A Real Angel

by Cassie Miles

  Gasping and sweating from his exertion, he lay flat on the floor. He was gripped by equal parts of terror and remorse. He would never fly again, never become one with the wind and light. His vision would be limited to objects in front of his eyes.

  "Damn." The curse, forbidden to an angel, slipped easily through his lips. He was only a man.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Rafe? Are you all right?" He heard Jenna tapping at the door. "Rafe?"

  "In a minute."

  He wasn't meant to be mortal. His only hope was that his human condition was only temporary. Maybe he was still too weak for the transformation.

  That must be the answer. He couldn't believe he'd been stripped of his powers. Rafe was good at his job. He was the best. Saint Michael needed him.

  An unbidden thought flashed before him: Arrogance.

  "Mike, is that you?"

  Pride will be your downfall, Rafael. Did you think you could partake of the pleasures of the flesh and still return to an angelic state?

  "It wasn't lust, Mike. I swear."

  Rafe heard a rumble, like distant thunder. He knew better than to argue with Saint Michael.

  But he needed to explain. He hadn't been indulging himself when he made love to Jenna. His feelings for her were complicated. When they had lain in each other's arms, it had been pure and good, an ultimate fulfillment of divine destiny. Somewhere in his being, he'd always been a part of her, and she of him. Somehow, at a soul-deep level, they were meant to be together.

  And yet he was also meant to be a warrior angel.

  "Don't leave me, Mike."

  Finish the job you were sent to do.

  Was this a test? If Rafe succeeded, would he again become an angel? He could only hope that was Mike's plan. Rafe could only pray for deliverance from his human form.

  Rising from the floor, he opened the door and confronted Jenna. Her eyes widened as she beheld him.

  "You're still a man," she said.

  "We have a lot to do, Jenna." He dug into his pocket and found the card on which Danny had written his phone number. "Call Danny and find out who has those pigs. We need to pick them up before anyone else is infected."

  Confusion raced across her face. "I don't understand. I thought you were going to change into an angel."

  "It's okay. Everything will work out for the best. Right now, I'm going to find Alex and talk my way out of this stunt."

  Exuding a confidence he didn't feel, Rafe strode toward the set. When he was an angel, he had very little trouble in bending others to his will. As a man, he'd need more cunning, an ability to second-guess. He could do it. He had no choice.

  As soon as Alex spied him, the director called out, "Get over here. Quickly, please. Where do you keep disappearing to? Never mind, I don't really care. Now, shall we go over your preparations and get you into costume?"

  "It's late," Rafe said. "And you're paying all these men overtime. Wouldn't it be better to wait until tomorrow?"

  "Perhaps you're right." He frowned. "Dorothy? Where is that woman?"

  She sauntered up beside him, clipboard in hand. "What's up, Alex?"

  "Send the cameramen and technicians home. The only ones who need to stay are the stuntmen, so we can practice Rafe's dive."

  "What time do you want to start tomorrow?"

  "Regular schedule," he said. "A five a.m. makeup call."

  "You got it, boss."

  Alex motioned for Rafe to join him on the set. "A brief background. The aliens are attacking. The idyll in the Garden is ended. Adam must fight back. For this stunt, you'll be doubling for our star. The aliens are shooting at him. He's up in a tree. Up there."

  Rafe's gaze went to where Alex was pointing at a high platform disguised as a tree branch. "All the way up there?"

  "You're to leap into the fray. Rather like a swan dive. Flip twice and give the impression that you're landing on your feet."

  "But what will I really be landing on?"

  "That cushioned mattress. Quite comfortable, really. It's similar to the thing used by pole-vaulters." He clapped his hands together. "Let's give it a try, shall we?"

  Rafe looked around for the stunt coordinator, hoping for another excuse to avoid performing a twenty-foot swan dive onto a pole-vaulter's mattress. Instead, he saw Hugh, accompanied by Jenna's mother. They were a couple that needed to be broken up, but Rafe would leave that unpleasant task to Jenna.

