"You didn't put him where he was. He was the one who made the choice to rob that store. Would you be happier if he' d killed you? "
"Of course not." Gabe shoved back from the desk and stood up, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "The point is that he's dead.''
"And you're not," Annie reminded him pragmatically. "You did the only thing you could."
"Maybe. I don't even know what made me think of that." Gabe stared down at his desk, the shooting flickering through his mind in stiff, jerky images, like a badly wound tape. He shook his head, dismissing the memories. "I got a letter from my dad yesterday."
"He still want you to come to Wyoming and play cowboy?"
"Yeah. The ranch is doing fairly well but he'd like to expand. Says he's getting too old to handle it on his own."
"You thinkin' about going?" Annie asked, watching his face.
"No. Not really." But his eyes weren't as sure as his words. He shrugged. "I haven't been on a horse since my last pony ride at the L.A. Fair when I was eight. Can you see me on a horse?"
"I think you'd look real cute. Sorta like a poor gal's John Travolta."
"You mean John Wayne?"
"No, I mean John Travolta. Sorta Urban Cowboy goes to Wyoming,'*' she suggested with a grin.
"Thanks. If you're going to be insulting, you can get off my desk."
"Whatever you say, Gabriel." Annie slid off the desk with easy grace. "But if you were thinking about joining your daddy, I'd be the first to wish you well."
"Trying to get rid of me?" Gabe asked with a half smile.
"No. I'd just like to see a little sparkle in those nice eyes of yours. 'Sides, it might be kind of fun to break in a new partner. Get a little new blood in here." Annie's teasing smile didn't hide the concern in her eyes.
Gabe watched her leave the room, his thoughts a couple of thousand miles away. He'd only visited his father's ranch once in the five years since he'd bought it. But the wide-open spaces and the vast expanse of sky had lingered in his mind, like a glimpse of heaven.
On days when the city seemed as close to hell as he could imagine, he'd think about the deep silence of the ranch...the sharp scent of sagebrush when you brushed against it.
The phone on his desk jangled, shaking him out of his thoughts. He shook his head and reached for it. He must be going through an early mid-life crisis. He couldn't be seriously thinking about giving up his career and moving to Wyoming. It was just a phase he was going through. In a few weeks he'd have forgotten the whole idea.
Chapter 2
Charity started the day by sleeping through her alarm—something she never did. In the rush to get to work at something close to on time, she'd broken a fingernail, burned the toast she didn't have time to eat and unthinkingly grabbed the most uncomfortable pair of shoes she owned.
She smiled at the couple across the counter and resisted the urge to look at the clock, knowing it had been less than five minutes since she'd looked at it last. Trying to ease her cramped toes inside the pearl-gray pumps, she listened as the man explained that he and Rosemary were getting married, and he wanted the perfect engagement ring.
Ordinarily this was the part of her job that she liked best. She'd worked at Hoffman's Jewelry for three years, and while Diane might see it as a stodgy little store, Charity enjoyed the customers.
Today, however, she was distracted by her aching feet and her empty stomach. Having missed breakfast, it had been inevitable that she hadn't had a chance to grab more than a container of yogurt for lunch.
Not to mention that the conversation with Diane kept playing in her head. She wished her sister hadn't used the words quarter of a century to describe her age. It sounded so antique. In less than five years she'd be thirty, then forty would loom up faster than she knew, and then where would she be?
Charity set a tray of wedding and engagement rings on the counter, smiling at the young couple. Really, today of all days, she was in no mood to deal with happily engaged people. Especially when they looked so young that she had the feeling the groom's mother had had to drive them to the store.
Twenty-five wasn't that old, she told herself briskly. The prime of life.
Or the beginning of the downhill slide.
She suppressed a shudder as the bride-to-be reached for the gaudiest ring on the. tray. A huge diamond surrounded by emeralds, it was one of the most tasteless pieces in the shop. So tasteless that it had been sitting in the case, unsold, for as long as she could remember.
