Errant Angel. Justine Davis
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saw the flicker of doubt and guessed he wasn’t sure she could answer the question. She gave him a wry look.
“Yes. And it’s all mine,” she said. “Not borrowed from some husband or boyfriend back home.”
He blinked, startled, then had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry. I didn’t think I was being that obvious. And I didn’t mean to assume.”
“That where there’s a hot car, there’s got to be a man involved?” Dalton shifted uncomfortably, and she relented. “It’s okay. I’m used to...being different.” If you only knew, she added silently.
“She likes baseball and football, too,” Jimmy proclaimed, watching Dalton. “I told you she was cool.”
Something she didn’t recognize came into Dalton’s gaze then, and incredibly, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. She was so startled she almost reached for the pendant, to ask what on earth was going on. She never blushed. It took emotions she wasn’t supposed to have to blush.
“Yes,” Dalton said slowly, answering Jimmy but looking at her. “Yes, you did.”
A feeling she had never known filled her as she met his eyes—a sudden urge to run, to flee, to escape whatever was happening here. And she couldn’t explain the impression she got that he was feeling the same way. Like two people who had opened doors on opposite sides of a room, to find the room in flames, she thought, wondering where the image had come from. But all that really mattered was this need to back away. Quickly.
“I—I have to go,” she said. She sounded peremptory, she realized, and she hadn’t meant to. Another oddity, she thought; she usually had complete control over her presentation; it was a necessity for her work. “I’m glad you like the car,” she added lamely.
He looked as if he were about to say something, then stopped and merely nodded. He turned away, his expression showing her that her words had been a dismissal much sharper than she’d meant them to be. An awkward silence reigned as Dalton walked back to the truck he’d been working on without another word. He picked up a socket wrench and went back to work under the hood of the old truck.
“Uh,” Jimmy began, obviously aware of the tension but uncertain—as she was, Evangeline thought—of the exact cause, “maybe you could bring it by again sometime. Dalton’d probably like to look closer at the motor, wouldn’t you?”
He ended on a rising note, looking over at Dalton. The man merely shrugged, not looking up. Evangeline winced inwardly at the crestfallen expression that slipped over Jimmy’s face.
“Maybe I will,” she reassured the boy.
As she drove away she looked in the rearview mirror, seeing the two of them, together, yet as alone as any two people she’d ever seen.
And she wondered what on earth Dalton could possibly have done that could make him feel so much guilt it was nearly smothering him.
* * *
Are you guys doing something weird up there?
Whatever do you mean?
I mean, I know you aren’t real happy with me, but if you’re going to change the rules on me, I wish you’d at least let me know.
There was a moment of silence from them. She always thought of it as talking to “them,” even though there was only one doing the actual communicating; it must be that ridiculous royal “we” they insisted on using. But she knew they were all listening. Especially when it came to her.
Evangeline tightened her grip on the pendant as she sat curled up in the big, overstuffed chair that took up one corner of the bedroom she’d rented from Mrs. Webster, mainly because it was across the street from the house where Jimmy lived. She waited, imagining them discussing what to tell her.
The answer came at last.
We told you that you had full freedom on this case.
That’s not what I meant—not that it’s not great, by the way, zipping that car up was the perfect way to get Jimmy’s attention. But I meant the other stuff.
What...stuff?
All the feelings.
Feelings?
Yeah. They’re really getting in the way. Besides, you guys promised I wouldn’t.
Wouldn’t what?
She was really trying to be patient, but they didn’t seem to understand. She explained again.
That I wouldn’t feel anything. It’s really very distracting.
Evangeline, you can’t be feeling anything. You know we took care of that. You’ve had the latest and best adjustments in that area. We’ve come a long way recently. And you’ve never had a problem before.
Well, I have one now. It makes it hard to concentrate, and you know you always say that’s my big problem.
We don’t always say that. It was gently remonstrating.
Well, almost always. When you’re not reading me the riot act because I turned left when you wanted right.
She sent it somewhat mutinously; she never had understood why they got so upset that she took a different route, if the destination was the same.
We’ve been through this before, Evangeline. Now, what is this about feelings? You know you don’t have them, except for—
My sense of justice. I know. Then what are all these crazy sensations I’ve been having? Ever since that first night, everything’s been confused.
A quiet rush of air came then, as if they had jointly sighed. Things tend to be that way around you, you know.
“Only from up there,” she muttered out loud this time. Then, returning to the connection, she tried to explain.
This is different.
How, dear?
Evangeline grimaced. Ever since this patient female had become her contact, she’d felt like she’d been talking to a benevolent maiden aunt. But she was so determinedly optimistic that this mission would succeed without any of the problems of past ones, Evangeline felt guilty every time she did anything that she knew they might not approve of.
It’s really strange, she sent at last. The pain was bad enough, but all this—
Oh, my, you haven’t gotten involved with that man you sensed, have you? We told you he was off-limits, that you were to stick to Jimmy Sawyer’s problem.
I know, but—
No buts, Evangeline.
She couldn’t believe they didn’t want her to help him.
But he’s hurting so much, she sent protestingly.
No. The benevolence was gone, the message stern. You simply must behave this time.
The “or else” was implicit. She was walking an even finer line than she’d thought. She wondered if this was her last chance. If she messed up—according to their standards—again, if it really would be all over for her.
She knew then that she didn’t dare turn to the bosses for an explanation of what was going wrong. They would no doubt just chalk it up to her lack of discipline again. And maybe they were right. Maybe she had just let that horrible blast of pain unbalance her.
All right, all right. I’ll be good, she promised.
And, she added to herself when the connection was broken, I will not waste any more time wondering about Dalton MacKay. He doesn’t seem to be in that horrible pain any longer, anyway. Or perhaps he was just managing to hide it behind those formidable walls that were stronger than any she’d ever encountered before.