Angel on Fire (13 page)

As the elevator doors opened, Angela released an inarticulate but very feminine sound of frustration before trying to stomp off.  The effect was spoiled by the fact that Chase retained control of her arms and simply tugged her to his side.  “Next to me, babe,” he murmured in her ear.  “That means you stay right here.”

“I’m not yours to control,” she retorted, and he had the nerve to chuckle.

“Poor
baby,
can’t handle reality, can you?” he teased as they strolled toward the park.  As they turned toward the pond, he turned serious and morphed into the covert operative he claimed to be.  He slowed his pace and gentled his hold, making them look as if they were simply a couple enjoying a leisurely walk in the park, all while paying close attention to everyone and everything around them.

“Do you see her?” he asked as they approached the swan boats. 

“No,” she started.  “Wait! 
Over there.
  She’s pushing the stroller.”  Stepping away, she moved in the young woman’s direction, but Chase stopped her, gathering her in his arms and leaning down, his lips a breath away from hers.

“You never make sudden moves in the field.  You watch and wait first.  Otherwise, you might put both parties in danger.”  His breath whispered across her mouth, sending a thrill through her despite the seriousness of the situation. 

“She’s passing the swan boats,” he reported, his hands running up and down Angela’s sides as he played the role of her lover.  “She looks nervous.”

“Where’s she going?” she gasped, his touch lighting a fire deep within her.

“She’s coming toward us at a pretty fast pace.  I think she recognizes you,” he warned.  “When she catches up, I want you to walk with her while you talk.  It’s harder to hit a moving target.” 

“Why are you so worried?” Angela wondered.   “It’s not like anyone knows we’re here.”

“It’s my job to worry.  Here she comes.”  Chase nodded at the young mother as she passed and Angela stepped alongside the stroller, cooing at the baby, acting as if she were just an admiring pedestrian. 

“Hi,” the woman greeted Angela in an almost whisper.  “I’m Jaida, and this is my baby, Patrice.”

“I’m Angela, Nick McKenzie’s daughter,” Angela answered as the baby grasped her finger.

“Look, I don’t want to get in any trouble,”
Jaida’s
voice wobbled.  “But I heard something you should know ‘bout your dad.”  The woman’s hands clenched the stroller handle.

“What?”  Angela kept her voice soft since it was obvious the young woman was frightened.

“Dr. Richards?  He’s a good doc but not a real good man, if you know what I mean?”  Jaida turned toward Angela who nodded in response.

“About two weeks ago, some medicine turned up missing when the head nurse checked the inventory.  Doc Richards said he’d dropped a few vials, and they’d broken.  I saw him take them and put them in his pocket.”  Jaida frowned.  “He knows I saw him.  He told me to keep my mouth shut so I did.  Your dad died on Tuesday, right?” 

Angela nodded again and the two women walked in silence for a few minutes before Jaida spoke.  “You can’t tell anyone what I’m going to tell you.  Please.  I’m afraid they might hurt my little girl.”

“I won’t, Jaida.  I just want to find out what happened to my father.” 

“Promise,” Jaida begged, her eyes imploring Angela to cooperate.

“I promise,” Angela agreed. 

“Doc Richards got a call that day, after hours.  I’d stayed late to finish up a few things.  The head nurse had been
givin
’ me a hard time.”  She shrugged.  “If I get fired, I can’t take care of my baby.  Anyway, that night Doc got a call, and I heard him
talkin
’.  He said the needle mark would be noticed during an autopsy.  I didn’t know what he was
talkin
’ ‘bout but then he said he’d take care of it.”  She looked over her shoulder before lowering her voice eve more.  “When he came out of his office, he looked surprised to see me.  He got a funny look on his face and then asked me to make a duplicate file for a patient.  He said he’d taken it home and accidentally left it there.  Files are
never
supposed to leave the office.  Doc said he’d help me sometime if I helped him.  So I made the file, but I felt
kinda
weird about it so before I left I checked the computer system.  Doc had me make a file for your dad, Nicholas McKenzie, but no such patient existed in the system.  The patient’s always entered into the system before a file is opened.  I’m pretty sure your dad was never a patient at our office.” 

“Did you say anything to anyone about this?”  Angela clenched her fists tightly as she realized her suspicions had been confirmed.  Her father’s death was no accident.

“No, of course not!”
  The young woman’s eyes widened with fear.  “I’d lose my job.  I’m a single mom.  I need this job.  You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

“I won’t,” Angela promised, trying to sound reassuring while her mind processed what she had just learned.  “Was there anything else?” 

“No, well, maybe.”  Jaida pushed the stroller a little faster, and Angela worried that she planned to run away without answering.  “The next day, your dad’s name had been added to the system.  And, that night, as I was leaving the office, I saw Doc accept an envelope through the open window of a fancy black car.  Doc called off work the next day, and no one’s heard from him since.” 

