Not Quite an Angel (4 page)

Adam frowned at his partner. He couldn't believe the way Bernie was responding to this woman. He'd never told Adam this story about visiting New York, and Adam could have sworn he'd heard all Bernie's stories at least twice.

Sameh laughed. “Your wife must be an exceptional person to stick with you after that,” she teased. “You have any children, Bernie?”

Adam recognized the flicker that passed over Bernie's face a moment before he answered, and something in his own gut reacted in sympathy.

“Two kids, a girl three and a boy eighteen months. You like kids, Sameh?”

“Children are miracles,” she said softly, and her voice as well as her eyes seemed to glow. “There's nothing I like better than children.”

“You oughta come over and meet my kids, then, and Frances, too. Tomorrow's Saturday—why not come over and have dinner with us? You busy tomorrow evening?”

Adam couldn't believe he'd heard properly. Since Corey was born a year and a half ago, he doubted that Bernie and Frances had invited anyone except himself to dinner.

Sameh turned the full force of her smile on Bernie, and Adam felt the radiant warmth of it from where he sat. “Oh, I'd be so pleased to come. Thank you for inviting me. I really haven't met many people here, and I miss being around children. What time is best?”

“Come early, you can meet the kids before they go to bed. Why don't you come over in the afternoon? We usually eat early, anyway.” He paused for a long moment, his smile
fading and an uncomfortable look settling on his face. “I should warn you that my son, Corey, has cerebral palsy.”

Sameh reached over and took Bernie's hand in her own. “That makes him an extra special little boy then, doesn't it? I look forward to meeting him.”

Bernie supplied his address, and he and Adam left. There was silence in the car as Adam deftly wound his way through traffic, heading back to the office. He drove even faster than usual. He was both astounded and furious at his partner, and finally he was unable to contain his anger any longer.

“Good God, I can't believe you did that back there, Bern,” he burst out, squealing the tires as he rounded a corner. “Asking Smith to your house for dinner is plain dumb when we have no idea who or what she really is. Exposing Frances and the kids to somebody you don't even know—and you've told me Frances is really on edge these days, anyway. And what the hell's wrong with your eyesight? This is one gorgeous woman. What if your wife gets it into her head there's something going on between the two of you? Jeez, Bern, what the hell got into you, anyway?”

Bernie was singularly unperturbed by Adam's tirade. “My nose tells me that spending any more time investigating Sameh is a big fat waste of time. She's no criminal, Hawk. Anything but. She's sweet and honest and…I don't know, I just felt real brotherly toward her back there. I vote we give this Temple woman her money back and tell her she's way off base.”

Adam shot his partner an incredulous look. Bernie's nickname in the LAPD had been Wrench, because once he got hold of a case, he never let go until he cracked it. “So how do you explain all this stuff about Smith not having an identity until last April? I thought we agreed that was weirder
than hell. And she was pretty damned evasive today when I tried to pin her down, too.”

Bernie flicked the radio on and settled more comfortably into the leather seat. “You want to investigate her, you go ahead. In fact, you can work on it tomorrow night at dinner, my place, five-thirty. It'll give you a chance to be around her on a casual basis, maybe practice some of that lethal charm of yours, Hawk. Looks to me like you could use some practice, too. Sameh was pretty underwhelmed by you, far as I could tell. You losing your touch with the females or something?”

Bernie was dead-on about Sameh's reaction to him, Adam concluded. She'd taken Bernie's hand in both her own at the door when she said goodbye. She'd folded those same hands behind her back when she turned to Adam, and there was a peculiar expression on her face, as if she'd assessed him and found him seriously wanting.

Now why should that even begin to bother him?

 

A
DAM WAS NO LONGER
a guest at the Methot household; he'd long ago become one of the family. When Bernie answered the doorbell that Saturday evening, three-year-old Kate spotted Adam from down the hall and came charging to meet him. “Unca Adam, Unca Adam's here.”

Adam bent and caught her in full flight, lifting her high over his head and obliging her with the usual airplane ride before he set her back on her feet. She ran down the hall and into the kitchen. “Mommy, Unca Adam's here. Corey wants to see him, too. Corey wants plane ride, too.” In a moment she was back, pushing the specially padded stroller that held her baby brother.

With familiar ease, Adam loosened the straps that held the little boy in the chair and gently lifted him up, just as he had Kate. Corey's legs were scissored, his back arched,
his finely shaped dark head unsteady on his fragile neck. A wordless, high-pitched squeal came from his throat, and his body moved spastically as he did his best to convey his delight at being in Adam's arms.

