"Hello?"
"Angelina? Is that really you?"
The familiar voice brought on tears immediately. "Mom?"
"It is you!" It had been well over a year since she had heard her mother's voice. The older woman was sobbing into the phone. "Oh, Angie! I thought...they said you were dead! All this time...!"
"I'm so sorry, Mom! They had to tell you that! If anyone knew I was still alive witness protection wouldn't have worked."
"I...can't...believe...it's...you!" Her mother managed between sobs. "Oh, my baby! My little girl is alive! You don't know what it was like!"
"I missed you so much, Mom. Daddy, too. How is he?"
Her mother didn't say anything for so long Lucy began to fear the worst. Finally she said, "He will be fine now. He has not been himself since you...since you left. This will change everything. I wanted to come to you but your father can't be alone anymore.”
"Why? What's wrong with him?"
Floria sighed sadly. "The night of your funeral, he had a stroke, Angie. The doctors said it wasn't terrible but he has refused to get better. He sits in his chair all day and stares out the window with a picture of you in his lap."
"Oh, Momma, I am so sorry you have had to go through all of that."
"It doesn't matter anymore. You are alive! I
can't wait for your father to see you again. He will get well now, I know it. When will you come home, Angie?"
"Well, I..."
"Ah...," Her mother broke in with a knowing chuckle. "It's the handsome young detective, isn't it?"
"How did you know about Logan?"
"He came to see me. That's how I found out you were still alive."
"He what?"
Her mother cleared her throat. Lucy imagined her dabbing her nose with a lace handkerchief. Floria never went anywhere without one.
"He told me the whole story, promised me you would call when you could, but I had to hear your voice for myself before I could believe it. Angie, you are alive!"
"Logan didn't mention he went to see you."
"Don't be upset with him, dear. That boy loves you deeply."
Angelina smiled into the phone. "You really think so?"
"You know I have the gift of matchmaking, Angie. I know love when I see it."
"I don't know, Mom." Her mother had always fancied herself an expert in the ways of the heart but it was still hard to believe that Logan, a man she hardly knew, could have feelings for her. She didn't dare hope, but wouldn't it be wonderful if Logan really did love her?
"Well, I do. It's so nice to hear your voice Angie." The older Ferrara woman's voice cracked slightly.
"I know. I was going to call you Mom, I just
didn't know how to do it. I mean, how do you call someone and say, 'It was all a lie. I'm not dead. Let's do lunch.'"
"Just like that, I suppose."
"I really missed you, Mom. The last months have been so hard." Angelina fought back the tears that threatened. This was not a time to cry but a time to celebrate. She could have her family back!
"I'm coming to see you. My plane leaves in the morning."
The tears came then in a rush of salty water. It took a moment before she could compose herself enough to speak again. "I can't wait to see you, Mom."
"Me too, Angie. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom. See you tomorrow."
The doctor entered the room then with a stack of discharge paperwork to go over. Angelina bid her mother goodbye, promising to be home as soon as she could and hung up the phone. Logan didn't return until after the doctor had left and a nurse was settling her into a wheel chair.
"Just in time." The pretty young nurse batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at Logan. "Your princess is in her chariot awaiting her prince."
Logan leaned down and kissed Angelina lightly on the lips. "I like the sound of that. I just got off the phone with Lieutenant George. Seems like the department is looking to hire a few new officers. He was thrilled at the idea of taking on one of New York City's finest. How about it, Angelina, you interested in working with me?"
"Angelina," she whispered her name with a smile. "I like the way it sounds when you say it."
"Well, Angelina, it suits you much better than
Lucy does. I will be thrilled to say it over and over again
as many times as you wish. And in as many...places...as you wish." He winked at Angelina with a sexy gleam in his eyes making her flush.
"I am sure I can come up with a few places."
The nurse just watched them in amusement as she waited patiently. Logan lifted her bag off the bed and followed the nurse as she pushed Angelina's wheel chair to the elevator.
