taken retirement from the Air Force last year. He said he didn’t miss the service. Of course he spent a lot of time aloft. The Grape Creek property was five hundred acres. Unlike their neighbors, they didn’t have a problem with the feral hogs that were ravaging the rest of the county.

  Their cattle grazed undisturbed. Their foals gamboled fearlessly. Their pastures were not dug up. The creek flowed across their land through undisturbed green banks. Harrison supposed that this was because George D’Angelo made sure wild pigs didn’t get established on D’Angelo land.

  Harrison drifted off thinking about going for a run or flying. He woke. The curtains that he had left wide open showed him that the moon was a lumpy half-circle in a sky full of stars. He was damp. His heart was racing. After a second or two, his dream came back to him with terrifying vividness.

  He had been too late to save Tasha. She had opened her car door and disappeared into shrapnel and asphalt as the vehicle exploded. It was just a dream. He could not foretell the future. She was safe in this house. But Harrison’s heart was pounding as if he had seen reality.

  He dressed in shorts and running shoes and let himself out the exterior door of his bedroom onto the pool deck. Because of the pool, the gate of the screened patio was locked. Before he set off, he rattled it to make sure the latch had caught. You never knew how inventive youngsters could be at putting themselves in harm’s way. He had no reason to think that the security cameras would not alert the family if someone trespassed, but better safe than sorry.

  He set off at a steady lope toward the creek. The ground vanished under his long strides as he burnt off the adrenaline in his system. The water was low, barely bubbling past. He crossed it where his grandfather had laid down a bed of pebbles that widened the stream and made it possible to ford the creek without getting your feet more than damp.

  Once he was on the other side, he was in open pastureland. A few bushes that the cattle declined to eat, and a single tree dotted the closely cropped fodder. The cows had been moved on and the field was empty. He stepped carefully to avoid the still soft cow pats lurking in wait for unwary feet. He was far enough away from the house now. He stripped off his shorts and took off his running shoes and socks. He tucked them in the crook of the tree.

  Naked, he turned and shot a hundred feet into the air with one jump. Immediately his pulse settled as he adjusted to his airborne form. Night flying was harder than flying during the day. There were no thermals at night. But he was strong enough to rapidly pick up speed and elevation. He circled higher and higher until he could glide in circles.

  Even though he was much the size of a small aircraft and hills full of houses circled the compound, Harrison was not concerned that he would be seen. The paranormal radiance of his rainbow-hued feathers was functionally invisible to humans with normal vision. Even when he set his feathers ablaze, there was nothing for most humans to see except a glow too bright to focus on.

  His human vision was sharper than the average man’s, that was due to his phoenix heritage. But when he was in phoenix himself, his vision was a hundred times better than any human being’s. He could see further and with better focus, and equally well by day and by night. From up here the world was literally a different place.

  Every blade of grass was as sharp as if he had been standing beside it. He could see and hear small animals scurrying through the pastures. He could hear the owls that were hunting, and track them through the air. The three coyotes hunting for groundhogs in the tall grass stood out so clearly they might as well have been gilded with luminescent paint. If anyone, human or animal, was trespassing on the property he would see them.

  For a joyful hour Harrison patrolled the compound. There was nothing to see. He had not expected that there would be. Sentry duty just came naturally. Keeping watch was like exercising some essential aspect of his talent, both satisfying and calming.

  When Harrison had tired himself out and his dream had faded, as dreams did, he returned to the tree, took human and dressed himself before jogging back to the house. As soon as he opened the mudroom door, he sensed her.

  Tasha was standing beside the kitchen sink drinking water. Her curly blonde hair was as tangled as if she had been romping in bed. But she didn’t smell of sex. She smelled frightened. More frightened even than she had been earlier. Her heart was still racing. He diagnosed bad dreams.

  Tasha moved away from the sink as he opened the cupboard beside her to get a glass. She looked even younger and more innocent standing barefoot in the kitchen. Just a pocket Venus.

  Her hands fidgeted with her bathrobe sash. She undid it and snugged it tighter. The white fabric outlined her breasts and pulled tight around her hips. But she wasn’t trying to be seductive. She was just embarrassed at being caught in her bathrobe by a strange man.

  He didn’t want her to go back to bed. He began asking her the questions he had meant to ask before she went to bed. He heard himself asking about her ex. Her voice was calm as she told him about her former spouse. There was nothing mean or vindictive in the things that she said. But the grim reality was that, as he had already deduced, Becky had no father. The son of a bitch had zero interest in his sweet daughter.

  “Was your ex angry when you moved to Texas?”

  Tasha looked unspeakably sad. “Not really. Oh, he pretended to be devastated. He made a fuss and hauled us into court. But Blaine was just being unpleasant. And when his own mother explained that she was the one who had had to keep Becky during all those court-ordered visits her daddy had demanded, the judge read him the riot act and awarded me custody. He said Becky had to return to Savannah to see her father twice a year, but that we could move to Texas. We were supposed to be in Savannah this week, but at the last minute Blaine announced he had business.”

