Chapter 22
In the middle of the night, Monty rolled over and the coldness of the bed sunk into his consciousness. Opening his eyes, he verified what he already knew—Angel was not in bed with him. A quick glance at the dark bathroom and he saw she was not in there. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he slipped into his flannel pajama bottoms and wandered out into the large main room of her apartment.
She was standing in front of the window overlooking the corner of the street and alley. The moonlight and streetlights provided the background illumination, casting a glow over her form. She was wearing his flannel pajama top, its length coming to her mid-thigh. She appeared lost in thought, not turning as he moved stealthily toward her.
“Babe,” he murmured, not wanting to startle her. She jumped in spite of his care and he slid behind her, encircling her with his arms. Wrapping them around her chest, he pulled her back into his warmth and nuzzled her hair.
“What are you doing up?” he asked.
“Look down there,” she said, pointing to the ground. He leaned over her shoulder to see what she was indicating. Underneath the streetlamp were the two undisturbed snow angels, wings barely touching.
He glanced at her reflection in the window and knew she saw more than just the evidence of their fun in the snow. “What’s on your mind, Cupcake?”
She turned in his embrace, pressing her cheek against his heartbeat, wrapping her arms around his waist. For several minutes they stood together, hearts beating as one. He slowly moved one hand to caress her back while the other hand slid through her silky hair. He knew something was on her mind, but determined to give her the time to know when to unburden herself.
Finally, she leaned her head back and sighed. “I was thinking about the girls. I mean today was so phenomenal, Monty. We had a winter picnic here on the floor on blankets, in front of a video of a fire on TV, with a space heater on so that we felt warm. We played games. We had a snowball fight. We’ve made love.” Her voice drifted off for a moment as her gaze slid to the side, the day’s memories playing through her mind.
“But I can’t help but feel guilty. Marcia, Theresa, and Betty will never have a day like this again. They were my age…we only graduated five years ago from college and our lives should be starting out. Not ending.”
He continued to hold her, letting her work through the grief. Kissing the top of her head, he rocked her back and forth for a few more minutes.
“I don’t have that gut-wrenching feeling of grief right now. That’s passed for the moment. But what’s left is just a pervasive sadness. And guilt.”
“It’s called survivor’s guilt,” he said. “It’s what you feel when someone you love died and you didn’t. You’re happy to be alive, but feel guilty about the fact that you’re here and they’re not.”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. “I’m so happy to have you in my life.” She leaned up and held his gaze. “Does that make me a horrible person to have found happiness among so much sadness?”
Tightening his arms around her, he shook his head. “No, Angel. Your friends would have wanted you to be happy. They would not begrudge your life. Or our coming together. Nor would they want any harm to come to you either.”
“Take me back to bed,” she whispered.
With one last look down at the snow angels, they turned in unison, walking back through the large room into the bedroom.
*
Angel did not open the bakery since the city had not plowed her road, so she decided to work on her books. Monty sat on the sofa, his laptop balanced on his knees as he reviewed the notes of the three cases while also staying in contact with the other Saints.
Sitting at her desk, fingers flying over her laptop and business files spilling from the desk to the floor, she began the monthly payroll, business plan, and started working on the taxes. It helped to have an accountant so she could turn all of her files over to him for both the business and her personal taxes.
Monty glanced over, hearing her huff and puff in the corner. Grinning, he watched as she sat, frowning at the disarray of papers. Her long hair pulled up in a sloppy bun on top of her head, melding the colors all together in a rainbow. Black yoga pants and one of his sweatshirts with the letters FBI emblazoned across her generous chest had his gaze moving slowing over her form. Glasses perched on her nose, he realized he had never seen her in glasses. Dark purple frames. Of course, he thought, the broad smile breaking out across his face.
Another sigh from her corner, and he asked, “Babe, you okay over there?”
“I hate this aspect of the business,” she lamented. “Payroll is easy, to be honest. I keep such good records for the bakery, I just have to have them organized for the accountant to do the business taxes. But I’m afraid my own records are a bit of a mess.”
“You want any help?” he asked.
She peered over her glasses at him sitting on the sofa. He looked so comfortable in her apartment amidst the color and chaos, she grinned back. “Nah, but thanks. Something’s just not adding up, but I know what you’re working on is much more important than what I’m doing.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but it does keep me over here when I’d rather us both be—”
“Oh, no, big boy. You stay over there. If you get within a few feet of me we’ll start going at each other like weasels again, and if you give me another orgasm, I’ll combust!”
Throwing his head back, he laughed as she giggled as well. As their mirth slowly ended, they held each other’s gazes for a moment, no words spoken. It seemed as though an eternity passed as emotions moved between the two.
“I told you I was falling,” he said, watching her carefully from across the room. She said nothing, but held his gaze, licking her bottom lip. “I wanted you to know that I fell.”
Tranquil silence flowed through the room, his words hanging out there as she stared, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, on wings, she flew across the room. He barely had time to set his laptop on the floor before she landed on him.
Tossing her glasses on the coffee table, her sky-blue eyes, bright with happiness, held him captive. “Me too,” she whispered. “I love you too.”
He lifted his hand to the back of her head, pulling her forward until his lips met hers. Tongues tangled, fighting for domination before he angled her head to take the kiss deeper. She felt consumed as the heat of his kiss shot straight to her womb. She lay, pressing her body full length on his, her breasts crushed against his broad chest.
He slid his other hand into the waistband of her pants, moving to clutch her ass. Moaning, she wiggled, grinding herself on his erection.
A buzzing sound slowly broke into their sex-induced haze. It finally stopped before starting again. Aware his cell phone was vibrating across the coffee table, he reluctantly pulled away from her lips to lean over, grabbing the irritating device. She mewled in protest but shifted so he could answer the call.
