Faithless Angel

Faith stood in the darkness, her sadness suffocating her and making her breaths come in short, harsh gasps. The rain beat down on her, but it couldn’t drown the memories or quench the fire that raged inside, destroying the apathy she’d fought so hard to maintain.

“Faith.” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. At first, she thought she’d imagined it, but then she saw large hands close over hers, felt a massive chest pressed to her back, and heard Jesse’s familiar voice.

“Leave me alone,” she cried, her voice fierce, raw with a hurt she yearned to ignore. “Just leave me the hell alone!”

She wrenched her hands from his. Whirling, she lashed out at him, anger and pain and fear making her fight when she wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground and dissolve into the mud puddle beneath her feet. Anything to escape the emotions that she swore she’d never feel again.

Something flickered in Jesse’s dark eyes; then he whispered, the sound barely audible above the rain, “I know what you’re feeling, Faith. I know.” And then his mouth swooped down and his lips captured hers.

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

This had to be a mistake.

Stepping back, Jesse Savage glanced up, his gaze slicing through the drizzle to study the bold black numbers mounted above the porch doorway. No mistake. He studied the front of the house. The place looked too clean for this neighborhood and too well cared for, especially since the woman who lived inside had supposedly given up caring for anyone or anything. Only the black iron burglar bars covering the windows and the front door gave any indication that this was far from the best part of town.

Jesse moved back onto the porch and pulled his fist from his pocket to press the doorbell. Just shy of pushing the button, he stared at the deep pink scar that zigzagged its way across his hand, from his tattered coat sleeve clear to his thumb.

He closed his eyes to the rush of memories—the pain, the voices….

Lookee what we got here
.

This ain’t none of your business
.

Get lost, Savage. Your brother’s who we want
.

His brother. But Jesse had been the one to go down first. The one who’d smashed into the floor. The one who’d landed in a heap, hurt and bleeding. Dying …

No more!
He forced his eyes open. It was almost over, he reminded himself. After he finished with the woman inside the immaculate, whitewashed duplex with the neatly trimmed hedges and the jungle of half-dead hanging plants swinging beneath the porch eve, it truly would be over. He would have his chance to ask forgiveness. One last chance. Then no more scars, and no more regrets. Nothing but peace.

Ignoring the sting of pain as his jacket cuff chafed the tender flesh around the scar, he pressed his finger to the doorbell. A chime sounded, then quiet. Only the swoosh of passing cars on the busy intersection a block away disturbed the drizzly afternoon’s silence.

He stabbed the button again and flexed his fingers, the pain in his hand aggravated by the cold that had swept into Houston that morning. The wind battered him, lifting his hair to creep beneath the collar of his jacket and spread over his skin. He’d almost forgotten how erratic the weather could be in Texas, even in May. Summer one day, lingering winter the next.

A string of high-pitched barks scattered his thoughts. The muffled voice of a woman came from somewhere in the house, and the barking quickly died down. The slow creak of a door followed seconds later and he found himself gazing past the
bars, into a questioning pair of green eyes—wide, gold-flecked green eyes that seemed to stare straight through him. Eyes that would have made him think of sunshine and picnics if there hadn’t been rain clouds lurking in their depths.

She wouldn’t want to open the door to a man like him. He knew it even before he saw her hesitation. With his worn clothes, his hair long and unkempt, and his face in sore need of a shave, he looked like nothing more than a bum. Street trash. Scum.

The words filtered through her head to his, as if a current flowed between them, connected them…. Hell, they
were
connected. That had been part of the deal. But he’d never imagined the feelings would be so strong. So fierce.

He had the insane urge to reach out and reassure her that he meant no harm. Then again, she lived and worked in this neighborhood. She’d sure as hell seen far worse, and Jesse had never been one to comfort. Or to speak his feelings. That was why he was in this damned mess in the first place.

“Yes?” Her question was little more than a sigh. Her bottom lip trembled so slightly that anyone else might not have noticed. But he did. He noticed everything about her. Her scent—a sweet mingling of roses and warm female—filled his nostrils. Her heart beat a frenzied tempo in his head. Her breathing followed the rise and fall of his own chest.

