Borrowed Angel

by Heather Graham

“She was a Miccosukee.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “She was a Cherokee, and her mother brought her family down to Miami when her father died. She was horrified when Elizabeth fell in love with me—because I was an Indian. I was part of the world that she had run from. No one had ever taught her to be proud, not where she came from. It was a harsher world then, people were very cruel. Indians weren’t allowed to drink out of ‘white’ water fountains. It took her years and years to believe that she did have a heritage in which to take pride.”

  Ashley looked at him and shook her head. “But your mother was Norse, and you’re so very close to Wendy and Brad, and by the tone of your book—”

  “What?”

  “There’s no bitterness in you with Wendy, and your outlook in the book is optimistic and humorous, and there’s so much hope there! Why is the…bitterness only with me?”

  “Maybe because it just suddenly mattered so much with you, and I just wasn’t expecting it, and I didn’t want it.”

  She caught her breath at his admission. She was glad and reached up to him, placing her palm against his cheek. She knew with a certainty that she was in love with him, that she would be in love with him all of her life.

  But it didn’t really change things, she knew. She had to walk away. If he followed, then there was hope. But the final decision had to come from him.

  Ashley looked down at her boot. “That’s nice,” she said quietly.

  “That’s nice?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Yes. It’s much, much more than I expected from you.”

  He swore with a sudden fury, grasping her shoulders as if he would shake her. “You still don’t understand. This isn’t all that it appears to be. I don’t spend all my time in my nice air-conditioned house, or with Brad and Wendy, or even with my grandparents and sisters. Sure, it’s a nice, normal life in a way. We have parties, we go to movies, I have good friends in Broward and Dade. But there’s a lot more to it. There’re kids down here who we fight to keep alive, we’ve got prostitution, orphans, old people who need help—and bingo. Where would we be without our bingo and our cigarette sales? Don’t you understand, Ashley? It isn’t always pretty. We’re noble, we’re proud, but you’d swear that a lot of our people just forgot about those virtues, or no one in the twentieth century remembered to tell them that we’re supposed to be noble and proud. We have a council, and I’m on that council, and I will always give the tribe my time and my effort.”

  “Eric—”

  He seemed to realize just how tightly he was holding her arms, and he released her abruptly. “It’s close to a normal life, Ashley. But don’t you see—your life isn’t normal. You’re accustomed to snapping your fingers and a secretary arrives. Hail a cab, send out for Chinese or sushi. You’re worried about the latest fashions from Paris while we’re just trying to keep decent clothing on all of our kids. It’s an uphill battle. It’s my fight, not yours. You can’t even begin to see it. Life is like the lay of the land, Ashley. Sometimes the rivers and the grass lie soft in the breeze, and all that you can see for miles and miles is peace and beauty. But always lurking, soundlessly like a jutting log, is the deadly gator or the slinking coral snake or the rattler. I love this place, Ashley. I would never, never leave it.”

  She jerked away from him, leaping to her feet. She’d meant it to be so very different, but he had the most awful effect on her temper. “Who ever asked you to leave it?” she demanded. “No one has asked anything—anything at all—from you! And no one will, Eric. If there’s anything that you want, you’ll have to come and get it.”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded harshly.

  “You can’t be that cold, that stupid, or that wrapped up in your own little world! But you needn’t worry about demands being made on your life. I’m leaving. Tony said that the roads would be cleared by tomorrow, and he and Marna have offered to take me into the city. I’m flying out on the first plane that I can get.”

  He stood stiffly for a long moment, then frowned suddenly. “You can’t just leave like that,” he said harshly.

  “I can’t? You spent the entire week trying to get rid of me. I’m going, and you stand there and tell me that I can’t leave?”

  “You’re in danger,” he said softly.

  “I’m in danger in the swamp,” she corrected him. “I won’t be in danger in the city.”

  “It was your friend who was murdered.”

  “He was not my friend.”

  “Sorry,” Eric responded offhandedly.

