A Real Angel

by Cassie Miles

  "Please do."

  "Eddy brought your pig here. Dr. Montclair is a veterinarian, and he thought we might be able to help. I gave him a substitute pig from the barn so you wouldn't be inconvenienced while your animal was being examined."

  "And is my pig all right?"

  "He's fine."

  "Your animal was a good match," Jenna said. "I didn't even notice the substitution until today."

  "We have several piglets to choose from." Nick placed the papers on the coffee table. "Here are the contracts."

  Hugh signed the papers without looking at them, leaving Nick to separate the documents for Rafe and Jenna.

  "Why," Jenna asked, "do you have so many pigs? Do you raise them?"

  "They're good breeders," Nick explained. "We've been giving them away so they won't overpopulate the barn."

  She looked toward Hugh. "What was wrong with my pig? What did your examination show?"

  Again, Nick did the talking. "He's well. Eddy overreacted."

  "When can I have him back?"

  "I'll take care of it, Jenna."

  In the back of his sluggish mind, Rafe had the distinct impression that Nick had given them important information. Eddy had been at the Montclair estate before he died. If he'd been infected with a virus, this might be the point of origin.

  Rafe should try to see as much as possible of this place. Struggling to be alert, he said, "You've got a lot of animals. Maybe you can give us a tour of your barns."

  "Another time," Hugh said.

  Jenna concurred. "It's late. I really ought to get back to the movie lot."

  "So responsible," Hugh said. "Like your mother."

  When Jenna rose to her feet, Rafe knew he should do likewise. But his legs felt rubbery. Concentrating with all his might, he managed to stand. The room seemed to be slowly spinning. On sheer willpower, he maneuvered across the carpet and out the door. The bracing night air revived him enough that he managed to climb into the passenger side of the truck without stumbling.

  Hugh stood on the veranda, waving good-bye as Jenna turned the key in the ignition and threw the truck into gear.

  "Honestly, Rafe," she said. "I can't believe you got drunk."

  Drunk? That explained the way he was feeling. Wine was, of course, intoxicating. More so because he hadn't been drunk in centuries. A distant memory awakened—not in his mind, which was befogged with the fine merlot, but in the very cells of this human body. He'd been drunk before. When he was a sinful man, he had often partaken of strong drink.

  "You can hardly stand," Jenna said. "I didn't think you had that much."

  "Haven't had wine in a long time."

  "It shows. If I were you, I wouldn't have wine again."

  Rafael took orders from no one. "Are you telling me what to do?"

  "By advising you not to make an ass of yourself? That doesn't seem too pushy. You can file it under the category of Good Advice."

  "Pull over," he said. There was a human need festering in his mind. He had to do this now, before he could consider the consequences. "Do as I say, Jenna."

  She glided to a stop at the edge of the winding road that led to the stucco villa. "What?"

  He reached toward her. His fingers tangled in the silky texture of her hair.

  "What are you doing, Rafe?"

  "I'm going to kiss you." He pulled her closer.

  "Not here," she objected. "Not like this."

  "This may be the only chance." The only time when his inhibitions were low enough to exceed his wisdom. "Please, Jenna."

  Their lips met.

  Chapter Four

  Jenna hardly knew Rafe Santini, and he had been weird since the first time she laid eyes on him. That eerie glow. Taming Darius. There was the electricity when she'd touched him, and a personality that vacillated between arrogance and the deepest empathy she'd ever known in a man. He'd gotten sloppy drunk on two and a half glasses of wine. Now, he was kissing her.

  Whatever he was, it sure wasn't gay. His tongue lightly probed, and, in that instant, Jenna forgot each and every one of her reasons to be wary of him. His mouth was warm and sexy. He tasted pleasantly of wine.

  He ended the kiss and leaned away from her. What was going on here? She peered into his breathtaking blue eyes. In his gaze, she saw longing and arousal. Why had he stopped with one tender kiss?

  For such a confident man, Rafe seemed as awkward as a kid, stealing a forbidden pleasure for the first time. His grin was sheepishly guilty. Seeming not to know what to do with his hands, he gestured clumsily. But his eyes told a different story. In his gaze, she recognized a wordless appeal that she couldn't resist.

