Nobody's Angel (3 page)

“Your husband's books.”

She heard the grating harshness behind his innocuous words. “He's dead,” she reminded him. “I thought they'd locked you away.”

“Time off for good behavior.” The voice dripped satire. “Not difficult to do in a minimum security prison. And since I'm not married and couldn't be granted conjugal visits, I had lots of incentive.”

Faith's eyes shot open as soon as the vision of this man, naked, having sex, appeared in her overactive imagination. She hadn't thought about sex in years, had given it up for Lent and forgotten to pick it up again. This man exuded a sexual aura that hummed through all her senses.

She saw the mockery in the depths of those dark eyes. “I have nothing of Tony's, wanted nothing. The court kept his papers.”

“Not the ones I want.” Adrian studied her, studied the pale skin with only the merest of cosmetics to dress it, the gray eyes staring at him with widened fear and bone-deep wariness. He contemplated the best method of pushing her buttons until he got what he needed without resorting to violence.

She wasn't what he expected. She was taller than he'd thought, and wore her hair loose like a girl's, straight and slightly turned under where it brushed her shoulders. She had skin as smooth and translucent as the fabulous porcelain she protected in her glass cases. Porcelain should be touched to be admired. He wanted to stroke her in the same way he'd stroke that clair-de-lune piece behind her. Both were magnificent.

He jerked his mind back from the impossible. She hadn't responded to him, but she couldn't have lived with a lawyer like Tony without learning the lesson of keeping silent. He hadn't expected her to be cooperative. He hadn't expected her to be this fragile either. She looked as if she'd fracture at the slightest touch. He had the pieces of enough shattered lives in his hands.

“You sent Headley the pages copied from the bankbook and the canceled checks,” he reminded her. “You have to know where the rest of them are.”

“If I'd known that, I would have turned them over to the court and watched Tony fry in hell.” Her dry tone matched his own, with an undercurrent of bitterness.

“You
had
them,” he insisted, “or you couldn't have copied them to send to a reporter. Tony's dead now. You don't need to protect him or anyone else. I just want to clear what remains of my name, and try to turn my life around.”

She gifted him with a look of scorn that should have scorched the shirt off his back. “You think those books will
clear
your name? I was there. You filed the wills. You filed the trusts. It was your name on the documents, on the bank accounts, on the fax transfers. I'll admit, I never believed Tony was innocent, but he was smart enough not to get caught.”

“Except by his wife. Where did you find those papers?” he demanded. He was too angry to argue her accusations. He'd argued them four years ago, without success, because he'd done every damned thing she'd just accused him of. What he couldn't prove, however, was his arrogant ignorance.

Unbelievably, in the face of his fury, the delicate figurine of a woman on the other side of the counter relaxed and smiled enigmatically. Taking a seat on the high stool of her work counter, she pulled out a stack of invoices. “I found them in the same place I found the canceled checks written to Tony's girlfriend. At the time, I was more interested in Sandra than the accounting records. The records were just icing on the cake when Headley figured out what they meant.”

He didn't believe this. Couldn't. She had to be lying, just as she'd lied at the trial. “Who are you protecting?” he growled irritably, trying to regain his cool but not succeeding. The ice queen he remembered from the courtroom was rapidly replacing the open child he'd encountered when he entered the shop minutes ago.

“I'm not protecting anyone,” she replied with much more composure than he possessed right now. “All I had were those copies stuffed in his wall safe. Knowing Tony, I'd say he kept them as a kind of insurance against anything you might pull, or a means of getting rid of you should you become inconvenient. I just played his card a little earlier than he anticipated.”

No, this couldn't be happening. For four years he'd built an airtight case based on the evidence he knew those records would produce. He'd figured out the whole rotten scheme, made lists of every client Tony had robbed, obtained all the transcripts, all the copies, written dozens of letters of inquiry. All he needed was the hard evidence linking Tony to the missing money—

Adrian's eyes narrowed as “money” rang in his head just as his gaze hit the clair-de-lune bowl mounted in its case behind the counter, probably protected by a dozen security alarms.

“You
took the money,” he whispered. He'd considered it, but had not really believed—until now. Why? Had he really
trusted that look of pure innocence in the eyes of the wronged wife, even as she sat there lying through her pearly white teeth?

“You would have let those old ladies and children starve so you could keep living like a damned queen after Tony cut off your money faucet.”

His accusation wiped away her smile. She looked at him as if he were lower than the carpet beneath his feet. Frigging hell, she could stare a man into icy perdition.

“As far as I'm aware, Tony and his tart absconded with everything. I signed my share of the law office and all of its assets over to the court to repay what they could. The lawyers’ legal fund paid the rest. You have the wrong woman, Mr. Raphael. If I were you, I'd find Sandra. Now, if you don't mind, that's the end of our discussion. Please leave.”

She didn't even resort to the obvious threat: “Or I'll call the police.” If the police found out he was here, they'd book him for violation of parole and heave him behind bars.

Battening down his rage, Adrian calmly looked her up and down. While she'd talked, he succeeded in reading her calendar. He knew her schedule, and tomorrow's suited his need for retribution. She wasn't off the hook yet. “I am guilty of greed, Mrs. Nicholls, but I am not guilty of theft, or even perjury. Sandra Shaw was Tony's girlfriend long before you became his trophy wife. She's living in a trailer park in Florida now, struggling to support their three kids. You're the one with a priceless porcelain on your wall. I've given you the opportunity to do the right thing. Now, I'll do it the hard way.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his boot heel and stalked out.

The fury in his velvet voice hung in the air long after the door slammed closed.