  There was something about the way he said it that clawed its way up her spine, irritating her beyond belief. She screeched something totally incoherent and threw herself against him.

  For once, she caught him completely by surprise. He cast up his arms to catch her, but she had come too hard upon him, and they both fell to the ground. Not even that curbed her temper. She slammed her hands hard against his chest. Startled, he coughed at the blow. Then a fire sizzled in his eyes, and he shouted. “Ashley, damn it, stop it!”

  She didn’t listen. She hit him until he caught her wrists, and with a loud grunt, flung her beneath him. Still, she was seething. He straddled her, holding her down, and she yelled for all that she was worth. “You are just too much! This is it! You should be scalped yourself. I’m—”

  “Ashley, stop it.”

  “I will not stop it!” With a burst of energy, she freed one hand and took a swing at him. He ducked, but the motion sent them rolling down the bank. To her horror, they plunged right into the pool, where there was mud and muck and who knew what else. She sank first, and gasping and gurgling she kicked against the muck to come to the surface.

  “Here, take my hand,” Eric offered. He was already out, and standing on the bank. Ashley ignored his hand.

  “I can get out myself!” she sputtered furiously. But one step sent her sliding down. Eric came to get her, sweeping her into his arms. She didn’t appreciate the effort. She beat against his shoulders. “Put me down! I don’t want your help; it isn’t worth it! A damned rattler is a friendlier creature! Put me down, and so help me, I mean it!”

  His teeth grated. She heard the sound and saw a vein bulge in his throat, along with the muscles that constricted in his neck and bunched and rippled in his arms. “You want down?”

  “Yes!” she snapped.

  “Fine!”

  He released her. She crashed back into the mud. He turned on his heel and walked away. Ashley found her footing. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to make it to the bank. Eric was already moving along the path to the little circle of chickees. Ashley tossed back her hair and started the same way. Suddenly she heard a giggle, then laughter. Elizabeth and Marna came out of the bushes.

  Marna tried to compose her features. “Can I give you a towel, Ashley?”

  “Yes, thank you!” Ashley took the towel with a nod, following with her eyes the trail Eric had taken. Elizabeth giggled again, and Ashley smiled slowly, aware that she was covered with mud and that swamp grass was trailing down from her hair. But her smile faded suddenly. “Marna, I do need you to take me out of here in the morning, if you would, please.”

  Marna’s grin faded, too. “Of course,” she said sweetly. “We’ll leave in the morning. We’ll take the airboat up to Mac’s garage. Our car is still there.”

  Ashley smiled her thanks, and Marna looked her over from head to toe. “Why don’t you get rid of that muddy stuff, and I’ll bring you some of my clothes? Take a bath in the clear water. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

  Ashley shook her head slowly. “Nothing is going to make me feel better, but thanks, Marna.”

  * * *

  Eric didn’t show up in the communal kitchen chickee for dinner, or appear later. Ashley tried to enjoy herself, and she managed to laugh and talk with the others, and smile a lot, but she was wretched inside. She hadn’t wanted it to end this way. Before she had dreams; she allowed herself illusions.

  And now he wasn’t all
owing her any illusions.

  She went to bed early, not disrobing, but lying down on her mat with her pillow in the beautiful and brightly colored Seminole shirt that Marna had given her. She stared into the darkness, with her lantern turned off. She could already make out sounds in the night. She heard a cricket, an owl, and from a distance—thankfully—she heard the piglike grunt of a gator. The air smelled nice. There was the scent of the campfire, mingled with the gentle fragrance of wild orchids. She closed her eyes, torn apart inside, yet still feeling the peace around her.

  She heard him when he came. She heard his footsteps on the ladder.

  She had expected him to come, and she knew in her heart that he was every bit as torn as she. But there was a difference. She had faith in him—and that was what he lacked. He had no faith in her.

  She thought that if she had any pride and dignity, she would walk away from this relationship. She would sit up, wait for him to arrive, and tell him to leave her alone.

  But she had one more night, and she wanted it.

