A Cold Day In Hell. Stella Cameron
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“For most men it takes a whole lot more than a drink at a kitchen table to…make…a nice…moment.” Careless chatter. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I was afraid you didn’t. Sonny is with me under unusual circumstances. He is here because he’s had difficulties, but they weren’t anything to do with him getting into trouble.”
She frowned and moved the base of her glass back and forth. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “Could I taste the red?” she said, buying time.
Angel hesitated, then gave her his glass. She drank and made a face. “Cranberry juice. Ouch, that’s bitter after the wine.”
“The wine’s dry,” he said, sounding defensive.
“And you’re getting me drunk while you stay sober,” she said with mock annoyance.
“I have to drive,” he pointed out.
“Oh, boy, you are so holy,” she said.
“Wanna bet?”
Eileen whistled out a breath. “I think I’ll pass on that. What’s the deal with Sonny?”
“I’ve told you most of it. He got caught up in something—none of his doing—something really dangerous. There was some possibility that bad types saw him where it would have been better for him not to be. If they did, they might well have decided to get rid of him. When he showed up tonight, that was my first thought, and I think it was his. But we were both wrong. Those guys don’t miss, and they don’t make mistakes like shooting the wrong person. They can’t afford to if they don’t want to end up on the wrong end of the next gun barrel.”
After much too large a swallow of wine, a big enough mouthful to make her cough, Eileen collected herself and said, “You’re talking about the Mafia.”
He shook his head. “We don’t talk like that anymore. The scene has changed.”
“Who is we, Angel?”
“Just people in the business.” He waved an airy hand. “You know I’ve been in various kinds of enforcement over the years.”
“I thought you were out of all that now.”
“I am.” His expression was so innocent, there was no way she believed much of what he said. “This is just something I had to do for an old friend.”
“You’re not used to making up bedtime stories for soft women, are you?” she asked. “Or women you think are soft. Who is this old friend?”
“Eileen. I’ve already told you far more than I have any right to say. I have rules I must live by. They’re for good reasons.”
“You’re still involved. You said you weren’t, but you lied to me.”
He got the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. Eileen made no attempt to stop him.
“I didn’t lie. I’m not on active duty. I quit because I had other things I wanted to do. I came here to talk to Finn because he went through the same thing, changed his lifestyle pretty drastically. And now I’m his manager of operations. That’s not a lie.”
“But you’re doing something that could bring gunmen after you.”
He reached for her hand but she put it in her lap. “Don’t be like that,” he said.
“Who is this friend? You don’t have to give me his name, just tell me what kind of person he is. What he’s mixed up in that makes him so dangerous to know.”
Angel leaned against his chair, tipped it onto its back legs. “He’s not dangerous to anyone anymore. He’s dead.”
She pressed a hand on the wooden tabletop and her mind raced. “I’m sorry. So, why do you—”
“He was Sonny’s father.”
“Oh, no. Your brother. Oh, Angel—”
“Don’t. It’s okay. He was doing something the people he worked for didn’t like.” He looked at the ceiling. “They really didn’t like it.” He let the front legs of his chair slam to the floor and put his face closer to hers. “If you talk about any of this, someone could die. Do you understand?”
She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” He looked so desolate. There was a mountain of bad stuff on his back. Loneliness and isolation were the only reasons he was telling her all of this.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she told him.
“Good. They shot him, emptied a Beretta submachine gun with a forty-round magazine into him.”
Eileen held the wine with both hands and drank. “You know these things happen, but most of the time you can pretend they don’t. They thought Sonny saw this, but he didn’t? They may have figured that out by now and they’re leaving him alone.”
“They could think that,” Angel said. “I hope they do. But he did see his father shot. He saw him die.”
“Oh, God.” Eileen shuddered. “The good people shouldn’t come out last.”
Angel didn’t answer and she caught his eye. She felt so cold. Knowledge you didn’t want could freeze you. “He wasn’t a good guy?”
“I think we’ve said enough,” he told her without inflection.
“Poor Sonny. I don’t know why he isn’t a worse mess. No wonder he acts so surly and bitter.”
Again he was silent.
She held his wrist on the table. “Thank you for being honest. It helps to know what’s going on…or could be.”
“Not necessarily. If you weren’t involved, I’d never reveal any of this to you. But you are in a way and you need to be too scared to open your mouth about anything. You don’t know anything about Sonny, right?”
“I understand.” Like this, he was scary. “I’ll do anything I can to help. And you’ll never have to wonder if I’ve said anything to anyone or if I might for some reason. Nothing could get it out of me.”
“Good,” Angel said, looking at her hand on his arm, “because I can sense things, like when someone is wavering. I’d know if you were thinking about running your mouth off to someone.”
“I never would. Angel?” Her heart thumped. “I really wouldn’t.”
“Good. Because if I got that feeling, I’d have to kill you.”
10
No man’s eyes should look that cold.
Eileen noticed the lines that flared from the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines? She pictured him squinting into the sun through dark glasses, a gun in his hand.
“That was a joke,” he said. “A bad one.”
Maybe it was; maybe it wasn’t. She stood so quickly, her chair screeched on the wood floor. “Thanks for the wine.”
“Eileen.” He got up, too, and she was aware of how big he was. Fear and intense excitement mounted her spine.
“I’ve stayed too long,” she told him. “Aaron will wonder where I am.”
Angel walked behind her and she held her ground with difficulty. “You never have to be afraid of me,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I can smell it. Men like me have a particular relationship with fear.”
And with danger…and violence.
“I know you’ve had a hard life,” she said.
“I chose it.” He didn’t even pretend to smile now. “Aaron isn’t worrying about where you