And if nothing else, that she’d been given a job as a guardian quite possibly meant she wasn’t the worst person in the world—something she’d grappled with for a very long time.
You didn’t become a guardian angel if you were a bad person, right?
“You’re funny tonight, Mr. Angel. You gonna take this show on the road?” she asked over her shoulder with a cheeky grin, making her way down the aisle to the area where there was a silver rack of day-old bread to look through.
“I promise to do my best to find Titus and have all your questions answered. I have questions, too. For instance, why didn’t all of Effie’s info just pop into your head when Gilbert announced she was your assignment?”
George blinked, not wanting to make this about her, but the need to know outweighed her benevolence. “Is that how you learned everything about me?”
He gave her a sheepish glance and a slow nod. “It is. It’s how we find out about all of our assignments. Usually, everything you need to know is instantaneously dropped right into your brain.”
Right. She fought a squirm, trying to hide the extreme discomfort she felt. Knowing Dex knew everything about her and her sordid past always made her want to burrow under the nearest blanket and hide in shame.
“Well, I’ve been gypped and I want a refund from the Angel Store,” she joked. “No one dropped anything anywhere. Unless you count my wings, which fell from the sky without any prompting at all and frightened Effie almost into a coma.” She knocked on her head. “Still as empty as it ever was.”
“Then let’s hope we hear something soon. Until then, let me help next time, maybe?”
She sighed and looked at the rack of bread with guilty eyes. “I should have waited. I don’t know why I was so impulsive, Dex, especially now that I know how serious the circumstances are. I’m sorry.”
He put a hand on her arm. “You’re a good person, George. When you take on a task, you do it with all your heart. That’s not a bad quality to have, you know.” He tugged on her wool scarf, bringing her closer to him than ever before. So close, she could see he had skin as smooth as glass, not a pore to be seen. “Now, what are we looking for again?”
George cleared her throat and took a step back, eyeing the bread. “Day-old bread. Arch said a baguette makes the best stuffing for his chicken casserole and Mr. Sahmid, who owns the store, always has a rack of it in the back here. So look at the date. I don’t know about you, but even though we don’t get hungry, the way he described that casserole made my mouth water. I don’t want to miss it, especially if there’s no weight-gain involved.”
“See?” he said with a tilt of his head. “There are perks to this job.”
“Right. Perks,” she mumbled, lifting a loaf of bread to see the date just as a loud crash from the front of the store, startling them both.
“Put your hands up!” a gruff, yet oddly tired voice said.
George blinked and looked to Dex, who immediately moved in front of her. She grabbed the back of his jacket. “Can you see what’s going on?”
“I swear, if you don’t empty that cash register, I’m gonna shoot you, boy!”
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked to the big round mirror at the end of the aisle and saw a disheveled man with a gun, shaking it at the cashier.
George squinted and almost gasped out loud. “Is that…is that, Joe-Joe?”
“Who’s Joe-Joe?” he hissed, his brows smushing together.
Peeking over Dex’s shoulder, she craned her neck around his body and made sure she wasn’t seeing things. It was Joe-Joe. “He’s a homeless guy who hangs out by the coffee shop in town. He’s always looking for spare change to help feed his dog, Sauerkraut. She’s the sweetest thing. A big pit bull mix. He’s sweet, too. He’d never hurt a soul,” she whispered.
Dex put a protective arm around her, pushing her back behind him as Joe-Joe ranted. “Well, he has a gun. It doesn’t feel like he’d never hurt a soul, George.”
But she knew Joe-Joe. Somehow, in this very moment, she knew his soul—his heart—and he’d never hurt anyone without cause.
“Open the cash register, boy! Open it now!” he hollered, his voice hoarse and cracked.
She bit the inside of her cheek. This was wrong. This was all wrong. “Something’s wrong, Dex. Something’s very wrong. I’m telling you, I see Joe-Joe at least three times a week and he’s a sweet, if not confused soul. Let me go help him,” she pleaded, prepared to push him out of the way if necessary.
