Errant Angel

by Justine Davis

  But underlying everything she’d picked up from him was a vicious, draining sense of guilt, so powerful she could feel it tugging at her even now, after the contact had been broken. It almost overwhelmed the memory of that odd, electric little jolt that had raced through her at the touch of his skin against hers. Shaken, she had to turn away for a moment. Then Jimmy managed to release the latch, and she automatically looked up, following the movement as he lifted the hood.

  She saw Dalton’s eyes widen, and a low whistle escaped him. “Factory fuel injection!” he exclaimed. “These are really rare.”

  “I told you it was hot.” Jimmy was grinning again.

  Dalton glanced at Evangeline, hesitated, then asked, “The tranny’s a four-speed close ratio, then?”

  She saw the flicker of doubt and guessed he wasn’t sure she could answer the question. She gave him a wry look.

  “Yes. And it’s all mine,” she said. “Not borrowed from some husband or boyfriend back home.”

  He blinked, startled, then had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry. I didn’t think I was being that obvious. And I didn’t mean to assume.”

  “That where there’s a hot car, there’s got to be a man involved?” Dalton shifted uncomfortably, and she relented. “It’s okay. I’m used to...being different.” If you only knew, she added silently.

  “She likes baseball and football, too,” Jimmy proclaimed, watching Dalton. “I told you she was cool.”

  Something she didn’t recognize came into Dalton’s gaze then, and incredibly, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. She was so startled she almost reached for the pendant, to ask what on earth was going on. She never blushed. It took emotions she wasn’t supposed to have to blush.

  “Yes,” Dalton said slowly, answering Jimmy but looking at her. “Yes, you did.”

  A feeling she had never known filled her as she met his eyes—a sudden urge to run, to flee, to escape whatever was happening here. And she couldn’t explain the impression she got that he was feeling the same way. Like two people who had opened doors on opposite sides of a room, to find the room in flames, she thought, wondering where the image had come from. But all that really mattered was this need to back away. Quickly.

  “I—I have to go,” she said. She sounded peremptory, she realized, and she hadn’t meant to. Another oddity, she thought; she usually had complete control over her presentation; it was a necessity for her work. “I’m glad you like the car,” she added lamely.

  He looked as if he were about to say something, then stopped and merely nodded. He turned away, his expression showing her that her words had been a dismissal much sharper than she’d meant them to be. An awkward silence reigned as Dalton walked back to the truck he’d been working on without another word. He picked up a socket wrench and went back to work under the hood of the old truck.

  “Uh,” Jimmy began, obviously aware of the tension but uncertain—as she was, Evangeline thought—of the exact cause, “maybe you could bring it by again sometime. Dalton’d probably like to look closer at the motor, wouldn’t you?”

  He ended on a rising note, looking over at Dalton. The man merely shrugged, not looking up. Evangeline winced inwardly at the crestfallen expression that slipped over Jimmy’s face.

  “Maybe I will,” she reassured the boy.

  As she drove away she looked in the rearview mirror, seeing the two of them, together, yet as alone as any two people she’d ever seen.

  And she wondered what on earth Dalton could possibly have done that could make him feel so much guilt it was nearly smothering him.

  * * *

  Are you guys doing something weird up there?

  Whatever do you mean?

  I mean, I know you aren’t real happy with me, but if you’re going to change the rules on me, I wish you’d at least let me know.

  There was a moment of silence from them. She always thought of it as talking to “them,” even though there was only one doing the actual communicating; it must be that ridiculous royal “we” they insisted on using. But she knew they were all listening. Especially when it came to her.

  Evangeline tightened her grip on the pendant as she sat curled up in the big, overstuffed chair that took up one corner of the bedroom she’d rented from Mrs. Webster, mainly because it was across the street from the house where Jimmy lived. She waited, imagining them discussing what to tell her.

  The answer came at last.

  We told you that you had full freedom on this case.

