Guns For Angels

by Viviana MacKade

  He didn’t care about the waves of muggy heat, didn’t care he was so uncomfortable he’d lost the feeling in his right leg and his arms were heavy. He still kept her against his chest, close to his heart.

  But after a while, images of her naked, trembling body crept into his mind and mingled with the taste of her still lingering on his lips.

  He laid her on her seat before temptation got the best of him.

  Chapter 8

  Ann opened her eyes on the outskirts of Miami.

  The sun was a blistering yellow sphere in the sky, its intense heat aimed at her arm with sniper’s precision. She jerked away from it, rubbed her arm. And remembered.

  Mark kissed her.

  She remembered the taste of him, the sweet roughness of it. She remembered falling asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart, cuddled by hard safety, where nightmares had no power.

  Then, other memories – no, not memories, but small moments of muffled awareness when she knew she was being moved. Enough for her mind to reboot, but before it was too late his hand had covered hers. The pressure, the warmth, and the comfort of it sent her back to sleep. When her doped senses recognized the car moving, the gentle rocking pushed her under again.

  “How long did I sleep?” she asked rubbing her eyes.

  “Around twelve hours.”

  Apparently, he was back to his normal growling type – shocking. For someone as proud as he was, it must have been excruciating talking to her like he’d done the night before.

  Fine, she would respect his manly dignity, she thought stretching as much as the car allowed her to. She knew now what she’d only suspected, that underneath all that strength and aggression was a man looking for peace. She’d help him find some, now that things were different between them. Imbalances tended to screw with her energy, and if she was helpless with their actual problem, she could help him find some peace of mind. She owed him too much to ignore his pain.

  “Are we going to Mary’s?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Do you want me to drive so you can rest?”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

  “If I have to.”

  Funny how he got on her nerves as easily as he got into her heart. “I liked you better last night,” she mumbled.

  “Nothing happened last night.”

  She kept staring at the road ahead, but it hurt. Feelings had never been an issue for her and his clipped tone, robbed of every emotion, just hurt. He’d been vulnerable, but it didn’t mean he had to shove her away like that. And there was another small detail. “We kissed,” she said, trying to sound even.

  “I apologized.”

  “That’s beyond the point.”

  “And what’s the point?” he snapped. “That I opened up my poor, sad soul to you? That now you can save me from my darkness?”

  If his stubborn closure had hurt her, the contempt in his sneer humiliated her. Not only because he’d hit the mark, but because through his pain she had got rid of some of hers and he made her feel ridiculous for it.

  “Do you want hear that now we’re connected in some sort of universal way or some crap like that?” he pressed on.

  She looked at him, then shook her head, a fat lie hidden by the simple gesture.

  “Thank God, I couldn’t stomach it. We kissed, I apologized. End of story.”

  Ann swallowed hard. She’d waited a long time for her tears and now she had to push them down. But she won, and nodded.

  His eyes flashed dark lightning, outrage clear as a cannon shot. “That’s it? You just accept what I’m saying without a word?”

  “I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

  “Why?” He plunged into a crossroad, jerked the car to his right. “Because I can’t lose control,” he bit out, words as sharp as knives. “Control’s what keeps us alive. Without it, I’m weak. Weakness can, and will, stab us in the ass. I don’t care for that.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “Hell yeah! I’m not a damn cop, Ann. I’m a Marine: I have a mission, I fight, and I win. Now I don’t know who or why I’m fighting. I’m alone and I can’t let anything happen to you. You do the math.”

  She took a long, calming breath. “I’m sorry Mark, but what you’ve just said is nothing more than a pile of crap.”

  He looked like he would choke. “A pile of…” He ran a hand through his hair, as she’d done the night before, muttering curses under his breath. “Care for an explanation?”

  “Sure.”

  Ann straightened her shoulders. She might be hurt, but she wouldn’t show him how much. She’d explain to him what was what until his stubborn head would understand. “Your first statement comes from ignorance, as letting go of your emotions doesn’t mean you’re out of control. To me, you’re more controlled because you acknowledge your emotional state and deal with it.”

  She adjusted the temperature of the AC before she froze. “But let’s say you were crazy for a little while. So? You could go back at any time. Being in control is who you are.” She stuck a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “And you’re not alone. I’m with you, and I’ll do whatever I can to protect you, just as you would for me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe. Get used to it anyway.” She looked at him, positive that tears wouldn’t betray her. “Caring for people doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.”

  She’d made her case, she thought waiting to see his reaction to it.

  Ann had to wait for a while, and when he did talk, he surprised her. “There’s a bag in the back seat,” he said simply. “It’s food. Eat it.”

  Ann eyed the bag and swallowed a grimace. He was being considerate, but it would probably be something healthy when she craved a doughnut and a cup of good coffee. Plus, she wasn’t in the mood for eating. “Thank you, but I’m not very hungry.”

  “Do we have to have the same conversation every morning? Eat.”

