Angel in Training (The Louisiangel Series, Book One) (18 page)

Maggie was already on her way back to the
house. “And what about your back?” she called over her shoulder,
turning enough to wink at us. Then she disappeared into the
house.

“Great,” Joshua groaned, already working the
lotion into his arms.

“What?” I asked suspiciously.

“
She’s got the stupid idea in her head that
there’s something going on between us,” he muttered. “You
just
had
to turn up
here, didn’t you?”

That hurt – far more than it should have. I
blinked, turned, and marched over to the roller. I covered it in
paint with more force than was necessary, sending globs of paint
splashing over the dirt, and resumed painting the wooden walls.

A few moments passed and there was a loud
sigh. “Angel?”

I ignored him.

“Angel?” he tried again, moving to my
side.

“What?” I demanded, focusing on the painting
and refusing to look at him.

“Would you do my back?”

I stopped mid stroke and stared at him in
disbelief. “Work it out yourself,” I informed him, my tone icy. “I
don’t think sunscreen application is covered in my job
description.”

My tone surprised him, but he quickly
recovered, leaning back against a part of the wall I had yet to
paint. “I bet it is,” he responded, smiling. “In fact, I’m willing
to put money on it being in there.”

I put the roller down and stared at him.
“Really?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. “How do you
figure that?”

“You’re my Guardian Angel,” he shrugged.
"You’ve got to protect me.” When I didn’t comment, he smirked. “I’m
sure that includes protecting me from getting skin cancer.”

At the sight of my mouth dropping open, the
smirk became decidedly smug. “I thought you didn’t believe I’m your
Guardian Angel?” I accused him, narrowing my eyes.

“I don’t,” he shrugged. “But you do.”

I really wanted to wipe that smug look off
his face. I didn’t though. Instead, with a low growl in the back of
my throat, I snatched the bottle from him. “Turn around.” Grinning,
he did as I said, placing both hands on the wall to brace
himself.

I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I was
nervous. Chewing my lip I began rubbing the cream into his
surprisingly firm muscles – across his back and up over his
shoulders. He was tense. I could feel it in his shoulders and I
didn’t think it was because of my touch. If anything, he relaxed
back into my hands and I found myself working the sunscreen into
his back and shoulders perhaps a little more enthusiastically than
I should have.

It wasn’t until he made a low moan that I
dropped my hands and cleared my throat. “All done,” I announced,
clearly.

He turned slowly, closing the distance
between us and looked down at me through hooded eyes. Those damn
bedroom eyes were back and they had me chewing nervously on my
lower lip. When I realized he was staring at that, I cleared my
throat and quickly leapt away. “This sun is going to dry the paint
out,” I told him as I bent down to check the state of the
paint.

When I stood, he was next to me again. “I
make you nervous.” It was a very sure statement – no hint of a
question in sight.

“You confuse me,” I corrected him, standing
my ground. “Or at least, that’s what you think you’re doing.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he
demanded.

“You spend half your time trying to get me to
leave, and the other with no concept of personal space,” I told
him, indicating to the fact there was barely a foot between us. “I
don’t know what’s happened to you, but you’re going to have to
learn to trust me.”

He stared at me for a very long time. I
couldn’t work out what was going through his mind, but he finally,
wordlessly, backed away and climbed back up the ladder. I took a
deep breath and rubbed the back of my neck. Sometimes I wished so
much to know what was going through his head.

From Painting to Pearly
Gates

Hours later, I had finished painting the main
body of the house and had started painting an undercoat on the
window frames. I had been lost in my own thoughts as I focused on
the thin beams of wood and not getting paint on the glass, that I
didn’t notice Joshua approach me.

“Maggie’s cooked a chicken. Would you like to
stay for dinner?” he asked me, watching me work.

“No, thank you,” I told him, politely. “I'm
not hungry.” That was a lie. I was starving, having missed lunch.
Of course, my stomach decided to tell him that and grumbled
loudly.

“You’re not hungry?” he repeated, amused.