Within half an hour the ring had been lovingly boxed and presented to the young man. Wasn't it fortunate that the ring just fit Rosemary's small hand, he'd said with a smitten glance at his fiancee. Personally Charity thought the ring looked like a cheap
Christmas ornament, but she kept the opinion to herself.
After Rosemary and her fianc6 left, the store was momentarily without customers. Charity signaled to Sally, the only other employee, to take her break. With the manager, Al Kocek, hiding in the office, probably sleeping, and Sally on break, Charity was alone in the store.
She eased her right foot out of its shoe, sighing with relief as she flexed her cramped toes. Rubbing a polishing cloth idly over one of the glass cases, she found her thoughts drifting to the conversation she'd had with her sister the day before.
Maybe Diane was right. Maybe she should make an effort to get out more, to meet interesting men. But she'd have to do something about her image. She wasn't sure what it was that made men see her more as a sisterly confidante than a lover, but there had to be a way to change the picture.
Maybe she should try a red leather miniskirt. She could have her hair permed into wild curls and buy a pair of those huge dangling earrings that her brother always said looked like cheap fishing lures. Three-inch spikes to give her a little more height.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to bring the picture into focus, but all she saw was a short, well-rounded blonde who looked as if she was dressed for a Halloween party.
She sighed, dismissing the idea without regret. She might as well face it. She was never going to look like a femme fatale. She wasn't even going to look like a femme semi-fatale. She was cursed with a wholesome look, and she was just going to have to live with it.
It was easy for Diane to talk about getting out more. Men stumbled over themselves to take her out, and not to talk about their old girlfriends, either.
When the bell over the shop door pinged, she looked up, relieved to have her thoughts interrupted. When she saw who was entering, Charity felt her face grow warm. She slid her shoe back on, hardly noticing her pinched toes.
"Mr. London." She moved forward, trying to ignore the way her pulse skipped a beat when he smiled at her. She'd seen that wide smile in more than a few of her fantasies.
"Hi."
"We just got a new shipment of crystal last week," she said, stopping at the shelves near the front of the store where a series of delicate crystal creatures basked in the late-afternoon sun.
"I noticed. Let me see the Pegasus, would you?"
Charity handed him the small winged horse, oddly pleased that he'd chosen her favorite piece. He cupped it in his fingers, holding it up so that the sunlight poured through it. Charity studied him while he examined it.
It was odd how his face had come to mind while she was talking with Diane yesterday. It wasn't as if she really knew him, not on any personal level.
Gabriel London had been coming into Hoffman's for over a year. Every month or so he came in and bought one of the little crystal animals Mr. Hoffman imported from Europe. The small pieces were exquisitely crafted and priced accordingly. They had a number of customers who collected them but none who lingered in her thoughts like Gabriel London.
It was hard to say just what it was about him that made him so memorable. He wasn't enormously tall— an inch or so over six feet maybe. He was built on lean lines, all muscle and not much bulk.
His hair was medium brown, worn short but shaggy, as if he couldn'
t be bothered with keeping it tamed. His eyes were hazel, a rich amalgam of green and gold. His features were too long, too angular to be really handsome. His mouth was wide, bracketed by lines that said he smiled often. His chin was strong, stubbornly shaped. His nose was... well, rather noselike.
Nothing all that extraordinary. But somehow it all blended into a whole that was considerably greater than the sum of the parts. No mere physical catalog could capture the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. Or the way he moved with a sort of casual grace that made her heart beat just a little faster than it had any business doing.
"What do you think?"
Charity blinked. What did she think? She'd been so wrapped up in analyzing Gabriel London that for an instant she thought he was asking her opinion of himself.
"Think?"
"Of the Pegasus," he prompted.
"The Pegasus. Of course." She blinked at the small crystal figure in his hand, trying to shift her thinking.
"Mind on other things?" he asked.
