The man behind the checkout counter had rosy cheeks and gray hair, and reminded her of Santa Claus even if his nametag read Doug. She’d always thought Santa Claus must be an angel; there was no other way he could manage Christmas in one night. Not to mention the immortality. She couldn’t help a smile, especially when he spoke. His voice was as jolly as he looked.
“Afternoon, ladies. What can I do for you?”
“Just this, please.” Rebecca pried the ball out of Miranda’s clutching fingers so Doug could scan the bar code.
He leaned over the counter and made a great show of giving the ball back to Miranda. “Here you go, young miss. Ah—but wait just a moment.” He screwed his face up ever-so-thoughtfully and fished under the counter. “Ah! Here we go.” He produced a purple lollipop and offered it to Miranda. “And it even matches your ball.”
Miranda, Rebecca thought, had killer puppy eyes. And she was using them on Rebecca right now. “Okay, munchkin. But don’t tell your father.”
“I won’t!”
Doug chuckled and turned his kindly eyes to Rebecca. “You have a beautiful daughter, ma’am.”
Rebecca’s heart twisted. She’s not my daughter, she started to say, but then looked down at that trusting little face. The words wouldn’t come. So she only smiled, paid the man, and escaped before she could break down again.
Hand in hand, she and Miranda strolled down the street, back toward the apartment building. Miranda was utterly absorbed in her ball, while Rebecca lingered on her drifting thoughts. At the crosswalk, Miranda held her lollipop up with an adorable little scowl.
“I can’t open it.”
“Let me. Cellophane can be a—”
“Get down!” a man shouted.
Rebecca jerked and looked up. A police officer ran toward them, gun in hand and pointed right at them. Panic seized her, shrill and cold.
“Get down now!” he repeated.
Rebecca threw her body across Miranda’s and flung them both to the ground. Gunshots rattled in rapid succession—so fast she couldn’t tell who shot first, the cop or the criminal. Pain ripped through her skull and darkness crashed down, dragging her under. Her last thought, as she faded, was that she’d die before she ever got her wings.
Just her luck.
Chapter Four
Angel Rule #4: Always seek out the best option for your charge.
Tony held Rebecca’s hand in silence, absently running his thumb over the plastic hospital bracelet encircling her wrist. The only sound in the room was her steady breaths layered over the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the clock’s steady ticking toward three a.m. Miranda had dozed off hours ago, in the unoccupied hospital bed behind him.
Tony hadn’t moved from his seat since he arrived. He’d been trying for hours to block out the memories, but they kept replaying, tormenting him, mocking him.
He’d followed Rebecca and Miranda. He’d meant to apologize, once he caught up with them. He hadn’t meant to pressure Rebecca so much, but the martyrdom shtick had set his temper off. He’d only wanted to get her to think about the possibility. To give him a chance, maybe. But that crushed look on her face when he’d snarled at her told her he’d pushed too far.
Maybe if he could read minds like she could, he wouldn’t keep making such an ass of himself.
He’d caught sight of them just as they’d entered the toy store. His heart had filled to see Miranda holding Rebecca’s hand with such simple devotion. Did Rebecca realize how much his daughter adored her? Did she even have the slightest clue how much he cherished those little things—that Rebecca would allow Miranda to hold her so close, to “help” her with breakfast, to cover her in nail polish until she was the cutest mess Tony had ever seen?
He’d talk to her when they came out, he’d decided.
But by then, he’d lost his chance.
Tony had seen the cop moments before Rebecca, had seen the officer try to fight through the crowd toward the insane idiot brandishing a gun and shouting about Teletubbies taking over the world. Tony had tried to call out to Rebecca, tried to reach his angel and his daughter, but the panicked crush of pedestrians had pushed him the other way.
And then he’d been forced to watch as that lunatic pointed the gun and fired. No hesitation. No regret. As if they didn’t mean a thing in the world to anyone.
As if they didn’t mean a thing in the world to Tony.
Rebecca had saved his little girl. He squeezed her hand tighter, watched her pale face, and silently begged her to wake up. He’d been so relieved when he’d seen them hit the ground, until he’d realized Rebecca wasn’t getting back up—and the blood pooling everywhere was hers.
His heart had stopped, and even now felt like it had never started again. Just a dull, heavy lump in his chest, petrified by pain and fear. The EMTs had shoved him aside. He never remembered dropping to his knees to cradle her, her blood all over him as he’d pleaded with her to get up. Just a graze to her skull, the paramedics had said. She’d been lucky, but not lucky enough to miss the lamp post. She’d hit it hard.
Too hard.
Her fingers were so limp in his. The lopsided bandage wrapped around her head made her look waifish and fragile. She was almost as white as the gauze, and he had to watch her chest intently to be sure she was still breathing. He couldn’t let her go. She had no one else. Nowhere else to go. The police had asked about motive, if the shooter might have been targeting Rebecca, but Tony had no answers. He’d lied and said she was his girlfriend so the hospital staff would let him stay. He couldn’t just abandon her, and he didn’t even know where to find this Sally she’d mentioned before.
Compound skull fracture. The doctor had been an older man, grizzled and gruff. Severe trauma to the temporal lobe. She’s bruised up pretty bad, but she’ll live as long as there’s no cranial swelling.
“You have to live,” Tony whispered. “You have to. Angels don’t die. They can’t.”
Rebecca moaned. Tony sat up straighter and strained toward the bed. His heart gave a clumsy lurch and tried to restart.
“Rebecca?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she licked her lips. Her eyes half opened, dull and hazed, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Rebecca, are you awake? It’s me. It’s Tony.”
Her eyes rolled toward him and sharpened. She stared at him. “Wh—” She coughed. Her voice was brittle with an edge of fear. Her face paled further, and her eyes darted around the room. “Who are you? Where am I?”