Avenging Angel

by Justine Dare

  "Regan? It's Lillian Court

  ."

  "Hello, Lillian." It had been one of the major tasks of her life, learning to call the elegant, impos­ing Mrs. Court Lillian, but the woman had gra­ciously insisted. "Are you home?"

  "Yes, I arrived back last night."

  "How was your trip?"

  "Productive, I hope."

  "I was hoping more for relaxing," Regan said, meaning it. She'd never known anyone who kept up the pace this woman did.

  "Thank you for worrying, dear. But it's you we should be worrying about. How are you holding up under all the strain?"

  "It's been rough," she admitted.

  "I'm sure it has."

  "The Court lawyers have been wonderful, though. They've really helped, made us feel like we're not dealing with this all alone."

  "Good," Lillian said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to come by this afternoon."

  Regan's smile turned to a grimace. She wasn't surprised, but that didn't stop her nerves from tightening up. No matter how kind Lillian had al­ways been to her, the innate power of the woman still made her nervous. She managed to answer steadily enough.

  "Fine. I'll make certain I'm here."

  "I just want to be sure you're all right," Lillian reassured her. "And see if there's anything you need. Oh, by the way, did that roofer show up?"

  Regan felt herself blush, and was thankful Lillian had asked now rather than in person, when she couldn't have helped but see it. "Alex? Yes, he did. He's doing a great job. Very helpful."

  "He's done good work for me before."

  "He told me. He seems ... very nice."

  Lillian laughed, and there was a tone to it that Regan thought sounded odd. "He must be on his best behavior, then."

  "He's been wonderful," Regan said, feeling oddly compelled to defend him. "He's been great about being careful around the residents. I don't think any of them are wary of him anymore. And he's really making an effort to understand things."

  "He has a curious nature, I've noticed," Lillian said, that note Regan had heard in her laughter now in her voice. "I'll see you in about an hour, if that's all right."

  "Fine," Regan said again.

  When she replaced the receiver, she looked up to see all the women except Donna clustered in the doorway.

  "Where do you want us to start?" Marita asked. "The kitchen," Regan said.

  "I'll help," Mindy put in. "I have to leave for work—thank goodness, she makes me so ner­vous—but I've got about twenty minutes."

  Regan smiled at them all, and at her own urge to immediately scrub Rachel's House top to bottom, as if Lillian cared about their housekeeping.

  "Let's clean the kitchen, and just tidy up else­where."

  "Just the big chunks, then," Marita said. "You got it."

  "What about that box of stuff in the living room?"

  A large carton of domestic items had been deliv­ered that morning, donations from the community left at the off-site center. They hadn't yet had a chance to pick through it and see what was going to be useful. And now it sat in the middle of the liv­ing area, so heavy it would take them forever to drag it out of the way. They could empty it, but that would only spread out the clutter.

  "Mr. Pilson just left. Maybe he could come back and help move it," Marita said.

  "It would break his back," Mindy said, then brightened. "I'll bet Alex could move it. I'll go ask him."

  "I'll bet you will," Marita said teasingly. Then her dark eyes narrowed. "No poaching, girl. He's Regan's."

  Regan groaned aloud. "Stop it, will you? He took me out to dinner one time, after a rough day. That's it."

  "Sure," Mindy said, then laughed and ran to­ward the door. That she had been decidedly let down that a week had passed with no indication Alex wanted a repeat of that evening was not something Regan cared to admit.

  "You know," Marita said, "it almost sounds nor­mal around here."

  Regan nodded. "It does, doesn't it?"

  "It's good to hear laughter again." Marita gave Regan a wide grin. "Even that girl's giggling sounds good."

  Regan laughed, but it died in her throat when the front door opened and Alex walked in—shirt back on, Regan saw thankfully—Mindy at his heels.

  "Heard you needed some heavy lifting," he said.

  "Regan does. We're cleaning the kitchen, before the big cheese arrives," the women chorused, then vanished into the kitchen, leaving Regan and Alex alone.

