Deadly Aim (32 page)

They had reached her apartment, and Angel put the key in the lock. “I’m your only real suspect, aren’t I?”

“The crime lab seems to think so.” Callen slipped his hands into his pockets, looking troubled.

Angel put a hand on his chest to keep him from following her inside. Rachael had said he was slick. Had his friendly attitude been a ploy to get her to reveal something incriminating? It hurt to think so. “What do you think?”

“I think I need to dig a little deeper. I also think I’d better get home.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Good night.”

She watched him hurry down the stairs and climb into his car, then she closed and locked the door. After removing
her coat and wet shoes, she hung the coat in the bathroom and set the shoes on the balcony out of the rain. Back inside she turned on the gas fireplace and watched the flames curl around the fake wood. She pulled the burgundy velour throw from the basket beside the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders. Another gift from Callen. Why hadn’t she noticed before? The afghan had the faint scent of his cologne.

She felt confused and unsure of herself. Did Callen really believe she was innocent? He had intimated that he felt something special for her. Then wham, he had to go and remind her again that she was a suspect in a murder investigation.

Well, he told you the truth, didn’t he
? It wasn’t his fault Dixon was dead or that she had fallen over the body. It wasn’t her fault either. Deep down, she knew he was doing his job and that he was being sincere in the way he felt about her. Maybe it was his honesty that frightened her the most, not what the investigation might turn up. Still, no matter how much he cared about her, Detective Riley was a cop and he needed to look at the facts, not be swayed by feelings. She just hoped the facts sorted themselves out and that the evidence eventually pointed away from her.

O
n Sunday morning Angel woke up to the bells ringing in the distance— bells from St. Matthew’s Church. She had a strong urge to go to church that morning, for the first time in years. She tossed the covers aside and went into the living room to turn on the fireplace and watch the waves.

What had changed? Angel wasn’t sure; maybe it had something to do with her mother’s wise counsel and her advice to imagine Dani in heaven. Dani would want her to go back to church. Dani would tell her to get her act together.

Angel showered, dressed in black slacks and a white blouse, and showed up at St. Matthew’s at 10:00
A.M.
Tim greeted her as she came in and wrapped his arms around her. “Welcome back, sis.”

Welcome back
. Even though she hadn’t attended church services since her return from Florida, she felt a deep sense of belonging—almost like she had as a child when her faith had been young and unblemished.

Angel slipped into the pew her family always occupied, next to her mother. Anna murmured a thank you and embraced her daughter. When Angel turned back, she realized someone had just come into the pew. Callen. He smiled down at her. “Your mother invited me.”

Angel glanced back at Anna, who gave her a knowing smile and picked up a hymnal.

Callen handed Angel his open hymnal as the music began, indicating they could share. Standing there beside him, their arms touching, felt frighteningly normal. Angel felt herself relaxing and enjoying the service, the singing, the prayers, and especially Tim’s sermon.

The day was one of the most pleasant respites Angel had experienced in years. After the service, Peter, Paul, Tim and Susan and the girls, Angel, and her mother gathered at the hospital to visit her father, then converged on the Delaney house to eat. Her mother had already prepared most of the meal—roasted game hens, herb-roasted potatoes, and salads—before church and asked Susan and Angel to set the table. Following dinner they all pitched in to clean up then headed for the beach to play volleyball.

When she headed back to her apartment later that day, Angel felt better than she had in a long time. Maybe her shift in attitude was due to the fact that she now knew she hadn’t killed Billy; or maybe it was going to church and finding that God was the same as he had ever been.

The one thing that would’ve made the family gathering perfect was her father and Luke. And Callen. He’d been invited, but he declined, saying he had to get his computer set up and look through some police records.

Monday morning brought back the rain and the darkness—and the reality of the trouble Angel found herself in. She was afraid to trust Detective Riley and afraid to leave the investigation up to the police. What she should have done and would do in the future was to have Rachael with her whenever she spoke to an officer—regardless of how green his eyes were. She had to remember she had no friends on the force now.

To make matters worse, Callen had a huge caseload, and now with Dixon’s murder, he’d likely be pulled in too many directions. With budget cuts and with herself and her father off work, the police department was operating with a skeleton crew. The shooting
incident would be dealt with as quickly as possible to appease the masses and that worried her. Would they rush to judgment? Saturday night Callen had agreed to go back to the warehouse with her. Well, not exactly with her. He only said that he would go. Could she count on him to do that? She decided to call him later and remind him.

First, though, she needed to pay a visit to her lawyer. Rachael had called earlier to say they needed to prepare for the grand jury hearing. Not something she was looking forward to.

Angel ate leftover spaghetti for breakfast, trying not to think about how natural and right it had been to have Callen in her kitchen or standing beside her in church. After eating, she rinsed the dishes and left them in the sink. Then she studied her pitifully sparse wardrobe, thinking she probably should wear something other than the jeans and T-shirts she’d been living in.

She ended up wearing a white cable-knit sweater and a pair of black jeans. Her hair put up its usual resistance to any kind of order, and she finally gave up on it. The damp air would have its way, and within an hour she’d look like Shirley Temple.

She eased out of her apartment, hoping to avoid the press, and was surprised at their absence. Maybe they’d found someone else to hassle. One could only hope. Relieved, she hurried to the end of the lot, where she’d parked Brandon’s car. The Lexus was gone.

