Page 20 of Avenging Angel

“You have no idea, Angel. I finished high school in two and a half years and was biding my time until I turned 18. My original plan was to join the Army just like my brother because I never want to feel weak again.”

I cock my head to the side. “You were never weak, Daisy. Don’t tell my sister I said this, but you’re the strongest woman I know. The fortitude it took for you to escape in such harsh conditions, and your resilience in not letting the experience destroy you, is beyond measure.”

“Thank you for the comparison because I truly admire your sister’s grit and determination. Faith spent a week held captive before trekking through a jungle, only to go right back into the lion’s den to face her enemy.”

How can I forget? It’s ultimately what landed me in the dungeon doing paperwork, sifting through and cataloging failed or dismissed missions. “My sister had help and didn’t go back in alone, Daisy. She wasn’t a 14-year-old girl with only a few meager survival skills, without gear, and lost in a vast wilderness with below-freezing temperatures. The two of you are so much alike, but your experiences were not the same. I see why you became instant best friends; neither of you cowers against your enemies.”

Daisy bites her lower lip and twists her fingers. “I’m scared, Angel. Make that terrified.”

“Of what?” I ask gently.

“Of losing myself. Of what I might be capable of when we find him,” she admits. “Eighteen girls are still missing, enduring who knows what at the hands of who knows who. The girl who was taken last year at North Cascades had just turned 14. Haylie Bishop. She was on a camping trip with her science club, a straight-A student, and had dreams of becoming a marine biologist. That promising future is just gone! Why? Because some scumbag takes what isn’t his and sells her off like a commodity!”

I can feel Daisy’s body vibrating with tension through the sofa cushions as she continues. “I’m afraid when I get him in my sights, I’ll pull the trigger and not bat an eye or have a single regret. What does that say about me?”

“It says that you’re human, Daisy. The fact that it even worries you means that you’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”

Daisy looks away and rubs her palms over her jeans. “I don’t know about that. I can’t tell you how many times the thought of playing judge, jury, and executioner has crossed my mind. The power of a rifle, the anonymity behind the scope, and the choice to bestow mercy or punishment feels like….”

“Like you have a God complex?” I ask bluntly. As a sniper for the CIA’s Spec Ops Group, I know the feeling that Daisy is describing. To prevent evil deeds from occurring, I’ve had to take the lives of some terrible men—and a few women—with a Remington 700 from nearly a mile away.

“I was going to say ‘hubris,’ but ‘God complex’ works.”

I give her the faintest smile. “But we aren’t God. It’s not our place to mete out justice under the cloak of vengeance. I have the utmost confidence that you are aware of that. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had to shoot someone, is it? What about Colombia?”

“I was protecting my teammates, federal agents, and… and you from the cartel.”

At her admission that she was protecting me, even after I’d bungled everything up between us, silence fills the room. I want to lean forward, cup her face, and brush my lips against hers. I don’t, but she doesn’t miss the intense, yet satisfied, look in my eyes.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she quips.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to, Angel. I know that look. You know that I care about you, and now you want to kiss me.”

I do. I really, really do. “No, I want to finish hearing your story,” I say instead.

So, for the next few hours, she tells me about what happened to her and moving to Oklahoma to start a new life. My favorite part was when she lit up talking about Owen coming home for Christmas and gifting her a Remington Nylon 66 .22 caliber rifle. It’s a plinker gun, but she fell in love with it. That’s when she decided that the Army wasn’t her path. With her natural talent, sharpshooting was. Daisy practiced for hours a day to the point she needed to get a job as a server just to buy the ammo.

With every part of her story, we shifted closer and closer together until she finally allowed me to pull her into my arms and simply hold her. I’d ask questions, and some of the answers were darker than I expected—especially the emotional battles she endured and the nightmares that still come, though less often than in her youth.

Through all of it, I still feel there’s something she’s not telling me. A secret that’s only for her. I don’t ask what it is, but I do pray that she’ll trust me enough to tell me when she’s ready.

Eventually our conversation turns to lighter topics such as favorite movies, foods, and the things we should have talked about long before I kissed her six months ago. It shouldn’t surprise me that her favorite color is white, because it’s technically all the colors on the light spectrum blended together. This way, she gets to love all the colors and doesn’t have to pick one.

“What’s your favorite band?” I ask.

When I’m met with silence, I glance down at Daisy tucked in the crook of my arm with her head resting against my shoulder. Her breaths are deeper than if she were awake. She purrs, just ever so softly.

Now I have a choice to make. Do I shift out from underneath her, lay her down on the couch and cover her with a blanket? Or do I stay right where I’m at and let her use me as a human body pillow?

Decisions. Decisions.

“Oh, my goodness! What time is it?!” Daisy shouts, pushing off my body and springing from the couch like it’s on fire.

I look toward the analog clock on the wall, trying to focus as I rub the sleep from my eyes. “A quarter ’til seven.”

She runs over to her bag and grabs a change of clothes before racing to the bathroom. “I’m going to be late for my date!”