  Hugh gestured to the flock of personnel who were vacating the soundstage. "Why are they leaving, Alex? Quitting time already?"

  "We need to practice a few stunts so we'll be prepared to start shooting again in the morning."

  Kate asked, "Will you be needing any of my animals in the morning?"

  "Perhaps a bird or a monkey here and there, but we'll be concentrating on the alien battle."

  "Well, Rafe," Hugh said. "Finally, we'll have a chance to see you work. I was beginning to doubt that you really were a stuntman."

  "What else would I be?"

  "I can think of a number of professions you might be qualified for." Suspiciously, he eyed the bruise on Rafe's forehead. "How did you injure yourself?"

  "In the line of duty."

  "You should be more careful. It's easy to be hurt when you don't know what you're doing."

  With that cheerful thought ringing in his head, Rafe headed toward the rear of the set, where he briefly consulted with the stunt coordinator. Since Rafe's prior attempt at this stunt had been nothing short of an angelic miracle, no one was much concerned about giving him direction.

  "What about rigging?" Rafe asked. "Isn't there some kind of harness I could wear?"

  "Sure, we can hook you up. But why? When you practiced the other day, you were perfect."

  Rafe wondered if Eddy Benson would have allowed this stunt without safety precautions. True, the dive and flip were simple gymnastics, but if Rafe misjudged the distance or missed the landing mattress, he could be seriously injured.

  "What's it going to be? Rigging or not?" The stunt coordinator checked his wristwatch. "It's after ten o'clock, and I've got to be back here by five in the morning."

  "We could put this off until tomorrow," Rafe suggested.

  "Not a chance. Not while Alex is trying to impress the producer with how efficient he is."

  "Okay." Rafe resigned himself. "I'll do it without."

  He climbed a rope ladder to the platform, and then stood staring down, attempting to gauge the distance, to visualize himself somersaulting through the air. Practice would have been useful, gradually working up to this height, but it was too late for that now.

  "Ready when you are," Alex shouted.

  Glancing heavenward, Rafe muttered, "If it's not too much trouble, Mike, I could use some help on this."

  He inhaled a deep breath. Like a platform diver, he went up on his toes and launched himself into thin air. He tucked and flipped. The world was upside down, disoriented. He straightened himself and landed—dead center on the mattress—flat on his back.

  Slowly, he sat up. His arms and legs were still attached. Nothing seemed to be broken.

  Jenna was beside the mattress. "Are you okay?"

  "Couldn't be better."

  Alex shouted to him. "Not bad. Next time, I'd like to see a complete triple flip."

  "Sure thing," Rafe responded with a heroic wave. To Jenna, he added, "There's not going to be a next time. I can promise you that."

  Kate and Hugh joined them. Kate offered congratulations, though she hinted that it might be smart to wear a safety harness.

  Grudgingly, Hugh said, "Nice job."

  Kate teased him by saying, "And you didn't believe Rafe was a real stuntman. I guess this proves it."

  "Why?" Hugh asked.

  "Because nobody else would be crazy enough to try something like that. It takes a certain kind of man. Like Rafe. He's a regular daredevil."

  "He certainly is," Jenna said. "And everybody knows that daredevils need their sleep. We'd better hit the road."
r />   After a quick round of good-byes, Rafe clasped Jenna's hand, and they left the soundstage, much sadder and wiser than when they'd arrived.

  On the drive back to the safe house, Jenna told him about her conversation with Danny. "He can find out the names of people who got the pigs, and we can pick the list up at the estate in the morning. He said to come to the gate at exactly seven o'clock."

  "Why couldn't he give you the names over the phone?"

  "I don't know. He sounded furtive and anxious to get off the phone."

  Were they walking into an ambush? "It's just as well," Rafe said. "We can use that time to look around the estate," Rafe said. "We still need to destroy the virus."

  "We can't go inside," she said. "Danny said the guards are patrolling constantly."

  "What about his brother's death? Did Danny have anything to say about that?"

  "He was gruff—the way men get when they're hiding their emotions. I didn't tell Danny that his employer is trying to cover up his brother's death."

