The Guardian (Mended Souls Book 1) (11 page)

T
hat son
-of-a-bitch was going to be sorry.

Ray looked at the now silent cell phone in his fisted hand. His fingers whitened around the damn thing until he half expected to see indents in the cover. His anger rose along with his blood pressure until it exploded and he threw the mobile across the room and felt a burst of satisfaction when it smashed against the wall.

It was a short-lived gratification.

What was he going to do now? The people after him weren’t going to wait much longer. He limped across to the phone and grimaced at the cracked screen. More money he couldn’t afford to spend. The shag rug was crunchy under his shoes. He hated to guess what lived in the chenille bedspread. This piece-of-crap room was all he could afford after his bookie’s goons roughed him up a week ago and took every cent he had. They had found out his money-well was threatened by the death of his biggest star and they weren’t happy.

It was all bullshit. He’d worked his ass off for those two thankless idiots and this was his reward? They raked in the cash, babes, and accolades while he got the run-around.

He’d warned Lucas more than once that they would be nothing without him and the idiot had laughed him off. He’d shown him. Who was laughing now?

Except there was a chance the medical examiner’s office would find out what he’d done. He couldn’t allow that. It had been easier than expected to get rid of the doctor, one pop to the head and it was over. That’s what he should’ve done with the woman too since she was a slow learner. The warning notes, the injured dog, the hit and run, nothing seemed to stop her. And now she was screwing Anderson; yeah, he’d heard that satisfied note in his old buddy’s voice.

This was all her fault. If she had just signed off on the case, he could’ve talked Scott into going home to L.A. so they could get their lives back on track.

But no, that bitch had to screw everything up.

It was only a matter of time before they found the fentanyl in Lucas’ system; after that it wouldn’t take long to trace it back to him. He’d screwed up by using his own prescription. An overdose of heroin would have worked just as well.

Ray was sorry he’d ever suggested this gig. They’d been doing fine out west. He’d gotten greedy, and it was costing him big time. It was a tough decision to get rid of Lucas, he’d thought of the kid as a son. But there’d been no choice after he threatened to press charges when he found out about the stolen money. Ray couldn’t have that, it would’ve ruined him.

Sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

He popped the top on the bottle of whiskey and took a shot, grimacing at the cheap perfume taste. Couldn’t even afford good booze any more,
shit
.

He needed a plan. Something to get Scott back to work before those goons came back and busted his kneecaps. The key was the doc; get rid of her and things would get back to normal.

They had to.

L
ucas glared
at his sodden gray wings. What did it mean? Why was he being forsaken this way? How was he supposed to get a second chance if he couldn’t even help those he cared about the most?

“You better knock that chip off your shoulder, buddy, before you mess things up good,” Mike warned.

“Yeah, and what do you know about it?” Lucas growled. A shaft of light split the clouds in half and highlighted the iridescent glitter of the other angel’s wings. It made him wish for his Ray-Bans. “You get lost in a tinsel factory or something?”

Mike looked at him like he’d lost his marbles. “Look, I think you should take this as a warning. Someone up here…” Mike glanced around as though the Lord would suddenly appear on that nimbus of light over their heads. “…doesn’t like your attitude.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not real thrilled with His right now either.” Lucas stared at the house and willed Natalya to appear in the doorway.

Mike picked up a couple of flat rocks and sent them skimming the surface of the lake. It made Lucas uncomfortably aware of his life. He felt like those stones; gliding along without really accomplishing anything worthwhile.

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” Mike said, turning to face him again.

He nodded. “Now what?” Hopefully the angel had some idea of where to go from here, because he sure didn’t.

“I’m guessing you need to go back to earth and prove yourself.”

Sure, no problem. Just hop the next moonbeam and sayonara. And even if he could figure out how to go back, what was he supposed to do when he got there? This do-good crap should come with a manual.

He pointed at the other man’s wings. “It looks as though you already earned your hall pass, so what are you still doing here?”

Mike shrugged, his green eyes unfathomable. “It’s not my time. I have a job to do, same as you.”

Lucas couldn’t see why, the guy had already been through hell and back, you’d think it’d be enough. He didn’t give a shit if he made it to the other side or not, but Natalya deserved to, and he planned to do whatever was necessary to make it happen.

He glanced back at the little cottage again.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

T
he next time
Tracy opened her eyes, it was to the delicious aroma of fresh-brewed Columbian and something that made her tummy do a happy dance. Bacon.

She smiled.

He’d stayed. And he cooked.

It was kind of hard to control the warm fuzzies, and after the night they’d shared, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Maybe, instead of over-thinking their affair, she should just enjoy it for however long it lasted. Hank had told her more than once,
“If you want something from a relationship, you have to be willing to get your feet wet.”
She hadn’t understood him at the time, but now it made more sense. If she wasn’t willing to give anything to the relationship, then why should she expect Scott to?