  That’s not what I meant—not that it’s not great, by the way, zipping that car up was the perfect way to get Jimmy’s attention. But I meant the other stuff.

  What...stuff?

  All the feelings.

  Feelings?

  Yeah. They’re really getting in the way. Besides, you guys promised I wouldn’t.

  Wouldn’t what?

  She was really trying to be patient, but they didn’t seem to understand. She explained again.

  That I wouldn’t feel anything. It’s really very distracting.

  Evangeline, you can’t be feeling anything. You know we took care of that. You’ve had the latest and best adjustments in that area. We’ve come a long way recently. And you’ve never had a problem before.

  Well, I have one now. It makes it hard to concentrate, and you know you always say that’s my big problem.

  We don’t always say that. It was gently remonstrating.

  Well, almost always. When you’re not reading me the riot act because I turned left when you wanted right.

  She sent it somewhat mutinously; she never had understood why they got so upset that she took a different route, if the destination was the same.

  We’ve been through this before, Evangeline. Now, what is this about feelings? You know you don’t have them, except for—

  My sense of justice. I know. Then what are all these crazy sensations I’ve been having? Ever since that first night, everything’s been confused.

  A quiet rush of air came then, as if they had jointly sighed. Things tend to be that way around you, you know.

  “Only from up there,” she muttered out loud this time. Then, returning to the connection, she tried to explain.

  This is different.

  How, dear?

  Evangeline grimaced. Ever since this patient female had become her contact, she’d felt like she’d been talking to a benevolent maiden aunt. But she was so determinedly optimistic that this mission would succeed without any of the problems of past ones, Evangeline felt guilty every time she did anything that she knew they might not approve of.

  It’s really strange, she sent at last. The pain was bad enough, but all this—

  Oh, my, you haven’t gotten involved with that man you sensed, have you? We told you he was off-limits, that you were to stick to Jimmy Sawyer’s problem.

  I know, but—

  No buts, Evangeline.

  She couldn’t believe they didn’t want her to help him.

  But he’s hurting so much, she sent protestingly.

  No. The benevolence was gone, the message stern. You simply must behave this time.

  The “or else” was implicit. She was walking an even finer line than she’d thought. She wondered if this was her last chance. If she messed up—according to their standards—again, if it really would be all over for her.

  She knew then that she didn’t dare turn to the bosses for an explanation of what was going wrong. They would no doubt just chalk it up to her lack of discipline again. And maybe they were right. Maybe she had just let that horrible blast of pain unbalance her.

  All right, all right. I’ll be good, she promised.

  And, she added to herself when the connection was broken, I will not waste any more time wondering about Dalton MacKay. He doesn’t seem to be in that horrible pain any longer, anyway. Or perhaps he was just managing to hide it behind those formidable walls that were stronger than any she’d ever encountered before.

  That doesn’t matter, she told
herself, echoing the sternness of her boss’s command. Jimmy is my mission here, my only mission, and I’m going to concentrate on him from now on.

  That decision firmly, solidly and irrevocably made, she climbed into bed, pulled the thick, bright yellow comforter over her shoulders, and settled down to sleep.

  And in the morning she told herself she couldn’t be held responsible for what she dreamed, even if those dreams involved a lean, dark-haired man who looked at her with eyes so haunted that her heart—which was supposed to be immune—ached for him.

  * * *

  Dalton rubbed at his weary eyes, groaning at the brightness of the sunlight streaming in through the windows across the room. If he had gotten even two hours of sleep, he’d be surprised. Dawn had been brightening the sky when he’d at last dropped off. If Mrs. Webster wasn’t bringing in her car—if you could call that behemoth of hers a car—for an oil change this morning, he’d roll over and go right back to sleep.

  There had been a time when he’d been able to sleep only in the daylight, but he’d made progress since then. Sometimes he even managed to go a couple of nights in a row without dreaming. And sometimes as long as a week without shoving that damned tape into the VCR.

