Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two (11 page)

He was only blocks from Angela. Since he had no car and no funds for public transportation or taxi, it was ideal, all in all.
 

Edward quickly crossed the street, then scurried past an uninhabited patrol car. His release from jail had been legitimate, but he had no desire to see his previous arresting officers ever again. He remembered their insulting barbs and rough handling all too well.

Pervert, they’d called him.

He snorted, increasing his pace. It was just like the uneducated and uncivilized to pass judgment on things for which they had no understanding. He was an artist and the young women were his subjects. He admired them, coddled and shaped them. Eventually, when the time was right and they were ready, he photographed them.
 

He never filmed the videos. He instructed and coached the girls to handle it themselves. Otherwise, he became too aroused. He watched and preserved them, touched and stroked, but never penetrated them. Their innocence was their appeal, and when they were ruined, he had no further use of them.

A sheen of sweat coated his forehead and chin, only partially due to the heat. Angel or Angeline, as she called herself now, was married. His face reddened and he tripped over the broken sidewalk before cursing and continuing on.
 

He wouldn’t think about John Sinclair. He couldn’t and maintain his calm, his control. Sinclair was a dirty brute and Angela allowed him to place his hands on her. Edward swallowed the excessive saliva flooding his mouth. He felt sick, disgusted, and nearly faint. Wiping his damp palms on his chinos, he stood at an intersection to gather himself.
 

He gazed at the Italianate town home with its wide eaves overhanging a porch. Two chairs sat in the small space, perfect for people gazing in the shade while sipping on a cool drink. A small table sat between the seats. He wondered how often she came out there. How often she sat with Sinclair.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and quickly sidestepped behind a tree. Cursing himself, he knew he was being paranoid and reactionary. Now, he’d have to hide until the small family walking down the far end of sidewalk went on their way.
 

Several moments passed before Edward peeked out from behind the enormous live oak tree. The young couple and child had crossed over to the park situated in the city square. Edward turned to continue his journey when he heard the man.

“Angeline! Look at Devvie.” His voice boomed with laughter and pride.
 

A sultry laugh accompanied the man’s good humor. It was a laugh Edward knew well; it had haunted his dreams and nightmares for over a decade.

He crossed the street to the square, keeping a good distance from the Sinclairs. He perched on a bench shaded by big leafy bushes. Slipping off his backpack, he removed his camera.

As he raised it to his face, tweaking the focus and flash, Sinclair spoke again.

“Good God, she’s your daughter through and through.”
 

The world around him froze into silence as Edward watched the other man swoop the young child into the air. She giggled uncontrollably, patting her father on his head as he settled her on his shoulders.
 

Still holding the camera to his face, Edward realized his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Nausea ripped its way from his stomach to throat, causing him to gag before swallowing convulsively.
 

The child was her daughter?

As if to answer, Angeline sidled up to John, tickling her daughter’s ribs.
 

“Who’s Mama’s girl?”

“Me!” the childish voice chirped, still chortling.

Angeline reached up to smack a kiss on her daughter’s chubby leg. “That’s right, Devvie. You’re my baby.”
 

Edward watched as Angeline locked eyes with her husband in an intimate glance. Setting the camera beside him, Edward looked down as he braced his hands on his thighs, pushing hard in order to feel grounded. He was gutted, as if he’d been dealt a deathblow when he least expected it.
 

She had a child. With another man.
That
man.

Bewildered and wounded, he took several moments to practice his breathing before looking up again.
 

Angeline and her daughter played while Sinclair watched, eyes creased with laughter. With trembling hands, Edward picked up his camera, fitting it snug to his face. He zoomed in on Angeline, snapping several fast shots in succession. When he was ready, he lowered his view to the daughter.

Something broke free inside him, seeing the child’s face in close-up. She was an exact likeness, the very image of what Angela must have looked like as a child. With steady hands, he took rapid photos, mostly profile and indirect shots as the little girl zoomed about in a whirl of kinetic energy.
 