Logan reached out and pushed a stray curl back behind her ear. It was one his favorite things to do. "The only thing that would make you more beautiful, Angelina Ferrara, would be if you loved me as much as I love you." Hearing her real name, on the lips of that man was almost more than she could stand. She looked up at him, searching for a sign that this was all a dream or a bad joke but all she found in his clear blue eyes was an emotion that seemed an awful lot like love.
"I think I do love you, Logan. Seems a little crazy after only a few days of high speed car chases and gunfights though, don't you think?"
"Not crazy at all. All the best love stories start out that way."
"It does make a pretty good story, doesn't it?" Angelina smiled at Logan. "Virginia turned out to be an okay place after all. Certainly not the seventh level of hell I thought it was."
Logan and the nurse both laughed.
"So how about it, sweet Angie, want to be my partner?"
"Are we back to talking about work?" The nurse cracked a small smile but said nothing. Angelina all but forgot she was there anyway.
"Of course. What else would I be talking
about?" Logan winked at the nurse over her head. Angelina caught the exchange and grinned. For the first time in forever, the grin felt real. She actually felt happy.
"We do make a pretty good team, don't we?" she asked.
"The best."
Setting the bag on the floor, he scooped Angelina out of the seat of the wheelchair and held her close against his chest. He nodded at the nurse. "I got it from here, miss. Thanks for the ride this far." The young nurse giggled as she walked away pushing the chair with her.
"I guess I could get used to working with you." She leaned her head against Logan's shoulder and sighed. "It would sure feel good to wear a badge again, that's for sure."
The elevator door slid open. Logan snagged the duffel bag and threw the strap over his shoulder, carrying Angelina into the elevator. As the door closed, he pressed a kiss to her lips. The kind of sweet kiss that held the promise of a real future together. Reaching for the button to the ground floor, he smiled down at her with love in his eyes and pulled the elevator stop button.
"What are you doing?" Angelina asked confused.
"I am sure you will be totally sexy with a gun on your hip and I look forward to seeing it but..."
"Bu-but what?" Angelina whispered.
Logan leaned down and kissed her softly, slowly. Angelina's pulse picked up immediately, sounding loudly in her ears. Every time Logan touched her, fireworks set off in her veins. When he finally
pulled away, Logan stared at her intensely for
half a second before speaking, his voice husky. "I want to you to be my partner both at work and in life. Will you marry me, Angelina Ferrara?"
A million reasons why she should say no flashed through her mind, but she ignored every last one of them.
"Yes. I will marry you, Logan James."
"Partners?" he asked.
"Partners!" She wrapped her arms around his neck as she pulled his lips back to hers.
If you enjoyed Witness Protection, try this…
Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos
The Secret Lives of Police Wives: Book 1
"Never, ever let a mosquito fly up your shorts, Roxy." C
yndi resisted the urge to scratch her backside as she removed her costume. Stripping out of the red bustier with its shiny boob tassels, she finally gave up trying to be a lady and scratched for all she was worth, moaning in satisfaction as she dug at the half dozen bug bites on her left butt cheek.
"Itchy or not, you still done some good work tonight, Sugah." Roxy laughed, a hard gravelly sound, roughened by decades of vodka on the rocks and Lucky Strike cigarettes. Roxy Feathers sounded oddly masculine for a woman in her profession, but then, who knew? Maybe Roxy was a man. In this new world she was all wrapped up in nothing surprised Cyndi any more.
"I don't know about all that, Roxy. I don't have half your talent." If, by talent, Cyndi meant shaking her— um—assets for dollar bills from drunken bums on a Friday night.
The older woman scoffed, waving her hot pink feather boa up and down in Cyndi's face. "Talent? Ha. What I got is practice and a reputation. I been here a long time and they know what to expect from me. You? You got that young body of yours goin' on! Dem boys out there, they love a perky set and you got you a perky set, for sure."
