Christmas Angel (15 page)

He nodded, finally. “You’re right, he does look like me.” He made an odd sound in his throat. “He looks like his dad.”

Angel’s heart squeezed, and she swallowed a sob. There was no denying how he looked with painful fondness at the photograph. “Of course, you love him and his mother a great deal.”

He said nothing but stood after a moment and walked down the hall to his room. A few moments later, he returned, dressed, and began to tug on his boots.

“Shado?” She watched helplessly as he readied to leave. “What about the captain’s orders to stay inside?”

He drew on his coat. “I told you things would get complicated.”

“Why can’t we talk about this?” She started toward him, and he held up a hand to stop her and shook his head.

“I can’t.” He couldn’t look at her, or wouldn’t. “Not now and maybe never,

Angel.”

Tears once more threatened to spill over. “Just tell me this. Do you love her?”

He straightened, piercing her with a look that confirmed she’d stepped over the line.

“I’d take a bullet for those two in a heartbeat. You don’t understand. Love doesn’t cover it, Angel. It goes beyond emotion. They’re my responsibility. My family.” He opened the door. “Lock this and don’t open it for anyone.”

She wanted to understand, if he’d just let her in. She cleared her throat, turning away to swipe at the tear rolling down her cheek. “Where are you going?” Maybe he was going to her—the woman. Angel bit her lip and forced herself to face him.

“I need a drink.”

“But you don’t—” He left before she could finish, and the sound of his boots raced down the steps. The heavy front door squawked on its hinges, and the thud when it slammed shut echoed up the stairs and straight into Angel’s heart.

He didn’t drink. Shado bent his head against the fierce north wind. Why’d the damn bar have to be north? He debated whether there was any alcohol known to man that would obliterate the tormented thoughts roiling around inside him.

He’d crossed the line.
Stupid idiot
. And perhaps what was shamefully worse was—given the opportunity—he’d have a hard time not stepping over it again. She’d managed to get to him. Somehow she’d weaseled her way under his skin. And it wasn’t right. Fraternizing with a witness he was supposed to protect was dangerous. It could cost him his badge. It could cost Gleason his badge for agreeing to it.

He looked up and squinted against the wind, realizing he’d walked about four blocks. Only the occasional snowplow had passed by. Most of the businesses downtown were closed. Thankfully, Smitty’s Bar & Grill greeted him with a brilliant red neon “Welcome.” He trudged through the drifts, piled high by the plows, and crossed the street. A blast of warmth hit his face when he slipped inside. As was his habit, he took a quick scan of the place and found it virtually empty except for a few patrons and the bartender. The musty smell of the old furnace mingled with booze and the residual smell of cigarettes from days when smoking was still permitted. It was steeped in the wood from floor to ceiling and was part of the ambience of age, he figured. The thought that drinking maybe wasn’t such a great idea flitted through his brain, but not fast enough to dissuade him from ripping off his gloves and finding a stool midway down the polished brass and wood bar.

“Wasn’t sure you’d be open.” He unzipped his coat and glanced at the bartender who approached him. Probably in his mid-fifties or older, he wore his thin black hair slicked back just like his own dad used to wear his—a devout Vitalis man with a black rubber comb. Shado smiled and made himself comfortable on the stool.

The barkeep eyed him. “It’s close to the holidays. We stay busy, regardless of

the weather. Guess people need a place to go if they don’t want to be at home.

What’ll it be?”

Shado ignored the fact the stranger had pegged his reason for being there, though it was in the details he found justification. He rubbed his hands together, generating some warmth and stalling. He needed something quick. He needed to numb his brain. “You don’t happen to have any Templeton Rye, by chance? I was reading an article about it the other day, thought I’d try it.”

The bartender raised his brow and turned to the vast array of shelves filled with liquors. He pulled down one bearing an old-fashioned label, twisted the cap, and poured a finger of the pale amber liquid in a shot glass. “Starting a tab?” he asked sliding it across the smooth bar. He stood, patiently waiting, the bottle poised.

The guy was a mind reader. Shado nodded, took the shot, and tossed it back, enjoying the odd comfort of the slow burn down his throat. He nudged the empty glass forward. “One more.”

“Take your time. It is a sipping whiskey.”