I pulled a face. “Fine, I'm starving, but I'd
rather wait and eat later than give Maggie any more stupid
ideas.”

“Just come in and have something to eat,” he
sighed. “Call it payment for painting if you need to.”

“
Payment?” I repeated, feeling offended. “I
didn’t come here seeking payment. I didn’t help with her house
seeking
payment
!” I
cried, thrusting the paintbrush at him. I'd had enough. If I had
been chasing after him for a date, this would have been
embarrassing enough, and the fact was, I might as well have
been.

It might not have been a romantic
relationship I was after, but I was after a relationship with him.
I was spending time with him in an effort to get him to accept me
and I was spending my free time painting a house, of all things. If
I didn’t knock this on the head, it would get out of control until
I was driving around, collecting his dry cleaning – or something
equally desperate.

I was reaching for the door handle when he
slid in front of the car to stop me. “Why did you come here?”

“Will you move?” I asked him,
impatiently.

“Why did you come here?” he asked again.

“
You know, I'm just going to go around, get
in the passenger side and slide across,” I pointed out. Then, in a
move which had me questioning if
he
had the supernatural speed, his hand shot forward and
grabbed the car keys out of my hands. “Hey!” I objected, trying to
get them back. He just held them above his head where I couldn’t
reach them. “Real mature,” I snapped at him. “How old are
you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Then start acting like it,” I told him,
stamping my foot down in exasperation.

He shook his head. “Why did you come
here?”

“It’s a waste of time telling you,” I told
him through gritted teeth.

“Why did you come here?”

“Because I have some information about your
murder victim, but you’re not going to believe me,” I admitted,
finally realizing that was the case. “It’s related to angels. Now
give me the keys.”

“Joshua!” Maggie called, appearing on the
porch. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. You two should come in
and clean up.”

Joshua’s eyebrow disappeared up under his
fringe as he looked at me expectantly. “Fine,” I conceded, throwing
my hands in the air.

He grinned and lowered his, handing my keys
back to me. I snatched them off him and followed him into the
house, glaring at the back of his head.

The smell hit me as soon as I walked in and
my stomach grumbled appreciatively. “Bathroom’s down the hall, last
one on the right,” Joshua told me, pointing down the hallway.

I headed into the bathroom and slumped back
against the door, banging my head against it a couple of times.
Then I took a deep breath and moved to the sink to wash. Finished,
I followed my nose to the kitchen and found Joshua seated, wearing
a similar plaid shirt to the one I was wearing.

“It smells delicious,” I told Maggie, making
my way to the table. I pulled out the chair and was momentarily
stunned as Joshua acted the gentleman and stood while I sat
down.

“Help yourself to vegetables,” Maggie smiled,
eating her small plate of food.

I was starving but when I looked at the
spread she had put on, I was expecting another three or four people
to come through the door and join us. There were bowls of just
about everything – new potatoes, roast potatoes, sweet potatoes,
mashed potatoes, sweet corn, green beans, broccoli, cauliflower,
sprouts, and carrots – the list seemed endless.

Seeing as Joshua was politely waiting for me
to find something to accompany the chicken, I moved quickly,
placing whatever was closest onto the floral china, and yet it
earned a disapproving look off Maggie. “Pile that plate up – don’t
be shy. You need to put some meat on those bones of yours. I know
you young ones don’t eat properly these days.”

“Maggie,” Joshua groaned. “Leave her
alone.”

“Don’t make me start on you,” Maggie warned.
“I bet if I were to look around that apartment of yours, you
wouldn’t impress me with the contents of your refrigerator.”

Joshua promptly spooned a large portion of
mashed potatoes onto his plate. I dived in. I would never have made
it back to the convent without stopping to get some food from
somewhere, and this food was delicious.

When my plate was half empty (and that hadn’t
taken long), Maggie turned to me. “Now, dear. Why don’t you tell us
about yourself with that adorable accent of yours? What brought you
to New Orleans?”

“My parents died in a car accident and my
aunt who was living out here was my only relative,” I explained
matter-of-factly. It had taken a while, but I had finally gotten to
the point whereby I could discuss it without breaking down into
tears.