  She kept her eyes half closed and saw him come inside and walk toward her. He stopped suddenly, inhaling sharply, his body silhouetted in the moonlight. His fists clenched. Ashley wanted to move, to say something, to discover what on earth was wrong. But then she knew, because he whispered a name.

  “Elizabeth…”

  His wife’s name. In the dim light he had seen her in the beautiful blouse, her hair spread beneath her, and he hadn’t been able to tell that that hair was red, not black.

  He knelt down beside her, and Ashley still couldn’t bring herself to stir. He reached out and touched her hair with trembling hands, and some harsh sound like a sob escaped him. The illusion had not lasted long. He had quickly realized who she was, and that the moonlight had played an eerie trick on him.

  She wanted to open her eyes fully, she wanted to tell him that if he would reach out, she would be there. She loved him, and nothing about life mattered at all, if only she could live it with him.

  The words would not come to her lips.

  “Ashley,” he murmured. “Ashley.”

  He lay down beside her and threaded his fingers through her hair. She should have turned him away, but she could not. He buried his face against her throat. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She touched him at last, reaching out to stroke his face. “I have a bad temper,” she said.

  He smiled. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Just whisper my name again,” she told him softly, and he did. He whispered it again and again, and she clung to him. He moved his lips against her throat, and his fingers worked over the tiny buttons on the blouse. Moments later they were entwined in each other’s arms, their clothing shed. He made love that night with a raw, near-desperate passion, his arms tight around her, his every stroke and thrust fierce and sweetly explosive.

  “How is it possible to want a woman so desperately, and know that it’s all so terribly out of sync and without rhyme and reason,” he whispered to her. He had risen above her again. His fingers touched and studied her face, and lingered over her hair. “You are an emerald to me, Ashley, can you see that? A beautiful, exquisite gem, but one that I can’t afford, one that isn’t within my reach. I love everything about you so much. I love your eyes and your hair, and I love every line and curve of your body. I love your breasts and your throat, and sometimes I can’t imagine that you’re real, and that I’m touching you. I love to make love to you.”

  She wanted to say something, but inside she was aching. He loved her eyes, her hair…but he did not love her. He couldn’t love her, or so it seemed. Maybe he couldn’t allow himself to love her.

  She stared up at him, wishing that he would leave, because she felt like crying. But he didn’t move. He seemed locked in that straddled position over her, all bronze and sleek with sweat, a rawhide band holding back his black hair. In the night his eyes were luminescent, like a cat’s. He brought his knuckle against her cheek.

  She turned her head aside, choking on a sob. Gently, he held her face so he could see her eyes.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “I—I love you,” she said softly. “I—I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  He stiffened instantly, going as taut as a drum. From his throat to the lean rippled muscles of his belly, he went cold and straight. “No, you don’t love me,” he said. He stood quickly, walking away from her, restless as a panther. Ashley closed her eyes and fell back in misery. Telling him hadn’t helped her.

  Only leaving would help her.

  He strode back to her and glared down at her angrily. “You don’t love me. You’re going to leave here. You’re going back to New York.”

  “Yes! Yes, I’m leaving!” she cried.

  “This has been fun and games. Dick and Jane in the jungle. Fall in love for a lark, and fly away to your next adventure.”

  “Stop it!” she yelled at him. “Just stop it.” She was on her knees, challenging him. “You’re an idiot! I told you that I love you because it’s the truth. I’ve had one affair in my entire life, and that’s it, so tell me about the world. I’ve learned to survive, too, even if my world’s a bit different. I’m sorry about Elizabeth, damned sorry. And I’m sorry that the world isn’t fair—it never has been, it probably never will be. I don’t mind that you fight the unfairness. I would be happy to fight it with you—”

  “It isn’t your battle—”

  “It is anyone’s battle! Anyone can want to see it change! You fool! I can survive the swamp, and I can love the beauty, and I can deal with anything that you can create to hold against me. What I can’t combat is you! I can’t fight your belief that you can’t love again because of Elizabeth, and I can’t fight your total lack of belief in me as a human being!”