  "And Nick? Did he say anything about Nick?"

  "Not a word. And I didn't ask."

  Nick puzzled Rafe. No matter what was happening, Nick was always there, behind the scenes, handling the Montclair affairs and taking care of his younger brothers. The notoriously reclusive Hugh Montclair might have come to rely on Nick, especially in the difficult times when his best friend was dying. And reliance oftentimes developed into dependence.

  The situation was not unlike that of Jenna and her mother, but Jenna truly cared for her mother and wanted the best for her. She'd encouraged Kate and hadn't gotten in the way, even when she thought her mother was making a mistake by dating Hugh Montclair. If Jenna had wished to, she could have shut down her mother's first venture into normal society. But her motive was love for her mother.

  What was Nick's motivation? He seemed always to be nearby, pulling strings and controlling. He had a certain power when it came to his brothers and Hugh. Had he abused the relationship? Had he been influenced by the dark forces who held the Montclair estate within their fierce grasp?

  Nick had been responsible for sending the infected pigs into the community. Why?

  "Rafe? What happens next?"

  "We wait until morning to gather up the pigs. If I were an angel, I could have picked up the list from Danny and flown," he said. "Now, we'll have to use more conventional means."

  As he pulled into the driveway and parked, Rafe forgot about the murder and the pigs. He and Jenna would be here at the safe haven, alone all night.

  She reached across the console and touched his arm. "Are you all right?"

  "Just thinking."

  "About the virus?"

  "Right at this moment, Jenna, I'm thinking about you."

  His observation of mating rituals had left many questions of protocol unanswered. Men, indulging in locker-room talk, liked to brag about their stamina and how many times they were capable of making love in one night. But he had never heard women speak of such things, and he had the impression that they performed sex as a wifely duty.

  Would it be proper to make love to her again? Would she be offended? The need grew strong within him, but he wanted to please her. "Before we go inside," he said, "we need to talk."

  When she nodded, the streetlight reflected shimmering highlights in her hair.

  "Before today, it had been a long time since I made love to a woman. I'm unfamiliar with the procedure."

  "You were wonderful, Rafe."

  He took her hand in his, marvelling at how small and delicate her fingers looked against his darker skin. When he brushed his lips across her knuckles, he caught the scent of peach from her flesh.

  "Jenna, may I make love to you, again?"

  She reversed the position of their hands and kissed his fingertips. "I'd like that very much."

  He exhaled in a whoosh, relieved that they were of one. mind. "What are we doing here in the car?"

  She purred, "We'll be much more comfortable in the bed."

  Joyfully, he followed her inside. Tonight, he would sleep beside Jenna. Tonight, they would make love again. Being mortal definitely had its rewards.

  The next morning, Jenna felt as if the dawn skies had been painted just for her, as a reflection of her own rose-colored contentment. Though it was selfish to hope that Rafe would always stay mortal, she couldn't help her desires. He was the best lover she'd ever known—the perfect combination of gentleness and strength.

  As they drove toward the Montclair estate, she couldn't take her eyes off him. He was wearing black again. His black cotton shirt tucked into black Levi's. His thick black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail at his nape. He looked dark and determined. Only the lively blue of his eyes contrasted and reminded her of his tenderness.

  A light sigh escaped her lips.

  "You're quiet," he said. "Is something wrong?"

  "Everything is wonderful. Look at this sunrise! And the birds are chirping. Even the air seems fragrant."

  She inhaled so deeply that she began coughing. "Gosh, I hope too much happiness isn't bad for me."

  "You look a bit tired."

  "Well, we didn't get much sleep." She grinned broadly. "I'm fine."

  "I've been thinking," he said. "When we get to the estate, we should go inside. No sneaking around, just march up to the door with Danny."

  "And then what?" She swallowed another cough. Her throat felt scratchy.

  "We'll go directly to the lab, break into the refrigerator and find the virus. If we can get a sample to the police, they can run tests. Then, Hugh Montclair and his killer virus will be a police problem."