"Just drifted off, I guess. Sorry."
"No problem. Daydreams are a sign of an intelligent mind."
"According to whom?"
"According to me," he said, giving her that grin that never failed to make her heart skip.
"I'm not sure my boss would buy that philosophy," she told him with1 a smile.
"A slave driver?" he asked sympathetically.
"No. But he's not much inclined to encourage daydreaming on the j ob."
"Too bad." He held the Pegasus up so that the sunlight streamed through it. The delicate wings seemed to quiver with life. If she narrowed her eyes, Charity could almost believe it was about to take flight.
"It looks alive, doesn't it," he said, reading her thoughts.
"Yes. It's a lovely piece." She reached out to touch one finger to the proudly arched little head, half-surprised to feel cool glass beneath her touch, rather than the warmth of a living creature.
"It's hard to believe that a human being could create something so exquisite," he murmured, talking to himself as much as to her.
"It's nice to be reminded of the good things we're capable of."
"Yes."
He looked past the Pegasus, his eyes meeting hers. Charity felt her color rise, and she hoped he'd attribute it to the warmth of the sun that poured in the front windows. She could suddenly hear Diane's voice suggesting that she should ask him out to lunch. It was so loud in her mind, she would hardly have been surprised if he heard it, too.
Watching the color come into her cheeks, Gabe wondered at its cause. She was really a very attractive woman, he thought, not for the first time. If he were honest, he would have to admit that it was her smile that kept him coming back to this particular store. He could have gotten the little crystal figures at a better price elsewhere.
Twice he'd almost asked her out. Each time he'd changed his mind. She wore no rings, but he couldn't believe that a woman with a smile like that wasn't seriously involved with someone. Besides, what if she accepted his invitation and then turned out to have the personality of an angry pit bull once she was away from her job?
Gabe rather liked having her in the back of his mind as a gentle fantasy. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk spoiling it with reality. God knows he had plenty of reality in his job.
But seeing her standing there with the sun picking out gold highlights in her honey-colored hair, with those big green eyes smiling at him, Gabe decided it was worth taking a chance.
He opened his mouth to ask if she'd consider having dinner with him sometime. The sharp ping of his beeper interrupted him before he could say anything. Grimacing, he set the Pegasus on the counter and reached for the beeper at his belt, silencing the electronic demand.
"Is there a phone here that I could use?"
"In the employees' lounge," Charity said. "Well, it's only a little room, really. But there's a phone there."
It was strictly against the rules, of course. Mr. Hoffman would frown severely if he found out she'd allowed a customer into the inner sanctum. But this was hardly an ordinary customer, Charity told herself, as she led the way to the back of the store. Not only was Gabriel London a regular patron, he was a police officer of some sort. She'd seen the badge several times when he took out his wallet to pay for his purchases.
Sally was just leaving the small room that went by the rather grandiose title of employees' lounge when
Charity led Gabe down the little hallway. There were boxes stacked in one corner, revealing its true use as a storeroom. But there was a narrow sofa crammed against the wall next to a table that held a coffee machine, a couple of magazines and the phone.
Sally gave Charity a surprised look as she showed Gabe into the room. He murmured his thanks and moved toward the phone. Charity wasn't surprised to find Sally waiting for her at the end of the narrow hallway.
"Hoffman'll be furious," Sally said, not without a certain amount of satisfaction. She resented the fact that though Charity didn't have the title, she had the authority that went with being a manager. If anyone should be unofficial manager, Sally felt it should be she. After all, she'd been with Hoffman's six months longer than Charity. Never mind that she couldn't manage her own checkbook, it was seniority that should count.
"Mr. Hoffman certainly wouldn't object to my lending a hand to a police officer," Charity said calmly.
"Who say's he's a cop?" Sally's tone was ripe with suspicion.