  “What?” he said, startled, his eyes narrowing.

  “Me, Eric, me. I don’t understand how you could want me the way that you do, and not care in the least about the woman who I am! Yes, I own a Tyler emerald, a damned good one! Rafe gave it to me, as a friend, and I accepted it from him, as a friend. But I don’t need jewels to survive. I don’t even need New York to survive. But I am leaving, I am going home. Just as fast as I can!” Tears streamed down her face and she let them fall unchecked. She rose, naked and unaware of the fire in her hair, cascading down all around her, unaware that she was exceptionally proud and beautiful and more so for the truth and humility of her words. “I don’t need the city, but I do need to be loved. I need to believe, and to be believed in. I can’t survive without…faith. I do love you.”

  “Ashley!” He called out her name with fury. “You—you can’t! I don’t believe you.”

  “No, Eric, you don’t believe in yourself anymore. And you can’t let Elizabeth go.”

  He exhaled slowly. He came toward her as if he wanted to touch her, but he didn’t. Instead he turned away. His shoulders stiffened, and a horrible sound, like a sob, escaped him. He stood very still then, tired, weary, almost as if he were defeated. “No,” he said. “No, I can’t forget her right now. You’re right, I just can’t. Not while her killer is on the loose.”

  He didn’t touch her again or linger longer. He found his jeans and put them on. She couldn’t rise to stop him, she couldn’t even move. He was silent in the night as he left her, climbing down the ladder into the darkness, never once looking her way.

  She lay awake, listening to the night and the sound of her own breathing. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth against more tears. And she prayed that he would come back to her. She wanted him so badly, even though he had denied her. She wished that she had never spoken, that she could just lie with him and hold him in the darkness.

  Where was Baby, she wondered? Tears burned at the back of her eyelids, and she hoped that the big cat would come back. She could cry into Baby’s tawny pelt, and she wouldn’t feel so terribly alone.

  Then she hea
rd motion in the darkness once again. She pulled the sheet over her. Eric was coming back. There was a God, and he had listened to her prayers. Eric was coming back. She closed her eyes, silently saying a prayer of thanks.

  Then she felt the cold steel against her throat.

  Her eyes flew open and she would have screamed, except the steel pressed more tightly on her flesh. She could feel the razor sharpness of the blade. She was certain that a trickle of blood had already formed on her throat.

  She stared into the face of an Indian, but not one she knew, and not a full-blooded Seminole, but a man of mixed race. His face was dark and harshly lined, and there was a ragged scar that cut across his forehead.

  She hadn’t the faintest idea who he was. Or why he would want to kill her.

  He smiled as he looked down at her. He was between thirty and forty, she thought, and yet he might have been any age. His eyes were nearly as dark as his hair, cut short, almost a crew cut. He wore a plaid shirt and worn jeans, and his lips were full. His eyes were icy cold. She knew instinctively that slitting her throat would mean nothing to him. He had killed before, and he would kill again very easily.

  “That’s right, don’t scream, Ashley. My name is Jacobs. John Jacobs. Does that name ring any bells with you? It doesn’t matter. Your name is Ashley, right? That’s what he was calling you.”

  She didn’t respond and he drew the knife down her body, pulling the sheet from her breasts to prick the shadowed valley between them. A little point of blood appeared.

  “Careful, Ashley, I like you. You’ve got all kinds of fire and temper, huh? And you seem to be a smart girl. Be nice, and I may let you live.”

  “What do you want?” she demanded. The words came out in a harsh whisper because she barely dared to breathe.

  “Eric Hawk,” he told her. “That’s what I want. I want that bastard half-breed. I’ve been sitting on death row because of him, and he’s going to be the one to pay this time.”

  The night swam before her. She was going to black out, or be sick. This was the man who had slain Wendy’s husband. The man who had killed Elizabeth so heinously, leaving her white gown a spill of crimson blood….