The Angel. Tiffany Reisz
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to read what’s in the file.”
Kingsley and Juliette were the perfect team. Kingsley’s files were notorious for two reasons—first, they contained the secrets of an entire city, and second, they were utterly unintelligible to anyone but Kingsley and Juliette. Only they could read the pages written in encoded Haitian Creole.
“It’s the motivation, not the crime, that concerns me,” Søren said. “Still, simply one more reason why you should spend some time away from the city while Kingsley and I sort this out.”
“I could help sort things out if you’d let me. I’m not fifteen anymore, remember?”
Søren stood up and came to her. He held out his hand and she took it. Gently he pulled her to her feet and stared down into her eyes.
“You are my heart,” he said. He’d said those very words to her that morning. But that morning they’d sounded affectionate and playful. Now he said them as if he were stating a fact of anatomy. “I will not lose you. I’m sending you away to keep you safe. Do you understand that? Say ‘Yes, sir.’”
Nora nodded and swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
“Yes, sir.”
Søren bent his head and kissed her long and slow before pulling back. Relaxing against him she put her ear to his chest. She loved hearing the steady beat of his heart. She’d called Søren dangerous, and to those who crossed him, he certainly was. Whoever it was who stole her file … she didn’t envy him. But Søren was not evil. He had the best heart of any man she’d ever known. A strong and good heart.
“My heart,” she whispered and gazed up at Søren.
“Rest assured, little one,” Søren said as he ran his hands possessively from her neck down her back, “I may send you away, but I will give you a goodbye that will hold you all summer.”
Michael waited outside of Father S’s office hoping that was what he was supposed to be doing. He sat on the bench with his skateboard under his feet and rolled it mindlessly back and forth while recalling every word Nora and Father S had said. The priest who was going to be the next bishop was being transferred. Father S was on the short list of candidates to be the next bishop. Father S wanted him and Nora to go away for the summer. He was supposed to spend the entire summer away with Nora Sutherlin.
The entire summer … with Nora Sutherlin …
Michael had dreams like that. Just last night he’d had a dream like that.
Nora emerged from Father S’s office and smiled at him.
“Good, I’m glad you waited. Want a ride home?”
Michael shrugged and stood up. He couldn’t believe this—over a year without saying a word to each other and now she was offering to drive him home?
“Sure. Thanks.”
The parking lot sat deserted but for a shiny two-seater silver convertible.
“Like it?” Nora clicked the button on her keys to unlock the car.
“Yeah. Awesome,” Michael said, walking around the car. He bit his lip with suppressed laughter when he saw Nora’s vanity license plate: it read NC-17.
Nora stood in front of her car and studied it.
“Decided to treat myself last month. Not as nice as my Aston Martin, but a BMW Z4 Roadster is nothing to sneeze at. I’m a fan of fine German engineering.”
Michael looked her trim but curvaceous body up and down—talk about fine German engineering. He started to say that out loud, knowing she’d laugh at the compliment and the reference to her German background. But as usual he couldn’t get the words out.
“Here, you drive.” She tossed him the keys.
Michael reached out and caught the keys with his fingertips.
“You want me to drive your brand-new BMW?”
“You’re old enough to drive, right?” She opened the passenger-side door and looked over the top of the car at him. “And considering I’ve let you inside my body, it’s not that big of a stretch to let you drive my car, right?”
She dropped into the seat and closed the door.
Michael’s knees buckled at her words. Taking a deep breath, he opened the driver-side door. He slid his skateboard behind the seat and sat down slowly behind the wheel.
“Let’s talk,” Nora began as he started the ignition and started to drive. “Well, you don’t talk so you can listen while I talk.”
“Just, please don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say stuff like that again or I’ll get us into a wreck.”
Nora laughed and squeezed his knee.
“All right, Angel. I promise I won’t talk about the night I tied you down and took your virginity. If you insist.”
“Nora, please,” he begged. He loved that she still called him Angel. No one ever called him that except for Nora.
“Fine, I’ll behave. For now. Anyway, here’s the deal. Søren wants us gone for the summer so he can handle things in his own way. I think he knows that if someone started sniffing around me, I’d probably kick their ass, which, admittedly, might not help the situation.”
“Probably not.”
“And considering I sort of kind of committed statutory rape the night you and I were together, well, I think he’s trying to keep me out of this whole mess as much as possible. And you too.”
Michael put on the turn signal at a four-way stop. No cars were coming from any direction. As nervous as he was, he hoped they didn’t encounter another car the entire trip home.
“You didn’t rape me, Nora. I wanted it. I was fifteen, almost sixteen, not five.”
He couldn’t believe he was finally getting to talk to her about that night. He knew Nora and Father S were upset about this whole thing. But today might be the best day of his life.
“The courts have a funny way of not caring about the legal age of consent when underage boys and famous writers are involved. But hey, you aren’t jailbait anymore.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Michael sent up a quick prayer that he hadn’t been hallucinating when Father S had said he and Nora needed to get out of town together.
“I have a friend named Griffin Fiske. He’s got a farm in upstate New York. I think we should go wait this catastrophe out with him this summer.”
“Griffin Fiske?”
“Yeah. He’s the son of John Fiske, Chairman of the Stock Exchange. Wall Street type. Griffin’s a trust fund baby. But he’s a sweetheart. Søren can’t stand him, but Søren has terrible taste obviously,” she said, pointing at herself.
“Is he—” Michael paused and tried to force the words out. “You know, one of us?”
Nora grinned. “Let’s just say that in the Underground, his nickname is Griffin Fist.”
Michael’s stomach clenched.
“Oh, God.”
“Tell me about it.” Nora patted his knee again. She really needed to stop touching his knee. “So the plan—we’ll go hide out at Griffin’s place for the summer.”
“Hide and do what?”
Michael pulled into the driveway of the small bungalow he lived in with his mother. Thank God his mom didn’t seem to be home.
“This is where you live?” Nora asked with nothing but curiosity in her voice.
“I know it’s not great. But it’s a nice neighborhood.”