  "What was that all about?" Alex asked.

  "Nothing," she said, thinking that if he would just drop it, she could avoid total humiliation. "There's the box."

  He looked at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. But he didn't say a word, just walked over to the box, and she let out a silent breath of re­lief.

  "Where do you want it?"

  "We don't really have anyplace to get it out of sight, so just out of the middle of the floor and against the wall would be fine."

  It wasn't a light weight even for him, but he managed it a lot quicker than they would have. "Anything else?" he asked when he was done.

  "I don't think so."

  He looked around. "What's the big deal? Just be­cause Mrs. Court

  is coming?"

  "She doesn't come here all that often, so we like to make a good impression."

  Alex shrugged. "I'd think she cares more about what you're doing than how clean you keep the place doing it."

  Regan knew he was right, Lillian had said so in so many words before. She let out a breath. "You're right. I don't think she's the white glove inspection type, if the job's getting done."

  "Sounds like you really admire her."

  "I do. I've always thought the best part of being wealthy would be to be able to help people who have really gotten a raw deal. She does it."

  "What about the con artists, the ones who scam generous people?"

  She shrugged. "That's the price you pay. And worth it, if you help those who are honestly trying."

  Alex smiled. "No wonder you two get along."

  Regan gave him a rather sheepish smile in re­turn. "She just makes me nervous."

  "She has that effect on people."

  Odd, Regan thought. It took her a moment to fig­ure out exactly what had struck her, then realized it was the same tone in Alex's voice that she'd heard in Lillian Court's when she'd spoken of him.

  "Besides," Alex added with a grin, "this place is fine. You ought to see mine."

  Don't you dare blush again, Regan ordered herself. She ignored his words and said, rather stiffly, "Thank you for moving the box."

  His forehead creased, but only for a moment. "Sure."

  After he'd gone she told herself she'd never re­ally expected him to ask her out again, he was just being nice, and went back to her office determined not to think about it anymore.

  Joy filled her. It was going to be different this time. She was sure of it. Her life would return to the fairy-tale happiness she'd known when Joel had first fallen in love with her, when he'd been so swept away he'd demanded she not see anyone else after their second date.

  She reached out to take his hand as they lounged on two chaises on his apartment balcony. He smiled at her, that lovely, sweet smile that had so charmed her in the beginning.

  "I've been thinking," he said. "We should move."

  "Move?"

  "Yeah." He gestured over his shoulder toward the apartment that had been the site of many an ugly scene between them. "Away from here, so we can start over. Up to the mountains."

  She was touched. She'd always loved the moun­tains, but didn't realize that he'd ever taken notice of the fact. That he would think of this, for her, only proved she was right. Things would be different this time.

  "Pop's got a place up near Arrowhead. It's small, just a cabin with one bedroom, but we could add on another."

  Her heart leapt. There was only one reason she could think of that they'd need another bedroom: children. At last, she thought. Her mo
st precious dream was finally going to come true.

  The joy welling up inside her overflowed; it re­ally was going to be all right. Joel had a need to have things his own way, but most men did, didn't they? She could live with that, as long'as the other stopped. And it would, now. She'd done the right thing, leaving him for a while. He'd learned his les­son, and now everything would be perfect. They would be married, and start a family right away.

  "Oh, Joel, I love you. We're going to be so happy!"

  "I know, baby. It'll all be different this time, won't it?"

  She sighed happily, leaning back against the lounge cushions. "I know it will. Just think, a new life together, just the two of us." She blushed as she added, "Well, until baby makes three, anyway."

  "Baby?" He sat up abruptly, staring down at her. She quickly realized he was thinking she was telling him she was already pregnant. She sat up quickly and turned to face him.

  "Oh, no," she assured him. "I just meant when the time comes."

  "That time," Joel said, "will never come. You think I want you fat and ugly, and then have you spend all your time on a squalling brat? No, thanks."