Roxy disappeared from the dressing room in a flurry of fake feathers and cheap perfume, her laughter echoing back to where Cyndi sat in a rusty folding chair scrubbing at her stage makeup.
The thick wad of cash on the counter in front of her was more than enough justification for flaunting her assets a couple hours a week. Flipping through the crumpled bills, Cyndi counted well over $300 for the two hours she worked. Swatting at groping hands and sweaty, horny men took some getting used to but the money—oh the money was so worth it. An eight-hour graveyard shift at the Waffle House wouldn't have produced even a third of that in tips. She certainly wouldn't get anything near that scrubbing toilets and washing windows. Besides, if she had a God-given perky set, she might as well put it to good, lucrative use. It's not like she actually had to get naked. In Virginia it was against the law to actually show any of the good stuff even in a gentlemen's club. She kept her clothes on and made a truckload of money. It was a win-win situation. Except for the part when she lied to her husband every Friday night.
Over the past several months, Roxy had taken her under her wing. Thanks to the seasoned dancer, Cyndi now knew which regulars to keep clear of, how to recognize a grabber, and the best ways to get the biggest tips without stepping too far outside her comfort zone.
Because six-inch, red heels and a matching sequined bustier were so inside her comfort zone.
Apparently middle-aged housewives with killer push-up bras were a real commodity in the world of exotic dancers. The stack of bills sitting on the table was testament to that. Ironically the whole thing sort of
made her feel empowered too. The most sexist job in the world oddly made her more confident. Her woman's studies teacher back at Mt. Holyoke College would have had a stroke if she heard Cyndi say such a thing.
It was nearly midnight. Jason had to be pacing the house already. If she ran late, he started calling around, getting his cop buddies to search the streets for her. That was the last thing she needed. In his mind, the streets of Virginia Beach were teeming with men waiting to have a piece of her.
Glancing in the mirror, she made sure every last streak of red, white and blue eye shadow was gone before brushing out her wild, teased hair. Removing the rest of her Miss Liberty outfit, Cyndi pulled on a pair of jeans, tugged a worn out sweatshirt left over from her husband's academy days over her head, and slipped into scuffed and dirty tennis shoes before following Roxy's path out of the dressing area.
"See you next week, Johnny!" She waved to the bartender, a twenty-something business school student she happened to know wore women's underwear underneath those neatly pressed Dockers he sported.
"You have yourself a good one, little lady," he drawled. On certain days Johnny fancied himself from old west Texas, which was pretty funny considering no cowboy she had ever heard of had a preference for wearing silky lingerie.
"Thanks, you too!"
"Have a good week, Cyndi."
"You too, Jade. Stay safe, okay?"
"You know I will." Jade smiled and ducked through the door heading into the back of the building.
The young runaway was probably only sixteen,
although she claimed to be the required eighteen to dance at Sugar Shakers on Friday and Saturday night. Cyndi was pretty sure Jade moonlighted at the corner of Seventh Street and Pacific Avenue during the rest of the week. A pretty rough looking dude Jade identified as her boyfriend hung around the club on occasion. At best, the guy was probably her pimp. Given Jade's likely age, child molester seemed more appropriate.
Cyndi threw up a little in her mouth when her hand encountered something sticky on the front door.
The air was heavy with sea salt. Cyndi breathed in deep, clearing her lungs of the dank club air.
In the alley behind the building, a cat screeched as it came running past her. A loud crash sounded in the shadows of the alley. Cyndi picked up her pace, nearly running to the bus stop and telling herself the cat had just knocked over a trash can or something. Why hadn't she taken the car to work?
Because she would have a hell of a time explaining it to Jason if someone saw her parked outside the club.
The city bus rambled around the corner and pulled up to where she stood. Cyndi didn't waste any time entering the safety of the vehicle. She was so grateful to be off the dark street she almost missed the shadowy figure that stepped out of the alley way with something slung over its shoulder. Homeless people were always digging through the club's dumpster. She had no idea what this one had found but it looked heavy.
