Chapter 6
The harsh lights above had her squinting in pain as Angel attempted to open her eyes. Her head throbbed and when she lifted a shaky hand, her fingers touched a large bandage. Attempting to sit up, she fell back on the bed with a groan, swallowing several times in an effort to keep the nausea at bay. Licking her lips, she breathed deeply. In. Out. In. Out. When the stars stopped dancing behind her eyes, she noticed the bright light was blocked. Opening her eyes once more, she saw a familiar face between her and the light.
“Who are you?” she asked, her brow crinkling in confusion, causing another bolt of pain through her head. “Augggh,” she groaned.
Monty leaned down, his face a mixture of concern and anger. “I’m the man who’s going to get some answers and paddle your ass if I don’t like them! Hell, I may just paddle you for the situation you put yourself in!”
Attempting to sit up again, she found her shoulders gently pushed back.
“Stay still,” he ordered softly, lowering his voice.
“My head?” she asked.
“A couple of stitches and a concussion.”
“Oh,” she moaned.
Just then the light in the room became even dimmer as the small space filled with men. Large men. What the hell? I must be concussed or died and gone to hunk-heaven. She let out an unladylike snort at that thought, then giggled.
Monty looked down, his fury over what had happened still blazing, he nonetheless found himself chuckling at the woman lying on the bed, giggling and snorting.
“You know anything from her yet?” Jack asked.
Angel observed a bearded man, with a dour expression, questioning her rescuer.
“No, not yet. But I will.”
The three men stepped outside of the examining room. Jack said, “Bart’s over at the hotel right now with the police. The suspect slipped out of the bathroom window, onto a ledge and then down the fire escape. When Bart talked to the man working the reception desk, he said the suspect comes in a couple of times a month. Always trying to hook up with different woman. He’d noticed that the man wore disguises and figured he was married, looking for a little fun.”
“Did the receptionist recognize a picture of Marcia?” Monty asked.
“Said he didn’t,” Marc added, “but admitted that he only works three nights a week, so Bart’ll check with the other receptionists tomorrow.”
Jack nodded toward he ER bay. “What about her?”
“I’ll take care of her,” Monty pronounced. Jack raised his eyebrow and Monty swore, “Fuck, don’t read more into this than what it is. She’s not even my type.”
Throwing his head back in laughter, Jack clapped him on the shoulder saying, “It hits at the damnedest time, bro.” He and a chuckling Marc stayed outside the room, leaving Monty to walk back to Angel.
Before she could ask what they were laughing about, the doctor walked in. “Ah, Ms. Cartwright, your x-rays look fine. You received four stitches on your forehead but the scarring should be minimal. You do, however, have a concussion. You will need to have someone watch over you for the next twenty-four hours. I’ll send the nurse with your discharge instructions.”
The harried doctor popped back out as quickly as he had come, leaving Angel staring dumbly in his wake.
“Do you have someone who can come stay with you?”
“What?” Her confused face looked up into the handsome face of the man who had rescued her…and had seen a month ago at the restaurant. His neatly trimmed beard now sported stubble on his cheeks, making him appear even more dashing.
“Do you have someone who can come stay with you tonight?” he asked, emphasizing each word.
Pulling herself out of her musing, she blinked. Twice. Finally finding her voice, she replied, “No, but I’ll—”
“I’ve got her,” Monty said, turning to Jack and Marc, who upon hearing her response, stepped back into the crowded room.
They nodded and turned to leave. Jack stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder, “Meeting tomorrow morning. Bring her.”
“Yes, sir,” Monty replied, nodding at his boss before turning back to the woman lying on the bed, her expression morphing from confusion to anger.
“Look, mister, I don’t know what you’re doing, but—”
“Monty. Monty Lytton. I’m with Saints Protection and Investigations.” He pulled out his identification, but could tell her eyes were barely able to focus on the card. “And as of right now, Cupcake, you’re under my protection. And once I get you home, we’re gonna have a little chat about what the hell you were doing tonight.”
She opened and closed her mouth several times, but nothing came out. Unsure if she were more concerned about going home with the hot man…or explaining holding a gun on a man in a hotel, she laid back on the bed.
*
An hour later, after checking out of the hospital, Monty pulled up to the bakery’s storefront, behind her pink VW bug. He looked over at his quiet passenger and quipped, “You live in your store?”
She turned her head toward him, her eyes shooting daggers his way. “I live above the bakery,” she replied. “I would have thought a good investigator would have known that.”
“Sorry, I’ve been too busy chasing leads on your missing friend to find out everything about you,” he bit back. Leaning closer, he added, “But that stops now. I intend to discover exactly who and what you are.”
“Look, I know you seem to be trying to help, but I don’t know you,” she declared, watching him warily.
Pulling out his wallet again, he produced his identification once more. “I get that you’re nervous and you’d be right to do so, but you saw the detective at the hospital talking to us. We’re a legitimate security service.”
