In A Heartbeat (27 page)

Oreo tried to stick her long white snout through the crack. Before Angie could retract the dog, Hank had his foot in the door. He winced as Angie repeatedly tried to slam the door. As petite as she was, she could still pack a wallop.

“Angie, please— I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Go away.”

“Let me explain.” He worked his fingers around the edge of the door.

“Explain it to Elizabeth.”

“It’s a mistake,” he pleaded, grimacing as his knuckles shared the same torture as his instep. “I never proposed to Elizabeth.”

The pressure eased on both of his extremities.

“You’re not engaged?” Although nasal in tone, her question held so much longing it made his throat ache. He pressed his cheek against the door, imagining she pressed hers on the other side.

“Please, Angel. We need to talk, but not like this.” He pitched his words soft and low like a prayer, which indeed it was. “Please let me in.” He slid his fingers up and down the door’s edge, blindly hoping for a touch of her hand. “Please?”

“All right,’ she said, though not convincingly. “Step back a minute.”

He hesitated, suspicious that once he withdrew his foot and hand, the door would slam shut, forcing him to start all over again. But if he was going to beg for her trust in him, he needed to begin by trusting her. He slipped his hand and foot from the door and watched it close. The safety chain scraped back as if in answer to his silent prayer. Once the door reopened, Oreo bounded out, jumping in a fervent display of affection.

“Come in,” she said, still hidden by the door. Her invitation sounded more like resignation. Hank petted the dog briefly. Oreo’s tail bashed his leg. At least someone was glad to see him.

Once he was inside, Angie leaned on the door with her back, sharing it. Her fuzzy pink robe clashed with her red nose, the only spot of color in a pale, drained face. She pushed unwashed hair over her shoulder, then crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest. Damn, she looked like Hell and Heaven all rolled into one.

“Max said you weren’t feeling well so I brought you some chicken soup.” He held up the crinkled bag, the bottom drenched with moisture. “I think some spilled.”

She lips turned up on one side, not the full frontal laugh he was hoping for.

“You talked to Max?”

He nodded. “I was in New York when I started receiving calls congratulating me on my engagement. That’s when I learned of the newspaper article. I called Falstaff and Watterson and asked for you. When they told me you weren’t available, I asked for Max.”

“Not available,” she repeated, and looked away. A chortle-like snort caught in her throat triggering a coughing spasm. He stepped closer to help her, but she held her arm up to hold him at bay.

“Come sit down, Angie. You look like you can barely stand.”

Her head jerked up. “I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

“Then sit for my sake,” he grumbled, tired of playing by Miss Independent’s rules. He crossed into the sitting room, depositing the tenuous bag of soup on a magazine near the couch. “If you faint on me, I’d have to catch you, and you certainly wouldn’t want that.”
Aah, but I would
, he thought, remembering how she’d felt in his arms.

“No, I certainly wouldn’t.” She tugged her robe tightly around her and stomped to the couch.

“You’re walking better,” he observed.

She shrugged. “My leg’s gotten a lot of rest this week.” She flopped on the couch. “Satisfied?”

“Almost.” He picked up a quilt from the floor and shook it, sending myriad dog hairs adrift. “Put your feet up.”

Begrudgingly, she leaned on an elbow and pulled her legs up to the cushions. He laid the quilt over her, then tucked it tight around the curves of her body.

While she’d closed her eyes, as if to sleep while he spread the quilt, she suddenly glared and batted his hands away. “What are you doing?”

The accusation in her eyes ruined any hope of exploring her luscious curves under the pretense of tucking in the quilt.

“You’re sick,” he said with a frown. “You need to stay warm.”

“I’m not sick,” she grumbled.

What?

“But your eyes are puffy. I heard you sniffling.” Hank mentally backtracked. “Max said”—he looked at her askance— “Don’t you have a cold?”

She dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “If you talked to Max, then you know why I wasn’t available when you called.”

“Max and I had a long conversation.” He nodded. “He told me you were let go.”

“Let go,” she repeated, dejection heavy in her voice. “As if I wanted to leave.” Tears welled in her vulnerable blue eyes, tugging at his heart. “They fired me, Hank.”

