Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two (16 page)

“Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“Atlanta,” she answered. “That will do for a start. It’s large. No one will know either of us.”

He sighed. “Fine, but this won’t be all your way, Angela. And you better have some money.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Edward. I can cover it.”

He started the car with a jerk of the key. The heavens chose that moment to release a deluge of rain that battered the roof of the small car. He flipped on the wipers, but they left large untouched swaths of windscreen spattered with rain.
 

“Great.”

The weather suited Angeline. The dull fog of depression had worsened to a gnawing pain inside her. “You can take your time. It’s not as late as it seems, anyway. There are several back roads and smaller highways we can take rather than the interstate.”

He grunted, agreeing. Silence engulfed the small car, interrupted only by the sound of the pounding rain and distant thunder.

Angeline stared out the passenger window, watching the rain soaked streets of her life passing by. The streetlights and traffic intersections slowly receded until she realized, with a small pang, that they’d been traveling on a two-lane highway for some time.

The rain still fell, coating the road until it gleamed like black ice. With the clouds covering the moon and stars, the night was dark as pitch. It seemed much later than it actually was.
 

Edward cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

She was thankful he couldn’t see her face in the darkened car. Words and accusations bubbled in her throat until holding them back felt like she’d swallowed shards of glass. “You didn’t give me much choice, did you?”

He swung his head to face her. “We
belong
together.”

“So you say. But did it ever occur to you that I belonged with John? With my own daughter?”

He was silent for so long she didn’t think he’d answer. Of course it hadn’t. He was narcissistic and perverted. He had no idea what real love was. Edward Pierce never placed a single person or thing in front of his own happiness. He wasn’t capable.

“He won’t come for you. You can get that thought out of your head.”

“I made sure he wouldn’t, Edward. For all our sakes, except for yours.” Now that she’d released the steam valve on her vitriol, she couldn’t stop its flow. “I could care less about
you
. You
deserve
to die for what you’ve done. Lucky for you, I prefer to keep my husband out of prison. You’re too worthless for him to waste a single minute on you.”

His hands on the wheel jerked, sending the car onto the shoulder before he corrected course. Angeline smiled, uncaring of her own safety.
 

“I made sure he wouldn’t too, Angel.” He sneered as her teeth audibly clicked together at the pet name. “Do me a favor, baby, and reach into the back seat for my pack.”

Dread iced Angeline’s insides. She brought the pack around and unzipped the large compartment. Peering inside, she could make out two slim accordion folders.
 

“Pull out the blue one.”

She did as told, propping the file on top of the bag. Unwrapping the string fastener, she tipped it so the contents spilled out.

It was the photos he’d sent to her, including more prints that showed her in even more intimate, vulgar detail. Seeing her own face staring out, she confronted the girl she’d been. But she wouldn’t be cowed, not by someone as vile as Edward.

“Edward, I’ve seen all this. For God’s sake, I was there. This hardly surprises or shocks me.”

“No, but I bet Sinclair will feel differently.”

Her breath seized. “No.”

“Yes, Angel. You had to be punished. And in doing so, I punished us both. You see, no one has ever seen those. I could never share you before. But you shared yourself, didn’t you?” He shook his head, tutting. “I needed to take out my own insurance against your husband. I can hold my own,” he boasted. “But I don’t trust that brute.”

Angeline couldn’t speak. He’d sent John the photos. Even though she’d destroyed everything between them, and even knowing Patrick and Alice would share the truth of her story, she’d somehow hoped John’s memories and regard for her would survive on some level. The physical evidence of her disgrace would kill that, as surely as if it never existed.
 

She looked over at Edward. She’d known him for a little over two years as a teenager. Yet, his malignant influence had guided most of her adult life, contorting her every decision.

She hated him. He’d essentially murdered the only good and pure thing in her world. With resigned clarity, she knew she would
never
be free of him.

“Edward,” she said, softly.
 

“Yes?” His voice was bloated with satisfaction.

“You shouldn’t have trusted me either.” And with that, she jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. As Edward struggled to take back control of the car, Angeline saw a bridge’s concrete retaining wall rushing toward them. Knuckling hard to retain her grip, she fisted her other hand and punched Edward hard in the side of his face.
 

Tearing steel and shattering glass rent the stillness of the night. Edward’s startled screams abruptly ceased. Pushing the blood out of her eyes, Angeline turned to see him gurgling and gasping for breath.
 

With a serene smile, she calmly listened as Edward Pierce drowned in his own blood.

***

John knuckled his eyes, trying very hard to focus. His best friends sat across from him at the kitchen table, a full sixteen hours since Angeline left.

He hadn’t slept or eaten, but had managed to down a fifth of Ireland’s best.
 

“Well?” Alice was impatient.

He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Give me a second.”

“You don’t have time,” Patrick exploded.
 

John pressed a finger over his lips, signaling Patrick to keep his voice down. This was not a conversation he wanted his daughter to overhear. “Listen, I appreciate both of you telling me what you know about Angeline. Or whatever her real name is.” It had been another blow to learn that Patrick and Alice knew more about his wife than he. “But I need to think. For all we know, she wasn’t entirely honest with you either.”

“It was difficult for her to share what she did, John,” Patrick protested. “I can’t believe she lied.”

“Let me assure you, she lies very convincingly,” John sniped.
 

Patrick opened his mouth to speak again but Alice laid a hand on his shoulder. “Patrick.” That was all.