  His voice was husky. "I shouldn't have—"

  Jenna held his face between her hands and kissed him hard. Her mouth consumed his. When her tongue tentatively explored the shape and texture of his lips, Rafe came alive in her arms.

  With a burst of ravaging passion, he grasped her so tightly that she was lifted from the seat behind the steering wheel. Her body molded against his, and their combined heat ignited a flame in her heart. Roughly, he caressed her, searching until he felt the softness of her breast. His desire raged, consuming her, drawing her closer, compelling her response.

  This was the kiss she'd been waiting for all her life. When it ended, Jenna was both satisfied and unfulfilled, because she wanted more.

  This time, when she studied his expression, the youthful innocence was gone. Instead, she recognized a man who was ready to make love.

  With a groan, he fell back in his seat. "Let's get out of here."

  She restarted the truck. Boldly, Jenna asked, "My place or yours?"

  "I won't lie down with you," he said. His voice was rough around the edges, serrated like a knife. "It would be wrong."

  "You're joking."

  "I've never been more serious."

  "Excuse me, Rafe, but I don't see what's so wrong about it. We're consenting adults. I want to spend tonight with you, and I think you feel the same about me. Don't you want to make love?"

  "There are reasons…I can't."

  Once again, he was rejecting her advances. He was toying with her. "Damn you, Rafe."

  "That may very well be."

  She paused at the gate for Paolo's son to open the matched iron bars. She then thanked him and proceeded down the road, trying to ignore the masculine presence of Rafe Santini. Once again, he had embarrassed her. How could she have been so trusting, so foolish! Her aroused passions became outrage, a hot anger that burned painfully.

  "Try to understand," he said. "I'm not like other men."

  "I should say not. Other men don't reject me. Other men don't tame tigers." Her voice rose to a shout. "Other men don't glow in the dark!"

  "I can explain."

  "Don't bother. Where should I drop you off?"

  "Here."

  "What are you saying? That you'll walk from here? Oh, please, don't be childish. I'll take you to your car."

  "It's best if you let me out here. Now."

  If that was what he wanted, fine! How dare he kiss her as if he meant it, then refuse her when she offered herself to him. At the bottom of the secluded hillside, she parked. "Good-bye, Rafe."

  He opened the car door. "If you'll listen for five minutes, I'll explain everything."

  "I don't care," she said, faking a breezy attitude. "I'm sure there's a reason for your behavior, I just don't care to hear it."

  After he was out of the car, she gunned the engine and aimed toward the R.I.P. movie lot. There were a couple of errands she had intended to run, but she couldn't recall what they were. All she wanted was quiet—a solitude to cuddle her like a warm blanket and soothe this cold humiliation.

  In her rearview mirror, she noticed a set of headlights that stayed precisely two car-lengths behind her. Before she had time to worry that she was being followed, she dismissed her suspicion. Someone trailing her? Why? More likely, this was coincidence. It was only ten o'clock, and there was plenty of traffic about—esp
ecially when she reached the dismal, urban streets near the studio.

  Her headlights cut through heavy shadows in this rundown section of greater Los Angeles. City of Angels? Hah! The sidewalks were littered with the homeless, the hookers and the hustlers.

  Waiting for a red light, Jenna stared into the eyes of a young girl who was crossing the street. She couldn't have been older than thirteen, half Jenna's age, but already this young creature had discarded poignant innocence. She waggled her skinny pelvis. Her hair snaked in tangles down her back. The girl's face, beneath layered makeup, was lit by a green neon sign, and she sneered ghoulishly at Jenna's beat-up truck.

  Aching with regret, Jenna looked away. She wanted to help the girl, but knew she couldn't. Human relations were too complicated. No wonder she preferred the company of animals.

  She had covered the distance to the movie lot in twenty-six minutes. No doubt, it was record time, but not fast enough for Jenna. She wanted to be as far away from Rafe as possible, and she wouldn't waste one moment's guilt on worrying about how he would get back to town from the desolate hills. A long walk would do him good. He could sober up.