Connected. Linked
.

“Faith Jansen?” he asked.

Her eyes, red-rimmed and slightly swollen, narrowed considerably. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet. I’m Jesse Savage.” He extended his hand, fingertips brushing one iron bar. She made no move to accept his gesture, not that he blamed her. Not the way he looked. She continued to stare at him,
suspicion swimming in those incredible eyes of hers.

“Is your name supposed to mean something to me?” She looked thoughtful, then shook her head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t.”

It will. Soon. Very soon
…

“I’m here about the job,” he told her.

“What job?”

“The one listed in the
Houston Chronicle
.” He fished inside his coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of newspaper. Uncurling the edges, he held up the want ad. “You own Faith’s House, right? That foster home for troubled kids a block off San Jacinto?”

“Maybe.” One slender arm shot out between the burglar bars to take the paper from his outstretched hand. Her fingertips brushed the scar and he jerked back. Not from pain, but from a sizzle of current that went through him at the hint of contact with her.

Her gaze zeroed in on his hand and her eyes went wide. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“It’s nothing.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially since he heard the open concern in her voice, felt it in the sudden stall of her heartbeat.

Concern, when she’d supposedly given up on emotion.

It was gone with her next words, however. The sting of his reply had undoubtedly zapped her back to reality. To her grief.

Damn, but he was stupid.

And determined, he reminded himself. And where there was concern, there was more. Hope. Compassion. Faith. And that was why he was here.

“The job,” he said again, indicating the ad. “I’m here about the job.”

She studied the paper for a few seconds, while Jesse studied her.

She was nothing like he’d expected. With light brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, her face devoid of makeup, she looked a lot younger than her twenty-eight years, and way too innocent. Not hardened or jaded like a woman who’d been around the block one too many times. Nothing like he’d imagined.

He shifted uncomfortably and she turned those green eyes on him again. That was when he saw the truth. A slow-burning hurt simmered just below the surface of those green-gold depths, beneath the suspicion and the anger. She was someone who’d seen too much, felt too much, and he knew then that she was the one.

“I didn’t place that ad,” she told him.

“But you do own Faith’s House?”

“Yes, but my assistant is running things now.”

“I could really use the job, Ms. Jansen.”

“Then you’ll have to contact Bradley Winters.” She shook her head, obviously puzzled. “How did you get this address in the first place? The ad gives the phone number for Faith’s House, not my home listing.”

“This is a small neighborhood. You do a lot for the community. Everyone around here knows you. They all appreciate what you’re doing.”

“Sure they do. Is that why my garbage cans are stolen on a weekly basis?” Her words dripped with a cynicism that Jesse knew all too well. “Garbage cans, of all things. If it isn’t chained down, kids will run off with anything in this neighborhood.”

“I really do need the job,” he pressed.

“Look—”

“I’ve had some college,” he cut in. “I don’t have a
degree or anything. I didn’t quite make it that far, but I worked with an outreach program that mentored troubled teens, and I know kids. I had a brother and sister, both younger than me. I’m good with children. Practically raised my brother and sister myself.”

“That’s commendable, Mr.—” She caught her full bottom lip for a thoughtful second. “What did you say your name was?”

“Savage. Jesse Savage, and I’m a reliable worker, too.”

“I’m sure you are, Mr. Savage. But the kids are in Bradley’s hands right now. You want to answer his ad, call the phone number printed there. I’m on leave.”

“For how long?”

Her gaze narrowed at his bold question. “Are you sure I don’t know you from somewhere? I mean, your name isn’t familiar, but something about you is.”

His body tingled beneath her lingering stare. Heat pulsed through veins that had known only cold contempt for so long. Too long.

He forced the notion aside and shook his head. “No, but I really need this job.”

“Sorry. I can’t help you.” She went to close the door, but Jesse reached past the bars and grasped the door frame, his hand so close to her face that he could feel the heat that colored her cheeks.