  She stared at him, bewildered. "But when you said we could add on to the cabin—" "I meant for us, you idiot!" "But the other bedroom—"

  "Is still Pop's, of course. He says he's ready to move up there full-time."

  She felt her dream begin to crumble around the edges. "You want us to live with your father?" she asked in a tiny voice.

  "Sure. It's his place. We're lucky he's nice enough to let us live there with him."

  "I..." She swallowed tightly. Things are going to be different now, you're allowed to disagree, she told herself. "I'm not sure I can do that."

  He frowned, and the crumbling accelerated. "Of course you can. He's easy to get along with."

  "He hates me."

  "Don't be stupid. He just doesn't like it when you get out of line, that's all. But since you're not going to do that anymore, it's no problem."

  The sound of her illusion shattering completely was almost audible in her ringing ears. She took in a deep breath, and gathered every bit of strength she'd gained since going to Rachel's House.

  "Is that what you meant when you said it would all be different this time?"

  "What?"

  "Did you mean that I would change, not you?"

  "There's nothing wrong with me, baby. You're the one who keeps screwing up."

  It came back in a rush then, all the awful memo­ries her hope had buried.

  "Pop didn't want me to give you a second chance, but I told him I'd keep you straight this time," Joel said.

  "You'll keep me straight," she repeated numbly.

  And suddenly Regan Keller's voice was echoing in her head.

  "Regan was right,' she whispered.”You'll never change, will you?"

  He leapt to his feet. And the old Joel, the one who had terrified her, was staring down at her.

  "I don't need to change a damn thing. You're the one who needs to change. What kind of crap did they feed you in that damn place?"

  "The truth," she whispered, unable to betray Regan and Rachel's House even now.

  "Truth? You mean that all men are bastards or some other feminist bullshit?"

  Slowly, she stood up and faced him. Reality was staring her in the face now, and it was uglier than she had ever remembered. And even knowing what it might cost her, she said with the certainty that safety and distance—thanks to Rachel's House—had given her.

  "No. That kids who grow up in an abusive home are a thousand times more likely to become abusers themselves. You never had a chance, Joel."

  From the corner of her eye she saw his arm move, and an instant later pain exploded in her head as he backhanded her.

  "You little bitch!" He slapped her again. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  The proof Regan was right, she thought.

  He grabbed her arm and threw her up against the screen door into the apartment. The metal mesh ripped, the frame bent, and she fell backward into the living room, crashing into an end table, sending a brass lamp careening to the floor. She felt some­thing snap, and when she tried to move her left arm pain shot through it and up to her neck. She rolled over on her right shoulder, trying to get her back to the broken door. She hit the brass lamp with her head, but barely felt the pain.

  Joel was striding through the ripped screen door like something out of a horror movie. And some­how, the woman she'd become at Rachel's House found the courage. She grasped the brass lamp in her right hand. And when Joel came at her she swung it at him with all her strength. The metal vi­brated against her hand, just as Joel's roar of rage, words she'd heard so many times before, vibrated her eardrums.

  "You fucking bitch, I'll kill you!"

  The hail of blows that poured down on her went beyond pain, beyond enduring. It went on and on, until she could no longer even whimper through her battered mouth. Then she had a vague sense, through the agony, that she was flying, and real­ized he'd picked her up and thrown her once more. She slammed against something hard, her head snapped back.

  Her last conscious thought was that he'd finally made good on his threat.

  Alex settled back into his rhythm of hammering. He'd finish this section of roof today, which would leave only the back section and the porch roof. The gable there would slow him down a little, but he was still going too fast. But any slower and Regan was liable to notice he was dogging it. For the hours he was spending here, he should have been further along by now. And Regan didn't miss much. He had discussed the problem with his mother and she had promised to deal with it.

  He barely missed his thumb and yanked the hammer back.

  "Damn it," he muttered, knowing even as he said it that the curse had little to do with the near miss.

