Justine Davis - Errant Angel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the proprietor of Tom’s Garage…

The real angel in my life

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

“We have no choice.”

“We’re shorthanded.”

“She’s the only one available.”

The words were as gloomy as the clouds that swirled around them while the group sadly agreed. They turned as one to look at the boss, who let out a sigh. That alone told them he’d about reached the end of his rope, a rope pulled tight for too long and far too often by their errant problem child.

“Very well,” he answered at last. “We will try once more.”

“Maybe it will be all right,” someone else put in hopefully. “Somehow, even when she does things...differently, they seem to come out right in the end.”

There was a grumble of voices as they argued over that optimistic interpretation.

“She’s not that bad,” the hopeful one insisted. “You know her heart is true, she just gets...impulsive sometimes. And she was rather young when we recruited her. It’s not her fault that she didn’t have as much life experience as some of the others.”

The rest of the group snorted—as much as they were capable of—in disdain.

“Enough.”

They stopped, and turned their attention once more to the boss.

“Perhaps we’ve been going about this the wrong way,” he went on. “Perhaps in trying to control her, we’ve made a mistake. Humans are unpredictable.”

“Now that’s an understatement,” somebody muttered, earning an uncomfortable moment of the boss’s attention.

“I think,” he continued, “that this time we shall—how do they say it?—let her run.”

“I think they say,” somebody else muttered, “give her enough rope to hang herself.”

“Perhaps,” the boss agreed. “Or perhaps she will prove herself instead.”

“You mean you’re really going to turn her loose? No safeguards, no limitations?”

There was a pause before the answer came. “None except those necessary to protect her.”

A low, collective whistle rose from the group. Only once before had the limitations been suspended, and the result had been...well, unexpected, to say the least. It was the reason they were shorthanded now; they’d lost their very best, but they found it hard to mourn the loss when it had taught them much about human love and joy.

“If we’re going to do it,” the hopeful one said, “we’d better do it now. That child is headed for big trouble.”

“Yes,” the boss said, focusing on the hopeful one. “You’ll be her contact for this mission.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Everyone else seems to expect her to fail. That’s not what we’re about.”

A rustling rose from the group as the rest of them shifted uncomfortably; there was too much truth in the boss’s words.

“All right,” the hopeful one agreed, although they all knew she had little choice in the matter. And it was an honor, of sorts, to be put in charge.

Even if past history showed it might be somewhat like being in charge of an out-of-control circus.

What on earth?

Evangeline lifted her head, pressing one hand against her chest. What on earth, she repeated silently, was this odd feeling? This pressure, this constriction, this awful tightness?

In the depths of her mind, a memory stirred, but it was gone before she could put a name to it. The squeezing sensation increased, until she felt as if something vital would burst under the strain. She looked around her, but nothing had changed. She was still alone in the quiet, wet darkness of the little California town a few lonely miles over the hills behind Santa Barbara, on a midnight-deserted street where even the dogs had taken refuge from the rain.

Her fingers curled as she reached toward the golden chain around her neck. But before she could touch the oddly shaped pendant that hung from the chain, the distant mist in her mind parted, and she knew what the feeling was.

Pain. She was feeling pain.

She was so startled that she nearly slipped on a patch of rain-slick pavement. Pain?

“Impossible,” she murmured. She never felt pain. They’d made sure of that. Especially not this kind, the heart-wrenching, gut-level agony of emotions ripped to shreds.

She looked around again, but saw nothing unusual, no explanation for this unexpected sensation. The drugstore she stood in front of was dark. So was the café at the end of the block. The only sign of life at all was a light on upstairs over the auto repair shop across the street.

She tried to focus on the pain, tried to sense the source, but the feeling itself was so fierce, so strong, that it overwhelmed all else.

She reached again for the pendant that hung from the gold chain around her neck. It warmed in her hand, gave off an eerie golden glow, but nothing else happened.

“Great,” she muttered. “The line’s busy.”

She waited, not very patiently; it was hard, in the face of this unrelenting ache, to be stoical. At last the pendant thrummed gently. She nearly snapped the inquiry out.

What took you so long?

The answer formed chidingly in her mind. Tut, tut, my dear, it wasn’t that long.

Easy for you to say. I’ve got a problem here.

So we sensed. Whatever is that odd sensation?

It’s pain, oh mighty one.

Sarcasm does not become you, Evangeline. Besides, that’s impossible. You know you can’t be injured.

Not physical pain. This is different. Emotional.

Oh?

Interest filtered through. The concept of emotional pain, of pure, human heartache, had always fascinated her bosses, since they never experienced it themselves. It had been a very long time since she’d felt that kind of pain, but she remembered, and the memories were more vivid than any recollection of mere physical discomfort.

She tightened her fingers around the pendant as she went on.

I can’t find the source. It’s so overpowering, I can’t even determine a direction.

You’ve always been very sensitive in that area.

Her brow was furrowed now.

I still can’t pin it down. How can I accomplish my mission if I can’t even find my mission?

She could have sworn she heard a sigh. Hopefully not the same way you usually do.

She would have blushed if they hadn’t removed that capability, as well. She knew they were referring to her sometimes reckless approach, and tactics that had caused them much stress on more than one occasion. Then, before she could come up with a suitable—or even unsuitable—comeback, they gave her an answer that puzzled her.

Actually, you shouldn’t be sensing pain from your target. He’s not feeling pain right now, emotional or otherwise. The boy is much too angry.

Then what am I getting? It’s awful. Like someone whose soul is caving in on him.

Him?

She hesitated before going on.

Yes, it is a man. I can tell that much. He must be my mission. He’s in agony.

No. It’s the boy. You know that, we sent you all the information.

I know, it’s just that—

No, Evangeline. Please, for once, tend to business.

But—

No.

It was flat, it was determined, it was an order, and if she hadn’t known it was impossible for them, she would have said they were tired. She gave up for now.