  But last night he’d done both. He’d been so restless, felt so distracted, that he’d known it was coming. And it had come, the dream, and even more vividly than usual. So vivid that only the tape, the grim reality, could counteract it, and he’d spent the darkest hours of the night watching it, over and over. It never changed, but he kept on, repeating it, as if he could somehow etch it into his subconscious and erase the dream. He’d rather dream the horror than the miracle; waking up to find the horror was the reality was too devastating.

  He knew what had rattled him so, even though he didn’t want to admit it. It was that woman, that teacher, the one Jimmy had brought over. Why couldn’t she have been like that sour-faced, prune-souled woman who was the principal, the woman who sniffed disdainfully every time she saw him, the woman who personified almost every teacher Dalton had had in his life? But no, Ms. Law—had Jimmy ever mentioned her first name?—was no more like that than a go-cart was like an Indy car. And even though Jimmy had told him she was a looker, he hadn’t expected what had climbed out of that classic Chevy.

  A classic beauty, he thought as he rolled over and sat up, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his head wearily in his hands. Although she wasn’t, really, he supposed. Her mouth was a little too wide for classic beauty—and too soft and full for his comfort. Her nose was turned up a bit too far—and too sassy for his gloom. Her eyes were too big, too dark—and far too deep and wise for his peace of mind. Too wise for anyone as young as she appeared to be. Those huge, dark brown eyes were almost eerily penetrating, as if she saw much more than anyone thought they were letting be seen.

  God, you’re tired when you start fantasizing like that, he muttered inwardly. You’ve got no business thinking about her at all, or any other woman for that matter. You’re out of that race, for good, and you’d damned well better remember that.

  That’s what you get, he lectured himself, for letting that kid get close. You should have kept the walls up. Once you let one person in, they start dragging in others. Well, it wasn’t too late. He might have let the kid in, but he could throw him right back out again. So Jimmy’s got problems. Don’t we all? Let him deal with them. Nobody ever gave a damn about you, and you survived. He’d better learn to survive, too, because nobody was going to help him. And he’d better start learning now.

  Dalton stood, rubbing at the scar on his temple, and feeling the ache in his right ankle where more metal than bone held the joint together. He welcomed the pain. It served as a reminder of why he was here, of what he had done. And it was only physical pain, a hell of a lot easier to stand than the other agony, the one that ripped at his insides like the jagged pieces of a race car had once ripped at his flesh.

  He strode toward the bathroom, with each step forcing his right foot down harder, heightening the pain. He knew it was the only way to get past it, to work it out. It was also no more than he deserved.

  And as he stood beneath the flow of steaming water, he found himself flexing the aching joint fiercely, hoping the ache would be enough to drive the memory of a pair of huge brown eyes out of his mind.

  Three

  Evangeline smiled at the waitress as she accepted the mug of coffee. The small restaurant was less busy now as patrons hurried off to work, and since her first class wasn’t until nine, she decided she would take this chance to speak to the woman.

  “You’re Mrs. Kirkland, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Weary blue eyes sparked with interest as the woman looked at her. “I’m Maggie. You’re Ms. Law, the new teacher, aren’t you?”

  Evangeline nodded. “And I live across the street from you, I think.”

  “At Lilah’s. Yes, I know. I’ve been meaning to come over and thank you.”

  “Thank me?”

  The woman nodded. “In the two years Jimmy Sawyer has lived with us, he’s been trouble from morning to night. Angry, bitter...we can’t seem to get through to him at all.”

  “He is very angry,” Evangeline agreed.

  “He sneaks out at night, to hang around with those awful friends of his, older kids, real troublemakers. Lord knows what kind of things they’re up to. I know they’re the ones who set that fire at the high school last year. I think Jimmy was with them, but he didn’t get caught. If he had, he could have wound up in juvenile hall.”

  “He’s been through some tough times,” Evangeline said carefully.