Shado glanced around him, taking stock of the other patrons whose dreary lives had caused them to venture out on this godforsaken afternoon. Two older men sat at a table engrossed in a card game, settled in it seemed for the day with their beer and bowl of pretzels. Another man sat alone in a booth toward the back, his attention focused on his smartphone. Shado glanced up at the television, which hung at the end of the bar. Some basketball game went on unnoticed while a continuous weather statement scrolled at the bottom, spewing out special statements by the national weather service and the local station.

“Templeton’s seven-fifty a pop, friend,” the bartender said. “You want anything else?” Without a word, he placed a bowl of nuts and pretzels in front of Shado.

“I’m good, thanks,” he responded helping himself to the snack.

The barkeep nodded. “Grill’s hot if you change your mind.”

Shado breathed deeply, chewing on a stale pretzel and staring at the ball game, paying heed to the words of the bartender and slowing it down with this round. The sound was too low to hear well, but in truth, he was more interested in the weather anyway. Basketball wasn’t his thing. It was always Danny’s strong suit.

Starter team as a freshman, he held his position unrivaled through school and went all-conference—smart and athletic. No wonder Penny had fallen for him.

He pulled out his phone to check for messages and dialed her number. He had been surprised, though pleasantly so, that he was able to talk his sister-in-law into taking Danny to his grandparents’ Midwestern farm for the holidays. With everything going on, he wanted them safely away from Reno. He placed the phone on the bar, setting aside the flash of concern that she hadn’t answered. They were probably out ice-skating or sledding—having a great time like a little kid should with his family. He took another sip of his drink and held it on his tongue before swallowing. A commercial’s jingle, louder than the game itself, pricked his ears and caught his attention. He watched it, but in his mind he heard Angel’s voice talking about wanting and needing. His gut told him she wasn’t talking about presents under a tree on Christmas morning. Still, he wasn’t ready to hear what she really meant. His phone rang and he wrestled it from his coat pocket, thinking it might be Penny. Jack Gleason’s number popped up on the screen.

“Shado here. What’s up?” He slid off the stool to walk to the front window and distance himself from the other patrons. A city bus whizzed by on the freshly plowed street, oblivious, it seemed, to the fact it had but one passenger on board.

“I did some checking on the name you asked me to look up.” A moment of silence followed. “Are you at home?”

Shado glanced over his shoulder. “Are you my mother? Why do you ask?”

“Oh shit. What the hell did you do?”

“Could we please move on to the real reason you called?” Shado shifted to his other leg. He had a drink waiting for him.

He heard a sigh on the other end. “I can’t find a thing on Angel Marie Sutter. No one, I mean no one has filed any missing person reports. I even went to the national registry and found nothing. No records, no violations—not even a parking ticket. Clean as a whistle. Like she doesn’t exist.”

Given the battle she had with his car’s belt buckle and the odd questions she’d asked, Shado doubted she knew the first thing about how to drive. Not so strange if she was a runaway from a strict Amish community. “Well, we know she exists now, don’t we?” He wanted to say he hadn’t made love to a fantasy, but he needed to sort his private life out on his own. “Dumb idea, but did you happen to do a Google search?” he asked, noting the snow appeared to be dwindling in intensity. Then again, it had been doing so off and on all day, creating havoc in a place, which rarely had record-breaking snowfalls.

“Yeah, I did.” There was a strange tone in his voice, more than the natural Texas drawl he used at will.

“And?” Shado waited.

“I don’t figure it means much. The only reference I can find is the mention of it in some book on the history of the old mining towns up near Virginia City.”

An unsettled feeling caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He looked over his shoulder, and the man who’d been on his phone was at the bar settling his bill. He stared at Shado, lingering a bit longer than was comfortable as he walked out, paused to flip up his hood, and started on foot down the street.

“You still there?” Gleason asked.

“Yeah.” He watched him through the window until he turned the corner and disappeared. “What did you say the name of the book was?” he asked trying to shake the uneasy feeling the guy gave him.

“
Tales of the Sweet Magnolia
or something like that.”

Shado’s heart skipped a beat. “You realize she was looking for the Magnolia the night I met her?” It was the first bit of information connecting her to anything— or at least the name.

“Maybe she read it?” Gleason suggested.

“She borrowed it from my neighbor lady.”

“Miss Brisbee. I always liked her. Sweet old gal,” his friend remarked.

