I'm No Angel (23 page)

She didn't want Holt getting anywhere close to Tom with a gun.

She ran down the landing, tore through an opened door, and continued to follow the noise until she saw Tom crash into a wall on the far side of the room.

And then she saw Dagger barrel into him, his head butting Tom in the shoulder.

Angel slammed the door behind her. Locked it. She'd be damned if she'd let Holt come into this room. Not with a lethal weapon.

Angel's eyes narrowed in something close to panic mixed with anger as ornately framed artwork careened off the walls and marble busts toppled off their stands.

“Damn you both!” she hollered, then joined the fray, grabbing Dagger by the hair as he lunged after Tom. But he spun around and as he'd done in the past—took control.

Dagger latched on to her hair. His eyes feral. His teeth bared. And with one swift jerk, he threw her across the room. She smashed into the bedpost, bounced off of it, tumbled over a chair, and before she could get her footing, upended a porcelain vase full of flowers and water.

“Let me in, Miss Devlin,” she heard Holt holler. “Damn it, let me in.”

“Call the police,” she yelled back at Holt. “Tell them to get here quick.”

She'd rather have Tom behind bars, locked away for God knows how long, than have him dead.

“Stop,” she pleaded, out of breath, her body
bruised, her scalp aching, but when neither man listened to her, she raced back into their midst.

“Get the hell out of here,” Tom yelled at her. “I don't want you hurt.”

“I'm already hurt,” she shouted back, then closed her eyes and ducked when a chair flew across the room and sailed over her head.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Tom sling a right hook and bash Dagger under the nose. Angel heard the crack, heard Dagger scream, and watched Tom grab on to the black shirt Dagger was wearing and throw the bastard against the wall.

Dagger staggered. He slumped. He held his nose, looking like he was going to pass out.

Blood dripped through his fingers. Onto the carpet.

Angel could hear her asshole of an ex-husband whimpering like a baby.

And then she watched Tom bend forward, hands on his knees. He dragged in a deep breath. Blood trickled from his nose, his lip. He tilted his head and looked at Angel, overwhelming guilt in his eyes. “I saw him climbing through an upstairs window,” Tom said. “I had to follow him.”

“Why?” Angel asked, anger in her eyes, her voice shaky. Furious. “Because you thought he'd lead you to the safe so you could look for that goddamned statue?”

Tom stood up straight. His breathing was erratic, heavy. “I wanted to get him out of here so he wouldn't cause you any trouble.”

“You sure did a hell of a job.”

“You don't believe me, do you?”

“You could have knocked on Holt's front door. You could have told the butler that you saw an intruder breaking into the house.”

Tom's eyes narrowed. And then he laughed. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I wanted to. Now I know I shouldn't—”

Angel's words were cut short by the blur streaking across the room. The flash of steel.

“Tom!” Angel screamed, but Dagger's blade speared into the man who'd thrown him off his boat, the man who'd just broken his nose, the man Angel loved.

Everything else seemed to happen in a split second.

Dagger ran for the window, as Tom slumped to the floor. “Stop, Dagger. Stop. Now!” Angel screamed, but her ex leapt for the window.

She wasn't about to let the bastard get away, not when he might have killed Tom. She grabbed her stiletto and as she'd done thousands of times before, she threw it with precision. The knife buried itself into the window jamb.

“You're not going to get away, Dagger.”

Dagger spun around, one leg outside the window, the other ready to pull through at any moment. A sickening sneer touched his face. He pulled Angel's stiletto from the wood. “I thought I taught you better than this, Angel. Missing a target can get you in all sorts of trouble.”

“I could have killed you, Dagger.”

“No, you couldn't. You never had the stomach for anything like that. But I don't have the same reservations. Never have. Never will.”

He raised the knife, and Angel dragged in what
could easily be her last swallow of air. Dagger's aim was always dead on, even with a moving target. If he wanted to hit her—even kill her—he would.

But she refused to go down looking like a chicken. Refused to let him think she was scared in any way. So she glared at him, defying him to throw, as she moved toward Tom, showing Dagger that the man on the floor was her only concern right now.

Just as she got to Tom, he staggered to his feet, and a prayer of thanks shot through her. She wanted to grab him. Hold him, but he had something else in mind.

Tom ripped the bloody knife out of his left arm and in what looked like a near blinding rage, threw it at Dagger.

The blade whizzed past Dagger's shoulder, and the bastard grinned.

“I knew he wasn't as good as me.” Dagger laughed, but he also seemed to think twice about throwing the knife in his hand as Tom tore across the room after him.

Sirens rang out. Loud. Piercing. And Dagger hit Angel with one last hate-filled stare before disappearing outside.

