Normally, Angel would have balked at being so blatantly manipulated by the men in her life. But she really did love the house and felt good about being there for her mother. The arrangement seemed the perfect solution, since Angel could no longer afford to live in her ocean view apartment. She’d been a police officer with Sunset Cove and on a regular salary when she’d moved in. That had changed, hopefully for the better. She’d taken a forced leave and needed more time, so now she was on leave without pay. Recently, she’d begun working as a private detective for Rachael Rastovski, her favorite attorney and friend. So far the PI business had been less than lucrative. But she had finished up an investigation this past week and felt pretty good about it and the money she’d earned. Angel had solved the crime and ended up with a gunshot wound to the arm.
She couldn’t believe how much her brothers and Callen had accomplished in such a short time, but apparently, Tim had talked to their dad about the will right after the heart attack. Her brothers and a couple of hired laborers had been working since the day after the funeral, breaking out walls, rebuilding and pouring the concrete and framing in the new addition. When they were finished, she’d have a luxurious bathroom and master bedroom with a sliding glass door leading out to a private patio, which would, of course, have a Jacuzzi. Their idea of minor adjustments certainly didn’t fit with hers, but she wasn’t complaining.
Most of her stuff was in the garage, but she’d kept out a few things like clothes and kitchen and bathroom things.
“Any more boxes?” Callen said as he released her.
“Nope.” She stepped away, already missing the closeness. “That was the last. I put the others in the kitchen.” She chuckled. “Ma is already merging my stuff with hers.”
“She’s thrilled you’re moving back here.” Callen wore a pleased look as he hooked his thumbs on his belt.
“Apparently she’s not the only one.”
“I’m relieved. So are your brothers. Ever since that break-in at your apartment, none of us have been comfortable with you living alone.”
She still got a creepy feeling sometimes when she opened the door to the apartment, afraid of what she might find. It had been more than a break-in—the thugs had trashed everything in the place. She felt safer here but would never admit it.
Callen reached into a can for nails, which he dropped into a pouch on his tool belt. After pounding in several nails he tossed one aside. The action reminded her of something, and she chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Callen glanced in her direction.
“Nothing, really. I just thought of a joke Pop used to tell about this builder. The guy would throw out about half the nails, and one day his boss asked him why. He said, ‘Cause they’re facing the wrong way.’”
Callen laughed.
“Wait, I’m not finished.”
“There’s more?”
“Yeah. The boss says, ‘You’re not throwing them out, are you?’ The guy says, ‘I was going to. You got a better idea?’ The boss says, ‘Yeah, just use them on the other side of the house.’”
“Cute.” Callen pulled several nails out of a pocket on his leather belt, tossing her the one that was facing the wrong way.
Angel tossed the nail back. She could have stood there all day watching Callen, but she had a massive list of things to do. “I’d better go help Ma before she gets all the boxes unloaded.” Stopping at the door, she said, “Not to rush you or anything, but when do you think you guys will be finished?”
Callen surveyed the king-sized mess. “Another week, maybe.”
“Okay.” She slipped out of the room and walked down the hall, determined not to show her disappointment. She’d spend another week sleeping in Luke’s old room, which was now their guest room.
Being in that room brought back far too many memories. Too much heartache. Was he alive? Dead? Why had he never contacted them? Would he ever? Why hadn’t he come to the funeral?
Maybe he had. She thought about the mysterious stranger at the cemetery. She’d asked Nick about him several times, but he’d shrugged her off, saying it was someone he thought he recognized, but that he’d been mistaken.
It wasn’t Luke. But why can’t you stop thinking about it?
Going through the living room on her way to the kitchen, Angel paused briefly to look at the red 1972 Corvette parked in the driveway. Luke’s car.
Luke had graduated from Harvard Law School with honors and moved to the Fort Myers area, where he took a job as assistant DA in the district attorney’s office. Everyone was so proud. But then came the terse note telling the family he was leaving and not coming back, and they were not to worry or try to find him. The note read like a will. In it he’d asked Angel to take care of his car.
All she knew about his disappearance was that Luke had been involved in some sort of high-profile case before he disappeared. Authorities seemed convinced that he’d killed a key witness and a guard, then fled. Their family never believed that story, and she doubted the people who worked with him did either. What happened to you, Luke? I know you would never kill anyone, but why did you run?
With her house torn up and Rachael not in need of her investigative skills at the moment, maybe she could do some digging. But where on earth would she start? The obvious place was Fort Myers, Florida, where Luke was last seen. Maybe she could go there and...
What am I thinking? She couldn’t leave in the middle of moving to find a brother who apparently didn’t want to be found... and who may no longer be alive.
No, that couldn’t be true. She’d never allowed herself to think he might be dead and couldn’t now. Luke was alive; she knew it in her heart. And there had to be a way to find him.
Angel left her longings behind and headed into the kitchen. Anna was singing and single-handedly unpacking Angel’s things, treating each item as if it were a museum piece as she placed them in the appropriate drawers and cupboards.
“Ma, you shouldn’t be working so hard.” Angel opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea.