“I'm sorry,” Maggie said, sympathetically as
she leaned over to pat my hand.

“Thanks,” I muttered, inadvertently glancing
up at Joshua. Seeing the kindness in his eyes made me uncomfortable
and I reached for my glass of water, quickly swallowing it in one
go.

“And what are you doing now?” Maggie asked,
moving the conversation along – into just an awkward a topic.

“I'm still... trying to find my way,” I
offered, quickly sticking some chicken in my mouth.

“I wish Joshua was still trying to find his
way,” Maggie told me. “His job is far too dangerous.”

“It’s what my dad did,” Joshua sighed, in a
way that told me he had covered this conversation many time
before.

“And look where it got him,” Maggie shot back
before turning to me. “His father was killed on duty when Joshua
was eighteen.”

It was my turn to mutter the apology. “I'm
sorry.”

Joshua shrugged. “New Orleans has its
dangerous areas, like any city.”

“What about your mother?” I asked,
curiously.

“She’s not here anymore,” Joshua answered
before Maggie could. “Maggie’s my father’s godmother,” he added.
“She’s the one who raised me.”

“Sorry,” I muttered again. I set my knife and
fork down. “That was wonderful, Maggie,” I quickly told her as
Joshua gave me a grateful smile. “I think you made far too much,
though.”

“Joshua will take the leftovers with him,”
Maggie informed me, rising to start stacking dishes.

I jumped to my feet and took them off her.
“Let me – you cooked.”

“And you’re a guest,” she returned, trying to
get the dishes back from me.

“You go sit down, Maggie,” Joshua told her.
“Angel and I can take care of these. We need to talk anyway.”

Maggie looked between the two of us before
nodding. “Very well,” she agreed, leaving us alone.

I followed Joshua over to the sink and began
filling a bowl with soapy water while he scraped all the leftovers
into one dish. “I'll wash,” Joshua offered, piling the dirty plates
next to me.

“I don’t know where anything lives to put
them away,” I pointed out, causing Joshua to pick up a tea towel. A
silence fell over us. “Maggie has a nice place,” I said, filling
the silence.

“It will be,” Joshua sighed. “Once I can
finally afford to get the roof fixed.”

“What happened?” I asked, curiously.

“Katrina,” he replied. “The insurance company
took forever to pay out and then John, her husband accidentally
paid cons to fix it. It’s already leaking and she can’t afford to
get the roof done properly. John died before we found that
out.”

It was awful, but Maggie wasn’t the only
person I'd heard of that happening to. “So what do we need to talk
about?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“My murder case you seem to have information
about,” he said, instantly, suddenly watching me closely.

“I think I told you that I spoke to my aunt
yesterday,” I began. “She suggested that maybe I need to help. When
I was in the precinct yesterday, I spotted something in your
case.”

“You’re going to play detective?” he
questioned, skeptically.

I sighed, dropping the rag into the bowl, and
stared at the bubbles. “You make it really difficult to help you,
you know?”

“Maybe I don’t need your help,” he retorted,
setting a plate down on the side with a little more force than was
necessary.

“Really?” I asked, rounding on him. “So
you’re aware that you have a serial killer then?” I asked, finally
voicing my theory.

My question shocked him only momentarily
before he rolled his eyes at me. “A serial killer? You are aware
that by definition, you need more than one murder victim,
darlin’?”

“You do!” I cried in exasperation, yanking
both tops up to reveal the scars on my abdomen. “I would be one of
them.”

“Oh, come on!” he yelled, closing the gap on
me. “When are you going to quit with this crap?”

“It’s not crap – I'm dead!” I yelled back in
exasperation.

His hand went for me and I braced myself for
the fist that was coming. Only it didn’t. I opened my eyes as his
hand went straight on my chest – his face inches from mine. “If
you’re dead, how come I can feel you heart-” He stopped suddenly
and moved his hand slightly to the left, pressing it against me
harder. Then he jerked it away. “Why can’t I feel a heartbeat?” he
whispered.