“Do you know where he lives?” Chase interrupted from behind them, and both women jumped in surprise.  Angela had forgotten he was there. 

“He’s got a brownstone on
Botolph
St in Back Bay.”

“Address?”
Chase demanded as they neared the end of the park.

“Umm, don’t know exactly but it’s the second unit on the corner of
Botolph
and
Follen
St. Name’s on the buzzer.”  Jaida turned the stroller toward the street.  “I
gotta
go.”

“Thanks, Jaida,” Angela called as the woman walked away without another word.

“Where’s
Botolph
St.?” Chase demanded, tugging Angela toward another exit.  

“That way.”
 Angela gestured with her arm.  “We need to talk to Richards.” 

“I know.  That’s where we’re going.”  He threaded his way through the crowd.  Angela remained silent during the walk.  Until now, deep in her heart, she had been afraid that she was looking for answers that didn’t exist.  For the moment, at least, it appeared that her instincts were right on. 

As they approached the building Jaida had mentioned, Chase continued past, practically dragging Angela who tried digging in her heels.

“Hey, we passed…” she protested. 

“I know, Angel,” Chase muttered.  “We need to check the area before you go barreling in.” 

Angela rolled her eyes in frustration.  “Geez, it’s not like the guy is a terrorist or master spy.”

“And you know this how?  Christ, woman.  How the hell did you survive working for the FBI?  You have no patience.”  Chase hauled her to a small sidewalk café, choosing a table with a view of the Richards’ brownstone, and requested coffee and menus. 

The smell of food stimulated Angela’s empty stomach, and she blushed profusely when her stomach growled.  “Sorry, I’m hungry.”  She covered her rumbling stomach with her hands.  “I didn’t eat much last night, and you didn’t give me time to eat this morning.”

“Sorry, babe.
  I frequently miss meals on missions so I eat when I can.  I’ll try to remember to feed you at regular intervals.  That beast is kind of loud.” 

“Hey!” she complained.  “That’s not nice.”

“Neither is the sound coming from your stomach,” he teased, just as the waitress arrived.

Angela ordered the breakfast combo with eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes and bacon while Chase requested an egg white omelet.  Twenty minutes later, he stared at Angela’s clean plate.  “I thought for sure you’d have lots left over.  Where did you put all that food?”

Smiling widely, Angela patted her very full belly.  “Dad used to joke I had a hollow leg.  Seriously, though, I love good food.”

Chase simply shook his head in response to her confession, his face showing his disbelief. 

“What?  You’re not one of those that think women shouldn’t eat, are you?” she asked, her own face registering horror at the thought. 

Chase smirked, “Most women I know don’t eat.  They nibble, usually on things like salad, carrots or celery.  They certainly don’t inhale the lumberjack of all breakfasts.”

Glancing at him from under her lashes, Angela surmised, “So now you think I’m unladylike, right?”  She snorted, “All women, except for those anorexic models, eat.  Some just pretend otherwise in front of men, especially men like you. Put a plate of brownies in front of them during a girls’ night, and they’ll fight over the last one just like the rest of us.”

“Now that’s a visual. 
A bunch of scantily clad women wrestling over a brownie.
  I wouldn’t mind seeing that myself,” Chase joked, as he placed several bills on the table.  “Time to go, Angel.  I think you’ve cleaned them out.”

“Hey!” she protested as she followed him from the small café.  “Don’t be mean!”  She pouted and he wrapped an arm around her. 

“Just teasing, babe.
  At least now I know not to come between you and food.”  She elbowed him, frowning when he failed to flinch.

Chase led the way to the Richards’ townhouse and pressed the appropriate buzzer. 

“Hello?” a harried, female voice responded.

“Mrs. Richards?”  Chase leaned closer to the callbox. 

“Yes?” the woman shouted over the crying in the background.    

“We’re here to talk about your husband, Dr. Richards,” Chase announced, his voice radiating authority.

“Oh, thank goodness!”  The woman breathed a sigh of relief.  “I’ll be right down.” 

Exchanging a look of surprise, Angela and Chase waited at the front door, the picture of professionalism.  Minutes later, a young blonde woman, with a toddler on her hip, and wearing a stained blouse, opened the door to the brownstone.  “I’m Melody, Allen’s wife.  Thank God the police finally sent someone over.”

Unsure why Melody Richards needed to speak with the police, Chase simply waited for her to continue rambling.  She ushered them into a messy family room and handed the sobbing toddler a bottle before setting him in a playpen.  “I’ve called several times to report Allen missing, but no one would help me.”

Richards is missing?  Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?
  Chase sighed internally and prepared to direct the conversation where he needed it to go.  “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Richards?”