“Reid Tanner. And, no, I’m not from the Angel’s Bay Daily News, although I have come looking for angels,” he drawled.
She should have guessed he was here because of the popular Internet video. “You won’t find any angels around here.”
“Too bad. So, what’s your name?”
“That’s not important.” Before he could move, she grabbed his camera and dove into her car, slamming and locking the door behind her.
“Hey, I need that,” he said, knocking on the window.
Jenna ignored him, fiddling with the buttons on the obviously expensive digital camera.
“What are you doing? Why did you take that man’s camera?” Lexie asked. “He’s get—getting mad,” she added with a worried stutter.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s rude to take pictures of people when they’re—when they’re wet.” She erased the last two shots, then rolled the window down a few inches and handed the camera back.
“You’re crazy,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “I can take another picture of you.”
“Not tonight, you can’t.” She started the engine and pulled away. In her rearview mirror she saw him watching her, and she had the feeling she’d just made a terrible mistake, thrown down a challenge. But what choice had she had? She couldn’t afford to have her photo in any newspaper. She hoped he’d go back to wherever he came from and forget he ever saw her.
If not, they might have to run again.
Reid stared at the disappearing taillights, feeling as if he were awakening from a long, deep sleep. The last eleven months had passed in a mind-numbing blur of one endless day after another, weeks in which he spent most of his time trying not to think or remember. He’d taken this freelance assignment for Spotlight Magazine to make some quick cash while he decided whether he wanted to return to the career that had once been his obsession.
When he’d graduated from Northwestern and gotten a job at The New York Times, he’d never imagined that twelve years later he’d be covering anything less important than a story of political or global significance—certainly not sensationalist fodder like angels. At one time he’d been a passionate pursuer of truth and justice, but his desire had made him reckless. He’d been willing to do anything for a story, and a good friend had paid a terrible price for his ambition.
In the deep of the night when he couldn’t escape from his thoughts, he could still see her casket being lowered into the ground. He could hear the sobs coming from the crowd and see the accusations in so many eyes. No one came out and said, “This is your fault,” but they didn’t have to. He knew it down deep in his soul, and doubted he would ever escape the unrelenting pain of his memories. He’d spent most of the past year trying to drink his way into oblivion, but the problem with getting drunk was that at some point he always sobered up.
Turning away from the action on the pier, Reid headed down the street toward Murray’s. He’d been on his way to the pub when he’d heard the sirens and decided to follow. Old habits died hard, and he’d been an ambulance chaser since he was a kid. In the neighborhood where he’d grown up, police sirens had been standard fare. He could still remember the flashing strobe lights playing off his bedroom ceiling in the middle of the night, the times when he’d crept to the window to watch the cops arrest someone in the alley behind his apartment building.
Blowing out a sigh, he silently repeated his favorite mantra. Don’t look back, don’t look forward, and don’t give a damn.
So what if he’d had an unexpectedly intriguing conversation with a stranger? He wasn’t here to investigate a suicide attempt or get distracted by a courageous heroine. His focus was the Internet video that had sparked nationwide interest and the hope that there was finally proof that angels existed—a hope he would shortly put an end to. Angels were no more real than any other fairy tale character. They certainly weren’t walking the streets of Angel’s Bay.
Or were they? The image of the ocean-soaked brunette with the wary, angry eyes flashed through his head. She’d jumped into the dark sea to save a stranger’s life. What kind of a woman did that?
Hell, maybe she was an angel.
An angel with something to hide.
An irrepressible tingle of curiosity ran down his spine. He didn’t want to give in to it. He was over caring about truth, justice, and shining a light on the evil in the world. He was not going to chase her down. He wasn’t.
At least not tonight…
TWO
Redwood Medical Center sat on a bluff surrounded by enormous redwood trees on the outskirts of Angel’s Bay. The center handled basic medical problems, sending the more seriously injured or ill thirty miles down the road to St. Mary’s Hospital. As an obstetrician at the medical center, Charlotte Adams was used to dealing with happy pregnant women. The young woman who’d tried to kill herself the night before obviously didn’t fit into that category.
Charlotte moved into the room where the girl lay sleeping. The young woman had been examined by the doctor on call after being brought in by the paramedics. After an impassioned plea in the ER to make sure her baby was okay, she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep and had remained that way ever since. It was now nine o’clock in the morning. They’d tested for drugs, but found nothing in her system. There didn’t appear to be any physical reason for her long sleep, except perhaps exhaustion and mental stress. Picking up the girl’s chart, Charlotte checked the vitals the nurse had taken a few moments ago. Everything was normal.
The young woman’s hair was long, almost down to her waist, and very blond. Her skin was pale, and she was bone thin with the exception of a small, round tummy. Charlotte picked up the girl’s arm and checked her pulse. The beat quickened and she saw a flutter of an eyelid. Was the girl just pretending to be asleep? She had to be scared, disoriented, confused, and probably feeling very alone.
