Johanna Lindsey - Angel

“I can’t say that I have,” he answered. “Why ‘the Angel of Death’?”

“Because he never misses what he aims at and he always shoots to kill.” And she’d wasted enough time being ornery. “Now you’ll have to excuse me, mister—”

“Bartholomew Lawrence, but my friends call me Bart. And you are?”

“Cassandra — Angel.”

She’d paused too long over the “Angel.” His look said he doubted she’d told him the truth. She didn’t care what he believed. He was keeping her from her goal, and she’d run out of time. Catherine had suddenly appeared at the entrance to the dining room and was glancing around the lobby for her.

“But that�d be Mrs. Angel to you,” Cassie added, curtly now, since she was annoyed with herself for talking to the man in the first place.

She moved off without another word to him. She had about ten seconds, before her mama joined her, to ask at the desk for any messages. She did that, and was amazed to have a note handed to her. Cassie had just managed to palm it when Catherine came up behind her. She’d walked right past Bartholomew Lawrence without recognizing him.

“Cassie, what are you doing?”

Cassie turned to find that Lawrence was still standing where she’d left him, within hearing distance. But if she did anything well, it was coming up with ridiculous excuses on the spur of the moment.

“I was just checking to see if Angel had joined us yet, Mama.” And then she added meaningfully, “Right now is one of those times he’d come in handy.”

Catherine followed her gaze to Lawrence and understood instantly. The man actually laughed, having heard Cassie, though he did leave then.

But Catherine was now visibly bristling. “Was he bothering you?”

“Not really. He recognized me and struck up a conversation to introduce himself.”

“And to apologize?”

“I hinted that one was owed, but he calls his rudeness an art form, obviously one he strives to perfect. At any rate, I found him obnoxious enough that I tried to put the ‘fear of Angel’ into him. He didn’t believe me.”

“It takes seeing that gunfighter of yours to believe he’s a cold-blooded killer.”

“He’s not—”

“Never mind,” Catherine cut in and ushered them toward the stairs. “But I’m definitely unpacking my gun.”

The detective’s name was Phineas Kirby. He had taken a room in the same hotel, even on the same floor. But Cassie didn’t rush off to his room as soon as she read his note. As much as she deplored the necessity of having to disturb his sleep, she hated even more the thought of having to explain to her mama that she’d hired a detective and why.

So she waited until Catherine went to bed. And she wasn’t taking any chances. She even prepared for bed herself and lay there for several hours in case her mama couldn’t sleep tonight and wanted to come in and talk some — she’d done that before.

It was shortly after midnight when Cassie dressed again and cautiously left her room. She found Mr. Kirby’s room at the far end of the hall. She knocked so quietly, it was quite a while before she finally heard grumbling on the other side of the door. A few moments later it was yanked open, and she was about to be snarled at by a very annoyed-looking man in a bulky yellow robe with socks peeking out below its long hem. He was middle-aged and on the portly side, with nondescript features and sharp blue eyes.

He must have changed his mind about snapping at her when he got a good look at her. “Sorry, miss. I thought you were one of the hotel staff. Are you lost?”

“No, sir, I’m Cassie Stuart. I sent for you.”

He was back to frowning. “Do you know what time it is, Miss Stuart?”

She winced. “Yes, I know, but I couldn’t wait until morning. I’m here with my mama, and I’d rather she didn’t know that I’m hiring you. She doesn’t like my husband, you see, and this has to do with him.”

Phineas sighed. “Then I guess you better come in and have a seat.”

There were two chairs before the fireplace. He moved to drop another log in the grate before he sat in the chair that his clothes had been draped over. He pulled a jacket down from the backrest and searched through it until he found a notebook in an inside pocket.

“So what can I do for you, Miss Stuart?” He started scribbling in the notebook as he asked.

Cassie sat down in the chair across from his. “I’d like to locate my husband’s parents.”

“They’re missing?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “And he’s not really my husband — well, he is, but we’re soon to be divorced.” At his raised brow, she assured him, “This has nothing to do with that. I’d just like to reunite him with his family as sort of a parting gift to him.”