  “In Hawaii?”

  She nodded. “I guess your mom told you. I’m sure he really does have clients he’s taking to the golf tournament, but I’m equally sure he knew about his trip before I booked our flights and my vacation time.”

  “Manipulative?”

  “If you look up ‘manipulative’ in the dictionary, you’ll see Blaine’s picture.”

  “Hard on Becky.” He sipped water.

  She sighed. Her robe gaped a little. “He doesn’t seem to care that to get at me, he has to hurt her.”

  It sounded like Sutcliffe was no prize. “His loss,” Harrison said averting his eyes from the slice of cleavage.

  Tasha nodded somberly. Tousled blonde curls that usually were smoothed into decorous waves bounced. His groin tightened. And just like that he was aware that his cock was for more than pissing. He turned to the sink to conceal that fact and casually let the water run.

  “You
think you can go back to sleep now? It’s only 3:00 a.m. You should try to get some more sleep.” He drank with his back still to her.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. Her bare feet drifted down the hall.

  When he turned around, Tasha was gone. He felt like a dirty old man lusting after that innocent young woman. He had to be a decade older than she was. Probably more. He also felt as though he had betrayed Stephanie and their love. Lust died. He drained his glass of water and went to take a shower.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For sure, Harrison D’Angelo was a tall dark drink of water. He made her feel alive for the first time in a long while. She had zero regrets about ending her marriage. She had no feelings left for Blaine, unless disgust counted. She certainly did not miss him. But she did miss their sex life. At least in the beginning he had been an eager lover. But since her divorce she had never been the least bit tempted by any man.

  Not that Harrison had been trying to tempt her. She hadn’t asked what he was doing out running in the middle of the night. Probably the same as her – trying to get the dream images of his dead child out of his mind. She began to shake all over again. She sat down in the straight-backed chair at the bedroom desk. It was an antique probably intended for some genteel correspondence between eighteenth century ladies.

  She closed her eyes and deliberately filled her mind with an image of the peaceful pond she had seen earlier. She focused on it and tried to visualize the exact shape, the ducks swimming beside the clump of reeds. Her mind wandered back to Harrison’s broad smooth chest and the thin black line that divided his six pack and disappeared into the waistband of his navy shorts. She let it go and returned to the water rippling gently in the breeze.

  When she opened her eyes, she felt calmer. She picked up the bottle of pills and decided it was too late for them. She had no expectation of sleeping, but her book fell out of her hand and she drifted off. The sun was blazing behind her curtains and her phone was ringing when she woke. She fumbled for it.

  “Lo,” she said.

  “This is the Grape County Sheriff’s Department,” said a stiff voice. “Is this Natasha Anne Sutcliffe?”

  “I’m Natasha Sutcliffe.” Tasha swallowed acid. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing. She waited.

  “The sheriff would like you to come in and sign your statement, Ms. Sutcliffe,” the voice said. Translation, the sheriff would like to see if your story varies from Thursday’s version.

  “I’m afraid you woke me,” Tasha said without apology. “I’ll have to check to see who can drive me in, and when. What time did the sheriff have in mind?”

  “Before noon would be best.”

  Tasha glanced at the phone. It was already ten fifty. Someone had his shorts in a twist. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know when.”

  “We can send a deputy for you, ma’am, if necessary.”

  Jumping Jehoshaphat. Tasha ignored the implicit threat. “Let me write down your number.”

  She rushed through her shower and getting dressed. Only Caroline was in the kitchen when she went downstairs. “Good morning. I seem to have slept in.”

  “Harry said you were up in the night. We decided to let you sleep in,” Caroline said. “I must say, you do look better this morning.”

  “I feel better,” Tasha lied. “The sheriff’s department phoned. They want me to come in before noon.” She stopped in embarrassment.

  “I’ll come with you,” Caroline said. “After you have had some breakfast.”

  “Where is everyone?” Tasha asked.

  Caroline laughed. “At the stables, so Uncle Cameron can see how well Becky rides.”

  “And Poppy and Daddy Danger had to go along too?”

  Caroline filled a mug with coffee and passed it to Tasha with a jug of cream. “George is showing off too. He is very proud of how well the girls are doing. Harry’s boys were all in the saddle as soon as they could walk.”

  “Really?” Tasha knew Caroline liked to talk about her grandsons.

  The older woman nodded. “They had a couple of ponies. Harry Jr. was only six, but he was a natural.” She broke eggs in a bowl and stirred them. “Sit down. I’ll have these ready in a jiffy. I’ll just put on my lipstick while you’re eating and then we can go.”