  She drove carefully through the movie lot, between the three-story soundstage buildings. During the day, this two-lane alley was crowded with actors, technicians and related movie people. At night, when the motion picture magic was absent, there was an uneasy silence, a sense of waiting. Except for the night watchmen making their occasional patrols, no one was here.

  "Perfect," Jenna muttered as she parked by Soundstage 7. Desertion suited her. She slammed the door to the truck with a resounding thud.

  "Jenna."

  What was that? She thought she'd heard Rafe's voice, calling to her. But that was impossible. He had to be somewhere in the hills beyond Hollywood, hiking back to town.

  "Jenna, listen."

  She whirled and saw him. A faint glow burnished his shoulders. "How did you get here?"

  "I flew," he said.

  Panic raced through her. A loud gasp choked in her throat as she stared at the impossible vision. She must be going crazy. Turning, she ran from him toward the door to the soundstage.

  Blocking her way, he appeared in front of her. "Listen to me," he said.

  "You don't exist. I'm imagining you. There's no way you could cover that distance and get here first. No way."

  He caught her arms in his grasp, and she felt a tremor of powerful electricity in his touch. She must be going mad, having a nervous breakdown. The stress of working on this film and having Eddy die in her arms had caught up with her.

  "Look at me, Jenna."

  Helplessly, she gazed into his face. He radiated energy. It sparked from his long hair. His blue eyes glistened like butane flames.

  "Jenna, I told you that I was not like other men, and I'm not. I'm not a mortal man at all."

  "What?"

  "You sensed it the first time we met. You saw a nimbus of light surrounding me. Very few people have your sensitivity." He paused. "I'm an angel."

  Jenna blinked hard, hoping that when she opened her eyes again he would be gone. But he stood before her, holding her upper arms and shimmering as brightly as a fallen star.

  More gently, he asked, "Don't you believe in angels, Jenna?"

  "Not like you."

  "I suppose you think all angels have flowing white robes, wings and harps."

  She shook her head, not knowing what to believe. This couldn't be happening.

  He released his grip on her arms. "I'm not a choir angel, nor a cherub, nor a guardian angel. I'm an Avenging Angel. It's my duty to investigate the wrongs that are done by men and to exact vengeance. I'm here to solve the murder of Eddy Benson."

  "He died of a heart attack," she said weakly.

  "You know better than that. Eddy was poisoned. It wasn't his time to die."

  "Poisoned? How? I don't understand."

  "You don't need to. It's unnecessary for you to consider Eddy's murder. That's my problem, and it doesn't concern you."

  "Now wait a minute." She dug in her heels. Jenna didn't care who or what Rafe was, she didn't like being treated in such a condescending manner. "If Eddy was murdered, I want to know who did it."

  "I didn't come here to talk about Eddy. I need to explain something to you. Are you ready to listen?"

  "I don't think I like your attitude." What was she doing? Talking back to a celestial being? That had to be some unforgivable form of heresy, but Jenna didn't consider the consequences. All she knew was that Rafe Santini—man or angel—had no right to order her around. "I cared about Eddy. If he was murdered, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure his killer comes to justice."

  "That's my job," he said. "And I'm very good at it."

  "What kind of angel are you? You kissed me. And you got drunk. How can an angel get sloshed?"

  He sighed. "To appear on film, I need to take human form. To become mortal."

  Jenna shook her head. This was too much! "So, you were a man, but you're not anymore."

  "That's correct. At this moment, I'm an angel. When we kissed, I was mortal." He paced away from her, then back again. "I wish I could say that I regret losing control. But I don't. The taste of your lips on mine was…" He touched his mouth. "It will never happen again. Obviously, there can never be any sort of relationship between us. Do you understand me, Jenna?"

  "How can this be true?"

  "It's simple," he said. "I never lie."

  "Of course not." A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat. "An angel can't sin, and lying would be a sin."

  "I don't want to hurt you."

  She looked up at him. Her eyes mated with his. "Too late, Rafe."