But Dex turned, a frown on his beautiful face, his lips thinned into an angry line. “Absolutely not! You’ll get yourself killed. He’s got a gun, George!”
She thought about that for a moment, trying to make rational thoughts without panicking, but her hands were clammy and her heart raced. “Will I get myself killed, or am I already dead, Dex? Or at least half-dead? And didn’t you, in all the nutso things you told me I could do, say I was now immortal?”
“We don’t know that for sure, George. You’re half-human,” he whisper-yelled, clinging to her arm. “Listen to me, we don’t have specifics on a lot of things and I’m not taking any chances with your life.”
A shot rang out, loud and chilling, reverberating around the store with a crack, sending chills along her spine. “Hurry it up!” Joe-Joe screamed, now sounding quite desperate.
Her breathing became shallow and only seconds before she actually did it, she knew she was going to do something impulsive. But Joe-Joe was a good guy. He needed help.
Gripping Dex’s arm, she whispered, “Joe-Joe knows me. It’ll be okay,” before she pushed past Dex and made a break down the aisle, her heels clacking the entire way.
As the muzak played over the loudspeakers and she charged down the slippery tile of the aisle, passing various chips and candies, she didn’t think about anything other than the fact that Joe-Joe was a sweet, gentle man and something was making him do this. Something desperate.
When she rounded the corner, her eyes caught the fear-filled gaze of the young boy at the counter, his hands raised like two white flags, his long, stringy hair poking out beneath a red knit beanie.
George held her finger up to her mouth to keep him quiet as she approached Joe-Joe from behind—probably not the best tactic, but there wasn’t much of an alternative.
On a deep breath, she said, “Joe-Joe.”
He whipped around, his eyes wide and glassy beneath bushy black eyebrows. “What do you want?” he shouted.
But George held up her hands to show him she came in peace. “Don’t be frightened, Joe-Joe. Do you recognize me? From the coffee shop on Main? I’m George Maverick and I love your dog Sauerkraut. Is she outside? Maybe we should bring her in? It’s so cold, Joe-Joe—”
“Nooooo!” he wailed, waving the gun in her direction, the shiny end of it gleaming under the store lights. His gnarled hands gripped it so tight, his knuckles had gone white. “She’s not outside! They took her! They took her from me and put her in that cold, dirty shelter!”
Joe-Joe’s dog was everything to him. When he begged for money, it was always to feed Sauerkraut. “But you must know this isn’t the way to get the money, Joe-Joe, don’t you? How about you give me the gun and we’ll see what we can do about getting Sauerkraut?”
“No!” he howled. “They never listen!”
“Okay, Joe-Joe,” she said softly, inching closer to him, praying the boy at the register would read the room and make a break for the back door at the other end of the store. She was almost one hundred percent convinced Joe-Joe wouldn’t shoot anyone out of malice, but fear? Maybe. “Let’s talk about this, right? How can we make this better? Tell me what happened.”
She sensed Dex’s presence rather than saw him. He was stealthy as he snuck up behind them in the aisle next to where she stood, wiggling his fingers at her from behind an endcap of body spray before motioning to the cashier to make his escape through the back door.
Joe-Joe winced, scrunching his eyes shut and bending his knee
s as he appeared to fight some inner demon. He twisted his body around, tightening his grip on the gun and pointing it at her, his expression one of pure agony.
“You can’t make it better!” he yelped, the anxiety in his voice rising. “She got away from me today. Her leash is old and she was chasing a squirrel in the park and it broke and she got away. Those stupid people from animal control took her. Old Loretta saw ’em do it! Now they want money or they won’t give her to me. I need money!”
As the cashier made his way around the glass counter and scurried down an aisle toward the back, George sought to reassure Joe-Joe once more to keep him distracted.
Licking her lips, she fought the lump in her throat. “Joe-Joe, give me the gun and I promise you, I’ll help. I know people who can help you. I swear, and I’ll pay for Sauerkraut, too. We’ll get her out. Please give me the gun. Please,” she begged, holding out her hand, imploring him with her eyes.