Angel ran to Tom, but he couldn't be stopped. He lunged through the window, and in spite of his wound, in spite of the blood, he jumped from the window ledge to the tree outside.

Her heart thundered in her chest as one horrid thought after another tore through her insides—the worst one…that a man would die before all of this was over.

She raced for the window, determined to stop Tom, but she was far too late. A hot and humid breeze slapped her face. And then she heard the snap of the branch wobbling beneath Tom's feet. She saw the look of horror on his beautiful face, the blood on his white T-shirt, and in the next instant, the thick limb broke beneath the weight of two men.

Angel screamed.

And the man she loved and the man she hated crashed to the ground.

H
e was dead, a six-inch blade embedded in the word
ANGEL
that Dagger had had tattooed beneath the devil on his chest.

Angel rubbed her arms, trying to find some warmth amid the cluster of police and firemen. Tom—bruised, his lip and nose bloodied—sat in the back of the ambulance, an EMT treating the wound in his arm. They'd wanted to take him to the hospital but he'd refused. Stubborn to a fault.

But as he sat on the gurney, his gaze stayed fixed on Angel. There was no mistaking the sadness and hurt in his eyes. She knew he was as torn apart inside as she was. He'd promised her he'd stay in the car and he'd lied. She wanted to believe that he'd gone inside the mansion only to follow Dagger, to protect her, to keep trouble from happening, but he'd also wanted to find that statue. She knew it in every fiber of her being.

And she knew inside that he'd keep on trying to find out the truth about his father's death, even if it meant breaking promises or getting hurt.
There was no way she could fault him for that. She'd do the same thing if something bad had happened to someone she loved. She'd do anything to get to the truth.

But God forbid, she knew all that had happened tonight was going to put an end to all she had planned for. Her dreams of making a lot of money for charity.

It seemed so selfish to think about that now, when Dagger was dead, when Tom was wounded, when her own body was a mass of aching muscles and bones.

When Holt stood at her side. Cold. Emotionless.

“Excuse me, Miss Devlin.” Detective Brodie stood at her side, a small leather-bound notebook and pen in hand. “Could I have a moment of your time? In private.”

Holt's eyes narrowed. He squeezed her arm and nodded once.

It was time to lie.

Before the police had arrived, Holt had begged Angel and Tom not to bring up the past. He wanted this investigation to be put to bed fast. He didn't want Tom mentioning that he'd climbed through a window to get inside. Didn't want Tom mentioning that he'd been trying to see Holt for months.

“Tell the police you were my guests,” Holt had insisted. “The past is history, over and done with, and I want to keep it that way.”

They'd argued. Tom standing there, pale, breathing hard, pressing Angel's white jacket against the wound in his arm, saying he had
nothing to hide. Holt, controlled, his eyes narrowed, telling Tom if he ever—
ever
—wanted to sit down face to face and discuss the events that happened twenty-six years ago, he wouldn't mention the past. He'd tell the police that he'd been inside the house with Angel and Holt looking at jewelry, not waiting outside.

When the gates opened and the police and the emergency vehicles drove onto the estate, Tom reluctantly agreed to do as Holt had asked. Angel agreed, too. She didn't know what Tom's true motives had been, but she knew he wasn't a thief, hadn't been out to steal anything. Because of that, she'd protect Tom; she'd protect Holt, too, even though deep down inside she knew before this night was over he'd tell her he was backing out on his sponsorship of the gala.

Angel followed the detective she'd known for years to his car. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

She leaned against the dark blue sedan and folded her arms over her chest.

“Mr. Zane is…
was
your ex-husband. Right?”

Angel stared at the body lying on the grass. “You know the answer to that.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be,” she answered honestly.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“Do you really need my version?” she asked. Tired. Wanting to just go home. “You've already talked with Mr. Hudson and Mr. Donovan.”

“You know how this works, Angel.”

She inhaled deeply, and let the air out slowly.
Fighting for composure. “Mr. Donovan—Tom—and I came here to see the jewelry Mr. Hudson is donating to the charity gala that we're holding next week. Actually, the pieces we looked at were reproductions because Mr. Hudson didn't want to take the real jewels out of his safe until he had the proper security for it.”

“You knew in advance that Mr. Hudson wouldn't be showing you the real jewelry?”

“I knew. Mr. Donovan knew. Dagger Zane knew.” Angel laughed lightly. “I imagine most of Palm Beach knew, since the jewelry and the subject of security came up in a conversation that took place at Frederike LeVien's home a couple of weeks ago.”

Detective Brodie's eyes narrowed. “
You
brought up the subject of security?”

“I believe Mrs. LeVien brought it up. I tried to change the subject.”

