She went still. Her eyes darkened, and her lips parted, then closed again. She dropped her arms to her side. That damned look was back. That look of sympathy that hit him like a shot to the stomach.
“Murder,” she said.
Murder? Tony felt sick, and he braced his hand against the truck for support. Was she saying he’d be murdered? For what? By whom? Who hated him enough to take his life?
Impossible. She was lying. No matter the sick sense of dread in his gut, she had to be lying.
He licked parched lips and whispered, “How will it happen? A robbery?”
She shook her head. “You aren’t the victim, Tony. You’re the murderer.”
It took a moment for the word to sink in. Murderer. It was as ugly and dark as his rage. How dare she? This—this wispy slip of a girl thought she could walk into his life and accuse him of some imaginary murder? She didn’t even know him. He could never do something so unthinking, so careless and cruel. He might have lost faith, but he hadn’t lost his mind. Tony Weis wasn’t a murderer. He was a lot of things—an ass**le, a womanizer, sometimes a failure as a father—but he wasn’t a murderer.
Even if she just might drive him to it.
“You listen,” he said, and advanced on her. “I’d never do something like that. Maybe you think I don’t know the difference between right and wrong, but I do. What’s right is remembering Miranda. Remembering that if I did something that heartless, she’d be left alone. I’m all she has. Without me, she’ll end up in foster care. How dare you?”
The woman held her ground and met his gaze steadily. “You might think you’re not capable now, but you will be. You’ll be driven to murder, but I won’t allow you to fall so far.” She bit her lip. Her eyes were bright. “I promise you that.”
Those soft, liquid eyes sapped his fury. Damn it, he was a sucker for a pretty face…and already halfway to forgiving her. She was worse than Miranda. One look from his daughter and he’d do anything to please her, from fixing a broken baby doll to attempting to solve the world’s economy. Anything Miranda needed.
This woman looked at him like she needed him.
And, God or angels or whatever help him, like he needed her.
No. He didn’t need anyone else in his life. Not a woman, and especially not an angel.
He backed away from her. “It’s impossible.” He flung a hand out sharply. “I wouldn’t—I couldn’t do something like that!”
Tony turned his back on her and willed her to disappear. Willed her to get out of his life. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten.
When he opened them again, his neighbor, Mrs. Harrington, was just ducking out of her garage. She waved. “Tony!” she called. “I was hoping to catch you before you left.”
Tony swore under his breath and turned back to the woman. “You have to go n—”
She was gone.
The truck was empty, save for boxes packed so tight she couldn’t possibly hide among them. There was no one in the street save for Mrs. Harrington, her blue-washed head bobbing with every creaking step. There was no sign that his so-called “angel” had ever been there. No sign she’d existed at all. What the hell?
What the hell had just happened?
Chapter Two
Angel Rule #2: Never fall for your subject.
With a sigh, Rebecca sagged against the wall of the corner convenience store down the street from Tony’s house and, blowing her hair out of her face, kicked a rock. In sandals. Not smart. The rock bounced across the pavement, and Rebecca crouched to rub her stinging toes with a frustrated hiss.
“Son of a b—”
She caught herself, clamped her mouth shut, and looked around, shoulders hunched. No sign of Sally. That didn’t mean she wasn’t listening. Rebecca groaned. She was making a mess of everything, including her first meeting with Tony. She was supposed to offer him comfort and succor. Instead, she’d just managed to piss him off. So much for Angel Rule #1. The truth had pushed Tony away and made him defensive.
She should have lied. So what if it was a sin, as long as it got the job done?
It didn’t help that Tony was so damned stubborn. Were all assignments this bad, or was Sally testing her right out of the gate? How was she supposed to reach the heart of a man who’d walled himself off behind the scars his ex-wife had left behind?
How was she supposed to teach him faith, if the only thing he still had faith in was Miranda?
Rebecca thought through the memories she’d seen in Tony’s mind. Jane’s face, hard and cold, her smile cruel. Was she really like that, or was that how Tony saw her? Human memories were so subjective, a mixture of truth, imagination, and emotion. His feelings warped every thought of Jane—and filled his brilliant green eyes, which had distracted her so thoroughly.
Tony was a test, all right, and she was starting to think senior angels pulled this crap on purpose just to screw with the naïve trainees. Angel Rule #2 warned her never to fall for her subjects. It hadn’t warned her that one of them would be distractingly handsome, with a body that roused some inappropriately devilish thoughts, and an adorable habit of running his fingers through his hair when frustrated. And those eyes…those eyes had seen right through her, prying out her every doubt and insecurity as surely as if he’d read her mind.
He’d been so lost. So broken. He didn’t believe he was capable of anything drastic, but Rebecca recognized the signs. Tony Weis was a man on the edge.
She had to save him, one way or the other. She would save him.
As long as she kept herself under control, and remembered her higher calling.
…
Tony tucked Miranda into her new bed, kissed her forehead, and turned out the light. The harsh glow of the street lamps outside still made the cramped room too bright, bringing the details of the exposed brick walls into stark relief. He’d have to get curtains tomorrow. The apartment was a dump, but he could at least manage a few creature comforts for Miranda.
With a last smile for his sleeping daughter, Tony slipped out into the hall. Moving boxes cluttered the narrow passage. He squeezed through to the kitchen, unwrapped one of the barstools from its plastic padding, thunked it down, and thunked himself right down after it. He needed that beer twice as badly now. It was only eight, but it felt like midnight—and he still had to at least try to unpack more than his and Miranda’s beds.
Long damned day.
At least his so-called angel hadn’t made an appearance again. Good riddance. He’d already gotten rid of one crazy woman. He didn’t need a delusional freak following him around.