"I do." The calm statement was difficult to argue with, though Sally looked as if she'd like to give it a try. Luckily for Charity's patience, the soft ping of the bell over the door announced the arrival of a customer. The subject was dropped as both women moved toward the front of the store.
Sally took the first customers, an older couple looking for a gift for their granddaughter's graduation. Hard on their heels was a couple in their thirties who headed straight for the engagement rings. Charity wondered if everyone in the world but her was married or about to be. With a small sigh she moved toward them.
She'd just set a tray of rings on the counter when the bell pinged again. Glancing at Sally, she saw that she was still showing her customers a delicate diamond tennis bracelet. Unless Al bothered to come out of his office, the new customers were simply going to have to wait.
Charity looked at the new arrivals and felt her heart give a sudden, sickening bump. Three men had entered, all of them in their early to mid-twenties. Two were unshaven, their faces covered with a ragged growth of beard. A good bath and a delousing would go a long way toward improving their social standing.
They didn't look as if they were interested in buying an anniversary gift for their ailing mother, she thought, and then chided herself for being so judgmental. They were probably perfectly nice young men. Right. And pigs really could fly.
Charity murmured an apology to her customers and moved toward the newcomers. Stopping at the end of the counter, her hand dropped casually behind it, her fingers hovering over the silent alarm button. It might not be fair to judge them by their looks, but if that trio was here for anything but trouble, she'd eat her shoes, which couldn't possibly be more uncomfortable than wearing them.
"May I help you?"
The inquiry seemed to amuse them. They glanced at each other, mouths curving in smiles that did nothing to reassure Charity.
"Can you help us?" That was the clean-shaven one, the one with the pale blue eyes.
"Yes. Is there something I can do for you?" Charity kept her smile firmly in place, despite the shiver that was working its way up her spine.
"Well now, that all depends," he said mockingly. "It all depends on whether you got what we want." He turned toward her as he spoke and Charity felt her uneasiness crystalize into fear. Despite the warmth of the late-spring day outside, they were all wearing jackets. As he turned toward her, his jacket swung away from his body, giving her a clear look at the rather large gun tucked in his belt.
"What is it you're interested in?" she as
ked calmly. Her smile frozen in place, Charity's finger came down on the silent alarm. The signal would be relayed directly to the police department. And if she was misjudging these men and they were really undercover cops, she'd apologize later.
"Well, we're interested in a lot of things." The clean-shaven one must be the leader. He took a step toward her, a truly sickening smile on his thin face. But he didn't get a chance to continue.
Al Kocek, for whom quick wit could not be placed high on his list of attributes, chose this particular moment to demonstrate why that was the case. The silent alarm had triggered a red light and a discreet buzzer in his office. Charity speculated later that he'd probably been sleeping on the sofa when the alarm startled him awake. There were any number of intelligent reactions he could have had. Unfortunately he bypassed all of them.
"Who the hell triggered that alarm?" His bellow preceded him as he charged from the back hallway.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The man who'd been approaching Charity spun around, his hand reaching inside his coat. When it came back out, the gun was clutched in his fist. She reached out, thinking to push him off balance, but he wasn't close enough. Her fingers barely brushed the sleeve of his coat. The gun lifted and she saw his finger tighten on the trigger.
The sound of the shot was deafening. Charity threw her hands up to cover her ears, turning her head to see Al Kocek's bulky body jerk with the impact of the bullet. Red bloomed on his shoulder. He staggered and fell back.
There was a moment of unbearable silence. It was broken by a scream. For a moment Charity thought the screaming in her mind had become audible. But then she saw Sally's mouth open, her eyes bulging with terror as she stared at Al's motionless body. She dropped her hands from her ears, not surprised to find them shaking.
Sally's scream broke off into loud sobs that filled the shocked silence.
❧
On the phone at the back of the jewelry store, Gabe listened as Annie gave him a rundown of a report that had just come in. They'd been investigating an extortion racket for nearly three months and it looked as if they might finally be getting a break.
Charity's Angel Page 2