As always, the child's fragility was terrifying to Adam. He supported the thin baby on his shoulder, oblivious to the drool that trickled down his shirtsleeve. No matter how often he held Corey, the impotent rage and unbearable sorrow he'd felt from the first threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to struggle for control as he gave him a gentle hug and settled him again in his padded chair.

“How you doing, Tiger? You holding your own with that big sister of yours?” It took immense effort to grin down into the beautiful chocolate brown eyes as he fumbled with the straps and adjusted the pillows. Corey cooed at him, head bobbing as he favored Adam with his sweet, heartbreaking smile.

“Go on into the living room, I'll get you a beer,” Bernie said. “The women are holed up in the kitchen doing something to the roast. Fran says we're going to eat as soon as she feeds the kids.”

Adam wheeled the stroller into the large, colorful room. Soft music played on the sound system. Sunshine streamed down through a skylight, and couches and chairs covered in poppy-strewn black cotton formed dramatic contrast to the off-white walls and sand-colored broadloom. There were plants everywhere, and Frances's distinctive paintings, in vivid primary colors, hung on the walls, some framed, some not.

There were toys underfoot, the colorful plastic shapes constituting a land mine for the wheels of the stroller. Adam bent several times to move building blocks and farm animals out of Corey's way, talking the whole time to the baby. He was picking up a ball when Sameh came in.

“Mr. Hawkins, hello again,” she said, handing him a brimming mug of beer. Only a few drops slopped onto the carpet. “Bernie sent you this—he's carving the roast.”

Again, the timbre of her voice seemed to reverberate in his soul. He took the mug, thanking her and grazing her fingers deliberately with his own. Her dress was long and loose, printed with what he thought were watermelons against a light green background. When she moved in front of the window, he could see the hazy shape of her long legs and narrow waist through the fabric.

“My name's Adam.” He parked Corey conveniently close to the sofa and sat down, taking a long slug of the frothy beer before he looked at her again. “I thought we got on a first-name basis yesterday.”

She nodded without saying anything and sat down in an armchair a few yards away. With the sunlight streaming down over her, her hair was liquid gold, a halo of brightness around the lovely lines of her face. The lightweight fabric of her dress billowed and then settled around her, contouring her body, outlining long, firm thighs, a flat belly.

He had a sudden vivid mental image of those legs locked around his waist. Deliberate in his insolence, he measured her breasts with his eyes, her hips with a thought as to how they would adjust to his own. In his mind, he entered her, imagining her heat, the tautness of her around him, and as he caught her startled blue gaze, he knew without doubt that she understood exactly what he was thinking. He held the look, knowing his eyes were filled with sexual speculation.

A delicate blush rose from her neckline and suffused her face. She slid a little awkwardly off the chair and down onto the floor, close to Corey's stroller. She unfastened the straps, her fingers clumsy but tender, and then she lifted the baby and cradled him against her, like a shield between her and
Adam. She talked in a low, soothing tone to Corey, nonsense words that Adam couldn't decipher.

The soothing sounds gradually became a rhythm, and then a song, and after a moment, the stiffness in Corey's body seemed to ease to an amazing degree, and he relaxed against her, crowing up into her face, trying to bring his little fist in line with her cheek. Sameh buried her face in Corey's neck, blowing kisses into the soft skin, making the baby chortle with joy, ignoring Adam.

Kate came running into the room, closely followed by Frances. The little girl ran to Adam and clambered up beside him on the sofa, intent on showing him a new doll.

Frances planted an affectionate kiss on Adam's cheek before she also took a seat beside him on the sofa. “Hello, old friend.” She gave him one of her wide smiles. Her fiery hair was drawn back into a long, smooth braid, and her pale freckled skin was flushed from cooking. She wore her usual uniform of faded jeans and bulky sweatshirt. She was even thinner than when Adam had last seen her.

“Things got a little hairy in the kitchen, as they have a habit of doing when I'm the cook, so I didn't get a chance to talk to you when you got here. Three things all started burning at once. Fortunately, Sameh lent a hand and we salvaged the gravy, but it was a close call.” The severe lines of strain that had appeared around her eyes and at the sides of her wide mouth after Corey's birth weren't as obvious tonight. Her gray eyes slid from Adam to Sameh and her son, and a wistful half smile tilted her mouth.

“You've certainly charmed that young man, Sameh.” Corey lay in Sameh's arms, as relaxed as Adam had ever seen him. Sameh smiled at Frances, never losing the rhythm of the wordless song Corey obviously loved. The sound of her low voice was mesmerizing, even to Adam.

