Deadly Aim (14 page)

Angel paused to stretch her leg muscles, and before heading back she scoured the beach for agates among the rocks. She picked up two small ones and a piece of smooth green glass, settling them deep into her pocket. When the rocks gave way to fine sand, she started running again.

After the hour-long run, she drove straight to the health club for forty-five minutes of weight training. By the time she finished her workout, it was noon.

The beach run and exercise regimen had helped her to relax. Callen Riley was a smart man. And a very nice one. She’d have to remember to thank him.

After showering, she put on a pair of khaki slacks and a blue sleeveless sweater with a mock turtleneck. Slipping into her semidressy ivory windbreaker, she stuffed her feet into a pair of leather clogs and grabbed her purse and keys off the counter.

She still had forty minutes before her appointment with Dr. Campbell. The thought didn’t bode well and almost erased the high exercising had given her. If someone had asked her what she was so afraid of, she wouldn’t have been able to answer, at least not truthfully. The truth lay in some obscure pit of past hurts she’d long since buried, or had at least tried to. Her stomach pitched and rolled then growled, partly from nerves and partly as a reminder to Angel to feed it.

She stopped at the Burger Shed on the way to Dr. Campbell’s office. The small restaurant was located near the wharf, only three blocks from the old cannery. It had been there for as long as she could remember and still served up the biggest, juiciest burgers in town. Living up to its name, the restaurant looked like a shed with weathered gray siding. A sign, made of the same gray wood, had been sloppily painted in red letters and hung haphazardly near the entrance. In the center of the door at eye level was a porthole.

In the summer months, people could eat outside on the dock at one of the half dozen picnic tables. With dark clouds threatening, Angel chose to sit inside. The place smelled like french fries and charred meat and made her stomach growl even louder. The owner, Jack Cole, and his wife, Minnie, greeted her with their usual smiles. Jack did most of the cooking and looked it, while Minnie waited tables and took orders.

“What’ll it be, sweetie?” Minnie rested her thin freckled arms on the counter.

Without hesitation, Angel ordered a Monster Burger with bacon, cheese, onions, lettuce, tomato, mayo, relish, and catsup, with fries and a milkshake. She waited while Jack tossed the half pound of raw ground sirloin on the grill and fished the fresh golden fries out of the hot oil. Minutes later, she took her feast to the far booth that offered a view of the bay. Her mother would’ve had a fit if she’d seen her. Ma was always harping at Angel to have a healthier
diet. After setting the catsup and fries within easy reach, Angel unwrapped the hamburger and held it up, wondering how she was going to get her mouth around it.

“You’re not going to eat that, are you?”

Angel snapped her head around and lifted her gaze. “Detective Riley.” Her heart picked up tempo. She frowned and looked from her hamburger to his face and back again. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

“Yeah, if you want to live past forty.” He slid into the seat across from her. “That stuff will kill you.”

She shook her head and stretched open her mouth, ready to take a bite.

“Seriously.” He rested his arms on the table and looked straight into her eyes.

“I disagree.” She lowered the burger and tipped her head from side to side as if examining it. “What could be healthier than a hamburger, fries, and a shake?” She grinned at him. “You got your protein with 30 percent less fat than regular ground beef. Says so right on the menu. There’s lettuce, two tomato slices, onions, and relish—and of course the fries, made from Idaho potatoes—that’s got to be good for at least two servings of veggies. And then there’s the dairy.” She pointed to her milkshake. “Two servings. You know what they always say, ‘Milk—it does a body good.’ And it has Marionberries in it, so there’s my serving of fruit.” She leaned back with a satisfied grin.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve rehearsed that spiel a few times.”

“For my mother.”

“Ahh.” A look of understanding crossed his handsome features.

For the first time, she noticed a ragged two-inch-long scar running from his left ear along his jaw.

“If this stuff is so bad for you, why are you here?” Angel chomped down on the burger while she waited for an answer.

“They serve a mean veggie burger and decent salads.”