He rested his hip on the thin edge of couch near her feet. He felt totally useless. Her small body shook under her sobs, and not for the first time, he suspected. He plucked a tissue from the well-used box on the coffee table and offered it to her, all the while stroking her hip through the quilt. “I’m sorry, Angel, so sorry,” he repeated over and over, as if the mantra would alleviate some of his guilt. Even Oreo padded over to offer sympathy, negotiating her nose between Angie’s arms.

“I should never have made you go to that ball,” he said. “I never dreamed they would fire you for going to a dance with me.”

“You didn’t make me.” She swabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose, a loud, indelicate sound for such a small body. “I could have said no.”

“You did, several times,” he reminded her. “But I persisted. Sprouting some nonsense about finding a costume that would hide my identity.” He shifted his weight and dropped his elbows to his knees. “Damn, I was so careful not to let anyone know it was me under that mask.”

“I’ve thought about that.”
A lot.
She didn’t say it, but Hank heard the added sentiment loud and clear. “I think Falstaff knew you weren’t my brother, but he didn’t know I was dancing with Hank Renard.” She patted his knee, and he covered her small hand with his own much larger one.

“Then how did he…?”

“Someone sent him a photograph. Remember when I saw movement in the woods Sunday morning? Guess it wasn’t a deer after all.” She managed a sarcastic sneer. “Whoever took that photo said we’d been intimate for some time.”

“A photograph?” He pulled back, shocked. “Who knew that we were together that night?” He mentally reviewed a list of anyone that met that criteria. It was a very short list, a limousine chauffeur and a taxi driver.

“I don’t know.” Her brow crinkled. “And I’m tired of guessing who slashed my tires, who tried to poison my dog, who smashed my window, who—”

“Wait a minute.” He noticed the wood covering the window for the first time. He hadn’t focused on anything but Angie and had assumed the lamps were lit to offset the gloom of the overcast day. “When did this happen?”

Angie recited her recent litany of troubles. “Walter said something that’s had me wondering if the brick and the photograph weren’t somehow related.”

Walter, Hank nodded, that was the twerp’s name. “What’s that?”

“He said after he heard the window break, he ran outside. He knew I wasn’t home because no lights came on and Oreo didn’t bark.”

“You think someone was trying to find out if you were home? They could have just rung the doorbell, or telephoned.”

“Yes, but that’s not vindictive enough. Plus, if I was home, I would have answered the door and then known who was behind all this.” She worried her lip a moment. “I think when they didn’t see any lights, they went to your place.”

“But how would they know you’d be there?” He was baffled. “They must have camped out in that field all night, just to catch you. Seems like a lot of work, just to make you lose your job.”

Angie’s eyes narrowed to puffy slits. “You know, I never had problems like this until I met you. Do you think everything is somehow related? Do you know who’s behind this?”

“No. But I’ll sure as hell find out.” He patted Angie’s small cool hand. He would weed out the culprit and the sonofabitch would pay. He glanced at her red-rimmed eyes and guilt twisted in his gut. Oh yeah, they would pay and pay again.

“Did Max know why I’d been fired?” she asked.

“You don’t suspect Max?” he asked, shocked.

“No, but he’s pretty observant. If he had a suspicion about us, maybe someone else thought along the same lines.”

Hank straightened from his hunched position. Angie scooted back on the couch, giving him more room.

“Max said he was just as surprised as everyone when he heard the news, and at first, didn’t know the reason. But afterwards there were memos and training sessions about client-auditor independence. He put two and two together. Something about restless nights.”

“Like I said, he’s very observant,” Angie muttered.

“He also said,” Hank tried to be stern. “That you and he had a late night expedition a few nights back.” He patted her on her lovely rump. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

“Sounds like Max was awfully talkative.” Her lips tightened.

“Not at first,” Hank acknowledged. “He suggested I call you here, and you know how successful that was.” He glanced her way. No wonder she was immune to his banging on the door, she’d already had plenty of practice not answering his calls.