  His bossy attitude was forgiven and forgotten when Ann opened the bag: a sundae with blueberry and nuts topping, a small bag with bran flakes and a cup of coffee. She plunged into the paper bag with a childish smile on her face. “I love sundaes.”

  “It’s half melted,” he said offhandedly. “I didn’t think you’d be sleeping for so long.”

  “It’s okay. I love shakes too.”

  “Mary’s address?”

  When she gave it to him, they left the I-95.

  Bay Harbor Island hugged them with its cozy homes before they reached the lively village of Surfside. Palms ran along roads empty of people – in the afternoon, the heat was too fierce. In the distance, Miami Beach’s skyscrapers rose in a cloudless sky.

  The nutty sweetness of food softened the impact of roads painfully known. Memories scattered around the city like old, rusted cans; the pricey beach club she and Mary swore they would go when Mary turned forty. The bus stop where Ann broke her heel after one of their rare wild nights. The cafe where they cured the hangover that followed.

  She slumped on the seat. Now, all seemed hollow, bleached by a merciless sun.

  Mark parked in front of a hotel after driving around the block a couple of times. “Mary’s apartment is on the road across from this one.”

  “I thought we were staying in her place.”

  “We’ll take a look at it.” He gave her a baseball cap and huge sunglasses. “They know your face, and we’re too close to Mary’s, someone might be here. Tie your hair up and put these on. It’s laughable, but it’s the best I can do.”

  “What about your face? They know it as much as mine.”

  A chilling light shone in his eyes. “Let them try.”

  “So they can kill you? Uh-uh, it’s not going to happen.”

  “They won’t kill me.”

  “Mark, I heard your heart beating. If a bullet gets there, you’re dead.” Try as she might to shut it, panic rose in her voice. “I don’t want to take that cha
nce. I’ve seen one too many people in that state lately, I can’t… not you, and…”

  His hand covered her mouth. Gentle, his touch was always so gentle. “Calm down. Breathe. I’ll park closer to the entrance and we’ll run inside. Better?”

  She shook her head.

  “There’s no other way,” he said.

  She grabbed his wrist with both hands, pulled down to free her mouth. “Take the hat.”

  “How’s that–”

  “Take the hat, please.” She shoved it in his chest. “I’ll use the sunglasses. We’ll share.”

  It wasn’t a smile, but his mouth lost tension as he pulled the hat on his head. “Ready?”

  The parking lot was few feet from the glass hotel doors; to Ann, it felt like forever. The heat was a living demon with muggy breath, and she couldn’t breathe nor think past the film of dampness on her skin. The A/C in the foyer gave her back years of life and the power of lucid reasoning.

  Mark jammed her between his chest and the reception counter, shielding her completely. To anybody’s eye, he was a zealous boyfriend. To her, he was a willing, unmoving target.

  The young man at the reception smiled and listened to Mark’s requests nodding all long. They were in luck, he said, a room facing east on the third floor, just like Mark wanted, was available.

  They shared the elevator with a group of loud teenagers, walked in silence to their door.

  The room was long, two walls out of four had huge windows overlooking the ocean. With that view and the light blue bedspread and curtains, it was like being in a corner of the sky.

  With one bed.

  Ann tried to shrug off the unease. It’d been one bed in the crooked motel in Baltimore, and one bed in the fairy tales Inn, where she nearly died. How they slept never bothered her. But between there and now, he’d kissed her. His smell, his warmth and strength were still lodged in her brain, no matter how hard she tried to let it go.

  Even worse, she’d glimpsed into his soul. His words might be rude, but his actions were brave. Didn’t he save her life twice? He’d showed her kindness and consideration when she’d needed a shoulder to cry on or proper food. And he carried so much pain in his heart.

  No, he might play the jerk, but she had seen enough to know better than that. And that kiss kept playing in her imagination despite everything, kept making her want more.

  “Look,” Mark said, pushing aside the thin curtain and her thoughts.

  When she walked by him and followed his eyes, she saw the window of her sister’s apartment in plain view and the entrance to her building.

  “We’ll keep an eye on it for a couple of days.”

  “A couple of days? What are we supposed to do for a couple of days?”

  “Exactly what I said: keep an eye on the apartment. And,” he said pulling a chair at the window, “we’ll try to ID the men who attacked you and your sister.”

  “How?”

  “There are computers downstairs. Tonight, when no one’s around, we’ll take a look at a couple of interesting websites.”

  With a sigh, Ann dragged the other heavy chair near his, glued her eyes on the street as he had.

  All people looked the same – the hip-hop guy with the baggy clothes, the young mom with a baby on her hip, the old, black woman in green and purple. They strolled, walked, ran, talking to each other or to no one. Nobody looked menacing.

  She propped her feet up and allowed the tip of her shoes to dance over the window ledge.

  “Why don’t you go doing something?” Mark asked her, when the thought of tying her feet got too enticing.

  “Like what?”

  “Whatever.”

  She looked around, then shrugged. “I could take a shower.”

  “Do that.”

  “Do you happen to have some clothes for me in your bag?”

  “There are t-shirts. Take one.”