“Nonsense. Since when is getting my baby settled work?”
“Okay, Ma. Rule number one. If I’m going to live here, you have to stop calling me your baby.”
Anna tossed Angel a knowing smile. “You’ll always be my baby. Even when I’m an old woman and you’re my age.”
Angel shook her head. Who am I kidding? Ma makes the rules—always has and always will. “All right, just don’t say it out loud.” She lifted the pitcher. “Want some?”
“I would. Get some for Callen too, and let’s go out on the deck. We could all use a break.”
If taking a break herself would get her mother off her feet, so be it. Sometimes a person just had to make sacrifices. So Angel did as she was told and brought a drink in for Callen. “Want to join us on the deck?”
Callen thanked her for the tea. “As much as I’d love your company, I’d better keep working.”
“Suit yourself.”
The phone rang just as Angel was sitting down on one of the chaise lounge chairs on the sunny deck. “I’ll get it.” She set down her tea on the table and hurried back inside.
When she got to the phone, she picked up the receiver and said hello.
“Angel. Thank God you’re home.”
The caller was crying, and it took Angel a moment to recognize the voice. “Rosie? Is that you? For heaven’s sake, take a breath and tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s Nick. He’s been shot.”
FIVE
Angel spent the next thirty seconds telling Callen and her mother about the phone call and the next five minutes driving to the hospital with Callen. With lightning speed, he’d covered his T-shirt with his navy state police jacket and exchanged the hammer and tool belt for a gun and shoulder holster—like Superman sans the phone booth.
Since Callen had driven his unmarked blue Crown Victoria and couldn’t take passengers, they took the Corvette, which seated only two people. Her mother hurried th
em along, saying she’d have Tim pick her up. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me the minute you hear anything.”
Once in the car, Callen called his supervisor in Portland, getting the okay to help the local PD as necessary. As shorthanded as the Sunset Cove police department was, Callen would likely be assigned to head the investigation. He then spoke to dispatch, asking to be briefed and telling them he was en route to the hospital.
Angel watched Callen’s expression as he made the call. He was all business now, a frown etching his face, making him look sterner, older than his thirty-three years. He was a cop first, like her father had been. That thought unsettled her. Did she really want to marry a man like Frank Delaney? Did she want to marry a cop?
All thoughts of Callen and her father fled when he hung up and cast a concerned look in her direction as he set his phone on the seat beside him and took her hand. His left hand gripped the steering wheel, leaving no doubt as to his rising adrenaline.
“What happened?” Angel asked. Rosie hadn’t known or couldn’t express many of the details. Rosie worked with the Sunset PD as a civilian receptionist, desk clerk, and secretary to the chief. She and Angel had been friends for years. And Rosie had been dating Nick for the past couple of months.
Callen shook his head. “I’m not getting much more than what Rosie told you. Nick was out on a patrol east of town and apparently walked into an ambush. Took two bullets but managed to get himself to his vehicle and call in. He’s lost a lot of blood, Angel. It doesn’t look good.”
Callen pulled into a police parking space, the closest spot to the door. Inside the hospital, Callen showed his badge and got immediate entry into the emergency room. Angel followed close on his heels.
Rosie was standing just outside the drawn curtains.
“How is he?” Angel wrapped her arms around her old friend.
“They’re getting him ready for surgery.” Tears had puffed up Rosie’s beautiful brown eyes, running her mascara and leaving black smudges on her cheeks. “They aren’t telling me anything because I’m not family.”
Angel rolled her eyes. Confidentiality laws—necessary, she supposed, but sometimes a terrible nuisance. “Did you tell them he has no family?”
“Yes, but...”
“Stay here.” Callen swept the curtains aside and stepped into the cubicle. Moments later he came back out. The curtains swished open, and a man in green scrubs and a green surgical cap began pushing the stretcher out.
Nick’s normally dark complexion was a pasty yellow. An IV bag dripped fluid through the clear plastic tubing and into the vein above his left wrist.
Angel felt as though a fist had slammed into her chest. Seeing Nick like this kicked off the flashbacks. Her best friend murdered in a Miami day care. Bullets shattering the window at Bergman’s Pharmacy as she and her partner pulled up to investigate a burglary. Blood pumping out of the boy...
She pulled herself back from the barrage of horrific scenes and focused on Nick. Please, God, not Nick too. Let him be all right.
He opened his eyes and offered Rosie a wan smile, his eyes glazed and unfocused. When Nick saw Angel, he held up a hand and caught her arm. The stretcher stopped. “Ange.” He gasped and seemed to want to tell her something.
Barely able to hear him, she leaned closer.
“Luke,” he whispered. “In trouble... Have to warn him.” He let go of her and closed his eyes.
Nick, wait! What do you mean? She wanted to go after him, but it was too late. The stretcher went through the double doors and down the hall to the surgical suite.
Unsettled, she focused back on Callen and Rosie, who were both eyeing her with suspicion.
“What did he say?” Callen asked.
“I’m not sure.” She wasn’t lying. She’d heard the words clearly enough, or thought she had, but she needed time to process them.