“I just couldn’t…” she said. He patted her hip again before continuing.

“I called Max again and insisted on details.” That was an understatement. Hank remembered the threats and promises it took to eventually get Max’s cooperation. “I don’t think he would have told me anything if he thought I approved of what Falstaff did.”

“What did you promise Max?” She sneered. “Tickets to another football game?”

“No, I promised him I’d give you a job.”

“What?” She practically kicked him off the couch. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it, Angie. It makes perfect sense.” He moved to a chair where his body wasn’t in danger of further abuse. “I can’t force Falstaff to rehire you.”

He didn’t tell her that he had tried, and got nowhere. Falstaff brought up that bloody independence issue again, saying that clients could not dictate those kinds of terms to auditors. He glanced at Angie and saw her nod, obviously more familiar with those rules than he was. “I can’t change auditing firms, that’s a board decision. The only thing I can do is hire you.”

“But, Hank—”

“I’ve already checked with Falstaff. He said clients hire staff from auditing firms all the time. To be honest, I think he feels badly about what happened and was pleased to hear that you had employment.” Hank smiled, pleased with his resolution of her predicament.

“No.”

“No?” He sat stunned. This was the part of his plan when she was to throw herself into his arms in gratitude. Looking at her now, the only thing she was liable to throw was the cooling container of chicken soup. “Why not?”

“I can’t work for you, Hank.” She pulled herself to a sitting position. He had the distinct impression that the room had suddenly gotten darker and colder. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“But, Angel—”

“I’ve told you not to call me that.” Moisture collected around the rims of her eyes. “Please go. I don’t think you should come here anymore.”

“Is this about Elizabeth?” His hands clenched the arms of his chair so tightly his fingertips were numb. No one was going to make him leave before he said what he came here to say.

“Do you think I could work day-by-day with a man who…who…uses people for his own pleasure then abandons them the next day?” She swiped at her cheeks.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked. He held his breath waiting for her answer. Of all people, he had thought Angie knew him better than that. His heart pounded out the intervening seconds.

“No.” She said barely above a whisper. “Not really.”

Relief and something else surged through his bloodstream.

“But you haven’t explained about that wedding announcement,” she said.

“I haven’t proposed to Elizabeth,” he insisted. “I told you that earlier.”

“You said you were in New York.”

“Yes, but not to propose marriage. Elizabeth overdosed on cocaine Saturday night and was taken to the hospital. I went to New York to make arrangements for her admittance to a rehab center. She didn’t want her father to know.”

“So how …?” Her face expressed confusion more eloquently than her words.

“Her father ran the notice as part of an agreement he and I made months ago.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of agreement?”

He stood to pace. There was no easy way to say this. No easy way not to hurt her.

“Do you remember when you accused me of using Elizabeth to secure this job?” He waited for her nod then took a deep breath. “You were partially right.”

“How partial?”

“Elizabeth and I were neighbors when we were children. She developed a sort of crush on me that she never outgrew. Her father promised to do certain things for my family and give me this opportunity to prove myself if I promised to marry Elizabeth.”

“He bought you off.”

“Something like that.” He cringed, hearing their agreement stated so simply. “I’m not proud of what I promised. I never expected to meet someone like you. I thought—”

“Someone like me?” Her eyes widened and her lips turned up in a soft smile.

He saw an opening. “Someone strong and kind, smart and honest.” He moved next to her and took her hands in his. “Beautiful and innocent, trusting and trustworthy.” Her cheeks began to glow. He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “Independent and self-assured.” He tasted salt from her tears on her damp cheek. His gut wrenched. He had never intended to hurt her, never planned to be the cause of so much pain.

She gently pushed him away. “Go on about this arrangement.”

“I thought maybe Elizabeth and I could work something out. I thought we’d have a marriage like my parents.”
Cold, loveless.
“They essentially co-existed.” If he hadn’t met Angie, he’d probably be married to Elizabeth right now. He couldn’t repress a slight smile. “At the time, it made perfect business sense.”

“So what you’re saying is that even though you didn’t propose to Elizabeth, it’s really only a matter of time.”