Not Quite an Angel (Harlequin Superromance No. 595)

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Bernie whistled. “I take back everything I ever said about you having dubious taste in women. Sameh’s the best.”

  “Yeah, I know it,” Adam agreed. “There’s a couple of problems, though.” He took a deep breath, and starting from the beginning, he told Bernie the whole story, detailing the list of things he’d watched her do that in the retelling sounded bizarre. He even scrapped his pride and described the bolt that had hit him in the balls the first time he tried to make a serious pass.

  Bernie, God rot his hide, grinned all over his face at that one.

  Before Adam was even half-finished, though, he started to wonder if Bernie would suggest he take a mental health leave of absence. He knew for sure that if the shoe was on the other foot, he’d be concerned about his partner’s sanity.

  When he finally finished, Bernie didn’t say anything for a long time. He swirled his cold coffee around in the mug, sighed deeply and then said, “I’m inclined to believe her, Hawk. About where she came from and all that.”

  Cold fear settled in Adam’s stomach. “You’re putting me on.”

  Bernie shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy. Fran and I have talked it over, and there’s something about Sameh that isn’t like anything we’ve ever come across before. She’s helping Corey, you know. Or rather, she’s teaching Fran how to help him. It could be the therapy kicking in, but I don’t think so. It’s only been happening since Sameh came into the picture.”

  Bernie’s whole face reflected his feelings. “God, Hawk, it’s good to see. Corey’s slowly losing some of the stiffness in his legs—they’re not scissored as badly, and he can reach for toys now and hold onto them. It’s like a miracle. But what I’m most grateful for is the difference in Fran. She’s happy again. She’s even started painting, and it’s entirely due to Sameh.” His voice grew gentle, tender, as it always did when he talked about Frances. “So I guess hearing about this other stuff doesn’t really surprise me all that much.”

  He gave Adam a level look. “It shouldn’t surprise you, either. Remember the investigation we did on her, how there was no trace anywhere of her existing before April of this year? You know as well as I do that every single person in the Western world leaves a paper trail of some kind. I’ve never, in all my years as a cop or as an investigator, come across someone without a past. Except Sameh.”

  Adam hadn’t, either, but he was grasping at straws. He had to. There was too much at stake here. “But this guy you told me about, this Mezzner, he could do things that were pretty peculiar, too, right? So maybe Sameh’s just a person who has exceptional psychic powers. Maybe that’s enough to make her more than a little strange, make her think maybe she’s from another time and place.” He thought about the orange juice floating toward him through the air that morning and shuddered. “God knows, it would drive me bonkers in one hell of a hurry, being able to do things like that.”

  Bernie shook his head. “She’s not like Mezzner at all. She’s not like anybody. She’s unique.”

  Adam closed his eyes and massaged his brow. He was getting a headache. Maybe both of them had lived too long in a city where make-believe was the major industry.

  Bernie brought his feet to the floor and stood up, jamming his hands into his pockets, his forehead creased in a frown. “There’s something about Sameh, a sense that you get when you’re with her, a feeling in your chest that your’re dealing with an exceptional human being. It’s nothing you could take to court. But what you’ve just told me, about her coming here from a different time, makes one hell of a lot of sense. It explains all the things you and I couldn’t figure out about her right from the beginning.”

  “C’mon, Bern.” Adam felt desperate. “We’re talking time travel here, damn it. You know as well as I do that there’s no such thing.”

  Bernie gave him a pitying look. “What do you figure my grandfather would have said if somebody tried to explain computers to him?”

  Bernie’s intercom buzzed, and Janice’s voice said, “Playtime’s over, boys. Ms. Roberts is here to see Adam, and an insurance adjustor named Howard Wart—can I possibly have heard that right?—is on line two for Bernie.”

  The partners looked at one another.

  “So how long you figure she’s here for, Hawk?”

  Adam shook his head. “God knows.”

  “Any chance you can talk her into staying?”

  “I intend to try.” There was steely determination in Adam’s voice. “I intend to succeed.”