He groaned as her body pressed against his swollen cock as she tried to move away, legs and arms flailing. Finally, she moved off him as he answered. He mouthed Jack, so she nodded and walked back to her desk.
A moment later he was off the phone, but stood with his laptop. “Cupcake, if it’s okay with you, I’m going into the bedroom for a bit. Jack wants to set up a video conference call to go over new information from Mitch.”
She smiled as she nodded. “Take your time,” she sighed, looking back down at her piles of paperwork. “I’ll be right here still slogging away on this mess!”
*
The Saints continued their meeting for a while and Monty went to the door of the bedroom, seeing Angel hunched over her desk once more. He re-shut the door to give her privacy as Luke talked about what he was finding from CFG.
“They may be a small company, but their client list is long. I tried to find out something about why Marcia was keeping her friend’s as clients when you discovered that she was supposed to have given them to another broker. Can’t seem to dig up any emails about that. What I am learning, so far, isn’t suggesting anything unusual. I’ve only skimmed the surface, but I’m peeling back layers at a time. I’m looking at their client investments and trying to see if there are any discrepancies between the other clients and what Theresa and Betty had.”
“So it’s slow going.”
“Yeah. Gotta tell you, it would help if I had someone with investment knowledge on this with me, but until then, I’m running comparison programs through everything I’ve got.”
As the meeting ended, the Saints acknowledged they would be housebound for at least another day. Shutting off his laptop, Monty continued to sit on Angel’s bed for a few more minutes. What is it? What are we missing? There’s got to be a link between the three deaths…and it’s got to be with CFG. And what does that mean for Angel?
*
Going through the monthly investment statements she received from CFG, Angel added the figures for the third time. The numbers almost matched up perfectly. Almost. But one of the investment company’s tax statements did not correspond to her monthly tally. I wonder if it was like this last year and I just did not notice? Pulling out her file for last year’s taxes, she looked at the numbers. Same thing. She knew there was no reason to check two years ago since she had only been investing for the past year.
Chewing on the inside of her jaw, she pondered the discrepancy but sat back huffing once more. This is like trying to understand pig-Latin! That’s why I had someone do investing for me, ’cause I don’t understand it at all!
She heard Monty finishing in the bedroom so she sent an email to Scott at CFG, asking for a meeting.
Sorry Scott. I need to meet with you concerning the discrepancy in my monthly investment statements and the tax statement sent by CFG. Let me know when we can meet. Thank you, Angel Cartwright.
Closing her laptop, she shoved all the files into one large pile and met Monty as he moved into the living room. She walked straight to him, not stopping until her body crashed into his. Arms wrapped around each other, she leaned her head back, searching his face. “Are you all right?”
“I never told you that the man you met with at the hotel is no longer a suspect. He had met with Marcia, but witnesses say he left alone and then she was seen leaving later.”
She sucked in her lips, saying, “So I pulled a gun on an innocent man?”
His chuckle could be felt through her chest as he shook his head. “Cupcake, that was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen…the craziest thing you could have ever done…and hope to God you never do anything so risky again!”
Huffing, she lowered her eyes. “I won’t,” she mumbled. Lifting her gaze to his again, she said, “But you have to admit, I got you all a clue!”
“Jesus, Angel,” he said, touching his lips to her forehead. “Remember, you bake world-class cupcakes and leave the gun-toting investigations to me!”
Giggling, she agreed. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed the underside of his jaw. “You know, we were somewhere nice when Jack’s phone call rudely interrupted,” she reminded. “Do you want lunch first or to get back to business—”
Angel grabbed onto his shoulders as Monty lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Striding quickly into her bedroom, he latched his lips onto hers, igniting the sparks that immediately flamed throughout her body.
I guess we’re eating lunch later, she grinned.
*
Luke sat alone at his secure computer in his house. The small bungalow set away from the street suited his needs perfectly. The house was comfortable, containing three bedrooms, although the smallest one was used as an office. When he left the CIA and first joined Jack’s Saints, he rented an apartment in Charlestown. It served his needs, but he hated the close quarters. A loner by nature, Luke felt constrained with noisy neighbors on all sides. Finding this house sitting on three acres had been perfect. Surrounded by trees with a small creek running through the backyard, he could sit out on the back deck and not hear his neighbors.
The snow blanketed the vista, the brightness almost blinding. After filling the bird feeders in his yard, he tromped back inside, stomping his snow-covered boots off by the back door. Glancing over, he noticed his coffee was ready and headed over to pour his first strong cup of the day when his laptop alarmed, indicating incoming mail.
Having set his alerts to different sounds, he recognized the email came from his secure network. Walking over, his heart pounded as he noticed the incoming message. With their last case, Luke had been contacted by an anonymous source, someone even more tech savvy than himself. This person told him that they could not divulge their identity, but their assessment of the intel Luke had been searching for helped lead them to the kidnappers. He wanted to know who his secret internet associate was, but they managed to hide from him, saying it was too dangerous.
And he had not heard from them since…until now. Clicking open the email, he read:
I’m back. I’ve watched your searches. Follow the money. The answer is there.
Sitting down quickly, Luke immediately typed, You’re back? Any chance you’ll let me know who you are?
Not a chance. Sorry. Too many eyes around. But follow the money.
Luke, frustrated, typed, I’m trying, but I don’t have a background in investments. Data analysis is ponderous.
I’ll send something that will help. Good luck.
Before Luke was able to ask more, the connection was lost. He did not even attempt to discern their identity. If this person was as careful as before, it would be a waste of his time. And with three murders to solve, time was not something he had.
Plus, he admitted to himself, there was something strangely comforting in knowing someone was out there willing to help. Even on their own terms.