Angels Fall

by Nora Roberts

  "That bitch. She didn't deserve him."

  "He probably doesn't even remember her name."

  "Of course he does. I bet she's on her fourth husband by now, and has a raging prescription drug habit brought on by complications from her third face-lift."

  "You're a little mean. I like it."

  "When it comes down to someone hurting someone I care about, I'm vicious. So. Why don't you retire to the salon, enjoy your wine. I'm going to clear this up."

  "Define clear."

  "Watch and learn."

  "Fine, but the view's better from here. I saw a picture of you from a few years back. Articles on the Internet, from papers, magazines," he explained when she only stared at him.

  "Why were you looking at articles on the Internet?"

  "About you specifically? Curiosity. Your hair was shorter."

  Reece picked up the plates, took them to the sink. "Yes. I used to go to this upscale salon on Newberry. Pricey, but worth every penny. Or it was to me then. I haven't been able to handle a salon since…" She turned on the water, squirted in dish soap. "So I've let it grow."

  "It's nice hair."

  "I used to love going to the salon, having someone so focused on me, my appearance. Sitting there sipping the wine or tea or fizzy water they'd serve me, walking out feeling fresh and new. It was one of those areas of life where I loved being female."

  She turned away from the sink to divide the leftovers into the two take-away boxes she'd gotten from Joanie's. "After I got out of the hospital, my grandmother treated me to a spa day at my salon. Booked hair, nails, a facial, a massage. Everyone was so solicitous, so gentle. I panicked in the dressing room. I couldn't even unbutton my shirt to put on the robe. Just had to get out."

  She took the boxes to store in the refrigerator. "My stylist—I'd gone to him for years. He's a sweetheart. He offered to come to the house for me. But I just couldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "Mortification played a big role."

  "That's just stupid."

  "Maybe, but it was real. And it was easier to be embarrassed than afraid. In the big scheme, beauty-salon phobia isn't such a hardship. But they stack up."

  "Maybe you should try it again."

  From the sink, she shot him a look over her shoulder. "Do I look that bad?"

  "You look good. You've got lucky genes. But it's stupid not to try to get back something you enjoy."

  Lucky genes, she thought as she set dishes in the drainer. Not exactly a poetic compliment. Still, it made her feel better about her appearance than she had in a very long time.

  "I'll put it on my list."

  She turned, drying her hands on the cloth just as he pushed off the stool. She didn't take a step back—though she thought of it. Retreat wouldn't work with him. More to the point, she supposed, she wasn't sure if she wanted to step back or step toward him.

  He took the cloth out of her hands, tossed it aside in a way that made her wince. It needed to be laid flat to dry so it wouldn't—

  He laid his hands on the lip of the sink on either side of her, much as he'd done on the hood of his car. "What's for dessert?"

  "Apple brown betty with vanilla bean ice cream. It's been warming in the oven while we…"

  His mouth captured hers, firm and strong. She tasted the wine on his tongue, heady and tempting, and felt the testing graze of his teeth. Her blood flashed as it might with a lightning strike.

  "Oh boy." she managed. "It's like having the circuits in my brain crossed. All sizzle and smoke."

  "Maybe you need to lie down."

  "I'd like to. Let me say first, I'd like that. I even washed the sheets, in case."

  His lips quirked. "You washed the sheets."

  "Seemed like the thing to do. But… Would you just take a step back? I can't breathe right."

  He eased back. "Better?"

  "Yes and no." He was so compelling, she thought. She stood by her initial impression of him. Not handsome, but so compellingly attractive. So absolutely male. Big hands, big feet, hard mouth, hard body.

  "I want to go to bed with you; I want to have all those feelings again. But I think I need to wait until I'm a little more sure of myself."

  "And of me."

  "It's one of the things I like about you. You get the point of things. It would be normal for you—good, possibly great—but normal. For me, being intimate again would be—will be—monumental. I guess we'd both better be sure, because that's a big weight on you."

  "Okay. You're not sleeping with me for my sake."

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Damn considerate of you." He gave her a quick jerk, took her mouth again. This time his hands ran down her sides, shaping her breasts, waist, hips. And once more, he stepped back. "What the hell is apple brown betty?"