“Here you go, big guy.” Minnie brought his food and placed it in front of him. The bun looked like whole wheat, and off to the side was a pile of sprouts, two large slices of tomato, and onion.
A small dinner salad topped with cherry tomatoes, carrots, and purple cabbage took up the rest of the space on his plate.

Angel chewed and swallowed, trying to ignore him as he spread some sort of yellow grainy stuff on his bun. Her curiosity got the better of her. “What is that?”

“Hummus. It’s a mix of garbanzo beans, garlic, tahini—”

She wrinkled her nose. “Never mind. You’re actually going to eat that?”

“Ever try it?”

She shook her head. “No, and I don’t intend to.”

“Then don’t knock it.” He bit into his veggie burger. “Mmm.” He closed his eyes, acting as though he’d just bitten into a chocolate truffle.

Angel rolled her eyes and attacked her meal, determined to enjoy every bite. “Detective,” she said when she was down to her last two fries, “did you just happen to come in here, or did you want to talk to me?”

He shrugged. “Both. I saw you drive in and thought it might be a good opportunity to touch base. You look a lot more relaxed than when I saw you earlier today.”

“I am. I took your advice and did something good for myself.”

“Which was?”

“Running—and pigging out on a burger, fries, and a shake.” In an all-out act of rebellion, Angel slurped up the last of the Marionberry milkshake then stuffed the last two fries into her mouth.

“Running is good. The rest we’ll have to differ on.”

Angel scooted out of the booth. “Hate to eat and run, but I have an appointment with a shrink, and goodness knows I shouldn’t miss that.”

“Officer Delaney.” He grabbed her wrist, effectively halting her progress. His green gaze bore into hers. “Seeing the psychiatrist is nothing to be flippant about. A counselor can help you through the trauma. And it is a trauma—a huge one. They can help you deal with the grief, but it’s going to take a lot more than one session.”

What, are you psychic or something
? A wild mix of emotions crashed around inside her. She swallowed hard, staring down at
the hand still resting on her forearm. He let her go, but she found it hard to move away.

While he hadn’t said as much, she suspected he was speaking out of experience. Not trusting herself to respond, she turned and walked out to her car. How could he have known how she felt about the shrink, or that she’d only planned on one visit?

Getting into her car, she caught a glimpse of him through the window—still sitting in the booth, still eating his health food. He’d been meaning to talk to her about something but hadn’t. She wondered what it could be.

With a shaky hand she forced the key into the ignition and turned it. The food that had tasted so good going down now rolled around in her stomach and threatened to come back up. She drew in several deep breaths. The courage she’d gathered during her workout had drained away, leaving her empty as a leaky cup.

Callen forced himself to eat the rest of his meal, but only because he needed it. The stuff tasted like cardboard now. His fault, not the proprietors. He’d been out of line grabbing hold of Angel like that. His action had surprised him as much as it had her. He’d have to watch his step in the future. He couldn’t afford to get too close to her, not if he wanted to keep his job.

She’d gotten to him with her negative attitude toward counseling. Too many cops had the idea that seeking counseling made them appear weak.

You should talk. Look at how you fought it
.

He stuffed a mouthful of salad greens into his mouth. He’d waited almost too long to get help, thinking he’d be able to handle everything on his own. He remembered all too clearly how he’d fallen apart after his wife’s death. He’d stopped eating and started drinking. He turned away from his family and friends and nearly got fired from his job for using excessive force on an alleged child abuser.

Alleged, nothing. The guy deserved more than a bloodied nose. Still, he’d been wrong and out of control. His supervisor had strongly urged him to get help if he wanted to keep his job. Kathleen came at him from the family side and even made an appointment for
him. After the first session with the grief counselor, he realized how important it was to get some guidance and learn about healthy ways to deal with his grief and all the emotional garbage that came with it. He wanted the same chance for Angel. But Angel’s psyche wasn’t his problem or his business.

When had he started thinking of her as Angel rather than Officer Delaney?

