Peter heard his mother’s excited cries, but couldn’t seem to answer. He sat, locked in place, on the couch in the family’s entertainment room.
His mom appeared from around the corner. “Di. . . Did you see that?” She took a breath and plunged into the next sentence. “On the news! It was…”
“I saw it.” Peter turned his attentions back to the television screen, but the story had already changed. He couldn’t believe what he had seen. And heard. Every word had proven Angel to be a saint, not the sinner he had made her out to be. Every crazy, wonderful word.
He turned back to face his mother. His mother couldn’t seem to wipe the silly grin from her face, and for a minute Peter felt like joining her, though the joy he now felt was mixed with an odd sense of betrayal. Angel had been working undercover all along. Though he had suspected her of many things, that possibility had never entered his mind.
Her KPRC report had been worth the wait, though waiting had kept him in a puzzled state of agitation. For nearly an hour, Peter had tried to keep from dozing on the large leather couch as he contemplated the things he had seen and heard over the past week. After a quick glance at the evening news, he promised himself, he would snatch a few moments of much-needed sleep. He certainly deserved it.
But curiosity had held him captive. Something big had happened at the Towers this afternoon. Something that had involved the police and that very tall, dark-haired man Angel had run from on the fourth floor of Tennyson Towers.
And now he knew. Everything.
And nothing—all at the same time.
***
Angel’s shoulders slumped forward as the camera pulled away. She felt tears begin to tumble and turned her back to the others in the studio so no one would see them. Her image as a tough reporter would never hold water if tears gave away her relief, her emotions.
“You okay?” Mr. Nigel appeared at her side and pressed a tissue into her palm.
“Yeah.” She blew her nose and then looked up into his kind eyes. “I’m just so relieved it’s over. You have no idea.”
“Sure I do.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a fatherly squeeze. “But girl, it’s just beginning for you!” His face lit up like a city street on Christmas Eve. “There are other stories waiting in the wings. People need you. Remember?”
“Yes. Oh, and speaking of which,” she stuck the tissue into her pocket, then reached to take his hands. “I have a huge favor to ask you.”
“Ask away. Your wish is my command.”
Her heart surged with emotion. “Mr. Nigel. . .” She squeezed his palms with joy. “Mr. Nigel, I want to meet Ida.” She had been planning their meeting all day. What she would say. How she would say it. They could make a full follow-up story, focusing on this one, lone woman.
Her boss stared at her with blank expression. “Who?”
“Ida. Davidson.”
“Oh, uh. . .yeah.” His gaze shifted to the ceiling. He ushered Angel to the side of the room and began to mumble. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Angel squeezed his hands tighter as her excitement grew. “Okay. But I really can’t wait much longer to talk to her. I have so many ideas, so many plans for how we can help her.”
Mr. Nigel pulled away and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “I, uh. . .I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible.”
“But why? We’ve done so much for her, and I know she’ll want to meet me. Please Mr. Nigel. Do this for me.”
“Wish I could, Angel, but uh. . .” The color seemed to drain from his face. “You see, it’s like this. . . Ida Davidson doesn’t exist.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Peter jammed his car into gear and breezed out onto the freeway. If everything went as planned, he could be at KPRC in fifty-five minutes. Barring traffic, of course. He glanced at the digital clock. Six thirty-four p.m. Surely I-45 would be emptying out by now.
Then again, this was the Houston metroplex.
Peter felt as if his pulse kept the accelerator pressed into place. He couldn’t seem to control anything—his heartbeat, his speed or his emotions. He had to find Angel. Had to talk to her. More than anything, he needed to quiet the ache in his heart.
And slow down.
Peter turned on the radio, hoping for a chance to soothe his soul with something soft, quiet. Unfortunately, his nerves began to bounce along in sync with the upbeat tune that now flooded the car.
Enough of that. He snapped it off and settled back against the seat. Still, he could not seem to settle his emotions. He carefully went back over the words in Angel’s news report as he drove, and tried to piece everything together. All of his questions had been answered in one four-minute news segment.
And yet one lingering question remained. Could she forgive him?
As Peter pulled his car into the parking lot of KPRC, he quickly went through the dialogue in his head—what he would say when he saw her. How he would begin to explain why he had behaved as he had. Why he had assumed all he had assumed. How sorry he was and how much he wanted and needed her forgiveness.
He did need her forgiveness.
And then he would ask her out to dinner. If she would go, they’d have a wonderful conversation and share lots of laughs over the things they had been through in the past few days.
If.
Right now, he had to focus on finding her. Peter entered the lobby of KPRC. “Hello?” He called out to an empty room. No response. He gingerly made his way through the double doors to his right and prayed.
A tall, beefy-looking security guard dressed in a black uniform stopped him in his tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The fellow’s gravelly voice stopped Peter in his tracks. He drew in a deep breath and looked up at the fellow. “I, uh, I’m looking for someone.”
The security guard crossed his arms. “Do your looking tomorrow before five.” He took a step in Peter’s direction.
“But this place is open all night, right?” Peter tried to take another step forward, but the guy wouldn’t budge. “I mean, you’ve got another news show in just a few hours.”