“Very commendable,” he remarked. “So what are the names of these people?”

“That’s going to be the difficult part. He was too young to remember their names. You see, he was taken from them, stolen by a mountain man right out of this city about twenty-odd years ago, and spent the next nine years in some isolated cabin up in the Rocky Mountains. He’s not sure if he was five or six years old at the time he was taken. And his folks didn’t live here. He recalls coming here on a train, so they were either passing through or visiting someone here.”

“He was with both parents?”

“Probably not. He doesn’t remember his papa being around much.”

“Well, we at least have the boy’s name.” Phineas said it as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Cassie gave him a small, helpless smile. “Not really. He goes by the name Angel because that’s all he remembers his mama calling him.”

The detective seemed surprised. “That’s strange,” he said, more to himself. After a moment’s reflection he asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather find him?”

“No, I know where I can find him. I’d just like to find his parents, both of them if they’re still living. I figured someone here must remember a tragedy like that happening, a small boy turning up missing and never found. I wouldn’t know myself how to go about locating anyone who might know something about it. Neither did Angel, I guess, since he came back here after that mountain man who stole him died, but he didn’t have any luck finding out anything.” She sighed. “I know this isn’t much to go on—”

“On the contrary. I should have the names for you in a day or two. It may take a bit longer to get an address where these people are living now, but my agency has excellent resources in most every state, and the telegraph simplifies my job tremendously. An amazing invention, that. It’s helped to capture a great many criminals.” And then he was musing and mumbling to himself again. “Angel, huh? I wonder how many go by that name this side of the Mississippi.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, ma’am.” Phineas stood up to escort her to the door. “I hope you don’t mind if I start working on this in the morning.”

She blushed. “Certainly. I am sorry about the hour, but it’s not easy to get away from my mama during the day, and I’d never hear the end of it if she found out what I was doing. She really doesn’t like my husband.”

“Then she’s urging the divorce?”

“Yes, but it was already a mutual decision, since we got married by accident in the first place.”

“That’s a new way to put it.”

“Can you think of a better word for a shotgun wedding?” she asked.

He grinned. “I suppose not. And I can see why you would want a divorce. It can’t be easy, being married to a gunfighter, even for a short time.”

“How did you know he was a gunfighter?”

“With a name like Angel — it was a good guess.”

Cassie was impressed. The man was obviously a genius, and her money would be well spent.

Phineas wasn’t a genius, he’d just been sent here straight from his last assignment in Denver and happened to sit next to a gunfighter on the train by the name of Angel. He’d even spent a pleasant hour grilling the man with questions, his instincts telling him that anyone who looked like Angel did had to be on someone’s Wanted list. His instincts had been wrong in that respect, and he’d come damn close to getting himself shot for his persistence, but he liked living dangerously or he wouldn’t be in the line of work he was in.

And he didn’t go back to bed. An hour later, after trying three hotels and getting lucky with the fourth, he was knocking on a door himself.

A gun cocked in his face the second the door opened. He stared down its barrel before looking at the man holding it.

“Just met your wife,” Phineas said agreeably.

“My what?”

“She’s here in St. Louis.”

“The hell she is. She’s on her way back to Wyoming.”

Phineas smiled. “Little lady with great big silver-gray eyes?”

Angel put his gun away to the accompaniment of a foul expletive. He’d gotten halfway to Wyoming before he decided he’d rather not be in Cheyenne when Cassie got home. Putting distance between them hadn’t worked yet to get her off his mind, so he’d come to St. Louis to try once more to find his mother. That was one reason he was there. The other was, he figured it was about as far as he could get from his wife — and her damn divorce papers.

“I guess you were telling the truth about not having any other name besides Angel,” Phineas was saying. “At least not one that you know of. Sorry I gave you such a hard time.”

“You still are,” Angel said in pure disgruntlement. “So what do you want this time, Kirby?”

“Just a little information. Your wife has hired me to find your parents. It would be helpful if—”

“She did what?” Angel exploded. “Hell and I don’t believe that woman is meddling again this soon. She couldn’t even wait until she got home. And in my business this time!”