  "Who? Oh. Wait." She took a moment, eyes closed, until her brain settled back down between her ears. "It's delicious, that's what the hell it is. Go sit down, give me a minute and I'll prove it. You want coffee?"

  "You don't have coffee."

  "Actually…" She sidestepped to avoid contact with him again, and picked up a thermos she had on the counter."I got some from downstairs."

  "You got coffee?"

  She saw—for once—she'd surprised him. "Light, one sugar, right?"

  "Yeah. Thanks."

  She fixed the dessert, served it in the living area. "It's not sex,' she said, "but it's a nice end to a meal."

  He took the first spoonful. "Where has this been all my life?"

  "I learned to make it for my father. It was a favorite of his."

  '"A man of good taste."

  She smiled, toyed with her own. "You haven't said anything at all about… I'm not sure what to call it."

  "I think the term's murder.''

  "Yeah, the term's murder. One of the sheriff's theories is that I mistook the spot, and she wasn't dead. Maybe I saw a couple of people in an altercation, but it wasn't murder. Which is why no one's reported anyone like her missing."

  "And you disagree."

  "On every point. I know what I saw and where I saw it. Maybe she hasn't been reported missing because she's not important to anyone. Or was, well, from France."

  This time Brody smiled. "Wherever she was from, odds are someone saw her. Getting gas, buying supplies, in a campground, in a motel. How well can you describe her?"

  "I've already told you."

  "No, I mean, could you describe her to an artist?"

  "Like a police artist?"

  "Angel's Fist doesn't run to that, but we've got a couple of artists. I was thinking of Doc."

  "Doc?"

  "He does charcoal sketches. Sort of a hobby, but he's not bad."

  "And I'd be describing a murder victim, not getting a medical evaluation?"

  Brody shrugged. "If you don't trust Doc. we can get someone else."

  "I trust you." She nodded when Brody frowned. "See? I told you about the weight. I trust you." she repeated, "so I'm willing to try this with Dr. Wallace. If you come with me."

  He'd already planned to go with her. There was no possible way he'd miss out on any angle of the situation. But he continued to frown as he spooned up more dessert. "You want me to go with you, what have you got to trade for my time? I'm thinking along the lines of something that goes with the bottle of white in your fridge."

  "I've got Sunday off. I'll take care of the menu."

  He polished off the last bite in his bowl. "I trust you. I'll talk to Doc."

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  "SO HOW'D IT GO?" Linda-gail set the tub of cleared dishes on the counter for Pete, then gave Reece an elbow bump.

  "How'd what go?"

  "Your date with Brody last night."

  Reece flipped the burgers she was grilling for a table of after-school teenagers. "I just fixed him dinner. A payback for a favor."

  "Just dinner." Linda-gail rolled her eyes over at Pete. "And you're going to tell me you didn't make a move on that?"
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  "She's in love with me." Pete slid dishes into the sink. "She can't help herself."

  "It's true. It's a constant battle of control back here, every shift."

  "You bought candles," Linda-gail pointed out. '"And cloth napkins. And fancy wine."

  "Jesus." Reece didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. "Are there no secrets in the Fist?"

  "None I can't unearth. Come on, give me some dish. My own love life's been as sparse as Pete's hairline lately."

  '"Hey! My hair's just taking a little rest between growing seasons." Pete slicked a hand over what hair he had left. "And I can feel my scalp starting to tingle in anticipation of a new crop."

  "Need some more fertilizer. Is he a good kisser"" Linda-gail demanded.

  "Pete? Amazing. I'm a puddle at his feet. Order up." Reece said when she'd finished plating the burgers, fries, and the little tubs of coleslaw she already knew would go to waste on the high-school crowd.

  "I'll get it out of you sooner or later." After gathering up the plates, Linda-gail sashayed out.

  "I am an amazing kisser," Pete announced. "Just FYI."

  "I never doubted it."

  ""Guys like me—you know, compact guys—pack a hell of a punch. We… fuck me."

  "I really don't think I can take the time for that right at the moment." Amused, Reece glanced over.