“She hasn’t said much about it.” He scratched his chin. “It’s a coincidence, right? Her name in that book?”

“What are you saying, man—she came here from the 1800s?” Gleason chuckled.

Were it possible, it would certainly account a great deal for her strange behavior. He’d had to show her how to work a can opener.
Who doesn’t get that
? “I was thinking maybe it’s a family name? You know some of these drug cartels have been in the business for generations.”

“It was a brothel, Shado. We’re not talking
The Godfather
here.”

“Maybe so, but you’ve got to start somewhere, right?” His reasoning made sense, but something about the weak explanation left him unsatisfied. “At any rate, I’ll ask her about it, see what she says.”

“Yeah, when you get home,” Jack retorted.

“How’d you guess?”

“There’s a basketball game in the background. You hate basketball.”

“You can hear the TV?” Shado checked behind him. He wasn’t able to hear it midway to the set. “I needed to get some fresh air.”

“Instead you found a bar? You don’t drink.” His friend’s surprise was evident.

“I’m heading back home.”

“Listen, I know this has to be tough, but try to be nice to the girl. She’s been through a lot.”

Shado held the phone from his ear, not believing what he’d heard. “You like her, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Gleason asked. “She’s a good kid.”

“Really? And when exactly did you come to this conclusion—before or after you read me the riot act about getting involved with her?”

“What I said, grasshopper, was I needed your head clear. Big difference.” He hesitated, and Shado waited for what was coming next. “Are you involved?”

“No. Maybe…it’s complicated,” he replied shoving his hand through his hair.

“I understand. Just tread carefully. We don’t need any trumped up charges smacked on one of our detectives, if you get my drift.”

“I know the correct protocol.” Because he’d already violated it.

“Have you talked to her about the case?”

“She’s been busy going through the books.”

“And walking through the driving snow to bring you homemade soup.”

“Yeah, we had a talk about that.”

“Does she know about Danny?”

“No.” He was quick to answer but curious why Gleason would ask.

“Do you plan to tell her?”

Shado shook his head. “I’m not sure where this line of questioning is headed.”

“Doesn’t matter. Sounds like she’s got you tied up in knots, and you haven’t figured it out yet.”

He snorted. “My head’s in the right place.” His words touched off more guilt, and he corrected himself. “Everything’s going fine.”

“All right then,” Gleason answered, though he didn’t sound terribly convinced.

“Maybe it’d be a good idea to get her out a bit.”

“Out? You just told me the captain wanted us to stay put.”

“And I can see how well you listened. Besides, I have an idea that will get both of you out. Poor thing having to live day in and day out with you—man, that can’t be easy.”

“Do you have a point here?”

“The Policeman’s Ball is coming up day after tomorrow. Why don’t you bring her? Espinoza’s not going to come within ten feet of a room full of cops. I’ll clear it with the captain.”

“I don’t go to the Policeman’s Ball.”

“Do you have a suit?”

“Yeah, but I don’t dance.”

“Well, maybe Angel does, and you can watch.”

“She doesn’t have a dress to wear.”

There was a strained silence on the phone. “Let me check, maybe Marla has something she can fit into.”

“I don’t know if it’s safe.”

“For who—you or Angel?”

“Funny.”

“Look, man. I’m not saying you aren’t allowed to have feelings—” Gleason started.

“I don’t have any
feelings
for
her
.”

“Don’t say that too loud. What I mean is it’s perfectly natural to transcend your role of protecting Angel into other…emotions. It’s not a crime to enjoy life, Shado.

You just gotta know when to draw the line.”

He saw her in his mind, standing in the bedroom as he slid through the

window with the snowball in his fist. That was fun. The most fun he’d had in a long time, and then he crossed the line. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her, see what she says.” Odds were slim he’d even mention the dance to her. Besides, given the way he’d stormed out earlier, he doubted she’d want to talk with him anytime soon. The best thing for everyone was to find her attacker, take down Espinoza, and go back to the way things were.

“Just consider the idea and let me know. Marla and I will save you seats at our table.”

“Sure, okay,” he agreed, mostly to get Gleason off his back. He hung up, finished his drink, and bundled up for the walk back home.
Home.
He’d never thought of it in those terms before. It had literally been a place where he showered, slept, and occasionally laundered his clothes, but home? It’d only become one in the last few days—since his unexpected roommate moved in.