“We’re not open to the public after five o’clock. And certainly not to someone who won’t take no for an answer.” The man took a step toward him.
“I’m looking for one of your reporters,” Peter explained, backing up. “I’m pretty sure she’s still here because I just saw her on the news.”
“Uh huh. And who might that be?”
He shuffled his keys from his right hand to his left. “Angel. Uh, Angelina Fuentes. She’s a, uh, a friend of mine.”
The guy’s expression changed immediately. “Oh, you know Angel?” At Peter’s nod, he continued, his face lit fully. “That girl is something else. She sure did herself proud today, didn’t she? Not to mention making the rest of us here at KPRC just as proud.”
Peter nodded numbly.
“Well, you just missed her. They took her out to celebrate.”
“They?”
“Mr. Nigel and the others,” the security guard said. “Don’t have a clue where they went, though. Hey, what did you say your name was, again?”
“Peter. Peter Campbell.” He shook the security guard’s extended hand and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you think she’ll be back tonight?”
“Nah. Not till Monday.” At Peter’s downcast face, he added, “Looks like you’ll have the whole weekend to think about her.” He looked Peter in the eye. “Pretty hung up on her, huh?”
“I, uh…” Peter stammered as his gaze shifted to the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”
***
“Great job, Angel!” Voices rang out in the crowded restaurant as congratulations were passed around like water pouring from a fountain. Angel drank it all in, content in the fact that she had completed her task successfully. And had survived.
As the crew of KPRC met together for a celebratory dinner, Angel couldn’t help but feel a sense of somber satisfaction, th
ough she was still a little frustrated at Mr. Nigel for lying to her about Ida. And yet she was just as anxious to know what project lay around the bend. What did he have in mind for her next story?
She leaned over and whispered the question, hoping she would not be overheard. “Where do we go from here?”
“Home, I guess.” He yawned.
“No, Sir. I mean, what’s next for me at KPRC? What sort of story did you have in mind? And how often will I do the Voice of the Angels segment? Once a day? Once a week?”
“Whoa! Slow down, girl!”
Angel caught her breath. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I’m so ready to take on a new project. I love helping people, Mr. Nigel. I just can’t help myself. I feel like I was born for this job.”
He patted her on the arm. “I know, Kid. You’re our angel.” He paused and the clink of silverware against plates and voices raised in jubilation took over for a moment. “We’ll start with a story a week. Then, as ideas start flowing, we’ll look at a daily bit. Speaking of ideas, something we talked about over the phone this morning triggered an idea.”
“Really?” Angel sat up straight in her chair.
“That blonde guy. The one you thought was involved in the Identity Theft ring—”
Angel’s spirits lifted immediately. “Peter Campbell?”
“Yeah. That guy. Remember I told you about some feeding center he works at down there in Galveston? They provide meals for the homeless, that sort of thing.”
“Right, right.”
“They’ve also got a street church of some sort, but I heard they’re understaffed and underpaid. In need of community support, from what I’ve been told. Might make an interesting human interest piece. Anything you might report could help raise funds to feed people who might not get a meal, otherwise. Talk about angelic.” He nodded, obviously satisfied with himself.
“Sounds great.” She contemplated his words. “I guess I should go out there and look the place over then.” Her heartbeat picked up at the idea of seeing Peter once again.
“Yep. Their office opens at 9:00 on Monday. Here’s the address.” He handed her a card, then leaned back in his chair and yawned long and loud. His overgrown belly jiggled as he let out a laugh.
“You had this planned all along.” Angel shook her head in disbelief.
“I did.” He gave her a wicked grin. “But no hurry. Take a couple of days off to enjoy your success. It is the weekend, after all.”
***
The next morning Angel rose bright and early. She couldn’t wait until Monday. There had to be some sort of activity going on at that feeding center today, right. Wouldn’t hurt to stop in for a quick peek. She looked through her wardrobe for just the right outfit, finally settling on a white cotton blouse and a pair of her most comfortable jeans. As she headed for the door, Angel couldn’t help but think about Peter Campbell.
Lord, he’s everything he made himself out to be, and I never even gave him a chance. Help me to find him and I’ll try to make everything right.
“Where are you off to?” Her mother’s voice rang out across the spacious foyer just as Angel opened the front door.
She turned, trying to hide her broad smile. “Back to Galveston, Mom.”
Her mother looked at her rather suspiciously. “And?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“With a look like that on your face, there’s only one thing I’m thinking.” Her mother’s expression changed to one of sheer relief and she clasped her hands together in excitement. “You’re going to see him again, aren’t you?”
“See who?” Angel wound a piece of hair around her finger.
“You know who. That guy your brother told me about. Peter something-or-another.”
Nardo. You never could keep a secret. She should have known. “Peter Campbell?” Angel shifted her purse from one shoulder to another and played innocent. “I, uh. . .I might run into him. I’m going down to a feeding center in Galveston. He does work there sometimes.”
“He works with the homeless?” Her mother’s face lit up. At Angel’s nod, she said, “Doesn’t get much better than that. Go get him.”
