Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (6 page)

I’m not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it.

–Niccolo Machiavelli

Bud stared at Chip in horror. After several moments of floundering for something to say, he blurted out, “You can’t
quit
!”

“You’re the one who said I should,” Chip answered calmly, picking up his duffel bag from the baggage carousel at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. He tossed the bag over his shoulder and asked, “Where you parked, Pops?”

Chip Orlean was twenty-six and had a body and face that made straight men look twice. He was what a Southern ex-girlfriend’s mother once called a tall glass of hot tea – with muscles. He was in the final weeks of his third year of medical school in Philadelphia and was on track to getting a residency that would allow him to become a cardiologist.  

“I said?
What the blazes are you talking about?” Bud sputtered.

“You told me to follow my heart.”  

“That’s assuming your heart led you to finishing med school!” Bud roared, feeling sick with frustration and not caring that he was making a public scene.

Chip glanced nervously at the heads that were turning in their direction. Chip tried to guide him toward the exit. “Calm down, Pops. This isn’t like you.”

Bud shook off his arm, “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on! Does this have something to do with a girl?”

“I wouldn’t change the entire direction of my life because of
a girl
. What am I in? Seventh grade?”

Bud glared at him. 

A security guard walked toward them. Chip nodded toward the exit. “Let’s talk about it in the truck.”

“You’re not getting in
my
truck! You don’t deserve to get in a truck. There’s no ‘soul searching’ allowed in my truck. You can’t quit med school because you want to soul search. We’re buying you a ticket
today
and you’re going back to school!”

“Is there a problem?” the security guard asked. 

“Lieutenant Orleans, Homicide,” Bud flashed his badge.

“You planning one, Lieutenant?” the guard asked with a quizzical smile.

Bud scowled at him, hooked his thumb at Chip, “Top of his class. Third year medical school. Who
quits
medical school in their third year?”

“Better than waiting until my fourth,” Chip quipped.

The security guard pushed back his cap, “Sorry to hear that, Lieutenant. I do need to ask you to take the show on the road.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks,” Bud glowered at Chip, who followed him as he strode toward the exit.

Bud didn’t trust himself to speak until they were in his truck. He sat silent, looking out the front window. He felt like a Buick was parked on his chest and he was having trouble catching his breath. With a grimace of pain, Bud started the truck. He turned to Chip, “Where am I taking you, because I refuse to take you home. Your mother is going to blow a gasket.”

“When I explain everything, she’ll understand,” Chip said confidently.

Bud stared at him in disbelief, “Son, have you
met
your mother?”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

A searing pain shot down his left arm. Bud gripped his chest and bent forward, groaning.

“Are you all right?” Chip asked, concerned. 

“Never better,” Bud said through clenched teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

“If you’d made it to fourth year, you’d know,” Bud gasped, doubling over in pain. 

“Pops!” Chip jumped out of the truck and ran to the driver’s side. He shoved his dad over and got behind the wheel.

“I’m fine,” Bud choked out.

“Sit tight.” Chip
gunned the engine and sped toward the exit.

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.

–
Anton Chekhov

“Sit still!” Jeni said as she jumped off the couch to get Enid a towel.

Enid held Jeni’s baby girl, Faith, as far away as her arms would allow. Jeni quickly returned and mopped up the baby puke that had been spewed on Enid’s shoulder.

Jeni cooed at the baby, “Doesn’t that feel better? Get that bad ole’ bubble out of your tum-tum-tummy?”

Enid grimaced in disgust as Jeni took the baby from her. Enid grabbed the towel and worked on getting the puke stain off.

An hour earlier, on the drive to Jeni’s apartment, Enid had been thrilled to strike a deal that she could crash on Jeni’s couch for babysitting services.

Jeni had given Enid a tour of the tiny apartment, which consisted of a living room whose sole contents were a worn pleather couch, scratched coffee table and a television that sat on the upside-down cardboard box it came in. The kitchen was more cheerful with daisy dish towels and brightly colored dishes. Potted cacti sat on the windowsill, softening the effect of the bars that were on the windows. Jeni had confided to Enid that the only plant she had ever been able to keep alive was a cactus.