  “Well, I’ve never known a woman yet who could say no to you, Hawk.” Bernie meant to be encouraging, but Adam already knew that Sameh was the exception to any rule that might exist on that score. “She’s baby-sitting for us tonight, so you could maybe drop over and start convincing her your intentions are honorable,” Bernie suggested with a wink.

  Adam made an attempt at a grin. “I’m way ahead of you. I thought I’d come and give her a hand putting the kids to bed. And by the way, happy anniversary, partner.” He clapped Bernie on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky man, married to the woman you love.” He hadn’t really understood how truly lucky Bernie was until today.

  “Thanks, Hawk. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Yeah, Bern.” For the life of him, Adam couldn’t think of one single thing anyone could do in this case. On second thought, maybe one. “A prayer or two might be good, if you’ve got any talents along those lines,” he suggested. He wasn’t joking at all.

  Bernie nodded, as if the request was perfectly normal. “Sure. They know me up there. Ever since Corey.”

  DELILAH STARED into the bathroom mirror and wondered if perhaps she was having some sort of emotional breakdown. The magazines were full of articles about women in menopause. Maybe this depression she was struggling with was simply a result of her age.

  Over the past weeks, Delilah had begun to fear that Tyrone’s interest in her was slipping away, that the love he’d insisted was eternal might be all too temporary, and it was making her crazy.

  When she was young, she’d have asserted that a fifty-six-year-old woman made herself look ridiculous and vulnerable by falling so hopelessly in love with a younger man. But when she was young, it was inconceivable that she’d ever really be fifty-six. Tyrone was forty-nine, seven years her junior. Until now, Delilah’s heart had insisted that age was irrelevant between two people who loved each other.

  But Tyrone had just left for Las Vegas, and he hadn’t even bothered to ask Delilah if she wanted to go along. He’d made the excuse that he knew she had to stay home and work.

  He’d made several similar trips without her in the past six weeks, and she was miserable because of it. She was far too wise, however, to allow any hint of her real feelings to show as she kissed him goodbye. She was still a wonderful actress.

  “I’ll call when I can,” he promised, climbing into the shiny blue Cadillac she’d encouraged him to buy a short time ago. Violet was at the wheel; she’d offered to drive him to the airport.

  Delilah was fairly certain he wouldn’t call. He hadn’t bothered to phone her the other times he’d been gone.

  “Have fun, darling.” Waving and smiling, she watched the sleek car pull away, and the knot in her chest drew tighter, almost choking her. Feeling bone tired and miserable, she turned and walked back into the house and into the nearest bathroom to repair the damage that the tears trickling down her cheeks were doing to her makeup.

  She knew that Sameh was waiting for her in the office, and Delilah really did have to work hard today. The deadline on her new book had come and gone, and she wasn’t anywhere near finished. They’d given her an extension, of course, but it bothered her to have to ask for one. Till now, she’d prided herself on always being professional and prompt with her editors.

  The problem was, she couldn’t concentrate on her work the way she needed to. Little things kept bothering her, like the phone call she’d had from Mary Margaret Baker several days before. Mary Margaret wasn’t a friend, reall
y. She was more of an acquaintance, which had made it all the more shocking when she’d been almost rude to Delilah, upset over some investment she’d made through Tyrone. Of course he’d handled the whole thing as soon as Delilah told him about the call, but it was upsetting all the same.

  She kept thinking about Tyrone. She’d meditated, tried to tell herself that she had no proof of anything amiss between them, that she was being paranoid. All she had to go on was this strong, sick feeling that something in her life was deteriorating. And she’d had dreams warning her that a traumatic event was on the horizon.

  Delilah was a woman who’d long ago learned to trust in feelings and dreams, but now she was trying her best to ignore the warnings. With an expert hand, she repaired her makeup and made her way into the office.

  Sameh was seated at the computer, working on revisions Delilah had made in the past several chapters. She looked up when Delilah came into the room. Her smile was dazzling. “Hello, Delilah. Isn’t it a lovely morning?”

