Be Brave (9 page)

happy about?”

Angel drank some milk, deliberately making a milk mustache and showing it

off with his eyes wide and a big smile. “My mom e-mailed me. She"s in London, and

she wants to meet me outside the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden at eight

o"clock.”

He looked so happy. This could be either really good for Angel—or awful. “Do

you want to meet her?”

“Of course. It"s okay, isn"t it, Daddy?”

“It"s entirely up to you. But I"m coming with you.”

Angel clapped his hands. “Yes! I want her to meet you.”

Kael pushed his plate away. “That was great.” Angel began to clear the table,

half dancing, half walking.

If she hurts him again, I’ll kill the bitch.

“Daddy?” Angel stood at the open dishwasher, his smile gone, plainly wanting

reassurance. “I think those dudes who kidnapped me in Bosnia got it wrong.” Kael

didn"t speak but looked into the beautiful gray eyes waiting. Angel"s body grew

tense as he spoke, and he began to chew on his nails. “They said they asked my

mom for ransom money and she said no, but I think it was her boyfriend who said

no and he never even told her.”

The desperation in his eyes was pathetic. Kael stood up and pulled him close to

his chest. During his debriefing at MI6 over the incident, he had confirmed that

both Samantha Andresen and Gregoire St. Germaine knew about the ransom

demand. The money was St. Germaine"s, so technically the refusal had come from

him, but Angel"s mum had neither left the man nor made any attempt to contact

Angel at that time or since.

“What do you think, Daddy?”

“You could be right.” He squeezed Angel tight. “Finish the dishes. It"s already

after seven o"clock.”

* * *

had decided to stay in his school uniform to look smart and Kael had agreed it was a

good idea. Angel straightened his tie while Kael paid the taxi driver. The theater

was lit for an event. Kael looked at the billboard.
The Barber of Seville
was playing.

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

37

It was the first opera he had ever seen on a school trip when he was at College

Grange.

Angel bit his lower lip, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he looked around.

It was cold, the pavements wet from rain, but he didn"t seem to notice.

The street was busy with women in evening gowns and fur stoles and men in

tuxedos arriving in taxis for a night at the opera. Out of habit, Kael scanned the

area, but he and Angel were no longer in danger and he was no longer an operative.

He saw the gleaming black Rolls Royce from half a mile away in thick traffic and

knew it belonged to Gregoire St. Germaine. Angel did not spot the long, sleek car

even when it pulled up outside the theater and, assisted by the uniformed driver, a

woman got out in a shimmering evening gown, her smooth, dark hair in a

sophisticated French roll. The stunning engagement ring and wedding ring set,

expensive and understated, was the first thing that Kael"s practiced eye settled on.

Behind her, a man, tall and thin, the very image of the French aristocrat, emerged.

Kael had seen only a couple of photographs of the woman, and none of them

did her justice. She was beautiful. No wonder it was so easy for her to go from

stripper to rich man"s wife. “Angel, is that her?”

“Oh my God. She looks so beautiful.” He looked up at Kael proudly. “Doesn"t

she, Daddy? Mom!” Angel skipped over to the couple while Kael stayed close behind.

“You look so beautiful.”

“Hi, Angel Gabe,” she said.

There was an awkward moment when Angel opened his arms to hug her and

she remained still, as if she was afraid to disrupt her carefully crafted appearance.

Finally she leaned forward and kissed the air on each side of his cheeks without

actually touching him. “How have you been, Angel? You remember Gregoire?”

“Yeah.” He looked briefly at the Frenchman. “I"m good. I go to college now.” He

spread his arms to show off his school clothes. “Redmond Independent College. I"m

going to go to university.”

“Good for you, baby.”

She looked at Kael, assessing him, and her pupils dilated as she took in his

build and handsome face.

“Mom, this is Kael Saunders. He"s my…” He looked up at Kael, unsure how to

introduce him.

Kael put his arm around Angel and drew him to his side. He wanted to protect

him from this woman and all the harm she had done. “Angel lives with me now. I

take care of him. He"s in school. He"s a very bright boy, and he works hard. He"s

doing well.”

“Wonderful.” She looked at the aristocratic Frenchman. “Isn"t that wonderful,

Gregoire?”

He smiled and then nodded very slightly at the theater door. He wanted to cut

the meeting short.

“Mom, did you know I was kidnapped last year?” Angel asked quietly.

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Fyn Alexander

“That was because of Sven.” She sounded defensive and snappish. “I had no

idea what he was up to. I found out later about the guns.”

“No, I know that, Mom. But did you know I was kidnapped by gunrunners?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Why wouldn"t you pay them? They wanted to ransom me.”

St. Germaine spoke for the first time; his English was impeccable, with only

the slightest trace of accent. “It is never good to give in to terrorists.”

Angel didn"t look at him. He couldn"t take his eyes off his mum. “They were

going to kill me. Daddy rescued me.” He looked up at him for validation. The pain in

his eyes tore at Kael"s insides.

The woman patted Angel"s shoulder as though he were someone she had just

met and felt a passing sympathy for. “You"re safe now; that"s all that matters. I had

no idea what Sven was up to.” The edge to her voice made Angel look nervous. “It

could just as easily have been me as you that got kidnapped.”

“I know that, Mom. I"m sorry. I would much rather it was me than you.”

Kael wanted to kill her. She was an expert at making herself the victim.

Maybe that was what appealed to straight men: a woman who needed rescuing.

Angel stood there apologizing to the woman for reminding her that he nearly lost

his life barely six months ago.

At last Angel noticed the rings. “Mom, are you married?”