  Cam came in while she was rinsing her plate so she could add it to the dishwasher. “Caroline says the sheriff wants you. Do you want me to go in with you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Better if he doesn’t think I’m worried. I don’t exactly know what I told him on Thursday night, but I am sure I didn’t lie. And I am certain that when the mechanic takes a look he’ll find something wrong with the brakes just like I said.”

  “You sure?”

  “Caroline’s going to come with me.”

  “Well, okay. The girls want us to take them swimming next.”

  “I’m sure they do. Maybe you should take Becky fishing instead, so the colonel can have a little one-on-one with Quincy?”

  Cameron laughed. “Those girls are joined at the hip just like you said. They don’t want to be separated. But I’ll do my best.”

  Caroline came in. “Is this a private joke, or can anyone join in?”

  “Cameron just realized I didn’t exaggerate when I said that Becky and Quincy wanted to be together all the time.”

  Caroline chuckled. “It’s rather sweet, isn’t it? Now, let’s just run over to the stables so we can say goodbye to the girls, and then you can head in to the sheriff’s office.”

  Tasha sobered. “I’ll tell them I’m on my way in. The person who called offered me an official escort.”

  * * *

  Escobar was joined in the interrogation room by the deputy who had been at the scene. Roberts was a middle-aged man with a paunch hanging over his belt, a good ole boy manner, and cop eyes. He and Escobar could have been twins. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Holy Hannah, as Mama used to say.

  The sheriff announced he was making a recording of the conversation. He asked her if she had any objection to making a statement without a lawyer present.

  Tasha straightened her spine as if a rabbit ran over her grave. “Am I being charged with something?” she made herself ask.

  Escobar made a production of checking his laptop. “Not just yet,” he said genially. “But we wanted to ask you about the reckless endangerment charges in Georgia.”

  Tasha knew she was a funny shade of red. It was the curse of being a natural blonde. “Those charges were dropped,” she said. “As I am sure you know.”

  “So they were,” Escobar said after another glance at his screen.

  Tasha opened her mouth to defend herself, remembered she was a Southern girl, and switched to her sweetest smile. She let the silence grow.

  * * *

  The fire pit was by no means new. Its ring of fire-blackened stones was dark from many bonfires. Dad was in his element laying the Fourth of July bonfire. Like all phoenixes, George D’Angelo enjoyed everything about fire. Harrison recognized that he and Reynolds were mere fetchers and carriers for his father.

  Harrison didn’t mind and if Reynolds had objections he had the good sense to keep them under his hat. The girls had been delegated to collect kindling. Quincy and Becky were running through the woods, hunting pine cones as if it were the world’s best game.

  “What were you thinking, Reynolds, letting your sister marry a fortune hunter?” Dad asked out of nowhere. He adjusted one of the logs.

  Reynolds turned red. The muscle beside his mouth developed a tic, but his expression remained stony. “With respect, I didn’t let Tasha do anything, sir,” he responded politely enough. “I didn’t meet Sutcliffe until the rehearsal – I was deployed right up until the wedding, sir.”

  Harrison turned his dark head slightly to look at his father’s profile. This was comedy gold and he had no intention of intervening. Besides he wanted to know more about Tasha’s ex.

  Gen. D’Angelo added kindling to the base of the logs. “Y
our father wouldn’t have liked his little girl married to a no-good loser,” he remarked.

  “No, sir. I think missing Mom and Dad was part of the reason she got married. They were dead, I was deployed, and Sutcliffe cut her out of the herd. She’s much better off without him.”

  It was hard to imagine anyone being damn fool enough to let a tasty little morsel like Tasha Sutcliffe go. But the world was full of fools. And Tasha’s ex sounded like a prize idiot. What sort of lowlife dickwad canceled his kid’s visit to see him on an hour’s notice? Bastard. Disappointing sweet little Becky like that just to get back at his ex.

  He knew he wasn’t the father he should have been to his own daughter, but he would never treat Quincy like that. He had to come up with a plan so he could have her living with him. Reading to her at bedtime was fun, but fatherhood was not just about fun. As much as he had loved his sons, he had not found parenting them to be fun. Or not exclusively. Quincy was a credit to his parents. But she should have been a credit to him.

  “Did you ever find out what caused that accident, son?”

  Harrison had lost the thread of the conversation, but his father was addressing Reynolds.

  “Not really, sir,” Reynolds rolled his shoulders as if flinging aside bad memories. “Mom and Dad were sailing with a French cruise line. The report from the insurance company said that the launch that sank suffered ice damage while attempting to get closer to a pod of whales.”

  Dad clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Damned shame,” he said. “Hypothermia?”

  “Ultimately, yes.”

  “Damned shame.”

  “Poppy, Poppy,” Becky and Quincy trotted up with their baskets overflowing with the resin-rich pine cones they had been sent for.

  Reynolds looked relieved. Poor bugger. Losing both your parents at the same time had to be brutal. No wonder sensible Tasha had married a jerk.