  Delilah looked at her and made an effort to smile back, but it was difficult. She’d always considered her employees as friends. She’d always trusted the people she hired, but lately this, too, was becoming more and more difficult.

  The problems had begun early in the spring, when Loretta had died and she’d hired Sameh to take her place. Violet, who’d been Delilah’s good right hand for six years, had developed an instant and intense dislike for the younger woman.

  At first, Delilah had put Violet’s animosity down to a touch of jealousy. Sameh was like a breath of fresh air in the household, and Delilah hadn’t tried to hide her affection and respect for her young secretary. They shared an interest in New Age thinking, and Sameh’s insights had impressed Delilah. All summer long, she’d assured herself that things would work out between her housekeeper and her secretary, given time.

  But things hadn’t. From the very beginning, Violet had insisted that there was something sinister about Sameh, that she wasn’t what she seemed to be, that she was flirting with Tyrone when Delilah wasn’t around, an accusation Delilah considered both mean and absurd. She’d laughed it off the first few times Violet had mentioned it, and eventually she’d forbidden Violet to ever say such a thing again. Lately, however, drowning in her insecurities during the black night hours when she couldn’t sleep, Delilah had begun to wonder if perhaps Violet had been close to the truth after all.

  Sameh had told Delilah an incredible story about coming to work for her because Delilah would have a major effect on future generations, about Sameh herself being from that future time and coming back here because of Delilah. It was a flattering idea. Every writer dreamed that what she wrote would be immortal. But to a woman racked by insecurities, beginning to feel old, afraid that her last opportunity for happiness was disappearing, it also sounded too good to be true.

  Sameh was beautiful, charming…young. She attracted men effortlessly. Delilah had watched in amusement as first her pool man and then her gardener, one young, one well into middle age, found flimsy excuses to seek Sameh out whenever they were around.

  Adam Hawkins, too, seemed to have fallen hard for Sameh, and Adam had a well-known reputation for being unattainable. Wasn’t it ridiculous, Delilah told herself in absolute fevers of jealousy, to think that Tyrone alone was immune to Sameh’s beauty?

  In the light of day, Delilah hated herself for her suspicions. But each time she passed a mirror and caught sight of her aging face, she was reminded again of the inevitable contrast between her and her youthful secretary.

  It made her bad-tempered. She hated herself for being petty and mean, for losing sight of all the spiritual truths she emphasized in her books. She must keep in mind that the body was simply an envelope that everyone had to leave behind at some point, that spiritual growth was the only wealth that one could take away from the world.

  The fact was, the more insecure she became about Tyrone, the less comfort she found in those beliefs. She wanted to be loved now, and in the years that were left of her life. She wanted this one man to be blind to her wrinkles and loosening flesh—or else, impossible as it seemed, to love her because of them.

  Sameh’s beautiful, deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “Delilah, if you have a few moments, there are some things I need to talk about with you.”

  Delilah knew Sameh hadn’t come home the night before. She’d undoubtedly spent the night in Adam Hawkins’s arms—while Delilah lay awake, listening to Tyrone’s snores, longing to awaken him and too afraid he’d reject her if she did. How long had it been since she and Tyrone had last made love? Delilah wondered.

  “I’d like to confide in you, Delilah, and ask your advice, if you don’t mind?”

  Delilah looked at Sameh, noticing the tiny bruise on her throat, the flush on her cheeks that could have come from a man’s unshaven face rubbing there, the unmistakable bloom of youth and love that glowed in her eyes, her smile, her unlined skin. Anguish and a terrible jealousy washed over her in a tide of bitterness and fear.

  Tyrone was the last man she’d ever love. She’d wanted to grow old with him, to share with him the twilight years of her life. She couldn’t bear to hear the details of Sameh’s young and passionate romance. “I’m behind on this book, you know that,” she snapped. “I really don’t have the time or patience to indulge in idle chitchat with you.”

  Sameh looked stricken, like a child who’d been slapped for no reason at all. Her eyes grew wide and darkened with unshed tears. She gulped and then turned to the computer.

