Page 11 of Avenging Angel

Daisy narrows her gaze. “Until you got stuck down in the dungeon for disobeying orders, you had no idea what I’d been through. Please don’t pretend that you know me because you read a case file.”

“That’s just it, Daisy. Other than Roger and Owen, your own team didn’t really know you either. Not really, and not until you let them in. They’re supposed to be the people you trust with your life.”

Spearing her penne with her fork with enough force that it would crack the plate if it were made of plastic, she doesn’t look at me when she says, “I don’t trust easily, Angel. To be honest, I wanted a person to trust and confide in besides my brother or Roger. When you dropped everything and risked your career for your sister, I thought for a split second that person might be you; that God had finally brought a person into my life who would understand me. Then you got scared.”

There’s no accusation in her voice that I can argue away because she’s right. I did get scared, and she was the one who paid for it.

Daisy stands up to scrape the remaining pasta on her plate into the trash and starts washing the dish. Her back is turned to me when she adds, “I can’t afford for someone to run when it gets tough.”

That one hits the mark because I know exactly what she means. I ran once already.

With my strength returned, I walk over and take the sponge from her hand. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Chapter four

Daisy

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Angel asked before taking over and doing the dishes for me. He didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t have one for him. He is here and showed up when it counted. That says something about his character. Then again, that was never in doubt. He’s not a bad guy, just afraid of commitment. The question running through my head now is whether he took the assignment for me or because he needs to prove to the CIA that he’s a team player?

The sad thing is, I’m not sure I want to know the answer. If Angel came for me, then I might be stupid enough to give him another chance to break my heart. I don’t let people get close to me because I know what it’s like to have a life snatched away. I’ve lived so long keeping people at arm’s length to protect myself that I don’t know how else to be; even if I desperately want the connection. On the flip side, if he didn’t come for me, then a part of my heart is already broken because I’d be nothing more than an assignment to Angel. It would leave an opening for him to walk away when the case is closed.

That’s the goal: to close this case once and for all. To do that, I need to get into the right headspace and focus on the mission, not a love life I’ve always wanted but never thought I could have. The truth is, I understand Angel’s fear of living two lives, never fully sharing all of yourself. It’s why I forgave him so easily once he explained. But that forgiveness doesn’t change our circumstances, hence why friendship is all I can offer.

I gently tiptoe into the bathroom to change into my running clothes, trying not to wake Angel. He’s sleeping on the sofa bed with a poor mattress that has seen better days. The bar in the middle poking through can’t be comfortable for the man who’s just a hair over six feet tall and has his ankles hanging off the edge. Angel’s groan of discomfort as he rolls over is proof of that.

“I’m awake,” he says in a groggy voice. “No need to be quiet on my account.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, hugging my change of clothes to my chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t wake me. I’m not sure I actually got any sleep.” When he sits up and stretches, a loud crack from his back bounces off the walls as he groans, “Goodness, I sound like I’m 80 years old.”

Angel’s body may sound like old bones, but he definitely doesn’t look it; not with his defined pecs and six-pack abs that force me to look away to hide my rosy cheeks. Now I see why his parents named him Angel. He’s male beauty personified. Chiseled to the last detail. The only other time I’ve seen a man as gorgeous as Angel was Uri. It’s been twenty years since my path crossed with his and just as long since I’ve heard a voice in my head.

I still think of Uri frequently, occasionally wondering if I simply imagined a rescuer when I needed help the most. Interestingly enough, not once have I ever gotten butterflies in my stomach when I picture his face; just a sense of peace, comfort, and an urge to pray.

That is not the feeling I get when I look at Angel. Nope. Not in the slightest. Sharing a one-room cabin isn’t helping matters. “If you’d gotten a bigger cabin, then you wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Angel reaches for the back of his neck and grips it tightly. The heat creeping across his jawline tells me that he’s embarrassed by his actions, yet also a clear indicator that his decision for the one-room cabin was intentional. “About that….”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “You don’t have to explain. I’d choose the same location for security. The only way to get close is on foot, which gives us a definite advantage against any would-be attackers.”

He glances down at his feet. “Yeah, there’s that. In the spirit of honesty, I hoped that the close quarters would put you in a position in which you had no choice but to hear my apology. Who knew all it would take is a simunition round to the thigh and several hours of being unable to move a muscle?”

A laugh bubbles up and escapes me. “Let me guess, your sister put you up to it? This has her meddling fingerprints all over it. Now that she’s engaged, she’s going to marry off everyone else.”

Angel rubs a hand over his jaw, looking almost sheepish. “Actually, it was Grace’s idea. She told me how sharing a cabin with Scott forced them to work out their differences and come to an understanding. Since it ended up well for them, Grace thought it might for us too.”

I give him a long look before turning toward the bathroom. “Everyone’s a sucker for a happy ending and fancies themselves a matchmaker.”

Angel flips the covers and pads across the small space toward the coffeemaker, his flannel pajama bottoms hanging perfectly on his hips. “Well, I’m a sucker for some caffeine. Want some?”

“Do we have cream and sugar?” I ask. I can drink it black if I have to, but I like a little sweetness to offset the bitter taste and a dash of milk to neutralize the acidity.

“On my way here, I stopped off at the grocery store and picked up that caramel creamer you like.”

Ooh, that’s a check in the “win” column for Angel. I’d only mentioned my love of caramel creamer when we were down in Colombia one time while we were on pins and needles waiting for Jaxon to rescue Faith. Of course, we didn’t have any flavored creamer, but I made do with a ten-year-old can of sweetened condensed milk I found in the cabinet. It’s sweet that Angel remembered such a trivial detail.

“You just became my new best friend,” I tease.