Pushing his plate aside, he threw down a two-dollar tip, waved to Jack and Minnie as he left, and dodged pelting rain as he hurried to his car. His notepad, which he’d left on the seat, reminded him of why he had gone into the restaurant in the first place. He’d wanted to ask her about the casings that should’ve been at the scene where she shot the boy. There should have been three, or if she was right about firing once, there should have been one. The lab guys hadn’t seen them, and they’d covered a substantial area around the boy’s body. Callen had asked the other officers, but they denied seeing anything. Nick had suggested that Angel might’ve automatically picked them up without thinking. Many officers did.

Callen backed out of the parking lot and headed south on Main toward the boat docks. He’d been meaning to get back out to talk to the guy who lived on his sailboat. He wanted to follow through on his suspicion that the perps who’d pulled off the Bergman robbery might’ve escaped by boat. Now he had even more questions. The Monroe kid had been murdered in the early morning hours. Callen figured somebody must have heard something.

He parked near the wharf and checked his notepad again, flipping back a couple pages to where he’d talked to the fisherman.
Jake Ensley—lives aboard his thirty-foot sailboat
. Callen headed down to the docks, past boats of various shapes and sizes to the berth where he’d seen the sailboat the previous morning.

The boat was gone.

Angel turned on the windshield wipers to clear off the moisture the heavy rain had left, then headed toward the Smith building, which housed Maxwell’s Restaurant along with a number of offices, Dr. Campbell’s being one of them.

The reception area consisted of eight chairs and two end tables covered with magazines. The waiting room had been decorated in hues of lavender, cream, and pale green and smelled of some kind of fruit and spice potpourri that reminded Angel of her mother’s bathroom. One patient, at least Angel assumed he was a patient, sat in the chair nearest the exit with his legs crossed, reading a worn copy of
People
magazine and looking like he wanted to be there about as much as she did.

Angel took a deep breath and plodded to the check-in window to introduce herself.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Delaney.” The perky receptionist removed her glasses and let them drop. A funky gold and silver chain stopped them from colliding with the cluttered desktop. She reached for a clipboard and handed it to Angel. “We’d like you to fill out these forms and sign them while you’re waiting. Dr. Campbell will be with you in a few minutes.”

“What are these for?” Angel took the board and made a face. She hated filling out forms and was tempted to just leave.
Hold on. It’s just one visit. One hour. You can do anything for one hour. Besides, it’s not like you have a choice
.

“One is medical history, one is for insurance purposes, and the other is a standard form Dr. Campbell wants all of her clients to fill out.”

Angel nodded and took the forms with her to the seat by the window. Three floors down, people dodged in and out of buildings and cars, trying to escape what had become a deluge. As she sat down to fill out the forms, a man in a dark blue dress shirt and black slacks opened the door to the inner sanctum. “Mr. Roberts?”

The man set down his magazine and with reluctance in every step moved through the open door.

Angel had finished the forms, turned them in, and waited for five minutes before the door opened again. A familiar-looking woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing a denim dress and Birkenstocks, called her in. “Hi, Angel.”

Her name and hair had changed, and she’d put on a few pounds, but her round face with its warm smile and sparkling hazel eyes hadn’t. “Janet Langley?”

“One in the same. But it’s Janet Campbell now.” Her smile deepened. “It’s good to see you again, Angel.”

“You too.”
I can’t do this. You’re supposed to be a stranger. Not an old friend
.

“Come on back to my office.” Janet led the way down the hall to the third door on the left. The room had a picture window that looked out over the water, and the mauve and mint tones had carried over from the reception room to this one. Once inside, Janet motioned her to sit in one of the plush cushioned armchairs that had been strategically placed to almost face one another. A sofa sat against one wall, and a small cabinet under the window was filled with various games, toys, and stuffed animals.

Angel eased into the chair. “I hadn’t expected...  I mean, I thought you were going to med school.”

“I did. At first I thought I’d be a surgeon, but when I did my first psych rotation, I changed my mind.”

“And you’re married now?”

Janet flinched slightly and bit her lip before answering. “Divorced, actually.” She lowered herself into the remaining chair and tucked her hair behind her ear. “But enough about me. I’m glad you called. I’ve been reading about the shooting.”