Hanging on the wall was a decorative blanket with the image of Marilyn Monroe’s fuzzy, but dazzling, face. Jeni proudly told Enid she got it from the parking lot vendors on Dunlap and Seventh for ten dollars.

“You sure you’re u
p to watching Faith?” Jeni said.

“Yeah. Sure,” Enid said with false confidence.

It can’t be any harder than taking care of a drunk.

“Babies are harder to take care of than drunks,” Jeni said.

Enid looked at her with wide eyes.

“I mean, they both throw up on you but you change a lot more diapers with babies.”

Enid smiled weakly.

Jeni grabbed her keys and a gym bag. “I can be hard to reach at work. If I’m not answering, Mrs. Lopez next door can help you out.” Jeni hesitated, frowning, “But, uh, try not to bother her if you don’t have to because, uh, you sort of took her job.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.
She’s reliable but she
knows
it and overcharges.”

“Doesn’t she kn
ow you’re a student?” Enid said.

Jeni stared at her blankly for a
moment, “Oh, yeah. No, she is –
not
aware of that.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?” Enid asked.

“Whatever you do, no matter what happens – don’t let anyone in,” Jeni warned, her voice ominous.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“No.”

She sounds like my mom does when I ask her if she has money for groceries.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

“Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge but make sure
you leave the last Pepsi for me. I need my morning Pepsi.”

“Okay,” Enid said.

Jeni smiled nervously. “Call me if you need me, right?”

“Right.”

Jeni went to the door, stopped, jiggling her keys.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nooo. You – everything – it’s going to be fine,” Jeni said in an unconvincing voice.

“Bye,” Enid said, ready to lock the door behind her.

Jeni glanced worriedly back at Faith, then at Enid, “Mrs. Lopez…”

“Don’t worry.
I won’t open the door for anybody. I won’t drink your morning Pepsi. Nothing is going to happen.”

With a wan smile, Jeni left. Enid locked the door behind her, gave a sigh of relief.

God! She acts like something horrible is going to happen.

Enid grabbed the remote and clicked on the television. She got her backpack and sat on the couch so she was facing the door. She hadn’t wanted Jeni to know, but she
was
scared about being left in a strange apartment all alone. With a nervous look over her shoulder, she got the gun out of the backpack and placed it on the couch and settled in to watch television.

We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.

–
Fyodor Dostoevsky

Returning from the diner, Jack strode into the reception room. He was looking forward to eating his lunch in the privacy of his office. Rachel looked up with that tight smile she got whenever she was about to derail his plans.

“What’s wrong?” he said
. “Petunia stole the silver?”

Rachel pointed toward his office and whispered, “Someone’s waiting.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, gestured around the room. “Hence, the waiting room.”

“She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Damn it, Rachel! What am I paying you for?” Jack walked in the client office. It was empty.

Rachel peeked over his shoulder, surprised. “She was here a minute ago.” 

Jack jerked open to the door to his private office and stalked in. He stopped short.

Twenty-five and exquisite, Eve Hargrove sat at his desk like she already owned him. Porcelain skin, glossy black hair that fell in lush waves over her shoulders, she had full red lips and startlingly green eyes. She wore a simple summer dress – the kind of simple that
only a person in a stratospheric tax brackets can afford; the kind of dress that transforms an attractive woman into a gorgeous woman and a gorgeous woman into a goddess.

Eve examined Jack with take-aim eyes. “Jack Fox, I presume?”

Jack stepped forward, not trusting himself to speak.

She said,
“I’m here to hire you.” 

Jack frowned, pissed that she’d hijacked
his chair and expected him to sit in the client chair. Something primal twisted in his gut and with sure-footed animal instinct, he walked to where she sat looking up at him with cool eyes.

Too cool. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

He leaned on the edge of his desk, crowding her. She didn’t seem to notice – or care. He put his foot up on the windowsill, trapping her in. It was a move designed to own the space and force her to retreat.