Sandra didn't have the money?

Frozen breathless, Faith had to remind herself to breathe as Adrian's angry accusations settled into the astonishment of revelation.

She'd spent the last four years without a life, hating a
woman she didn't know, and Sandra didn't have Tony's ill-gotten gains?

Where the hell were they, then?

Four and a half years earlier

Carrying a shopping bag containing Tony's favorite delicacies from the gourmet deli in one hand, a packet of information from the adoption agency in the other, Faith strolled up her front walk beneath the towering willow oaks, admiring the spill of pink azalea blossoms across the aging brick cottage. She loved this house in the comfortable old Charlotte neighborhood of Dilworth where she knew everyone and everyone knew her. Her parents’ constant traveling had never allowed that kind of stability in her youth.

Tony was talking about selling and buying one of those formidable million-dollar mansions over in Myers Park, but she was resisting. The two of them didn't need that kind of extravagance, even if Tony listened to her and acted on the packet in her hand.

Juggling bag and envelope, she opened the weathered copper mailbox—one of her prouder acquisitions, if she said so herself. She'd scoured the antiques stores for weeks looking for the perfect one. That had been back in the days when she was still working at Tony's office and their budget had been tight. She'd finally found what she wanted under the rubble of iron in a junk store and carefully bumped out the dents herself. Tony had wanted everything brand new and expensive, but she was used to living cheaply and hated debt. After the first few of their sophisticated neighbors admired the box, he'd reluctantly admitted she had taste.

Now that she didn't have to work, she handled all the details
of their home life, while Tony concentrated on building a bigger and better law practice. She was proud that he helped so many widows and orphans with the legal burdens of estate management, along with his usual cases. Tony was a good lawyer. She shouldn't complain about his traveling and long hours. She just wasn't used to having so much time on her hands. She needed something of her own.

She needed children, but she couldn't have them.

She wouldn't dwell on the pain. The envelope from the adoption agency explained things more clearly than she could. Once Tony understood how it worked, he'd be more comfortable with the idea.

If only she could make him understand that she needed to be needed, that she had something to offer beyond adorning his home. She didn't make a good ornament.

Pushing aside a fleeting resentment, she unlocked the door and flipped through the stack of catalogs in her hand as she headed for the kitchen with her shopping bag. Setting the risotto and spiced lamb in the refrigerator, she frowned at a priority mail envelope from the travel agency. They usually sent travel itineraries to the office. She hoped Tony didn't need this today.

Or could this be Tony's surprise for their anniversary? Could he finally be taking her on the cruise she wanted?

Lips twitching upward in anticipation, Faith debated opening the envelope. She always opened the mail. That was her job. Tony would be upset with the agency, though, if this was supposed to be a surprise and they'd mailed it here instead of the office. Tony loved to surprise her on birthdays and anniversaries and holidays, and he always had the perfect gift. It had to be the cruise tickets.

She'd best check the envelope and return the tickets for proper mailing. She'd have a hard time keeping a secret, but Tony was impatient with incompetence, and she didn't want the ladies at the agency to lose their jobs. He'd said he would be out of town next week, so she wouldn't have to hide her knowledge long.

In the study, she removed the ticket packets from the envelope, deposited the mail on the desk, and glanced at the printed travel schedule inside the top packet. Her smile broadened as she read Tony's name on the itinerary and recognized the cruise line brochure. She'd always dreamed of visiting the Caribbean, but they'd never had money in the early days, and now Tony never had time.

Dreaming of the naughty lingerie she'd wear to thank him for taking time from his hectic schedule just to please her, she flipped open the second packet.

In disbelief, she stared at a name that wasn't her own. And an identical cruise brochure.

The Present

Faith hurried down the Sunday morning sidewalk, skirting winos still sleeping in doorways, swinging her sacks of supplies, singing softly to herself in the crisp fall air. The past was past. She had a new life now, one she loved. She adored autumn. Even though this was the first crisp day they'd had this September, she could almost smell the leaves burning, and she was eager to head for the hills.

They'd had a great time at the bar last night, and she'd put Adrian Raphael and his accusations completely out of her mind. After the Friday night fracas, the police had patrolled the crowd more than usual, but she'd sung a song about policemen every time one entered, and the crowd laughed at her warnings and tolerated them without complaint. Faith had been grateful for the presence of the men in blue. She figured they'd kept Adrian from returning.

She didn't want to think about Adrian Raphael and waste a perfectly lovely Sunday. After she dropped off the supplies with Annie, she planned on touring a new pottery she'd heard about. She needed to take some time out of her schedule to visit the wealth of potteries down in Seagrove, but she only had part-time help to mind the gallery during the week, and the band was booked on the weekends for months. Maybe she could close up for a few days for the big November auction.

She shoved her shoulder against the shelter door and hauled in her heavy sacks as it creaked open. A few snores greeted her from the room to one side, but the laughter of children drifting from upstairs warmed her heart—until she consciously shut the mental doors barring access to that vulnerable organ.

An eight-year-old boy with a head of tight curls she remembered from her last visit darted down the hallway to warn Annie of her arrival. One of the workers from the soup kitchen wandered out to give her a hand. Faith wasn't truly comfortable with any of the occupants or workers of the shelter, but then, she wasn't entirely comfortable with herself some days.

She smiled at the children poking and prodding each other on the stair steps. More arrived as if responding to some unseen telegraph signal. She'd tried buying them with candy on her first few visits here, until she realized books were as highly prized as candy. Now she brought a little of both. They were seldom the same children from one visit to the next, but somehow they always seemed to know who she was.