Angel laughed as she headed out the door. In fact, she couldn’t seem to wipe the goofy grin from her face all the way to Galveston. As she pulled up to the feeding center, her nerves suddenly kicked in.
Angel was met by a group of teens, dressed in identical t-shirts. “Hey, aren’t you that lady?” One of them pointed at her.
“Yeah,” another added. “The one on the news last night?”
“Angel Fuentes.” She extended her hand.
“Cool. I’m shaking hands with an angel,” the boy said with a grin. “Don’t think I’ll ever wash this hand again.” He held it up for the approval of his friends, who looked genuinely amused. “Wait’ll I tell my friends at church.”
“Speaking of church,” Angel said, “is there some sort of service going on here this morning? Looks like a lot of activity for a Saturday.”
“Just the usual Sidewalk Sunday School for the street kids.”
“Ah, I see.”
“We usually just call it Kid’s Church,” the boy explained. “We do a service for the kids, and then feed them lunch. Some of them wouldn’t get to eat, otherwise.” A moment of silence passed between them before he extended his hand. “I’m Sam Bradley. This is Megan Johnson. A group of us come down from our church every Saturday to help with the kids. We do dramas and stuff.”
“Cool.” Angel smiled. “Anyone else from your church come?” She bit her lip in anticipation of his answer.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “A bunch of people.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Would, uh. . .would Peter Campbell be one of those people?” She couldn’t help but hide a grin.
The boy broke into a broad smile in response to her enthusiasm. “You know Peter?” His eyebrows elevated.
“Yes.” She swallowed hard.
His eyes lit up and he began to talk with his hands as he spoke. “Peter’s like my big brother. Spiritually, anyway. Sort of a mentor, you know?” All of the teens began to chatter at once, extolling Peter’s virtues and looking her over with renewed interest.
At a momentary pause in the conversation, she broke in. “Will he be here today?”
“He’s here every Saturday,” Megan said. “Usually sits up front with the three and four year olds.” Even as she spoke the words, the place began to fill with kids.
“We’ve got to go now,” Sam called out as they walked toward the door. “Hope you can stay for the service. We could use some help with the kids.”
Angel stayed for the entire service, amazed at how many children showed up. At least two hundred, maybe more. The teens led the group in some lively praise and worship and played games with them. Then they performed a drama that kept the children captivated. By the time the service ended, Angel knew she had to write a story about this place. How could she not?
Even if she hadn’t seen the one person she had come to see. Though she had strained to see through the crowd, Peter hadn’t come in. Angel felt a twinge of guilt as she reflected on her dilemma.
She needed to find him, needed to explain everything to him. Too many unspoken words lingered in the air. . .air that desperately needed to be cleared. Her emotions wouldn’t allow her to wait much longer, though she had fought against her feelings all morning.
Should she go to his house? Would that be too forward? Would he even speak to her? Somehow she couldn’t escape the vision of his beautiful eyes. Her heart wouldn’t let her forget.
Peter Campbell is an amazing man of God. But in order to tell him, she had to find him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Peter spent Sunday afternoon dialing every Fuentes he could find listed on the White Pages site for the Houston area. His persistence paid of at five sixteen p.m. “Could I speak to Angel please?”
“Is this Peter?” An excited female voice greeted him, one th
at sounded a little like Angel’s, only perhaps older.
“Yes. . .Yes.” He very nearly dropped the receiver.
The woman’s words seemed rushed. “This is Consuela Fuentes, Angelina’s mother. I’m so happy to speak with you.” She spoke rapidly with a rich Spanish accent and he strained to understand every single word.
“Um, you too.”
“You’re Angel’s young man, aren’t you?”
“I, uh, I am?”
“I heard all about you from my son, Nardo. I believe he drove our Angel to your house not too long ago.”
Nardo? The guy in the car was her brother? Just one more missing piece to the puzzle.
“When are we going to meet you?” The woman spoke with such excitement, it frightened him. And gave him hope.
He swallowed hard and gained the necessary courage to forge ahead. “Well, I don’t know. I was hoping to speak to Angel, actually.”
“Oh my. Angelina went out to lunch with friends after church,” Mrs. Fuentes explained. “Then I know she had some sort of a meeting about the new College and Career Bible study group she’s going to be heading up.”
“She leads a Bible Study?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Fuentes said. “Something from the book of James, I think. At any rate, she won’t be home until after the service tonight.”
“Okay. Well, thank you very much.”
“Why don’t I give you our address and you can come by some time?”
He reached for a pen, nearly knocking the phone book off of the table in the process. “That would be nice.”
She gave him the address and wished him well, then signed off with a click. As Peter dropped the phone onto the kitchen counter, he couldn’t help but grin. The Lord had apparently seen fit to give him a second chance. This time, he wouldn’t blow it.
***
The next morning, Peter woke up earlier than usual, determined to make the drive to Houston to see Angel before heading to work. He looked up the address Mrs. Fuentes had given him and realized he had quite a long drive ahead of him. Better get to it.
Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six) Page 13