Nodding, she agreed. Oh, hell, the way my head hurts right now, he could murder me in my sleep and I’d probably appreciate it!
Getting out of his SUV, he walked around the front to her door.
She noticed that he handled her with care as he lifted her out. He set her feet on the ground, carefully holding her arms until she was steady. Not trusting that she would not topple over, he kept one hand on her arm as he guided her toward the door next to the bakery entrance. Her hands fumbled with the key until he took them from her, unlocking the outside door leading to a staircase. Propping her on the wall, he made sure to bolt the door before turning to look back at her.
Her face was bruised, her eyes glassy, and her smile…lopsided. And fuckin’ gorgeous. Knowing she could not safely navigate the steep stairs, he gathered her into his strong embrace as she flung her arms loosely around his neck. He took the stairs quickly but, carefully, not wanting to hit her head on the wall and cause more damage than the already disastrous evening had done.
Grinning, Angel felt as though she was flying as her rescuer swooped her up the stairs. Oh, I hope I don’t hurt him. I’m kinda heavy.
“Babe, you’re not heavy,” Monty said, reaching the top of the stairs and stopping at the door to her apartment.
“How’d you know what I was thinking?” she said, her brow in a delectable furrow.
Trying not to chuckle, he said, “You said it out loud. Now you got your keys or do we have to spend the night in the stairwell?”
Digging in her purse, she grinned triumphantly as she pulled her house key out. Giving a celebratory wiggle in his arms, she hoped he would not drop her as he unlocked the door. Setting her down, she moved into the apartment, still unsteady on her feet.
Monty rooted in place in shock as she flipped on the overhead light, seeing the room illuminated. Color bounced from every direction. It was almost overwhelming compared to his sterile living quarters. A dark blue sofa with green and red pillows seemed strangely inviting. An antique chaise lounge was covered in a purple material and, with the pile of books on a small table next to it, the chair appeared to be well used.
Red curtains hung on the sides of the tall windows. To the right he could see into a large kitchen, stainless steel appliances stark against the soft yellow tiled back-splash. Distressed white cabinets were hung on the wall and underneath the counters.
To the left was an open door and he was able to see an unmade bed, the teal comforter crumpled at the edge. Not seeing another door, he assumed the bathroom was through the bedroom. He was almost afraid to see what colors it was decorated with.
At the far end of the living space was a long table, mismatched chairs around, waiting for a gathering of friends. It was not hard for Monty to imagine a group of Angel’s friends doing just that. And the scent of sugared vanilla hung about the room, exuding a feeling of home.
Pulling his mind back to the matter at hand, he took her gently by the arm, leading her into the bedroom.
Angel glanced at her messy room and mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry. I’m really not a slob but, I confess I’ve had other things on my mind this week.”
He sat her down on the edge of the bed and leaned down, peering into her eyes. They appeared clear, although she had dark circles underneath and bruising showing from the edges of her bandaged forehead.
“I know we need to talk, but right now you need your rest more than anything. I’ll let you get comfortable and I’ll wake you each hour to make sure you’re still okay.”
She returned his perusal. “Monty, I don’t even know you. Why are you here?”
He sighed as he squatted in front of her. “I understand, Cupcake, but—”
“And why do you call me Cupcake?” she huffed, then quickly grimaced as the action caused a twinge in her head.
“It’s a long story and can be saved for tomorrow,” he said, watching her yawn. “Right now, you sleep. I’ll watch over you and we’ll talk in the morning.” He looked at his watch showing two a.m. “Or rather, we’ll talk later today.”
Too tired to argue, Angel nodded and made her way into the bathroom. Once inside, she stared at herself in the mirror. Holy moly! Stunned, she gaped at the dried blood in her hair, it’s rust color mixed in with her other signature colors. Her large blue eyes stared back, noting the dark circles underneath. Purple bruises were peeking from the edges of the bandage on her forehead.
She hung her head for a moment, overwhelmed with everything that had happened. Oh, Marcia. What have you gotten yourself into? And what the hell am I trying to do to help? Jesus, I must be crazy.
Turning on the water in the shower, she quickly stripped. Just as she was about to step into the water, she heard a knock on the door.
“Cupcake?” Monty shouted. “Don’t get your stitches wet.”
Her hand moved back to her forehead. “Gotcha!” she called back. Stepping into the shower, she let the water hit the back of her head, sluicing down her back. She gently washed her hair, desperate to clean the blood from her body. A quick scrub and she stepped out, toweling off.
The warm shower felt incredible, but she was exhausted from the effort. Pulling on clean panties and polka-dotted, flannel pajama bottoms, she carefully slid a large t-shirt over her head.