“Not easy to do with the Countess.” The detective grinned knowingly. “Did you have any reason to think Mr. Zane would want to steal the jewelry?”

“My ex-husband was an asshole. You know that, Detective. But as far as I know he'd never stolen a thing before. Finding him upstairs was a shock.”

“How did you know he was upstairs?”

“I didn't know
he
was upstairs, not at first.” Angel swept her hair behind her ear. “We were looking at the jewelry. In fact, Mr. Hudson was slipping an emerald-and-diamond pendant around my neck when we heard something hit the floor upstairs.”

“Then what happened?”

Holt grabbed a gun,
but Angel left that part out, as she'd been instructed. “We ran up the stairs and saw Dagger running out of the room where Mr. Hudson keeps his valuables. Tom ran after him as he dashed for the window. They fought.” Angel dragged in a deep breath. “Dagger stabbed Tom and I threw the stiletto I always carry at him.”

“Did you hit him?”

“I missed. On purpose. As much as I hated him, as many times as I wished he were dead”—Angel shook her head slowly—“I didn't want to kill him.”

“But it
was
your knife that killed him?”

“Yes, it
was
my knife. He'd pulled it out of the wall.” Angel's eyes narrowed. She felt a tear slide down her cheek. “I might not have wanted to kill him, but he was going to throw the thing right back at me, and I know he wouldn't have missed.”

“Did he throw it?”

“Tom stopped him. I don't know if he meant to miss or not, but he threw Dagger's knife at him and then he charged Dagger. That's when they went out the window, out onto the tree, and”—she dragged in a deep breath—“that's when the branch broke.”

Angel looked toward the ambulance. At Tom's arm in a sling. His gaze hot, intense, as he watched Angel talk. “Mr. Hudson and I rushed out of the house.”

“Were there any servants around?”

“If there were, none of them came out.”

“What did you find when you got outside?”

“Tom was tangled in the branches but managed to stand up with my help and Mr. Hudson's. Then we went to Dagger…but he wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing. That's when Mr. Hudson went inside and called 911.”

Angel's eyes trailed back to Detective Brodie. “There's nothing else I can tell you.”

“Did Mr. Zane have any family we can contact?”

“Last I heard his dad owned a wrecking yard in Wichita. They weren't all that close.” Angel looked into Detective Brodie's comforting eyes. “I don't have to deal with contacting him or anything like that, do I? I mean, we were married, but—”

“We'll take care of everything, Angel.”

Detective Brodie tucked his notebook and pen inside his suitcoat. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“I can drive, thank you. I'll roll down all the windows and let in the fresh air. I think I need it.”

They walked together to the ambulance.

“Sure you don't want to go to the hospital?” the EMT said as Tom climbed down from the gurney.

“I've been bit by an alligator before.” Tom laughed lightly, but Angel could sense his pain, not just from the wound but from what had happened. “All I need is a few aspirins and a good night's sleep.”

The EMT dished out more directions, but Tom didn't seem to hear them as he walked up to Angel and slid his uninjured arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine. Thank you.”

She pulled away from Tom's hold and walked up to Holt.

“I'm sorry about tonight,” she said. “Sorry about all of this.”

“I do not want the police to hear your apologies,” Holt said. “Let me walk you to your car, or shall I have my chauffeur take you home?”

“I'll drive,” Angel said. “Tom lives just up the road at Mere Belle—as you know. After I drop him off, I'll be going to my parents' for a few days.”

“Please give your mother my regards,” Holt said solemnly.

Angel's muscles tensed. “She'll be at the gala. She's even got a pretty gown to wear.” Angel smiled warmly. “Perhaps you could dance with her that night.”

“I will be closing Palazzo Paradiso as soon as the police have finished their investigation. I knew it was a mistake to open my home to you. Knew it was a mistake to let my defenses down.” Holt linked his hands behind his back. “You will have to find another venue for your gala, Miss Devlin.”

Tom grabbed Holt's arm. “You can't do that. She's spent months planning that night. The invitations are sent. Everything is arranged.”

Holt dragged Tom's hand from his arm. “You should have thought of that before you entered my home.”

“There won't be any other problems,” Angel stated. “I assure you.”

“You gave me your assurances a couple of weeks ago that everything would go smoothly,
without any trouble at all. I believe you told me the same thing when you came here a year ago asking me to open my home. You were wrong, Miss Devlin. Things haven't gone smoothly and tonight's trouble is something I don't ever want to see repeated.” Holt's eyes narrowed. “Now please go.”

Holt turned on his heel and strolled back to his cold, lonely mansion, without saying another word.

Angel stared at Holt Hudson's back, and felt as if she'd just been stabbed with her own knife.