“Me, too,” Kate suddenly chirped, scrambling down
from Adam's lap and plunking herself as close to Sameh as she could. “Sing me, too,” she demanded, patting Sameh's arm.

“Perhaps Sameh will sing you a little song later at bedtime, Kate,” Frances suggested. “Right now, you two rascals are going to come into the kitchen with me and have some dinner.”

“She, too,” Kate insisted, twining both chubby arms around Sameh's neck and refusing to let go. “She, too, have dinner wif us.”

“Stop strangling her, Kate, and maybe she'll be able to swallow dinner.” Frances rolled her eyes. “This from the kid who still makes strange with her own grandmother. You've got the magic touch, Sameh. These kids of mine adore you. You must have had a lot of experience with children.”

Frances scooped her daughter into her arms, and Sameh rose to her feet, still holding Corey. “I spent a lot of time in the nursery,” she said. “Could I maybe help you feed them?”

Frances turned to grin at her. “Looks to me like you really don't have much choice. I have to warn you, this is not a delicate procedure. You're liable to need a shower afterward.”

Both women laughed. It had been a while since he'd heard Frances laugh like that, Adam thought as he watched them leave the room. Sameh bumped the corner of a chair awkwardly with her hip and then knocked the doorjamb with an elbow as she followed Frances into the kitchen with Corey in her arms.

Adam shook his head. The woman's body must be an absolute road map of bruises. He thought about deciphering that map, and had to take a long, cooling draft of his beer.

D
INNER WAS FUN
, Sameh found, in spite of the glass of wine she spilled almost as soon as she sat down. Adam was seated to her right, and more than a little splashed on the sleeve of his shirt. When she tried to blot it with her napkin, somehow a lot got on his trousers, as well.

Unfortunately it was red wine, so there were bound to be stains. She apologized, feeling clumsy and embarrassed, and it was Bernie who slowly put her at ease, relating stories about calamities he'd had himself while eating.

“Remember the time we were in that fancy restaurant on the Oregon coast, Fran, when I asked for horseradish to go with the prime rib?” Frances nodded and rolled her eyes at the memory. “It was fiery stuff,” Bernie explained, “and it made me sneeze. I grabbed my napkin, let go with a doozy, and didn't realize I'd scooped my tie up inside the napkin until Fran started laughing. My classy navy blue silk tie was polka-dotted with flecks of horseradish, and the snooty waiter looked at me like I'd just parachuted in from Lower Slobovia.”

Sameh laughed with the others, a little confused because she'd never read about any earth area called Slobovia. With laughter, though, came relaxation. She ate vegetables, sipped her wine and deftly deflected questions about herself by asking Fran about the dramatic paintings she'd done, which adorned the walls of the dining room.

Sameh was very aware of Adam Hawkins, however, sit
ting at her right. He said something to Bernie, and Sameh glanced at him. His gene pool definitely emphasized physical attractiveness, she mused. Apart from being tall, broad shouldered, long legged and obviously fit, Adam also had compelling features. But here, too, there was more than a hint of the savage in Adam Hawkins, a slight bend to the otherwise well-formed nose, a bend that suggested physical violence of some sort, a touch of cruelty in the tilt of the long, narrow mouth, stubbornness in the square jaw.

As she studied him, she was suddenly aware of his clear, intense red aura. Although she tried not to, she found herself glancing his way again and again, because she'd never before seen anyone as surrounded by red as the man at her side.

Well, red signified vitality, Sameh told herself, swallowing a final mouthful of vegetables. Vitality, and—be honest here, Sameh. She choked on a bit of crusty roll and had to take a gulp of her wine to wash it down.

His kind of red was pure, unadulterated sexual energy, she admitted to herself, struggling to get her breath. He had sexual energy of a type she'd never encountered before. The men she was used to, cultured men from her time, had all long ago lost the raw intensity that shimmered around Adam like a force field.

“You all right, Sameh? You going to need resuscitation?” His voice was low and taunting, his lips almost touching her ear, curved in a cynical smile, and she jerked away, knocking her fork off the table. “I'll get that for you.” He leaned over, his dark head almost in her lap this time, and retrieved it.

Fran got up to check on the children, and Bernie carried plates and cutlery into the kitchen.

Adam's aura was touching hers now, intermingling with her own, and she could feel the raw power he exuded. It
made her feel prickly and uncomfortable. He was a dangerous, primitive man, she'd known that from the first moment she set eyes on him. The problem was, she had no idea how to deal with such a man.