Walking out of the bathroom, she found Monty sitting on the edge of her bed. Dark brown hair, trimmed neatly. Black dress pants creased at one time…now slightly wrinkled. A grey button-down dress shirt fitted to his apparently toned chest, blood stains marring the material. The top button was undone and she vaguely remembered that he had been wearing a now discarded tie. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, his head hanging down. It was the first time she had a careful look at him since he first burst through the motel door. His head lifted slowly and her eyes locked onto his blue-grey ones. A mixture of emotions poured off of him, not the least was anger. Oh, what a colossal fuck up I’ve made!
Stepping hesitantly into the room, nervously fingering the bottom of her pink t-shirt, she forced herself to move closer to him. “I…I need to apologize,” she said, at first haltingly and then with more determination.
She wanted him to say something. Anything. Nothing came from his stone expression so she continued, “I was hoping to find…well, you see I have this friend and…I thought that I could find…it…um…I—”
“You think maybe you could finish one sentence before starting the next?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow, his grey-blue eyes piercing directly into her blue ones.
She pressed her lips together tightly, glaring daggers his way. “I was trying to apologize! And I thought we were going to talk tomorrow.”
The silence pounded her head almost as much as the concussion. Her fingers lifted to the bandage on her forehead and she watched as he hung his head once more.
Suddenly he stood and walked over to her, looking down from his height. Her blonde hair was darker now that it was wet, but the purple, pink, and teal stripes could still be seen easily. His eyes moved from where her fingers touched the bandage, down her face and body, before lifting back to her eyes. “You need to rest. There’s nothing we can do about Marcia right now and, after you sleep, we’ll talk.”
Tears hit the back of her eyes and she blinked several times rapidly to keep them at bay, but he noticed. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, giving a little squeeze before pulling her head toward his. Kissing the top of her head, he held her tightly for a second.
Reacting to the warmth of his nearness after the harrowing disaster of the evening, she leaned into his front. He slid his other arm around her waist, pulling her in closely. Her cheek rested against his chest and she shuddered. With chill or adrenaline crashing she had no idea.
Recognizing the after-effects of shock, Monty gave her the warmth of his body while making little comforting noises against her head. When was the last time I comforted someone?
His calm finally sunk in and Angel lifted her tearful face to his. Glancing down, she noticed the wet spots on the front of his silk shirt. “I’m sorry,” she said, pushing back from his embrace.
He never looked down as he said, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you in bed.”
For a second she wondered what it would be like for him to say those words to her and not mean sleep. Being comforted in his embrace, she felt his virile body…the ribbed muscles of his abdomen, the hard chest that felt perfect against her cheek, the muscular arms wrapped around her.
Blushing, she pushed the rest of the way back and simply nodded. Stepping toward the bed, she turned and asked, “Where will you sleep?”
His eyes shot to the bed behind her, for a second wishing the answer would be “with you”, but he jerked his head toward her living area. “I’ll be fine. Remember, I’ll be waking you up every couple of hours.”
Nodding again, she turned and climbed under the covers, pulling the messy sheets up over her. He leaned down, snagging the blanket and comforter, draping them over her as well. Unable to resist, he kissed the top of her head once more.
He waited for a few minutes until he saw her breathing even out and deepen. What the hell was she doing tonight? And what the hell am I doing with her?
He left the bedroom door partially open, then began to walk around the apartment. A desk in the corner yielded items concerning the bakery below but nothing pertinent to the case. At first glance upon walking into the room, the placement of furniture and the riot of color gave the appearance of a crowded space but, as he carefully walked around, he realized that she used the arrangement of items in the room to her advantage.
The apartment no longer seemed overstimulating; instead, he felt its warmth. As though the colors wrapped around him, chasing out the darkness of the night. Finding nothing significant, he lay down on the sofa after setting his watch alarm.
For a few minutes, he allowed his mind to rove over the events of the last several hours. Seeing her at the bar and wishing those eyes and that smile had been directed at him. Feeling jealous when he had never officially met her. The foolishness of following her to a hotel. The fear when he heard a struggle and the rage when he saw the man fighting with her. And seeing her unconscious on the floor…Jesus, I’ve gone through more emotions in one night than I have in weeks. Maybe months. What the hell is it with this woman? She’s turning me upside down.
Before he knew it, his alarm went off and he moved into the bedroom to wake her. He stood for a moment, staring at her face peacefully sleeping. Long lashes lay on her cheeks. Porcelain complexion glowed in the moonlight, except for the bruising on her forehead. Her long hair beckoned to his fingers, but he refused to give in to the urge. Finally, he gently shook her shoulder. She grumbled, but her eyes were clear and he managed to get her to drink some water. She grabbed his arm as he began to pull away.
“I’m cold,” she mumbled. “Please stay with me.”
Feeling her hand shiver on his arm, he slipped off his pants and shirt, leaving on his t-shirt and boxers, before sliding into the bed behind her. Pulling her in closely, he wrapped his arm around her waist as she laid her head on his shoulder.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered into her silky hair, sweetly scented with her floral shampoo. Assuming he would never sleep he forced his body to relax, hoping to create a comforting embrace for Angel. Before he knew it, he followed her into slumber.