"Heeeyyy...I knooow...yooouuuu. You're
Ladyyyy Libberrtyyy." The slurred words came from the
seat behind her. Cyndi ignored him but the drunk was persistent. "Come...on...showwww meeee your tassels!"
The voice dissolved in drunken laughter.
Without looking behind her, Cyndi stood up and changed seats. Her wasted admirer belched loudly before falling into a perverted version of the National Anthem. He was on his third repetition of "Rockets and beer, bums trippin' 'round everywhere" when the city bus mercifully arrived at her stop.
The house was lit up like an airport runway when she arrived at the foot of the driveway. Tactically sound, Jason always said. Better to see the bad guy first before he saw them. The image of the shadowy figure that had come out of the alley earlier passed through her thoughts briefly. There was no place for shadowy figures in their yard. Every square inch of property was flooded in light. Planes could land there.
Jason pulled the door open just as she reached for the knob with her key. "Where have you been?" Filling the doorway with broad shoulders and a grim expression, he looked her up and down. "I was just about to call dispatch, you know."
"The bus was late. I'm here now though and I'm exhausted. Let me in."
Jason stepped aside to let her pass but followed her into the kitchen of their cozy little ranch house. "Seriously, I was getting worried. How come you're so late? Why didn't you take the car tonight? How come I don't know where you go to work?"
"Give it a rest, Jason. You know the offices change every week. I don't know where I'm going to be until I get there. You can stop worrying now, I'm fine.
The great resort city of Virginia Beach has nothing to fear except its wild foxes and I stayed far away from the beach tonight, I promise."
How the lies flowed so easily these days.
"Oh, please. One stupid tourist website posts one ridiculous article and suddenly you think foxes are the only danger around here."
"I'm really beat, Jason. How is Harper tonight?"
"Stop trying to change the subject, Cynthia Jane Mills. You are thirty minutes late. Do you know what could happen in thirty minutes?"
"I could get raped, beaten, or robbed. You name it, it could happen to me. I am the world's biggest target." Cyndi sighed in exasperation as she tossed the purse she still carried down on the counter. "None of
that happened. The bus was just late."
"You should quit that job. It's too late at night. I'll pick up some overtime." Concern lit his blue eyes as he tried so hard to remain stern. Jason never stayed mad at her for long. Her tough, cop husband was just a big old softy underneath it all. Sometimes he just tried a little too hard. She touched his cheek and smiled.
"I'm not quitting. We could use the extra money and you can't work twenty-four hours a day."
"We don't need it badly enough for you to put yourself in danger."
"How much danger can I be in? I'm locked inside an office building mopping floors and scrubbing sinks."
Cyndi hated keeping secrets from the man she loved but if he knew what she actually did every Friday night from eight to midnight, he would show up guns a blazin' and go all Hawaii 5-0 on the place. Maybe she
should have stayed at the office cleaning gig. The pay was crap but the work was honest.
The wad of cash in her pocket screamed at her to shut up. No way she could go back—it would take a month of office cleaning to make $300.
Jason leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest. She recognized that look immediately. He was doing the cop thing, analyzing her, and she could tell he knew something didn't add up. His left eyebrow rose just a tad higher than the right as he studied her. "Why do you have glitter in your hair?"
Cyndi shook her hair and a shower of glitter rained down on her sweatshirt. Damn. Somehow she had missed a boat load of sparkle. Damn, that stuff got everywhere.
"Jody brought her daughter's costume for a dance recital to work so I could help her fix a tear. It was all covered in sparkles. The damn stuff got on everything. Had to go back over the carpets with the sweeper twice and I'm still not sure we got it all."
Jason continued to stare down at her from his full six feet of height. His stare was laser sharp, his presence imposing. It was no wonder he was so good at catching the bad guy. Hardened criminals squirmed under the intensity of that stare. Hopefully he couldn't see through her despite the fact she felt as transparent as the shower curtain hanging in their bathroom.
Witness Protection (Defenders of Love Book 1) Page 17