She hurried through a second shower, shivering slightly as the warm water caressed her sensitized flesh. Not wanting to bother with getting fully dressed, she grabbed Scott’s discarded chambray shirt and tugged it on, reveling in its softness. The hem ended at a respectable mid-thigh, but the sleeves were a mile too long. She rolled them up and followed her nose down the hall.

Entering the kitchen, she had to smile. He stood in front of the stove shirtless, spatula in hand, and a cloud of steam billowing upward.

“Are you burning our breakfast?” she teased.

He swung around and she lost her train of thought. Holy moly, the man had a fine body. His abs were delineated and accented a narrow ribbon of dark blond hair that arrowed down to her happy place. She caught sight of the undone button on his jeans and her gaze jumped to his face. He seemed just as stunned to see her and she self-consciously tugged at the hemline of her impromptu dress.

The smoke thickened and they both started to cough. Scott turned back to the burner and shoved the pan off the heat. Tracy went to give him a hand, but he waved her back.

“I’ve got this, just relax. Coffee is made.”

She hesitated, then shrugged and poured them each a cup, carrying it over to the butcher block table. Probably not his usual décor but she liked it. Battling her insecurities, she took a drink and watched him work. Even with the cast he was amazingly dexterous—a vision of him holding himself above her with one hand planted by her head while he brought her to soul-stealing pleasure made her cheeks feel like they were the ones on fire, not the bacon.

He found a couple of mismatched Corningware plates, loaded them up, and transported them to the table with an I-told-you-I-totally-had-it-under-control look delivered from under a sexy fringe of messed up hair that made her want to run her fingers through the ends. Forget about the meal, she’d like to fill up on another kind of food entirely, the lovin’ kind.

She gazed dubiously at the charred toast, blackened bacon, and rubberized scrambled eggs. “This looks wonderful,” she fibbed.

Scott pulled up a chair and joined her, his grin self-depreciating. “Yeah, it sucks. Do I get points for trying though?”

Oh yeah, big points.

“We’ll see. Who’s in charge of cleanup?” She grinned.

“I was told whoever does the cooking is exempt from cleaning,” he said, and grimaced at the hunk of egg dangling off his fork. “Next time I’ll order something in.”

Next time.

Her heart jumped and her stomach somersaulted—and not because of the food. She watched as he picked his way through the least offensive bits and drank her coffee with relish. Almost like they were a… couple. All they needed was a paper so he could read the sports and she could do crosswords. Crazy.

She cleared her throat. “So what are your plans for today?”
Honey.

He eyed her over the rim of his cup. “Well, I…” A whining at the back door cut off whatever he’d been about to say.

Shoot, she hadn’t even thought about letting Sugar-Bear out. Tracy jumped up before Scott could move and opened the door for her dog.

“Good morning, sweetheart. How do you like your new digs?”

Scott murmured over top the animal’s happy whine. “I like it… a lot.”

Flustered, she brushed her hair behind her ear and reached for a piece of the bacon on her plate, intending a peace-offering to the dog, but Scott grabbed her hand and tugged her close.

“It’s true, you know.” He used his thumb to tip her chin up so that she had to meet his gaze. “I really do like your home. It’s warm and welcoming, just like you.”

Or an old pair of shoes.

She’d been deluding herself. Why was a man who could have basically any woman on the planet going to tie himself to someone who was… comfortable?

She gave him a quick peck and pulled free. “I better get dressed. I’d like to get into the office for awhile today.”
And gain some much-needed perspective.

His brows lowered. “Do you think that’s a good idea? It’s only been a couple days since you lost your friend.”

She gave a brittle laugh. “I think I know when my partner was murdered. That’s all the more reason to be there. I want to find out what the hell happened.”

Ignoring his hurt look she spun away and hurried down the hall, admitting to herself she was as reluctant to shed the image of them as a couple as she was to get rid of his shirt.

L
eaves formed a brightly colored
carpet on the sidewalk, the breeze twirling them into little piles that crunched and crackled under foot. The sky was a brilliant blue, so vivid it hurt the eyes. It felt strange entering the Medical Examiner’s building from the front, but Tracy wasn’t prepared to park in her usual spot underground. Too much had changed in such a short time. She nodded to people she knew, but didn’t stop to chat. The last thing she wanted to do was feed their curiosity—well meant or otherwise.

The office was thankfully empty. She shrugged off her jacket and set her purse down, all the while staring at the files waiting on her desk.

The first folder contained toxicology reports on Lucas Carmichael. She’d expected the alcohol given the booze found in the car, but it was a relief to see he’d been well under the required limit for driving. Her brow furrowed when she read the next line; trace amounts of fentanyl. What would Lucas be doing with an opiate in his system?

She rocked back in her seat and rubbed her chin. It was possible he had a prescription for the drug if he’d been injured or had surgery, but there was no evidence to support the claim. It was sometimes prescribed to patients with extreme chronic pain, but again, no sign of that either. And besides, surely Scott would’ve mentioned something to her, he had to know she would find it during the autopsy. It would certainly better explain why Lucas had drifted over the center line into oncoming traffic; his sense of perception would have been hampered by the drug moving through his system.