She’d had no identification on her when they’d brought her in, and so far no one had come to inquire about her. While Angel’s Bay was a relatively small community, there were many people who lived up in the mountains or down the long rural roads outside of town. Perhaps her family didn’t realize she was gone yet.
Or maybe they’d sent her away. Maybe that was why she’d tried to kill herself.
Charlotte drew in a deep breath at the bitter pain that swept through her. Ever since she’d set eyes on this girl, she’d been struggling to keep some bad memories at bay. Images from her past flashed through her mind—her own positive pregnancy test taken in the bathroom at her best friend’s house, the horror and disappointment on her mother’s face when she’d finally had to confess, and later the terrifying trip to the hospital. She’d been too young and too weak to deal with any of it. She wondered if this girl felt the same way.
“It’s all right,” Charlotte said gently. “You can wake up now. You’re safe here.”
For a moment there was no reaction, then the girl’s eyes slowly opened. Charlotte looked into those gold-flecked brown eyes and saw childlike innocence and very adult fear.
“I’m Dr. Charlotte Adams. You’re in the Redwood Medical Center. Do you remember what happened?”
The girl hesitated, then said in a dry, scratchy whisper, “Why didn’t she let me die?”
“What’s your name?” Charlotte asked, diverting the conversation away from the suicide attempt.
The girl stared back at her, and she saw indecision, not confusion.
“You can tell me,” Charlotte persisted.
The girl slowly shook her head.
“Someone must be worried about you,” Charlotte tried again.
“No,” the girl said flatly.
“What about your parents?”
“I want to leave. Where are my clothes?” The girl’s gaze swept the room.
Charlotte could have told her there was no way she was leaving, since legally they had to hold anyone for seventy-two hours after a suicide attempt or until a psychiatrist determined the patient could be discharged. Instead, she tri
ed a gentler tack. “You need to rest and eat, and I want to run some tests on your baby, make sure everything is all right.
“You look like you’re about sixteen weeks along,” Charlotte continued. “Past the morning sickness stage, hopefully. I’m an obstetrician. I deliver babies all the time and I take care of the mothers, too.” She paused. “I’d really love to know what I could call you.”
The girl picked at the edge of the blanket, then finally lifted her gaze. “I guess you can call me Annie.”
Charlotte smiled. “Okay, Annie. Have you seen a doctor since you became pregnant?”
“No.”
“I’d like to do an ultrasound. It takes a picture of your baby and helps us pinpoint the dates.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not a bit.”
“I suppose it will be okay.” Annie licked her lips. “I’m kind of hungry.”
“Good, I’ll send someone in with your breakfast. I’ll do anything I can to try to help you, Annie. Can you tell me how old you are?”
“Eighteen.”
She looked younger, but she might be telling the truth. She hadn’t hesitated in her reply.
“Are the police coming back?” Annie asked.
“Yes. They’ll be worried about you, wanting to make sure you’re okay.”
“You’ll tell them I’m fine, and then they’ll leave, right?” A slight Southern twang to Annie’s voice indicated a past outside of California.
“Are you fine?” Charlotte asked.
Annie hesitated, then said, “I had to do it. I had to see if the angels would save me, if I was worthy, and they did. So everything is okay now.”
It wasn’t an angel who’d saved Annie. If someone hadn’t seen her jump off the pier and gone in after her, she’d be dead now. But that was a discussion better left to another time. “I’m sure there are people who are worried about you, Annie. Can I call someone for you?”
“No. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.” Worry filled Annie’s eyes. “Promise me.”
“Just rest for now,” Charlotte soothed. “Someone will be in shortly with your breakfast.”
Charlotte closed the door behind her and walked down the hall toward the nurse’s station. Her pulse sped up as she saw Angel Bay’s chief of police waiting there. Joe Silveira was a darkly handsome man with olive skin, deep brown eyes, and jet black hair. He’d no doubt set a few hearts racing in his time, but he was married—at least that’s what the local gossips said. Where his wife was, nobody seemed to know.
“Chief,” she said lightly, trying to ignore her foolish reaction. It wasn’t like her to feel attraction for a married man. Actually, she hadn’t felt attraction for anyone in a long time, and this was definitely not the time to have her libido jump back into action.
“Dr. Adams,” he said with a smile that warmed up his face. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Not since you delivered that baby down on Oak Road.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you talking me through it, but I’m hoping never to repeat the experience. I’ll leave that to you.” He paused, tipping his head toward the room she’d just left. “How’s our girl?”
“She’s awake. She told me I could call her Annie, but I’m not sure that’s really her name.”
“Actually, it is. We found her backpack next to a motorbike by the pier. Her name is Annie Dupont and she’s eighteen years old, according to the school records, although she hasn’t been at school in a couple of years. Her family lives up in the mountains and apparently was homeschooling her.”
“Have you contacted her parents?”
“Not yet. I sent an officer up the mountain, but he found an abandoned shack at the address we had. Do you think Annie will give me her current address?”