He paused at the exact moment she did when she caught herself on a wrought iron fence post to stop her momentum. Her eyes fastened directly on his, and Edward gasped in recognition.
 

She had one astonishing imperfection, corrupting the perfect duplicate she was of her mother.
 

Her eyes.
 

She had John Sinclair’s eyes. The eyes of her
father
.
 

Edward raised the camera again, forcing himself to capture the stark evidence of Angeline’s defection and betrayal. He pressed the button, clicking until he heard the film reach its end and begin auto-rewinding. Despite her eyes, the girl was utterly beautiful. Charming.
 

Innocent.

Edward’s lips curved into an ugly smile.
 

Angeline would cooperate. He’d make sure she understood the situation.

Quite simply, if he couldn’t have the mother, he would take the daughter.

***

“Mommy! Mommy!” The child’s high-pitched excitement matched the sound of running feet through the house.
 

Angeline set down the bowl and spoon, her timing impeccable. “In here, baby.” She needn’t have responded. Devon always found her way back to the townhouse’s kitchen where she was nearly always guaranteed a bevy of homemade treats. Angeline loved to bake, from child-pleasing desserts to artisanal breads and pastries for grown-ups.

Devon burst into the kitchen with Dominic and Alice Martin following.
 

“Sorry. I couldn’t contain her any longer.” Alice plopped down in a seat at the kitchen’s island, tossing her purse on the stool next to her. “These demons have worn me out.”
 

Angeline smiled in answer, for she knew Alice loved both their kids and enjoyed the time she spent with them. As she opened her mouth to agree, Angeline noticed her friend’s pallor. “Alice, are you okay?” She rushed around the island to place a hand on the other woman’s arm.
 

“Yes, yes. I’m a little tired, that’s all. It’s the weather, or the time of year, I think.”

Angeline frowned. “It’s never affected you before. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“For what? I’m a young mother with an active child. I’m tired. Welcome to the realities of parenthood.” Her lips tilted in a wan smile. “Enough about me. How are you today? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Angeline had taken the day for herself. She’d caught up with mundane housework before visiting the salon for a much needed trim. A manicure and pedicure had followed, so she felt absolutely glamorous.
 

“I’ve had a fantastic day. Thank you so much for taking Dev.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the children’s impatient bouncing. As Devon realized she had her mother’s attention, she piped, “What’re you makin’, Momma?”
 

“Brownies, but you have to wait for them to bake.”
 

Two pairs of eyes peered up at her then quickly dropped to the bowl she was holding. With a chuckle, she tipped the contents into a buttered pan, scraping in most of the batter. She held up the whisk she’d used earlier in one hand and the spatula in the other. Both were coated with raw brownie decadence.

“Who wants which?”

Dominic, being the larger of the two, reached up and grabbed the nearly dripping spatula. Devon took the whisk, frowning as she realized she had less chocolate batter on her tool than Dominic.
 

Sensing imminent mutiny, Angeline pushed the mixing bowl toward Devon. “That’s yours too, since you got the whisk.” Dominic paused his licking to survey this new development. “Dommie, don’t be greedy. You two have to share.”

He grinned cheekily, chocolate coating the corners of his mouth. As was common, Angeline was struck by the young boy’s charm. Dominic Martin was almost too lovely to be a boy. But combining his wavy blond locks with the mossy green of his eyes elevated him beyond pretty. Angeline had little doubt he’d grow up to rival a Greek god in sheer physical beauty. His personality, a mixture of childish charisma and youthful flirtation, warned of future attractiveness on a lethal scale.

Angeline cocked a brow at Alice. “Maybe you should lock him up now.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”

They watched the children, pride and love reflected clearly in their faces. A few minutes passed as Angeline mustered up the courage to say what she needed to Alice. But first, as their two kids finished their treats, she slid the pan of unbaked brownies into the preheated oven. Setting a timer, she turned to the children. “Okay, you guys have forty-five minutes before the brownies are done.”

“That’s
forever
,” complained Dominic. “Can’t we just eat it raw?”