Grim faced, Callen repeated what he’d learned from the doctor. Nick had taken three bullets in the chest. One had bitten into his vest above the heart but hadn’t penetrated. The remaining two had entered just above his vest. One had angled down and punctured his left lung and apparently nicked a vessel. The second had entered his upper left chest, barely missing the aorta. The surgeons were going in to check out the damage and hopefully stop the bleeding.
“All we can do now is wait,” Callen told them. “I’m heading out to the scene—see if I can pick up any information there. They’ve put a CSI detail on it, so hopefully...” He hugged Rosie and told her he’d be praying. Turning to Angel, Callen wrapped an arm around her shoulders and walked with her to the elevator.
“I know you want to come with me, but Rosie needs you. I’ll tell you what I can as soon as I can.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. His eyes said it all. He’d gladly have taken the bullets for Nick. Angel would have as well. It was a camaraderie they all shared. “I love you,” he said.
“Me too. Be careful.” Angel stared at the elevator doors after they closed him in. He knew her well. She had wanted to go out to the crime scene. But he was right, Rosie needed her, and truth be told, she wanted to stay there for Nick.
Angel called her mother as promised to let her know about Nick’s condition, then went back to the surgery waiting area, where Rosie was sitting arms crossed, eyes closed, leaning forward. The waiting room was full of cops now, some from every agency in the area. Anyone who wasn’t at the crime scene or needed elsewhere was waiting, pulling for Nick. Many of them talked to Rosie and Angel, offering sympathy and positive comments and prayers. Bo Williams from the sheriff’s department came in. “He’ll pull through. Nick’s as tough as they come.” Bo brought them both a cup of coffee and, after getting some for himself, took a chair next to Rosie. “I called your mama, Rosie,” he said.
“Thanks. Is she coming?”
Bo nodded, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the white Styrofoam cup. “Your mother, my mother. By nightfall I suspect the whole family will be here.”
Angel thumbed through an outdated People magazine but set it down when her mother and Tim arrived. Her brother was wearing his clerical collar and, after talking to Rosie and the others, gathered a group to pray.
Angel couldn’t help but wish there was something she could do besides pray. Nick had been ambushed, and whoever had shot him knew he’d be wearing a vest. Knew where the vulnerable areas were. The shooter just missed the aorta, hitting slightly above the heart. If the bullet had hit Nick just right, he would have bled out immediately. This had been a deliberate attempt to kill him. But why?
Once again, she wished she were an active duty cop and not an outsider. She wanted to be out running down clues and looking for the shooter. Did the shooting have something to do with Luke? It must have. Why else would Nick have mentioned Luke’s name? What else had he said? Something about warning Luke. How could she do that when she had no idea where her brother was?
Angel dragged herself over to the window. She tried to focus on Nick’s meaning, but her memories forced their way in again. Her fellow officer and best friend Dani Ortega, shot in the head while trying to subdue a gunman at a day care. Twelve-year-old Billy Dean, gunned down in a warehouse, his only weapon a toy gun. Dad with his heart attack and stroke.
Someone came up beside her and stood close, arms crossed. She knew who he was without turning to look.
“He’ll make it,” she heard Joe Brady say. The chief of police continued to face forward, watching the same scene of freshly budded trees and spring flowers. “Angel,” he said, “this probably isn’t a good time, but have you given any more thought to coming back to the department?”
He was right; it wasn’t a good time, but Angel couldn’t blame him for asking. He had a police department to run, and Nick’s injuries would leave him even more shorthanded than he’d been when Angel took her leave of absence. “I’ve thought about it,” Angel answered. “I still need more time. With Dad dying and me moving in with Ma, and now Nick...” She didn’t tell him that she really didn’t know if
she could handle police work anymore. There was still so much healing to be done, so much to work through. “I don’t know what to tell you, Joe.”
“You still trying to find yourself?” His tone seemed a bit harsh, as if her reason was not a valid one.
“Not really.” She’d told him that at one point, but her concerns went far beyond finding herself. What was it her counselor had said? “Emotional wounds are every bit as crippling as physical ones; the scars can be deeper and even more unbearable. And too many people don’t know how to treat them.”
One of the prescriptions was time, but Joe knew that. “As strange as it may seem,” Angel said, “I have some unfinished business. I’ve decided to try to find Luke.”
“Luke? What has it been, six years now?”
“Yeah. Something about living at home again has made me think about him a lot.” That and Nick’s comment before he went in for surgery. Up until then, the idea of finding Luke had been a pipe dream—a wild imagining from a little sister’s broken heart. Saying the words somehow gave the idea power and made it real.
Nick’s struggle to talk to her at that moment had to mean something. She thought back to the funeral and the man she’d seen Nick talking to. She’d thought at the time that it could be Luke but had dismissed the idea. The man with the beard and glasses had been too old and too heavy.
But what if he had been Luke, and Nick had recognized him? What if Nick had known where Luke was all along? The notion angered her. She couldn’t imagine Nick keeping something like that from the family.
As Good as Dead (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #3) (Angel Delaney Mystery) Page 3