As his wet layers of rumpled clothes clung to him, and the torn heel on his shoe squished against the floor, he rocked back and forth from foot to foot and shook his head with a violent jerk.
“I can’t! I caaan’t!” he spat with a stomp of his foot. “If I do, they’ll put me back in the bad place. You’ll call the police and they’ll put me in the bad place. I’m not going back to the bad place! I’ll never get Sauerkraut back if I go to the bad place! She needs me!”
The bad place? Where was the bad place?
Inching even closer, uncertain whether she could be injured or not, she kept her hands in the air. “Where is the bad place, Joe-Joe? I won’t let them take you to the bad place. Tell me where it is and I’ll make sure they don’t.”
“You won’t!” he hollered, raw with pain, raising his arms higher until the gun was no longer pointed at her, but at his own head. “Everyone says that so I’ll do what they want and then they take me to the bad place and put the cuffs on me and make me take meds that make me feel sick and dizzy. Not this time! No way, no how!”
Something happened inside her then. Something real and powerful. A surge rushed through her, a quickening of her pulse, so strong she nearly doubled over—and then she was glowing. Her reflection in the window behind the counter matching the throb of the neon sign.
Joe-Joe began to quiver, his mouth falling open, the drip of water from his soaking-wet clothes distinct as it hit the floor.
Oh, Hell. How was she going to keep this from turning into an episode of Ghost Hunters?
“Listen to me, Joe-Joe,” she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears she couldn’t stop from the pain he was emanating. “I can help you. I will help you, if you’ll just let me. Please. Let me help.”
“What…what are you?” he whispered as he stared at her with bulging eyes.
Something took over. Something stronger than George was when she answered, “I’m an angel, Joe-Joe, and I promise to help you if you’ll only let me.”
As she said the words, Dex approached from a stunned Joe-Joe’s left, slipping behind him and gently removing the gun from his hand.
When he did, George, as quietly as possible, moved forward and held out her hand to Joe-Joe.
Her heart throbbed and her thoughts swirled, but she was determined to help him. “Please trust me, Joe-Joe. Give me your hand and we’ll figure this out, okay?”
He hesitated, but only for a moment as sirens blared outside and the red and blue lights from police cars shined in through the window.
Joe-Joe latched onto her hand, clinging to it for dear life. George pulled him close and allowed the pain he was experiencing to seep into her bones.
“Oh, Joe-Joe,” she whispered, her throat tight.
She clung to him while Dexter held them both, as the police rushed in and chaos ensued.
But seconds before they did, George saw everything she needed to know about Joe-Joe. Everything she needed to help him escape the demons that had led him to become homeless.
She saw what he needed to heal.
Chapter 11
“So I hear you’re a fucking hero today, Wings,” Nina said as she dropped down on Marty’s couch and patted her thigh to entice Sauerkraut to sit next to her.
Without looking back, the beautiful merle-colored pit bull left George’s side and went to Nina, where the vampire promptly stroked her back and told her what a good girl she was.
George shook her head. “I wasn’t a hero. I know Joe-Joe from a coffee shop in town that I frequent. I thought because we have a relationship of sorts, he might let me help. And he did.”
And was she ever so grateful.
Dexter rolled his eyes as he tucked Gladys next to him. “Don’t poo-poo your accomplishment, George. She was amazing tonight. You should have seen her. I almost didn’t have to do anything. Her instinct for people kicked in and she kicked ass.”
Nina nodded and grinned. “Way to go, Wings. I’m proud of ya.”
George hitched her thumb at Dex as she smiled down at Gladys, warm and sprawled across Marty’s big sectional as though she owned the joint. “He’s the real hero. You did get the gun safely away from Joe-Joe, and I still don’t know how you got Sauerkraut out of the shelter so late at night, but I’m grateful you did.”
Dex shrugged and averted his eyes to look into the big fireplace where a toasty fire crackled, serving as the only light in the room. “I’ve met some people along the way. No big deal. Glad to help out any animal.”