Angel felt a moment’s panic. Had someone stolen it? Brandon could have picked it up, but knowing him, he’d have called or dropped by to let her know. Then again, maybe he had. She didn’t remember checking her messages the night before. She hurried back inside and saw that the answering machine light was blinking. When she hit the play button, the mechanical voice indicated the call had come in on Sunday at 5:45
P.M.
“I’m back in town,” Brandon said. “I haven’t been able to get away. Dad’s got all of us working on an important case. Anyway, I’m sending my secretary over to pick up my car. Don’t worry, you’ll find a replacement—my sister’s Blazer. I told her to park it close to your apartment. The key is under the mat in the front. I’ll call you tonight.” He paused. “Love you.”

She blinked back tears as she heard the last part of his message. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t love him. It wasn’t fair to keep him dangling like that.
I will tell him
, she promised herself.
Today
.

Angel found the Blazer and the keys and headed over to Tim’s church. She parked on the street in front and started up the sidewalk and around to the side, where an addition had been built to accommodate the offices, classrooms, and fellowship hall. Tim greeted her with a hug and pointed her toward Rachael’s office.

Rachael was looking at some files. Her office, if you could call it that, was a small cubicle that looked as if it had once been a storage room. There was barely enough space for a desk, let alone for the file cabinet, bookshelves, and a chair. Perched on the top shelf of a bookcase was a huge white cat. When Angel spoke, the cat assessed her with wide blue eyes then stretched, turned around in a circle, and curled back into a ball.

“Hi, Angel. Welcome.” Rachael greeted her with a wide, dimpled smile. “Hang on a sec. I want to file these.”

“Is that Sherlock?” Angel nodded toward the purring feline.

“Yeah. He’s resting. Poor baby, he had a late night.”

Since the room had no client chair and obviously no room for one, Angel waited in the hall. On the opposite wall a door stood open, revealing colorful banners, paintings, and drawings that were prominently displayed; she guessed the artwork came from the preschool children. She smiled at their efforts to re-create the world around them.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” Rachael closed her door and started back the way Angel had come. “I love being here and watching them.”

“It’s a wonder you get any work done.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have that many clients. I help Angie when I can—makes me feel like I’m contributing something for my office space. Besides, I love kids.”

They wove past Tim’s office, veered left, then right again, finally reaching the sanctuary. Rachael slid into one of the
stained wood pews. “I hope you don’t mind. There’s no room in my office to talk.”

“So I noticed.” Their voices echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber.

“But isn’t this great? All this space and a stained glass window. I’ll bet even the Laffertys would envy this.”

Angel chuckled. “I doubt it, but I like your enthusiasm and your taste.”

With a pen and legal pad in hand, Rachael said, “You told me on the phone this morning that you have some new information.”

Angel filled her in on her trip to the warehouse and her talk with Callen. “I think he believes I didn’t kill Dixon, but I imagine he’s being pressured to get the case wrapped up. I know how these things go.”

“Let’s not worry too much about that right now. We need to concentrate on your case specifically, your part in Billy’s death. The hardest thing we have to face here is the missing evidence.”

“I think I’ve convinced Callen that there was another shooter, but what if I’m not able to prove it?”

“Well, don’t give up yet. We’ve still got your reputation. And we can probably fault Billy’s mother for her less-than-adequate parenting skills.”

“No.” The objection came out rather harshly.

Rachael gave her an odd look. “Well, we need something.”

“I don’t want her character brought into question. She’s a single parent and is already feeling guilty. I don’t want anything we do to add to that guilt.”

“Okay.” Rachael sighed. “We’ll just have to hope the missing evidence turns up or the crime lab guys find something at the warehouse to prove you didn’t fire those last two shots.” Rachael picked up her briefcase and rested it on her lap. Opening it, she drew out some notes.

Angel’s stomach knotted up. “Is that my file?”

“Uh-huh. Relax, Angel. I have a good feeling about all this. The grand jury rarely indicts a police officer.”

“Yes, but how many of them have shot a kid with a toy gun?”

“There have been a few.” Rachael tipped her head. “I know it looks scary.”

“What if they decide against me? I’ll be charged with man one and—”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. In the meantime, we need to make sure you have your story straight.”

Angel wished she could relax, but she wouldn’t, not until it was all over—maybe not even then.

“I have some good news—at least I hope it’s good.” Rachael opened her appointment book.“I’ve been doing some investigative work on my own. I found Dixon’s wife.”

“In Atlanta? You talked to her?”

“She isn’t in Atlanta. She came with him. She’s been visiting friends in Newport, and I have an appointment with her in an hour. Want to come?”

“Sure.” Angel wasn’t sure what good it would do to talk with the woman. She suspected someone from Sunset Cove P.D. already had. Maybe Callen. She tried not to picture him standing in her kitchen or walking with her on the beach. She tried and failed.

Rachael glanced at her watch again. “Do you have something to do between now and then?”

“No. Want to get a cup of coffee?”

“I like the way you think. Let’s go to Joanie’s, and I’ll buy you a latte.”

“Perfect, I love that place.” The coffee shop was located downtown in the refurbished area, sandwiched between two shops, one that carried every gift and souvenir known to humankind, the other an upscale art gallery.

A bell tinkled when Angel and Rachael entered the shop.

“Hi, girls.” Joanie poked her head up from behind the counter. She spoke with an English accent, despite having come to the States fifteen years ago. “Be with you in a moment.”

Angel and Rachael chose one of several thick-cushioned armchairs by the fireplace, where they could enjoy the view of the ocean as it collided with the rocks below. Beside the chairs and sofas were white metal patio tables with matching chairs. The scent of delicate potpourri wafted through the room, along with the scent of coffee
and fresh-baked pastries. Shelves were filled with treasures from Joanie’s native England, as well as an ample supply of coffees, teas, kitchen supplies, and candles.