  “Yes, I know that. It’s awful, what that child has been through. That’s why Bob and I took him on. We have no kids of our own, and we thought...well, we wanted to help. You know, an older child, who probably would never get adopted. But we got more than we bargained for.”

  A hopeful smile curved the woman’s mouth, brightening her weary expression for a moment. “But he hasn’t cut class since you came. And the other night he stayed home. He was actually reading a book. For your class, he said.”

  Evangeline smiled. “I’m glad.”

  “I’ve never seen him reading anything that didn’t have comics or cars in it.”

  “Well, there’s a lot of wonderful art in comics, you know, and there’s nothing wrong with cars. They can be a very healthy hobby, compared to some.”

  “I suppose,” Mrs. Kirkland said. “And I must say, it’s been a lot more peaceful at my house since Jimmy started hanging around that garage after school these past few weeks. He doesn’t see quite as much of those other boys, thank goodness. I’m not sure about that man, though.”

  Evangeline went still. “Dalton MacKay?”

  “Yes. He’s...strange.”

  “Strange?”

  “Oh, not like dangerous, but...unfriendly, I guess.”

  “I got the impression he was more...detached,” Evangeline said neutrally.

  Mrs. Kirkland considered that. “Yes, I suppose that fits. I mean, he’s lived here for over a year, but he’s not really part of the town. And that’s odd, in a small place like Three Oaks.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. But I imagine he has his reasons.”

  “My husband says he was famous, a couple of years ago. Some kind of race car driver or something. I don’t follow that kind of thing, so I wouldn’t know. But I suppose that’s why Jimmy’s so fascinated with him.”

  Or perhaps the boy just senses a brother under the skin, Evangeline thought as memories of those painful images came back to her.

  “He’s a good mechanic though,” Mrs. Kirkland said. “He’s kept our poor old station wagon going long after the dealer in Santa Barbara said we should buy a new one. And he doesn’t gouge us with high prices, either. Barely charges for his labor, just parts. In fact, if he didn’t live in that old room over the garage, I don’t know how he’d get by.”

  “He’s generous, then.”

  Maggie looked puzzled for a
moment. “Yes, in that way, I suppose you’re right. And we’re glad to have him, really. That old garage had been empty a long time before he came. It’s wonderful not to have to drive twenty miles to have work done, or pay to have your car towed.” She smiled slightly. “Mr. MacKay makes house calls. He doesn’t even seem to mind, no matter what time it is.”

  He doesn’t care enough about anything to mind.

  The instinctive knowledge leapt into her mind fully formed, making her wonder if the bosses had developed some new way of sending information. But they would hardly be sending her anything on Dalton MacKay, so she didn’t know where this was coming from.

  It wasn’t until the woman had gone to serve a late customer that Evangeline realized that once again she’d been diverted, that when she’d meant to find out more about Jimmy, she’d wound up spending almost the entire time talking about Dalton MacKay.

  * * *

  “Jimmy? Can I see you for a minute after class?”

  The boy turned red at the chorus of hoots and howls that met her request. But he stayed behind as the rest of the students filed out. They’d had a raucous day; their role-playing as the rebels and Tories of the American Revolution had been lively enough, but when she had stopped the debate and made everyone switch sides, things had nearly gotten out of hand because the two sides knew each other’s position well enough to attack with devastating accuracy.

  It had taken her nearly the whole class period to get them to see they also knew each other’s position well enough to understand each other. In the end, she’d gotten her point across; knowledge was power, however you used it, and neither side was fully right or fully wrong.

  “You didn’t seem to be with us today, Jimmy,” she said after the others had gone, hurrying now that classes were over for the day.

  The boy shrugged carelessly. For the past two days—ever since the morning after she’d gone by the garage, in fact—he’d slipped back into his old ways, his attitude bitter, his answers sarcastic and his expression sullen. He was hurting; she didn’t need any special powers to see that. He was also tired, yawning throughout the class, and she sensed he was back to sneaking out with his friends at night.