“Aw, c’mon, sensei, it’s a huge deal,” George teased. “The shelter’s notorious for giving everyone a hard time about everything. You practically have to show up with your blood type and your firstborn just to get in the door.”
Joe-Joe was a forgotten Army vet, and among many physical issues, he was also bipolar. He’d been without his meds for almost two weeks now, waiting to get in to see someone for a checkup. Two weeks was unacceptable for someone with his kind of mental medical history.
And that didn’t even begin to describe the horror he’d seen—the horror she’d seen through him.
So she’d called up a doctor she’d once worked with during a psychiatric crisis with a client who lived at Mom and Dad’s, and they had gotten him into a facility that would actually help. Truly help.
She’d also promised Joe-Joe she’d take care of Sauerkraut until he was on his feet and ready to be released. In the meantime, she was going to see about finding him some housing, if he’d let her.
When he’d rambled on about her being an angel as they were loading him into an ambulance, the police had naturally thought it was only because she’d helped him. With any luck, he’d think he’d been seeing things.
Regardless, everyone was safe tonight—even Joe-Joe’s dog—and that was all she cared about.
Now bathed and fed and warmed by the fire, Sauerkraut, sweet as always, soaked up the attention from Nina, her silky coat shining after a bath and a good brushing.
Dex rubbed his palms over his bulky thighs. “Well, I think you’re the real star here. You called up some people and all of a sudden, Joe-Joe’s going to get the help he needs. Proper help. Not the kind the VA was providing. That’s pretty great stuff, George.”
She didn’t say anything when Dex complimented her, prompting Nina to squawk, “You just got a compliment, Wings. Say ‘thank you, Dex. May I have another?’”
“It really was no big deal,” she whispered, frowning at how hard it was to accept someone’s praise. It felt uncomfortable, awkward—it didn’t fit and she didn’t deserve it.
Nina leaned over and nudged her, driving a knuckle into her shoulder. “Bullshit. That doctor and that facility your buddy’s in both cost major coin. It is a fucking big deal. Accept the praise and move the fuck on.”
Peeking a sheepish glance at Dex, she did as she was told and whispered, “Thank you,” before averting her eyes to Gladys, who snuggled between them, her big body rising and falling in sleep.
Dex grabbed her hand and squeezed, and this time, she didn’t pull away, reveling in the warmth his hand
brought her clammy palm.
“Better,” Nina said. “Now, about that damn facility. That’s not some cheap, state-run joint, kiddo. It’s where celebrities go, for shit’s sake. How the fuck did you manage to get him in there? Are you that tight with the doc?”
George stiffened. If she kept her explanation brief and succinct, she might be able to avoid more probing questions. “Doctor Ellingham was really supportive with a client I had at work. We struck up a professional relationship and we’ve called on one another from time to time. Sort of one hand washes the other. That’s all.”
Nina pulled her phone from her pocket. “Is that all, kiddo? Or is there more you’re not telling us that we night need to know in order to fucking help you and figure out who the shit wants your wings?”
Looking at the phone, George blanched. Nina had pulled up an article about her and her family. Her father, specifically.
Her horrid, vile father.
Nina rolled her tongue in her cheek and narrowed her gorgeous eyes. “Was there any particular time you were gonna share that you’re a fucking billionaire heiress and maybe some nutter found out you have wings and wants to steal them because he recognizes you?”
But George bristled. “So what you’re saying is, a random demon—from Hell, no less—found out I became an angel and now wants my money and my wings? Does that make even a little sense?”
Nina’s lips thinned as she sat forward on the sofa. “Don’t be a smartass. I said I smelled demon. It doesn’t fucking mean for sure it was one fresh from Hell. It could just be a shithead who’s destined to be a demon. They stink, too. A shithead who needs money and wants your wings. You on the same damn page, or do you have more sassy shit you want to hurl at me?”
Instantly, she was sorry. She didn’t know the first thing about figuring out something like this. She had no idea why someone had targeted her for her wings, or who from her former life would even know she had wings.
But when people found out who she was, it was almost always a problem because she had money, and she’d adopted a hard habit to break on that very sensitive subject—defensiveness.
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