  Feeling like the worst sort of bitch, utterly miserable and yet unable to behave any other way, Delilah began to dictate in a hard, raspy voice she barely recognized as her own.

  SAMEH DESCRIBED the painful scene to Adam that evening. They were sitting in the Methots’ kitchen. The floor and all the surfaces were littered with toys, and the children’s supper dishes were scattered over the table and the counters. Corey and Kate had been fed, bathed, played with, sung to, read to, given glasses of water and bottles of juice, kissed, hugged, rocked and thoroughly enjoyed by both Sameh and Adam. Now they were finally asleep.

  “Tyrone deliberately uses Delilah’s generosity. He manipulated her into buying the car he wanted, and when he left, Delilah’s eyes were red. I knew she’d been crying….”

  Adam had called in the afternoon to say that he was coming over to Bernie’s to help her baby-sit, and this was the first chance Sameh had had to say more to him than things like please dry Kate off while I diaper Corey. But just being with him, being able to share the love they both felt for these children, had filled her with contentment.

  “I’m certain Delilah wanted to go with him, you know, but he didn’t ask her. And somehow I don’t even think he was going to Las Vegas. He’s hiding something and I can’t see what it is. I never can with Tyrone, or Violet, either.”

  Adam, on the other hand, wasn’t hiding a thing. When their eyes met, Sameh knew that the memories of their lovemaking the previous night were every bit as vivid for him as they were for her, and she felt suddenly shy. His green eyes glittered when they looked at her, and she knew the desire he felt for her was even stronger than before.

  She’d wondered all day what it would be like to face him. She’d gone over and over the night they’d spent together, trying to come to terms with a part of herself that she hadn’t known existed until she met Adam, a wild and untamed side of her that seemed foreign to her everyday self, and yet totally right and proper in Adam’s arms.

  “Delilah is very much in love with Tyrone. She wants a close relationship with him….”

  Sameh wanted that, too, but was it the same for Adam? Had the passion they’d shared been unique for him, the way it had been for Sameh? She’d sensed that, at some point the night before, Adam had crossed a barrier with her that was new for him too, that he’d held nothing back, either with his mind or with his body. He’d given himself totally, as she had. She sensed, as well, that his mistrust of her was gone, that for the first
time since they’d met, he accepted her for who and what she really was—a visitor to his time and place. That new trust promised a closeness that hadn’t been possible before now.

  Why, then, when they were alone and there was finally time to really talk with him, was she chattering on about Delilah and Tyrone instead of discussing this splendid thing that was happening between them? Why wasn’t she telling him that she’d fallen in love with him—a completely different situation than loving her fellow humans in the way the disciplines instructed. Distracted, she got up and took some of the dishes over to the sink, bringing the dishrag back to wipe the table.

  She couldn’t bring up the important things because she was afraid, she realized. She was frightened of the magnitude of her feelings for him. She had to go back soon, and she didn’t want to face the inevitable ending of their relationship, didn’t even want to contemplate it. Agitated, she began to pick up the toys and stack them on the shelves in the corner and in the toybox.

  God help her, more than anything she wanted to stay here in the nineties, live with this man, lie in his arms every night, have a child with him, even grow old long before she would ever age in her own environment, if it meant growing old with him. She wanted to share life and death and rebirth and everything that was or ever would be with Adam Hawkins.

  She craved all those things with an intensity she’d seldom felt before. And she knew every single thing she craved was impossible, so she jabbered on and on, wanting to postpone the declaration she could clearly see forming in his mind, the declaration and the question she knew she’d have to refuse.

  “In my time, mind contact makes everything so much easier between two people. Each can see clearly, instantly, what the other truly feels about issues.” Here she was talking about her world, when it was his that beckoned her with a power she knew she’d have to withstand, even though it tore her heart in pieces. “I suppose it could seem boring, such intimate contact, but in truth it’s very comforting.”

  Adam sat, arms folded across his chest, green eyes narrowed on her, and listened with that silent intentness that had so intimidated her when she’d first met him. Now, his silence didn’t bother her at all. She knew that behind that intimidating silence was the man she loved.