  “Thank you. Hey, do you want to go in first? I can stay here and check.”

  Whatever would keep him away from her, he thought. He nodded, pushed up to his feet.

  “Mark?” she called when he reached the bathroom door. “What am I looking for?”

  “You’ll know when you see it,” he said suddenly tired. “Be back in a sec.”

  In the shower box, Mark turned the handle on cold. Let go of emotions my ass, he swore as the water ran over his body. He let go, and they were dead. It was that easy. Right?

  He soaped his face with passion, hoping it would wash away his doubts. What would happen if he forgot his control–crap, she’d said–and breathe? Breathe on her skin, close to her mouth, close to her warmth. He did not have the luxury of distractions, but could sleeping with her be any worse than how he was now, tensed and aching under a cold shower? Wasn’t he a little old for wanting someone so bad?

  Plus, he didn’t like to need. Now, he needed to hear what she had to say. Hell, he wanted to talk to her, wanted the dazzling peace she offered. She made him forget who he was.

  And that was a problem, because he was the only one able to keep her alive.

  He stepped out of the shower, angry with himself and hungry for her, washed his clothes and wrapped himself in a towel.

  He found her as he’d left her, feet on the windowsill, rocking on the back legs of the chair, eyes on the street.

  “Stop that,” he growled. “You can fall and break your neck.”

  “Have you always been this optimistic?”

  She turned to look at him. And damn, she really looked. He felt her eyes on each cell of his skin, running from his shoulders to his chest, down to his hips. It made him a little self-conscious, and a lot turned on. Of course, she was the kind to accept all her emotions and needs but still… A little modesty on her part would have helped him hold on to the brakes. “You keep that up, there’ll be trouble.”

  “I thought we were in trouble already.”

  “Wanna hit rock bottom?”

  “A man tried to drown me yesterday. I hit rock bottom, I can’t go any further down.”

  She stood; he took a step backward.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Really? What are you, scared that this blond will steal your virtue?” She shook her head. “I’m going to take that shower.”

  When Mark sat at the window, he hoped someone would break into Mary’s so he would have an excuse to leave the room and kill. His mood just called for that.

  She came back wearing his t-shirt like a dress over her jeans, her hair still dripping. He knew how her damp skin smelled, it seemed impossible to forget it.

  Maybe he should kill himself.

  She sat in front of him, at peace with the whole world.

  Maybe he should kill her, after kissing her and getting rid of the clothes.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asked after a while.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you staring?”

  His nostrils flared. “You talk too much.”

  “Is that because I looked at you and found you very attractive?”

  The muscles of his neck tensed. “You talk way too much.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’m the first one that noticed.” She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Not a big deal? He was on the edge of violence and it wasn’t a big deal? He gritted his teeth harder so no word could escape, clenched his fists tighter so he couldn’t reach out for her.

  What he could do was endure this torture until they were no longer in danger. At that point, he would let go all his emotions, all right. He would take a week off – make it two, and spend them in bed with her. Best revenge ever.

  He forced his eyes on the road again, satisfied by his plan. But minutes later, a throttled moan escaped from Ann.

  “It’s him,” she whispered. “The blond man. He’s one of the men who attacked us.”

  Chapter 9

  Mark’s stillness made her want to scream. Ann needed a fighter, not a block of granite. “It’s him,” she repeated.

  “You
sure?”

  Dark clusters of clouds rolled into her as memories rumbled and heat rushed to her face. They had been so full of themselves, so sure they could take two girls with no effort they didn’t bother to put masks on. “I am.”

  The man wore black that night, the blond hair the only punch of color. Today, the sun bounced over that tidy gold kept at bay by ample use of hair gel. Had he lost time with his hair the night he killed her sister? Did he put a small splash of gel hair on his palms, rubbed them together whistling and thinking about what he was going to do after he took their lives?

  Ann gripped the chair until her hands hurt. The last images she had of her sister were her eyes huge with fear, the mouth open in surprise and the arm of that man around her neck.

  Rage exploded. It was like being inside a wall of dense, hammering rain and bashing winds that wiped out her conscience. Everything she’d always believed in was annihilated by a vortex of ferocious loathing. Sweat trickled at the back of her neck, muscles quivered with the need of violence. “Would you do something for me, if I asked you?” she said, barely audible.

  He scanned her face, a quick and thorough examination. “Depends.”

  “If I asked you to give me your gun now, would you let me use it?”

  “No.”

  She nodded. “Right, I could miss. Would you kill that man for me?”

  “No.”

  Her temper snapped. “Why not? You’re good at it.”

  He was still watching outside the window, but his shoulder had tensed, his mouth had hardened. “I’m not a killer, Ann.” His voice was calm, but the insulted edge slapped her back to herself.

  “I didn’t mean that, but…”

  With one quick movement, he grabbed the chair she sat on and turned it. It screeched against the floor until she faced him. “We’ll find out who killed Mary and bring him to justice. I will not let you scar your conscience as we ride this out.”

  “I want him dead,” she said, authority steeling her words as guilt crawled up.

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not.”