St. Germaine placed his arm around her shoulders in a brief hug. “We married

last month.”

“How come you didn"t invite us?” Angel glanced at Kael.

“Give him this; we have to go,” St. Germaine said in French and passed his

wife a small gold and cream colored gift bag he had been holding.

“I was very busy; things have been hectic,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway,

look. I brought you a belated Christmas present.”

Angel took the bag but made no attempt to look inside. He was getting upset.

“Is this my belated birthday present too?” The image of the single birthday card

from the family maid sitting on Angel"s desk the day Kael had met him came back.

“For Christ"s sake, Angel, I was running for my life last September.” Very

discreetly St. Germaine squeezed her hand, and she lowered her voice. “Do you

think I was happy about leaving you? I had no choice.”

“I"m sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step toward her but not daring to touch

her.

You bitch, manipulating your son until he apologizes for your neglect.

“Open your present,” she ordered.

While Angel focused on extracting a box from the gift bag, Madame St.

Germaine looked at her husband and spoke in halting, heavily accented French.

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

39

“My son has good taste in men. I wasn"t expecting a man like him when Angel e-

mailed that he was living with a schoolteacher.”

“He"s not a schoolteacher. I don"t know what he is, but he"s not a teacher. The

boy may think he is,” her husband replied, keeping his voice low and smiling when

he caught Kael"s eye. “He looks extremely intelligent and rather dangerous.”

“And I speak your language perfectly, Monsieur,” Kael said in French. He

looked at Samantha St. Germaine. “Your accent, Madame, is appalling.”

Her blush was apparent even through her makeup, and from the look in her

eyes, he had angered her. Her husband offered him a slight bow of acknowledgment.

“And yours is perfect, Monsieur. You speak as well as a Frenchman.” He smiled

again. “Better than most.”

Kael continued in French, knowing Angel would not be able to follow easily.

“Are you planning to stay in his life? Because you have hurt him enough already.”

Her face twisted into an ugly sneer, and she gave up butchering the French

language and spoke in hushed English. “Don"t get in my face. Who do you think

looked after him for eighteen years?”

“Not you. A lot of foster parents and maids from what I heard.”

“I did my best. I was on my own with him. You think that"s easy? I can tell just

by looking at you, you come from some rich family. I bet you went to a fancy school

with your perfect English and French. You don"t know what it"s like struggling just

to pay bills.”

Kael leaned in close, knowing that any minute Angel would start listening.

“You couldn"t be more wrong, Madame St. Germaine. I had a single mother just like

you. The difference is my mum worked her arse off to give me the best life she could.

She didn"t abandon me.”

Gregoire St. Germaine stepped between them as politely as he could. “Is his

college expensive, Mr. Saunders?”

“Yes. It"s an excellent school, and Angel is extremely intelligent and very

creative.”

“I am happy to pay for it.”

Kael leaned into the man"s face until he was no more than two inches away. “If

you are happy to pay for his college, why wouldn"t you pay his fucking ransom? Or

did your bitch of a wife tell you not to bother?”

St. Germaine stepped back, remaining outwardly composed. But Kael saw a

thin film of sweat break out on his upper lip. “We must go. Please excuse us. Send

me the bill for his schooling.”

“I don"t need your money. I"ll take care of my boy,” Kael said.

“We must go.” St. Germaine began to walk toward the door, where the

doorman anticipated him and opened it.

“Angel, I"ll be in touch, okay, baby?” his mother called.

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Fyn Alexander

“Okay.” He stood beside Kael, watching as his mother was ushered inside the

theater by her husband. The door closed behind them. “That"s it?” He looked up at

Kael. “She"s gone.”

Kael took his hand and began to walk. “Come on, boy. Do you want to go for an

ice cream?”

Angel smiled. “Sure. That would be nice, Daddy.

“What was the gift?”

“A Rolex watch. Wait till Jack sees it. He"ll be so jealous.”

It was after eleven when they got home very tired and went straight to bed.

Kael"s relief had been huge when Angel had ordered a chocolate and strawberry

sundae and ate it with gusto while they chatted about school and life in general and

how good he was getting with a gun. He related a dirty joke a boy in class had told

him, and nearly choked with laughter, spitting ice cream everywhere. Kael had

wiped up the mess with a paper napkin while chuckling along with him. He had

watched him, marveling at Angel"s beauty and sense of humor despite all the shit

he had lived through, and at how this smart, sexy boy had changed his life.

With Angel tucked safely in his arms, Kael fell asleep contented. But when he

awoke a few hours later, he knew Angel was not in the bed even before he opened

his eyes. He sat up, looking at the empty space beside him, and listened.
He must

have gone for a drink of water
. No noise came from the bathroom. He almost lay

down again but noticed Angel"s pillow lying askew. The comfort blanket that the

boy hardly touched anymore was gone. Angel only ever took it out from under his

pillow when he was really upset.

Kael got up and pulled on his dressing gown. He always turned the heat very

low when they slept, and the air was cold. “
It’s good training in case you ever have to

sleep outside
,” he had been told in one of his early sessions with SIS. He checked the

bathroom, but there was no sign of Angel. When he found the kitchen empty and no

lights on anywhere, his concern escalated. It was cold outside and raining. If Angel

had left the flat looking for his mum, he could be anywhere—because he could only

be upset about that woman.

The front door was locked, the chain in place. Kael stood still in the dark

hallway and focused, ordering himself to calm down. He walked back to the living

room and stood in the doorway looking into the darkened room until he spotted

Angel on the couch, still naked from bed, his knees drawn up against his chest, the