  "I'm all for that," she said.

  Though his plan was far less dramatic than swooping through the heavens and striking down electrical generators, she liked it. Even though it seemed highly unlikely that they could simply walk in and take the virus sample, Rafe was thinking in rational steps—more like a sensible man than a raging angel.

  She took his reasoning one step further. "We could call in the authorities right now. Dial 911 and tell them about Frank's death. If the police had a call saying there was a dead body, wouldn't they need to search?"

  "Not at the Montclair estate," Rafe said. "Right or wrong, the wealthy have privileges. Hugh has enough influence to keep the cops at bay until he can dispose of the body and hide the virus."

  They parked beside the front gate, in the shadow of the gray stone gargoyles. When they reached the iron bars, Danny was waiting. His posture seemed furtive. His eyes were haunted. He wore a gold Saint Christopher medal around his neck, and he touched the edges with shaking fingers.

  Jenna felt terribly sorry for this young man whose brother and father had so recently been taken from him. She wondered how old he was. Early twenties? "How are you holding up, Danny?"

  "I don't know." He looked away from her.

  "It's hard," she said.

  When he met her gaze, his eyes were watery. "I don't know what to do."

  "I understand," she said. "I lost my father. Not too long ago. In a car accident. He died in my arms."

  "When Papa died…" His thick black eyebrows scowled fiercely, fighting back tears. "That's when everything started going bad. We should've left—me and Frank and Nick—we should have moved back to the winery upstate."

  "How is Nick taking Frank's death?"

  "He won't talk to me. He's the oldest, and he feels like he's got to protect the rest of us. He told me not to say anything about Frank being dead, and when I went up to the bedroom last night to sit with Frank's body…he was gone."

  She wasn't sure what he was saying. "He was dead?"

  "Gone. Frank's body is missing." He gestured helplessly. "I asked Nick what happened, and he told me not to worry about it. He said he'd take care of everything."

  "And you believe him?"

  "He's my brother," Danny said. "Anyway, I can't give you this list of people who have the pigs. I shouldn't even be talking to you."

  "Why not?" Jen
na asked.

  "Nick wouldn't like it. He told me I couldn't trust you."

  "Me?"

  "That's right. Do you remember that night when I slept at the studio? I was helping you with the animals."

  "I remember," she said.

  "Do you remember when Nick stopped by?"

  It was Nick! He was the dark stranger who appeared in the night and drugged her.

  Danny continued, "I told him it was late and that you were asleep, but he said it was important that he talk to you. And he said you told him lies."

  The conversation had never happened. Nick had joined her, all right. But they shared no words. He'd drugged her into a stupor. Nick! Of course, she thought. Who else would Danny have allowed to come into her room?

  "You lied to him about Eddy's death," Danny said. "Nick knew that Eddy had come to you for a reason. He left something with you or told you something. But you wouldn't tell Nick what it was."

  "Eddy said one word before he died. Francis."

  Rafe stepped forward. "Eddy called upon Saint Francis of Assisi to avenge his murder."

  "Or else," Jenna said, "he might have been trying to warn me that something was wrong with your brother Francis."

  Danny shook his head. "Nobody called him Francis."

  "You can trust me," Jenna urged. She wouldn't even try to explain that Nick had drugged her, had lied about the conversation. "Please, Danny. I don't want anyone else to die."

  "I won't give you the list."

  Rafe grasped the iron bars. He looked ferocious enough to rip them apart with his bare hands. "Listen to me, Danny. This is serious."

  "Don't you think I know that?" His voice was low and intense. "I've got to do what my brother says."

  "Heed my words," Rafe said.

  Jenna's head turned sharply. There was a sonorous tone to Rafe's voice. He was still a man, but he was speaking with the authority of a higher power. His presence magnified.

  "Daniel Vincenzo." Rafe addressed him with a strange formality. "You know the right thing to do. Your brother Francis was a gentle soul, a botanist If he were here, he would tell you that no one else should die. Work with me, Danny. Take your stand beside me. Avenge your brother's death."