  Like a sudden gust of wind, he vanished.

  She stepped away from the flat white wall of the soundstage building. He was gone. There was no one else in sight. Her gaze lifted heavenward, and she saw the stars, dimmed by city lights.

  An angel?

  Confused, Jenna fitted her key in the lock and entered Soundstage 7. Her head tilted down. She shuffled across the concrete floor. The vast hollow space was spooky, but Jenna didn't care. Rafe's unbelievable identity was beginning to sink into her brain. He was an angel.

  She released a huge sigh. An angel. She could never love him—not in the way she longed to love him.

  Somewhere on the soundstage, Danny Vincenzo, another of Paolo's many sons, was probably lurking, but she didn't see him and she didn't go looking. The last thing she wanted right now was a conversation. She'd heard too much already. Too many questions were spinning in her head.

  After a brief check on her slumbering animals, Jenna went into her tiny dressing room, pulled the sofa into a bed and collapsed onto it. She barely had time to kick off her shoes before she succumbed to sleep.

  Hours later—or perhaps only a few moments—she came half awake. Jenna felt herself rising, slowly, weightlessly. Like a deep-sea diver ascending from the depths, she floated toward the light of consciousness.

  Had there been a sound?

  Gradually, her eyelids opened to slits. The room was mostly dark, but she didn't remember turning off the overhead light before she went to bed. Oh well, she must have done so.

  Trying to get comfortable, she rolled onto her back. She was under the down quilt she'd brought from the ranch. Beneath the covers, she was naked, except for her bra and panties.

  That couldn't be right. Jenna knew she hadn't bothered to undress herself last night. She'd been so mentally and emotionally exhausted that she'd fallen asleep as soon as her body flopped onto the lumpy mattress.

  Turning her head ever so slightly, she became aware of light spilling from the room where her animals slept. She peered through barely opened eyes. Framed in the doorway, she saw the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man. Backlit, his features were hidden. He towered above her.

  Her breath caught. She froze like a scared rabbit in high brush, praying that she would be invisible, that the predator would leave her unharmed. Ev
ery sinew in her body went taut.

  In a horrifying way, she'd almost expected the arrival of this unknown person. The threat had been there, waiting at the edge of her consciousness like the shadowy presence on the soundstage the night Eddy had died, like the feeling she'd had earlier tonight when headlights followed her.

  He wanted something from her.

  She lay still, waiting for him to speak. But he was silent. And she realized that her animals had not made a sound. Who was this man?

  She waited for him to act, but he didn't move. Why was he here?

  Jenna had to know. Even if confrontation was dangerous, she had to catch hold of this dark spectre and force him to become solid before he slid inside her mind, haunting her. Beneath her pillow, she had her gun. If she screamed for help, Danny Vincenzo might come to her aid. She needed to do something.

  Before she could decide, the figure in the doorway came toward her. Swiftly, he clamped a damp cloth over her nostrils, suffocating her. A musty odor engulfed her.

  As soon as she inhaled, she felt a helpless lethargy. She tried to straggle, but her arms and legs would not move.

  Her eyes closed. Who was he? What was happening to her?

  The darkness of sleep silenced her questions.

  The next morning, Jenna wakened with a start. Last night there had been a man right here in her room. He'd undressed her, watched her. He had dragged her with some powerful sedative.

  And yet she felt perfectly normal, alert as she ever was in the early morning. Had it really happened? Was she hallucinating? My God, what was wrong with her?

  Her mother stood over her. "Honey? It's almost eight o'clock. Time to rise and shine. Are you awake?"

  "Now I am. Hi, Mom."

  Jenna rubbed her eyes and pressed her lips together, keeping her panic inside. She sure as hell wasn't going to tell her mother about last night. Everything needed to go smoothly for Kate. Jenna wanted this to be a good experience. She needed to convince her mother that life was worth living.

  "You looked so peaceful," her mother said. "Were you having a nice dream?"

  "Oh, Mom. I'm so glad you're here."

  If she were a child again, she'd turn all these complex problems over to her mother. Mama could chase away the goblins with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered lullaby.