Alice took over. “No, Dom, you cannot just eat the batter. You know you love brownies, you just have to be patient.”

“But what do we do for
forty-five minutes
?” It was clearly equal to a lifetime.
 

Devon tugged his shirt. “We play, Dommie!”

Glancing up at his mother and Angeline in mild disgust, Dominic tempered his obvious malcontent by ruffling Devon’s dark hair. “Fine,” he conceded. “But you’re it!” With a light shove, he went tearing off through the townhouse. Devon burst into a run, determined to catch him.

Both women simultaneously shouted, “
OUTSIDE!
”

The heavy wooden front door swung open, followed by the sound of it slamming shut again. The two women paused as they heard their children’s war whoops through the open windows. Alice laughed, saying, “It’ll be a wonder if the neighborhood survives.”

A rueful smile tilted Angeline’s lips. “I’m only amazed it has thus far.” Taking a deep breath, she crossed around the island to sit beside Alice. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Compassion further warmed her friend’s brilliant green eyes. “You don’t have to say anything, Ang. Patrick and I talked, as I’m sure you know.”

The words Angeline had prepared escaped her. In an unconscious gesture, she scooted her stool slightly away from Alice. “Yes. I just don’t want this to change anything between us. But frankly, I don’t see how it can’t.”

Alice turned to face her fully. She placed a hand over Angeline’s, stilling the restless twitches Angeline had been unaware she was making.

“You’ve lost your faith in people. I understand that would be inevitable coming out of what you’ve been through. But you need to stop running and trust the people you care about.” At Angeline’s instinctive denial, Alice squeezed her hand while shaking her head. “No, honey. You love John and Devon. You love Patrick, Dom, and me. But you don’t trust us.”

“I would trust you with Devon’s life. All of you,” Angeline protested.

Alice smiled gently. “Yes. I know that.”

Angeline frowned. “Then what?”

“You haven’t trusted us with
your
life.”

Angeline sprung up, pacing away before returning to face Alice. But the right words escaped her.

Alice spared her. “Patrick and I love you. You’re family. We loved who we thought you were all these years.” She held a hand up, stopping Angeline before she could protest. “I know that the person, the life you’ve built in the here and now is real. I’m not saying it isn’t. But now knowing what I do about your past, it only makes Patrick and I love you more. Not less.”

Angeline resumed her manic pacing. After several trips around the room, she stopped a few feet from Alice. Wringing her hands, she swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I love you. It’s as simple as that.”

Tears flooded Angeline’s eyes. Coming back to the stool she’d vacated, she eased herself back down. “It’s not simple. And I love you too.”

It was Alice’s turn to hesitate. “I can’t have this conversation with you in good faith without talking to you about John. He loves you, Angeline, so much. More than life. Don’t you think it’s time for you to trust him too? You’ve told Patrick. Now I know. Can’t you share this with the man you’ve pledged your life to?”

Angeline looked down. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because he was the first good and true thing to enter my life. Now there’s Devon too. I couldn’t stand to destroy that.” Her voice wobbled. “I know you think I’ve lied and deceived him. You’re right.” She met Alice’s eyes in a moment of unbridled, raw honesty. “But he sees me. After all I’ve done, he’s the only person to ever really
see
me. He knows me, inside and out. Telling him would kill those feelings, make him doubt and disbelieve until even our love wouldn’t seem real to him.” She sighed. “Call me selfish, but I don’t want to ruin all that’s pure and genuine between us just so I can absolve my conscience.”

She paused, waiting.
 

Alice listened to everything she had to say and now her gaze dropped from Angeline’s to dart around the kitchen before coming to rest on her own hands.
 

“Can you understand that?”

Alice closed her eyes, rubbing at her forehead. “Yes. I can.”

“Thank you.”

Tilting her head, she opened her mouth then closed it again.

“What? Alice, please say whatever it is.”

“Please just promise me you’ll keep an open mind and consider talking about this with John. Someday, when you’re ready.”