  Then everything inside her went woozy and sick. Blood dripped from the hands Pete gripped together and splattered on the floor at his feet.

  "Teach me to pay attention to what's in the water, goddamn it. Sliced it good. Hey. Hey. Hey!"

  She heard Pete shout as it he stood on a mountaintop and she in the valley below. Then the shouts went to buzzing, and the buzzing to silence.

  The quick taps on her cheek brought her around. When Joanie's face swam into her vision, nausea rolled in Reece's belly. "There's blood."

  "Is she all right? Christ, Joanie, she went down hard. I couldn't get to her. Is she all right?"

  "Stop breathing down my throat, Pete. She's fine." But Joanie was already running a hand over the back of Reece's head, checking for bumps, "Go on down to Doc's. Get that hand stitched up."

  "I just want to make sure she's okay. She might be concussed or something."

  "How many fingers?" Joanie demanded of Reece.

  "Two.

  "'There, she's fine. Now go get that hand tended to. Can you sit up, girl?"

  "Yes, Pete." Fighting nausea and the shakes. Reece sat up on the kitchen floor. "Is it bad? Your hand."

  "Aw, Doc'll sew it right up."

  He had a cloth wrapped around it. but Reece could see the blood seeping through. "I'm sorry."

  "My own fault. You just take it easy now." He patted Reece's shoulder with his good hand before he straightened up.

  "Got a knot coming up on the back of your head here. I'll get you some ice."

  "Its okay." Reece gripped Joanie's fingers. "I just need to get my breath back. Someone should go with Pete. That's a bad gash."

  "Sit still a minute." Joanie got up. "You there. Tod! You drive Pete down to the doc's. Your burger'll wait five minutes, and it'll be free. She turned back. "Satisfied?"

  "There's blood."

  "I can see that. A man's bound to bleed when he slashes his hand with a knife. That's all there is to it. Accidents happen in kitchens all the time."

  "I'll clean it up, Joanie." Linda-gail stepped in. "Juanita's covering my tables."

  Saying nothing. Joanie got a small ice pack from the freezer, wrapped it in a thin cloth. "Hold that on the knot," she ordered Reece. "Once you get your feet back under you, you can go on upstairs. I'll take over here."

  "No, I'm okay. I can work. I'd rather work."

  "Fine. Get up then, and let's see how steady you are on your feet. Dead pale," Joanie pronounced when Reece gripped the counter to haul herself up. "Take a break, get some air. Drink some water." She pushed a bottle into Reece's hand. "You get some color back, you can go on back to work."

  "Air would be good. Thanks."

  When Joanie jerked her head, Linda-gail nodded and followed Reece out the back.

  '"You want to sit down?" she asked Reece.

  "No, I'll just lean here for a minute. You don't have to watch me. I'm just feeling a little queasy and a lot stupid."

  And shaky, Linda-gail thought as she took the bottle of water from Reece's unsteady hands and uncapped it herself. "Spiders do that to me. Not just the big fat ones—you know the ones that look like they could carry off a good-sized cat if they put their mind to it? But even the little bitty ones give me the serious creeps. I once ran straight into a door and knocked myself silly trying to get out of the room where I saw a spider."

  "Put that ice pack on your head, like Joanie said to. Bet you've got yourself a big fat spider-sized headache."

  "I guess I do. But Pete—"

  "You fainting like that scared Pete so bad he forgot how bad his hand must've hurt. So that's something."

  "A good deed."

  "And Joanie's worried enough about both of you she hasn't gotten pissed yet that she's going to have to find somebody to fill in for him until the stitches are out. Two good deeds."

  "I'm loaded with them."

  "You want to go out for a beer later to toast your good deeds?"

  Reece took another cool sip of water. "You know what, I would."

  THE BAR FOOD at Clancy's wasn't bad, at least not washed down with beer. But more important to Reece was she'd taken another step on her journey back.

  She was sitting in a bar with a friend.

  A very strange bar, to her East Coast sensibilities.

  There were trophies hanging from the wall. Mounted heads of bear, elk, moose and mule deer adorned the knotty pine paneling,