“So how's your work going with Delilah?” His green eyes were on her, and she met his gaze and held it. The other afternoon he'd made her nervous by doing this very thing—sitting totally still and just watching her, not revealing by the flicker of an eyelash what he was really thinking. She'd caught odd traces of those thoughts, however, in spite of his defenses.

“Working with Delilah is a great privilege,” she said with firm assurance. “She's a warm and fascinating woman. It's an honor for me to be able to work with her on her new book.” She knew he thought her an imposter in her job with Delilah, which was perceptive of him. He mistrusted her, which he had every right to do. She wasn't exactly what she was pretending to be, that was certain.

Even worse, he seemed to consider her dangerous in some way, a concept so preposterous she could hardly believe her own perceptions. Was he really misguided enough to think she was capable of serious wrongdoing?

“Uh-huh. I'm sure Delilah's interesting, all right.” Even now, with those seemingly polite words, he managed to convey both a high degree of skepticism and not a little sarcasm. “I'm afraid I've never read any of her books. I'm not really into this New Age stuff.”

His attitude infuriated her. He could use a little of Delilah's philosophy and a lot of the maturity of New Age thinking. He also wasn't honest. She was about to ask him point-blank why he and Bernie had both lied about their reasons for coming to see her, but Frances came back just then with Corey in her arms.

“This party animal's determined we're not having dinner
without him supervising,” she said, planting the pajama-clad boy in an armchair close to the table and padding him with pillows so he couldn't slip out. Corey cooed with delight.

Adam turned and winked at the baby. “That's the way, tiger. Don't let them stuff you into bed and leave you there. You have to keep an eye on them every minute. We're about to have apple pie and I'll bet you want a taste, right?”

In a split second, Sameh could feel the change in the force field surrounding Adam. Aggression became compassion, and she could feel the enormity, the purity, of his love for Corey, as well as the rage he harbored at destiny for putting such a burden on this beloved child. It showed her a whole new side of Adam Hawkins, a side that she found enormously appealing. Without conscious thought, Sameh put her hand on Adam's arm and smiled at him.

For the first time, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his emerald green gaze, but it was gone instantly, and for the rest of the evening, his defenses were again in place.

When it came time to leave, he turned to her and said, “Do you have a car?”

Sameh shook her head. She quailed at the very thought of trying to navigate the chaos of Los Angeles traffic. Lord knew she'd had enough problems using the automated sidewalks and people porters in her own time, never mind learning to drive a car here in the nineties. “I always use taxis,” she explained. “They're really very reliable, and the drivers tell me the most amazing stories.”

He lifted an eyebrow and gave her that disconcerting green stare again. “I'm sure they do, but you won't need to call one tonight. I'll drive you home.”

His arrogance was enormous, but refusing seemed both petty and rude, which was how she ended up alone with him in his shiny red sports car thirty minutes later, parked
with the roof down on an isolated promontory overlooking the ocean.

 

“T
HAT VIEW'S REALLY
something, isn't it?” Adam shuffled through his box of CDs and selected Leonard Cohen. He'd researched carefully over the years and it seemed a vast majority of women found old Lennie's sepulchral voice and obscure lyrics as sexy as hell. “I live not far from here, and I never get tired of the ocean and sky.”

Adam intended to accomplish two things. He planned to both interrogate and seduce Ms. Sameh Smith, not necessarily in that order. During dinner the seduction portion had taken alarming precedence.

Sitting beside Sameh had been challenging. The sticky wine stains on his trousers and shirt had been minor annoyances compared with the sexual desire she stirred in him, a desire so fierce it had taken all his control to suppress it enough so the others wouldn't notice. Sitting at the dining table with a large napkin across his lap helped a lot.

Now, all he needed to do was create the proper mood. He was counting on the silver-dappled ocean, the star-studded sky—the smog had lifted because of the breeze—and the car's elaborate sound system to supply a generous amount of ambience. After that, well, as he'd just told her, his house wasn't that far away when things got steamy. His heart beat fast and hard, anticipating the sex. He had no doubts whatsoever about his ability or his technique; after all, both had been honed to perfection by constant practice over a number of years.

He reached across and took her hand in his, stroking her fingers one by one, exploring her palm with his thumb. In another moment, he'd bring her hand to his lips and bite at the tender pad just below her fingers. Then he'd slide an
arm around her shoulders and— He froze, and his X-rated version of the next few hours fizzled.

