Virgin In Disguise. Rosemary Heim

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      “Who? Dr. Sanders?”

      Maryam looked her in the eyes. “It’ll be better soon.” She smoothed Angel’s spiky blond hair away from her face, her hand lingering on her cheek. “You have such beautiful blue eyes. I see your father looking at me every time I look in your eyes.”

      Tears, hot and unexpected, burned the back of Angel’s throat. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to curl into her mother’s arms like she was a little girl again. Their roles had reversed too many years ago to go back. Now she needed to be the strong one. The sane one.

      Her mother tugged at the short blond hair again. “I wish you’d stop bleaching your hair. And this cut—it’s so short and punk. You’d look nice with something more feminine, something like a chin-length bob.”

      “You know I’m too lazy to spend that much time on my hair.” Besides which, short hair fit beneath a wig much better than long hair. Changing identities was easier when she didn’t have to worry about her own hair peeking out.

      “Where are you going this time?” Her mother switched topics with her usual randomness. Years of practice made it easy for Angel to follow.

      “Just up north. I have to take a…friend to a cabin for a little vacation.”

      “Is that why Marvin came?” Maryam jabbed her spoon into the ice cream again.

      “Yes. He asked me to check on his place, since I’m going to be so close.”

      “I don’t think I trust him very much, either.”

      “Mom, how can you say that? Dex has been a rock for us. Not many men would take on their partner’s family as their own.”

      “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Maryam picked up one of the paperbacks in the pile next to her. “I thought this one would be funny. The cover looked funny. But the story was sad.”

      Angel’s head fell back to rest on the couch cushion behind her. Every time they came close to a serious discussion that lasted longer than a few sentences, Maryam drifted off onto another topic.

      The antique mantel clock struck the hour and Angel jerked upright. “I need to get going. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

      “Be careful, sweetie. I need you to come back.”

      “I know, Mom. I will.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother’s soft cheek. “I love you.”

      Her mother kissed her in turn. “You take such good care of me.”

      They hugged and Angel stood to leave. Her mother clung to her hand. “You need to stop the bad men.” Her voice sounded so fragile and lost.

      Angel nodded. “That’s what I do, Mom. Stop the bad men.” But she hadn’t found the one bad man who counted—her father’s murderer. She spun on her heel and fled the room before the tears returned. On the way out, she grabbed the key and envelope Dex had left for her.

      “Mister, wake up.”

      Frank groaned. Not again. Didn’t he just go through this?

      “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. We don’t have much time, we gotta get outta here. Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

      A slap stung his cheek, followed by a shaking of his shoulders. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. Definitely different this time. He’d have to be completely unconscious to miss the urgency in this woman’s voice.

      One of the hands shaking him let go of his shoulder. He covered his head and rolled in anticipation of another slap. The fact that he could move his arm without hindrance registered. The handcuff dangled from his wrist, swinging back and forth when he rolled into a sitting position.

      “Can you stand? C’mon, we gotta move. Now.”

      “Wait a second. What’s the rush?” He waved one hand in the air, the other still holding his head against the possibility of falling off—which probably wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering how it pounded with each beat of his pulse.

      “What d’ya think? We can’t stay here.”

      He pried his eyes open and looked over his shoulder. On the other side of the bed knelt an elf, glaring at him with eyes so blue they couldn’t be real. She also had bleached blond hair with an inch of black roots showing and a nose ring.

      “Where do you think you’re going to take me?”

      “Away from here. We’ll figure out the details once you’re in the car and we’re on the road. Now c’mon.”

      The elf stood. She was very tall for an elf. He shook his head.

      Holy hallucinations, he needed his brain back. Until he could think straight, he’d buy a little time and follow his rescuer’s urgings. At least he was out of the handcuffs.

      He stood, swayed and caught himself on the headboard.

      Elf rounded the bed and slipped her arm around his waist, grabbing his belt to support some of his weight. “C’mon.”

      He draped an arm over her shoulders as she practically dragged him across the room to the door. She paused to peek outside, then pulled him down the hall to the head of the stairs.

      “Do you think you can make it down without falling and killing yourself?”

      “Yeah.” He took a deep breath, clearing his head a little more. A faint scent teased his nose, but he couldn’t make a connection that made any sense. Time enough for that later. First things first, and that meant getting out of wherever it was he’d been held.

      Leaning against the railing and Elf equally, he managed to get to the bottom of the steps without incident. “See? No problem.” He didn’t try to repress the foolish grin he shot her way.

      She surprised him with a grin of her own, which revealed a dimple in her cheek.

      “Told you.” He met her gaze and his smiled faded. “You have beautiful eyes. Are they real?”

      She chuckled, a husky murmur that sent a shiver of interest streaking down his chest.

      “They’re real. Rusty’s over here.”

      He stumbled to a halt. “Who’s Rusty?” Maybe it would be better if he just parted company with her now, sexy laugh or not. No sense getting tangled up with yet another stranger.

      Elf glanced up at him. “Rusty is a what, not a who.” She tugged on his belt and got him moving again. They rounded the corner of the building and he spotted a seventies-era Mustang with rusted out spots, a coat hanger for an antenna and a pair of fuzzy, red dice dangling from the rearview mirror.

      He looked down at Elf and raised an eyebrow. “Rusty.”

      “Yepper.” She opened the passenger door and pointed. “Hop in.”

      He eased into the seat. It was a tight fit, but he wasn’t about to complain. As long as the bucket of bolts held СКАЧАТЬ