“Not a chance,” Charlotte said frankly. “She wanted me to promise not to tell anyone she’s here. She’s obviously scared. If you press her now, I’m afraid she’ll try to run, and I really don’t want to have to restrain her. She’s a young girl, emotionally fragile, and pregnant. I’d like an opportunity to make her feel safe here and see if I can get her to open up. Our psychiatrist, Dr. Raymond, needs to see her, but he won’t be back until this afternoon. Can you put off talking to her at least until later today?”
“She is eighteen; I suppose I can wait. Did she by any chance say why she jumped?”
“She wanted to see if the angels would save her.”
“That damn video,” Joe said with a disgusted shake of his head. “It’s bringing out the crazy in everyone.”
“I take it you don’t think the angels are carving a message on the cliff wall.”
“I think someone is up to something and using the angel legends for either a cover or a distraction.”
“You know, Joe—I mean, Chief—”
“You can call me Joe.”
She cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable under his warm gaze. The man really needed to rein in that smile of his. She forced herself to focus on the conversation.
“I grew up here, Chief, and the angel legends aren’t as easy to refute as you might think. Things have happened here that are completely unexplainable—good things and bad.” It was that darkness that had made her want to stay away, but duty had called.
His gaze settled on her face. “You’re sounding awfully mysterious. I thought you were a woman of science and logic.”
Charlotte sighed. “I used to be. Then I came home.”
Jenna winced as Stella Rubinstein, a fifty-two-year-old woman in the midst of a midlife crisis and a divorce, murdered Tchaikovsky’s Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet.
As Stella finished playing, she gave Jenna a delighted smile. “I’m getting better, don’t you think? Sydney will not believe it when I play this at Carole’s wedding.”
Sydney wasn’t going to believe it, all right. Jenna cleared her throat, choosing her words carefully. “You might want to unveil your talent in a more private setting. You should enjoy your daughter’s wedding, and if you’re worried about playing, you won’t be relaxed.”
“Are you kidding? I am going to be the talk of the town. Sydney said I was stuck in a rut, that I couldn’t learn anything new, couldn’t be exciting anymore. He said I couldn’t compete with a younger, more talented woman. As if that waitress at Murray’s has more going for her than big boobs. Syd was wrong to leave me, and I’m going to prove it to him,” Stella declared. “I’ll make him see me as more than the woman who washed his socks and cooked his dinner for twenty-three years. The woman he walked out on because she was boring. Well, I’m not boring anymore.”
“You certainly aren’t,” Jenna agreed. In fact, warmhearted, loud-talking Stella was one of the more colorful personalities in Angel’s Bay. Jenna wasn’t sure why Stella had picked the piano to make her stand, but she knew that music had a way of healing the soul. That’s what it seemed to be doing for Stella. When she’d come for her first lesson six weeks earlier, Stella had been lacking in confidence and had seemed almost lifeless. Now she’d colored her hair, lost a few pounds, and exchanged her usual sweats for tighter jeans and a sweater. Her blond hair had been recently highlighted and cut, giving her a fresh, younger look.
“I just love how I feel when I play,” Stella continued. “As if I’m making something important, as if I’m not me anymore. It’s silly, I know. It’s not like I’m good or anything.”
“It’s not silly. Music speaks to the heart. It transforms you.” Jenna had always turned to the piano when she was unhappy or lonely, losing herself in the technical challenge of Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 3 or Beethoven’s Pathétique. But despite Stella’s new-found belief in herself, Jenna hated to see her play before she was ready—although there was a good chance Stella might never be ready. While she found joy in the piano, she had little sense of timing, and her fingers often collided on the keys. But she did play with enthusiasm, and there was something to be said for that.
“Why don’t you come twice next week?�
� Jenna suggested. “Just to polish things up. You want to make your daughter proud, too.”
“Carole is the one who bought me these piano lessons. She said, ‘Mom, stop whining about having nothing to do and do something. You’re not that old. You could have another life. You could meet another man.’” Stella laughed. “As if I want another man to pick up after. But I wouldn’t mind having another life. I know I’m not as good as I think I am, Jenna, but I’m having fun. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” Stella’s eyes grew misty. “It’s going to be hard, seeing my little girl get married. I hope she picked a better man than I did.” Stella paused. “Are your parents still together?”
Jenna shook her head, knowing she was about to tell another lie. There seemed to be no end to them these days. “They’ve both passed on.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” She hoped that would be the end to the questions.
“I’m sure it still hurts. My mama has been gone fifteen years now, and I still wish I could talk to her. Every Thanksgiving when I make her stuffing recipe, I see her face and hear her scolding me about using too much butter.” Stella blinked back a tear. “Good grief. I’m welling up already.”
“I miss my mother, too,” Jenna confessed. “She died on Christmas Eve. She was on her way to play the piano for our church. She had to get there early, so we didn’t go together.” Jenna paused, her mind flashing back to that terrible night. At first she’d thought the red and blue lights were Christmas lights, but soon it became clear that they belonged to a police car and an ambulance. Her father had screamed—a horrible sound that she could still hear in her dreams. Jenna cleared her throat, realizing that Stella was watching her with compassion in her eyes. “Anyway…”
“I know. I should go. Thank you, Jenna.”
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