She didn’t.

Cool as ice, Eve kept her eyes locked on his. “You
are
a private detective, aren’t you?”

Jack stared down into her strangely beautiful yet unblinking gaze.

She was spectacular.

A long-forgotten memory shot to the surface of his mind. He had been twelve and on a school trip to the zoo. As the other kids hurried to get lunch, Jack had stubbornly remained staring through the bars of the cage of a black panther that remained frustratingly hidden from view. He was about to give up when, soft and silent, the panther sprang forward. Jack had stood mesmerized – staring into the creature’s coldly glittering eyes. An electric sensation coursed through his body and, for what felt like an eternity, he had the sensation that he and the panther had become
one.

The panther vanished.

Jack had sprung forward, gripping the bars. He remembered wanting to break them, wanting to climb inside the cage and
be
the panther.

Jack was jolted back to the present when Eve pulled a bundle of cash from her purse and placed it on his desk. “Ten thousand dollars. The job will require
discretion
.”

Jack abruptly stood. He walked across the room, turned. “Let’s start over.”

“In what way?” Eve said, puzzled.

Jack walked to her, leaned in and said in a menacingly soft voice,
“Get out of my chair.”

Their eyes locked.

A bolt of electricity shot through Jack and he felt the dizzying sensation of being back at the bars of the panther cage
.

Jack shivered.

Eve gave a quicksilver laugh. With cat-like grace, she glided around the desk.

Jack looked at her, his eyes greedily drinking her in.

Eve held out her hand, “Eve Hargrove.”

Jack’s eyes flickered in surprise. Jack recalled how Sam had told him about the three sisters: Legs, Brains and The Ghost.

Eve Hargrove sure as hell ain’t no ghost! 

“I believe you met my sister?” She sat in the client chair.

Jack remained leaning on the desk, waiting.

Eve raised her eyebrows, “Jeni
did
hire you?”

“Confidential.” Jack nodded toward the cash, “What’s that for?”

“Ten thousand dollars. I want you to drop my sister’s case.”

“What you want, you get – is that it?”

She raised her eyebrows in an amused “of course.”

“Why?” Jack rapped out.

“I’d prefer not to explain myself,” Eve said haughtily.

“I’d prefer you did,” Jack retorted.

Eve examined him, sizing him up. “Does it matter?”

Jack raised his eyebrows in his own
version of an amused “hell yes.”

Eve stood, haughty as a queen. “My
fee
includes you keeping your nose out of my business.”

“My
job
includes putting my nose where I damned well please,” Jack shot back.

Eve’s eyes flashed with indignation. She quickly recovered. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fox.”

“Never said I’d take the case.” Jack ignored her outstretched hand.

She stood, stubborn, hand outstretched.

Reluctantly, Jack took her hand. At the touch of her fingertips, heat surged through him. Startled, he glanced at their hands and back up to her face.

She smiled, her eyes glinting with…

Triumph?

She turned and, in a moment, was gone.

Jack leaned against the desk, the air going out of him fast. He looked around the room, which suddenly felt empty.

His thoughts on Eve, he was reminded of the stories his grandmother had told him as a child. Stories of the werepanther – a magical creature masquerading as human.

Rachel entered, her eyes probing his.

He felt too bereft to speak. He might was well be twelve and standing at the bars of the cage – alone.  

“Well?” Rachel said, curious. 

He looked at her blankly.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

Jack pushed himself off the desk, and paced.

Rachel’s eyes caught sight of the cash and she gave a low whistle. “Who do we have to kill?”

Jack scowled. “Get me everything you can on Eve Hargrove – the whole family.”

Rachel hurried out.

Jack walked to the window. Looking down, he saw Eve crossing the street, moving with fluid grace toward a gleaming red Ferrari that two boys were examining with admiring eyes. She slid gracefully behind the wheel. She glanced up, catching and holding Jack’s eyes. 

Jack pulled back from the window, feeling like a damned fool.