“You and Bernie took pictures of me and checked my identity.” Her deep throated voice was soft, her words a statement rather than a question. “You don't trust me, Adam. You're investigating me.” She was looking right at him, straight into his eyes. He could see the hurt in her expression. “And tonight I realized it was even worse than that,” she burst out. “Why in the galaxy would you believe I might ever harm Bernie or his family, or Delilah? What is there about me that could possibly make you think I could be dangerous to people I respect and like?”

It was clear she wanted an answer.

Adam was still holding her hand, trying to figure out how in the hell she knew any of this. Bernie wouldn't have spilled the beans. No matter how infatuated he might be with Sameh—and he was totally gaga over her, no doubt about that; he seemed to consider her his long-lost sister or something—but he'd never in a million years rat on an investigation. Adam would bet his balls on that.

Delilah, then? He discounted Delilah right away. She didn't even know they were investigating her new secretary. And Violet sure as blazes wouldn't announce it over afternoon tea—Violet was paying the shot to Blue Knights.

When you don't have an answer, counter with a question.

“What makes you think I'm suspicious of you?”

She gave him a look that squelched him. “Don't play word games, Adam. I read it in your thought patterns, of course. Bernie was embarrassed. He knew that you were wrong about me from the start. But for
you
to actually believe that I might do something…something—” she searched for a word ugly enough “—something…malevolent…” She withdrew her hand from his and scowled at him. “That's truly disgusting of you, Adam.”

Adam frowned at her. “Hold it, hold it just a damned minute. Go back a little. Did I hear you say you read all this in my, uh, my thought patterns?”

She bobbed her head, and her blond curls bounced and settled again. The moon was full, and its rays caught strands of her hair and streaked them with silver like a halo. “I didn't catch all of it. I'm not exactly an expert at thought reading.” She made a disparaging sound in her throat and looked down at the hands now clasped tightly in her lap. It was still a mystery to her why she could see one person's thoughts and totally blank out on another's, such as Tyrone's.

The bleakness in her tone and on her lovely face got to him, even though he didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

“I'm not much of an expert at anything, really.” She looked out at the moon-filled darkness for a long moment. “But I sensed enough to realize you weren't telling me the truth. I got that much when you came to Delilah's the other day.”

She'd turned to face him again, her voice accusatory. “And of course I knew Bernie had taken pictures of me before that. Cameras give off a particular energy.” She curled her hands into fists and smacked them down on her lap, making the green dress billow around her legs. “It makes me feel…angry, and hurt, and defensive.”

She gave him that look again. “I just detest being at the mercy of such primitive emotions. It doesn't say much for my training, you know. I realize full well that anger is residual fear, but darn it all, knowing it with my head doesn't stop me from feeling it. And really, all you had to do was ask.”

She held his gaze. “I'd have told you the entire truth if you'd only asked me, Adam. It's sometimes expedient to
withhold details that might hurt someone's feelings, but as for out-and-out lying—” she sounded vehement again “—well, of course I'd never deliberately lie. Truth is freedom. We all learn that in the nursery. It's a critical learning experience.”

It was one his particular nursery had skipped, then. Damn, he'd somehow lost complete control of this conversation again. He blew out a long breath and tried to regain ground. “You're telling me we just should have walked up to you on the street and said, ‘Hello there, Ms. Smith, who are you and what are you doing here?'”

She ignored the sarcasm in his voice and nodded emphatically. “Yes. You just should have asked me. I'd have told you the truth. The last thing I want is for you to upset Delilah with some misguided conclusions about who I am and what I'm doing here. Violet Temple has done quite enough of that. My job is strictly a literary matter. I intend to tell Delilah all about myself and my purpose when the time is right.”

“Yeah, sure you will,” he jeered. “The fact is, there's nothing about you that anybody should trust. You see, Sameh—” he injected the faintest hint of threat into his tone “—nothing about you adds up. Your ID is as phony as all those so-called references you supplied to Elite Personnel. There are no records
anywhere
—” he underlined the word “—of Sameh Smith before April of this year.” He waited a long moment and added in a deceptively soft tone, “So now, since you suggested it, I'm asking, lady. Who are you, where do you come from and exactly what are you doing working for Delilah McDonell?”

He was pretty sure he'd get some kind of phony run-around, but at least it might get her off the offensive for a while, and even provide a few clues he and Bernie could follow up on. He hoped.

She seemed to relax and settle deeper into the leather seat. “My name is Sameh Smith, at least until I earn my new one—we get to choose when we qualify as Adepts. I was born in the year 2470. I have three dec…I'm thirty years old.” Her deep, calm voice, with its rich undertones of sensuousness, rhymed it all off casually enough. “My tutors sent me back here to do a research paper on Delilah McDonell because she's an important historical figure in our era.”