Page 24 of Angel

“Consider it done, ma’am.”

I’m intrigued because once again nobody knows I’m here. There is only one organization that probably knows my movements before I do, and I wonder if it’s from Angel.

I grasp some dollars to reward the doorman for his efforts, and as I open the door, he tips his hat.

“Ma’am.”

I smile and hand him the wad of cash, and he nods respectfully.

As he thrusts the huge bouquet into my outstretched arms, I ask, “Did you see who delivered these?”

“No ma’am. They were on my desk when I arrived this morning.”

“The night doorman then. Did he leave any message?”

“No, ma’am. I believe there is a card tucked inside, perhaps that will reveal the identity of the person who sent them.”

I sniff the beautiful lily, its scent overpowering, and I nod, a sad smile on my lips as I imagine the many lilies that will adorn Giovanni’s coffin.

I head inside, careful not to disturb the blooms; lily pollen would be a bitch to get out of the white carpet.

As the doorman said, there is a white envelope tucked between the stems, and as I carefully place the bouquet on the side in the kitchen, I pluck the note from inside the white envelope.

It’s a card, stiff, white and edged in black. The words swim before my disbelieving eyes.

I know where you live. Murderer.

I drop the card as if it burns, my gaze scanning the room as if the person who sent these is watching me.

My cellphone rings, and I grasp it without noting the number.

As I press my ear to the receiver, my heart drops as a deep voice whispers, “Enjoy the flowers, bitch. I’ll see you soon.”

“Who is this?”

Despite my fear, I’m livid. Rage is taking over, and I direct the full force of it down the phone.

A sinister laugh is the only sound as whoever it is cuts the call.

I stare at the screen, the number gone. Unknown caller is the only clue I have.

No shit! Tell me something I don’t already know.

I am so incensed I don’t blink and call down to the front desk, tapping my nails against the phone as a reaction more than anything.

“Ma’am.”

The doorman answers, and I snap, “Please, I need to learn who sent these. Can you leave a message for the night doorman? It’s imperative I have a name or the company who delivered them.”

“Is everything okay, ma’am?”

He sounds concerned, and I lighten my tone a little.

“Of course. I merely want to thank them.”

Now there is zero chance of learning any lines right now, and I take a quick snap of the card and send it to the only number I can trust, with the message–

I repeat. I need to see you.