  He'd spent every night this week telling himself why he couldn't do what he wanted to, which was ask her out again. He told himself he couldn't get involved with her, not when she had no idea who he really was.

  "That's exactly why you should," he told him­self. "It's Alex Edwards she likes, not Alexander Court of the Court family."

  He'd never spent so much time with a woman without her knowing who he was. He'd kept his real identity hidden before, but it always came out sooner or later. And when it did, everything changed. Suddenly all the woman could see was the Court name, as if it hovered over him in gold lights. No matter what the woman's reaction, the relationship had never been the same.

  He didn't know how Regan would react when she found out, as she inevitably would. When she found out not only who he was, but that he'd been lying to her from the beginning.

  He was still thinking about it when his mother arrived. She'd forgone her limo, which she often used so she could work in transit. Instead, she was driving a bright blue, small SUV, a vehicle not ex­actly to her taste. But Alex could see the reason for it. Her connection to Rachel's House was well known, and someone who wanted to find the shel­ter might think to follow her.

  The disguise went further. His elegant mother was dressed in blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a baggy T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of an alter­native rock group he was certain she'd never heard of, let alone heard. But most incongruously of all, a San Diego Padres baseball cap sat on her silver hair. With her youthful carriage and energetic way of moving, it made her look like a soccer mom gone prematurely gray.

  It was nearly an hour before she left again. This time she waved at him, no doubt because Regan had come out with her. The moment the car started to pull away he came down the ladder before Regan could get back inside.

  "Was that a disguise?" he asked.

  Regan laughed. "Effective, don't you think? You'd never guess she is who she is. Oh, she said she talked to you about doing some other work around here after you're done with the roof."

  "Yes."

  He said it with some relief, thinking he'd gotten past the danger point. He'd had dinner with his mother last night, and she'd
caught him up on the results of her trip, and he'd updated her on the sta­tus of things at the shelter. He was glad she remem­bered his timing problem and came up with a solution.

  "I'm clear at the moment, so now's a good time. She said you'd put together a list for me."

  "I'll come up with one. Later," she said, sound­ing a bit harried.

  "Was the royal visit that bad?"

  Regan laughed. "No. It never is once it's happen­ing, she's so nice, but the anticipation is nerve-wracking."

  "So let's go un-wrack those nerves. With dinner tonight."

  She stared at him, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve but wasn't sure she had all the pieces. He couldn't blame her. After he'd brought her back that night, he'd never said another word about it, even though he saw her every day.

  "Thanks to Mrs. Court, I think I can even afford wine tonight," he said, meaning it as a joke, but cursing himself again when he saw the change in her expression, realized she thought she had that missing piece, that he hadn't asked her out again because he couldn't afford it.

  "I'd like that," she said, and then proved his guess correct by adding, "but only if I get to buy the wine."

  Great. He'd only managed to get himself deeper into the morass, and was utterly unable to pull himself out.

  You don't want out, he told himself.

  And later that evening, when Regan sat across from him, he knew it was true. She had on a deep green sweater, and he supposed that must be what made her eyes more green than hazel. She'd left her hair down, and its red fire far outshone the candle on the table.

  He'd wanted to take her to the Shores Grill, his favorite restaurant, but he was too well known there. The whole Court family was. So instead he'd chosen a new Mexican place that had just opened, only barely remembering to make sure he had the wallet with the credit card and ID in the Edwards name.

  Conversation over dinner was tricky. Even the simplest question, the kind anyone would ask on a date, meant he had to tap-dance around, giving her the truth but not all of it, and he hated it.

  "So you grew up here?" she asked.

  He nodded. "I'm that rare beast, a native Californian."

  "Is your family still here?"

  "There's only my mother and I here. My dad was an orphan, and except for one brother and his girls, the rest of my mom's family is back east." He grinned. "They tell me there really is life east of the Rockies, but I'm not sure I believe them."