John nodded at her, acknowledging her help. “Thank you. As I said, I appreciate the fact that you’ve told me the truth now, despite your promise to Angeline. But I need time to process all this. Neither of you had the benefit of living with her these past weeks. Months, even. She was not herself. She was distracted. It makes
sense
she met someone else. There was a distance between us.” He didn’t need to explain further. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my daughter needs me. No matter what happens with Angeline, I need to put Devon first.”
 

He walked them to the door. As they said their goodbyes on the porch, a young man walked up, carrying a large manila envelope.

“Mr. Sinclair?”

John waved off his friends before acknowledging the courier.

“That’s me. How can I help you?” He wanted everyone, friend and stranger alike, to be gone. He only had room for Devon, the one constant he could rely on. Otherwise, pain and doubt warred inside him, igniting a ceaseless burn in the region near his heart.

“Delivery.” He handed John the envelope, then immediately turned back the way he’d come.

John raised a brow. Clearly the young man wasn’t officially employed by a delivery service. He hadn’t asked for his signature or proof of identity. Nor had he waited for a tip.

A dark foreboding washed over John, further blackening his mood. Taking the envelope back inside, he sat down at the desk in his study to examine it.

His head tilted, listening for Devon. Whatever this was, he didn’t have a good feeling about it. The envelope was unmarked, but sealed tightly with adhesive and string closure.
 

He slit open the top and tumbled the contents out on his desk. Lurid, pornographic photos of his wife assaulted him. He gasped, looking around to make sure he was still alone. Striding over to the door, he pulled it shut before returning to his chair.

She was nearly unrecognizable. Heavy makeup spoiled her looks, and she wore nothing else. Seeing her provocatively and indecently exposed brought a sharp, slicing pain to his chest.
 

Looking down, he expected to see a wound, something to justify the agony knifing through him. As he hurriedly gathered the pictures to hide them away, he stared fully into her face. Adoration gazed back at him.

Love.

She loved the man who’d taken the photographs. It was so clear as to be palpable.

A muscle twitched near John’s eye. His hands were fisted tightly, white-knuckled on the desk blotter. Distantly, he tasted blood where he’d bitten through his own lip.

He dragged air into his lungs, realizing he’d been holding his breath. Shoving the pictures back into their envelope, a small note slipped out, written on a local motel’s stationary.

She was always,
 

and shall always be,
 

MINE.

Taking the entire bundle in hand, he threw it in the nearby metal trashcan. Fumbling slightly, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out the letter Angeline had left for him. Wrinkles creased where he’d crumpled it up. After retrieving it later last night, he’d painstakingly smoothed it the best he could. Now, he paused, re-reading the contents. Unknowingly, he committed them to memory.

This time, there was no anger. Almost gently, he placed the letter on top of the package of photos in his trash.
 

Removing a silver lighter from the open drawer, he lit the pile on fire, calmly observing as the pages curled and smoked into ash. He watched and waited until everything burned and the last flames sputtered out.

He rose, tall and wounded yet strangely resolved.

He’d never known the woman he married.

He would make sure he and Devon survived this. They had each other—and that would be enough.

CHAPTER TEN

A
NGELINE
AWOKE
STRAPPED
to a gurney with an oxygen mask fitted over her mouth and nose. Frantic, she cast her eyes around the functional but stark ambulance. Panic seized her as she tried to recollect the events that brought her there. Frustrated, she was blank.

She clawed at the mask, pulling it down. “Where am I?”
 

The paramedic riding along glanced over from the clipboard where she was recording her patient’s vitals.

“Ma’am, please remain calm.” Her gaze flicked to the elevated pulse and erratic heartbeat displayed on the monitor beside them. She moved to replace the oxygen, but Angeline grabbed her wrist, staying the action.
 

“Please tell me what happened.” Thoughts of John and Devon raced through her brain. “Was anyone with me?”

The woman looked down in a manner universal to all health care professionals when they delivered bad news.
 

Before she could speak, Angeline unconsciously began chanting. “No, no, no.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. The gentleman driving didn’t make it.”
 

Angeline looked away, allowing the paramedic to replace the mask. The acute grief seizing her wouldn’t allow for words anyway. Just before she closed her eyes, she saw the backpack sitting on the floor of the ambulance.
 

Her eyelids snapped up as graphic images flooded her brain.

She’d pulled the steering wheel, causing the accident. She recalled the desolation, her despair. Not caring whether she lived or died, she’d done the one thing she could to end her impossible situation. After Edward’s damning confession, she’d known there was nothing left for her.

Except, somehow, she lived.

And Edward died.

Brutal satisfaction eased the aches and pains from the accident. Restless, she patted her body trying to assess damage. She glanced down, seeing her leg encased in some sort of immobilization device. Otherwise, she was remarkably whole.

The ambulance pulled into the bay of a rural hospital. As medical staff hurried to open the doors and move her towards Emergency, she frantically signaled the paramedic. The woman followed the direction of Angeline’s pointing finger, nodding when she got the message.

Grabbing the backpack, the other woman trotted behind the gurney as they rolled her into the curtained off area. Angeline’s attention was glued to her as she carefully placed the bag in a nearby locker where they stored patient possessions. Sighing with relief, Angeline surrendered herself to the medical attentions of the doctors and nurses.

The next hours would always remain foggy. She had a concussion along with multiple contusions and superficial abrasions. Her left knee sustained deep tissue and bone bruising. Luckily, there were no fractures. When they asked her if she wanted to notify anyone, she rolled her head side to side in refusal. They moved her to a small room, thankfully private. All the lights were dimmed and with the exception of the nurses checking in on her periodically, she was left alone.