She opened the file containing pictures of the body and combed through until she found what she was looking for; he’d been wearing a patch at the time of the crash. Now that she thought about it, Tracy remembered reading something about Lucas’ ongoing struggle to stop smoking. She would be willing to bet her next paycheck that she’d just found how the drug had been administered, but now the question became; by who?

She kept coming back to Scott sitting in this office and swearing that he and Lucas had nothing to do with the drug scene. What if he’d been lying to her? What if Lucas knew exactly what he’d been taking at the time of the accident? Maybe the whole quitting smoking thing was nothing more than a cover up to explain the patch. Maybe Lucas Carmichael, one half of Hollywood’s dream-team, was in fact an addict who caused the horrific crash that ended in three deaths.

She slammed the file closed and put her head in her hands. She’d been played by a player. It all made a dreadful kind of sense. No wonder Scott didn’t want her coming to the office, he was scared she’d figure this out. When the press got wind of the story, his career would be over. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t behind the wheel, he would still be deemed an accomplice. He may even be facing jail time. The courts were sure to go after vehicular manslaughter charges and probably punitive damages to the family of the driver of the van.

Tracy wished Hank were here. She could sure use his dry wit about now, even if it was aimed at her gullibility. She still couldn’t believe he’d been shot. How horrifying. And here she was, upset over a little betrayal. Seemed pretty frivolous in comparison.

The best thing she could do for herself would be to turn over her findings to her boss and let him deal with the fallout while she found a nice little hole to bury herself in until it all died down and Scott Anderson became nothing more than a painful memory.

S
cott wasn’t
sure what kind of burr had gotten under Tracy’s stubborn hide, but it hadn’t taken her long to send him packing this morning. Good thing he had a big enough ego or she might have trampled the thing into the ground.

He’d never told a woman he cared before. Now he knew why. The self-doubt was killing him. Had he read her wrong? Was she just in it for a fling with a movie star? It wouldn’t be the first time. There were lots of chicks out there that only showed their
devotion
by the size of a guy’s wallet. He hadn’t taken Tracy for one of them, but what did he know? Lucas had preached often enough that money could buy just about anything, even love. Maybe he was right.

Restless, Scott drifted aimlessly for a couple of hours and then found himself in the vicinity of the park where he’d had his vision a couple of nights earlier. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find; a sign maybe, some kind of proof positive that he wasn’t going crazy and yes, he really had seen a ghost. Or angel. Or whatever the hell it was.

But as he followed the ribbon of walkway from one end to the other everything looked—normal. Teens, their eyes down, staring at the twenty-first century’s idea of socializing they carried in their hands. Couples in love meandered along the path hand-in-hand, some young, some old. All made his chest hurt and he turned away before he started something dumb, like searching for a woman who wasn’t likely to show up with an apology on her lips.

The gazebo came into view, the pristine white paint a perfect counterpoint to the day’s brilliant blue skies. The trees were shedding their summer foliage, filling the lush green grass with a carpet of reds and oranges that danced and played like a bunch of woodland sprites.

Shaking his head at his fanciful notions, Scott strode up the steps and entered the structure. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but it wasn’t the tow-headed boy asleep on the wicker chair in a set of torn and dirty dinosaur pajamas.

He glanced around outside but there were no distraught parents desperately searching for their missing child that he could see. His first instinct was to call the cops, but he hesitated. Maybe there was a reason the kid had run away. What if it were an abusive home and Scott helped to place him right back in there? Memories of his own scrapes stayed his hand. Better to wait and get the boy’s side of the story first.

The kid shivered and let out a little hiccupping sigh that suggested he’d cried himself to sleep. Scott frowned and tugged his jacket off before dropping it gently over the child. What now? He should probably wake him up, but another hour wouldn’t make that much difference one way or the other.

Maybe Tracy could help.

His fingers had her speed-dialed practically before the thought finished processing.
Pathetic, man. You are seriously pathetic.

“Hello?” Her voice was cautious and Scott cursed under his breath. He’d forgotten to tell her he’d helped himself to her cell number— for emergencies.

Stalker much?

“Hey, it’s me. Scott.” Okay, like she wouldn’t recognize the voice of the guy she’d just spent the night with.
Get a grip, dude.
“Listen, I know you’re probably busy with, ah… dead bodies or whatever, but I was kinda wondering if you could take a break and meet me at the park on Hillside? There’s something I want you to see.”

There was a long stretch of nothing and he looked at the bars on his phone, yep, what do you know, full connection.

Bringing the thing back to his ear he was just about to make some kind of lame excuse,
“Sorry, gotta go, aliens just landed, and they’re looking for me,”
when she finally, finally cleared her throat and answered him.

“Yeah, sure. I had something I wanted to show you too. I’ll be there soon.” Click.

So, no,
“Hi, honey, I’m so glad you called. I’ve missed you in the three-point-five hours we’ve been apart. I can’t wait until we’re together again.”

At least she was coming. He’d take what he could get.