Darkangel - Christine Pope (most important books to read txt) 📗

And a civilian, so all this angst really isn’t getting you anywhere.

I scowled down at my phone. It was probably stupid to call, since I knew anything with him would of necessity be a dead end. But maybe it would be fun just to see him again, meet somewhere for a drink (although how that would go off, with five bodyguards and my Aunt Rachel following my every movement, I wasn’t sure).

You said you’d call him if you were coming to town. So call him. Stop making this into a federal case.

Fine. I hit “call” before I could back out. His phone rang once, twice, three times. Then it went into voicemail. Great. Then again, maybe it was simpler that way.

I spoke quickly, as if that would somehow make this easier. “Hi, Chris, it’s Angela McAllister. I know it’s kind of late notice, but it turns out we will be in Phoenix tomorrow to do some shopping. We’ll be over in the Biltmore District mostly — I know that’s kind of far from Tempe, but maybe we can figure something out. Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know. We should be down there sometime in the late morning.” Providing any more details would just make me sound desperate…if I didn’t already…so I thought I’d better leave it at that. “Talk to you soon. ’Bye.”

I hung up then, hoping I’d done the right thing. But I did want to see him, even if it was for the last time. After all, my birthday was only two weeks away.

By the time we hit the road the next morning, I still hadn’t heard anything from Chris. Well, he had said he was going to be really busy. I didn’t know exactly what that entailed for someone getting a master’s degree. Did he have finals? If I’d been thinking straight, maybe I would have remembered to look up the academic schedule at ASU online and see when finals even were, but it didn’t really matter now, one way or another. He should at least have time to check his voicemail, and if our schedules didn’t mesh, well, I wouldn’t be happy about it, but I’d understand. Or so I told myself.

Aunt Rachel kept up a fairly steady stream of chatter on the drive south, asking me if I’d decided how I wanted to redo the kitchen, or whether I was going to tackle the bathrooms first. All of that felt distant and vaguely unreal, as I’d decided to wait until after the holidays to do any of it. By then my life should be very different. Either my long-lost consort would have shown up, or I’d be living in domestic bliss with Adam. Now, with the possibility of seeing Chris Wilson again dancing in my mind, I was beginning to wonder why on earth I’d made Adam that promise. Temporary insanity was my best guess.

If Rachel noticed that I wasn’t all that engaged in the conversation, she didn’t show it. I did keep wondering why Chris didn’t call, then tried to console myself with the realization that cell service was pretty spotty for long stretches on I-17, and even if he were calling, it would just go to voicemail since it wouldn’t be able to punch through.

That helped a little, although once we came down into the outskirts of Phoenix and the bars on my phone abruptly shot up, I felt deflated all over again when I looked at the display on my cell and realized I didn’t have any missed calls.

“…first?” Aunt Rachel was asking, and I blinked.

“What?”

She gave me a patient smile. “I was asking where you wanted to go first. I thought maybe we should stop at Nordstrom Rack first, since it’s on the way, and then we can have lunch somewhere at the Biltmore shopping center.”

“That sounds fine,” I said. It didn’t matter much to me which order we shopped in, although it did make more sense to make the Rack our first stop, since there were more places to eat at the shopping center.

We cut east on the 101 Loop and then onto a smaller highway that brought close to Camelback Road, which was crowded with shopping centers and strip malls. This wasn’t my first trip to Phoenix, of course, but since it was at least six months and sometimes a year between visits, I always forgot about the vast urban sprawl, the amazing variety of shops…the aggressive drivers. I was glad it was Phil behind the wheel and not me.

But since we were smart and had come down on a weekday, trying to navigate the roads and get a parking spot at the shopping center wasn’t as difficult as it would have been on a weekend. Also, Phil’s handicapped placard got us a choice spot up toward the front.

I took one last look at my phone, tried not to sigh, and climbed out of the van, glad of the chance to stretch my legs a little bit. The drive took about two and a half hours, and it was now a few minutes after eleven. Down here it was much warmer than in Jerome, and I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. I’d thought I was dressing for Phoenix by not wearing a sweater the way I had for the last few weeks back home, but it had to be in the upper 70s here.

Previously we’d agreed that it would be all right to split up once we were inside the store, as it was not so big that the bodyguards couldn’t be back at my side within a minute if something strange happened. I’d argued that I didn’t want onlookers watching me buy underwear, and neither did I want to be selecting holiday gifts while everyone could see exactly what I was doing. Sort of took the fun out of the whole thing.

So we all did go our separate ways once we were in the store, with Phil, Boyd Willis, and Henry Lynch heading toward the men’s section, while Aunt Rachel and Allegra Moss and I went straight to the shoes. I wanted a new pair of winter boots, which I found almost right away, nice leather riding-style boots with rubber soles. I loved my cowboy boots, but they were hell on ice.

I slipped the boots into the heavy net shopping bag I had with me, then said, “I’m heading over to lingerie.”

They nodded, apparently entranced by the amazing selection around them. Good thing I wasn’t much of a “shoe” girl, or maybe I would’ve felt the same way. As it was, I knew I needed some new underwear, so I figured I’d get that out of the way before heading over to accessories, where I hoped I could find some fun pieces for Sydney and maybe Rachel. Yes, I could’ve made them something, and had in the past, but my jewelry-making had been sort of disrupted the past few weeks, and now I wasn’t sure if I would even have time to get anything put together. Besides, it never hurt to have something different every once in a while.

After picking up some new pairs of underwear and a bra, I got sidetracked on the way to the accessories section and ended up adding a pair of jeans and a couple of sweaters to the growing pile in my shopping bag. Eventually, though, I wandered over there and started sifting through the earrings and necklaces, wondering if maybe Aunt Rachel would rather have a new watch, or possibly a purse.

I had just turned away from the jewelry rack after finding a pair of long, sparkly earrings I knew Sydney would love when I noticed the man standing a yard or so away, over by a table full of sunglasses. His gaze was intent on me, and I looked away immediately. True, I’d tried to dress up a little bit, just in case I did get to see Chris, and was wearing the dark green top Sydney had bought me and my favorite pieces of turquoise jewelry, but I didn’t think I warranted that kind of inspection. There were plenty of other girls in the store better-dressed…and prettier…than I was.

The stranger said, “Hello, Angela.”

Immediately my hackles went up. “Do I know you?”

He smiled. Even though he looked as if he were a good deal older than I — maybe as old as thirty-five — he was very handsome. His gaze intent on me, he replied, “My name is Damon Wilcox.”

Ice flooded my veins, and I immediately took a step back. “How did you know I would be here?”

“Does it matter?” The smile widened, and I couldn’t mistake the predatory gleam in his dark eyes. “I thought we should talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about. Except,” I added, “that I’m here with five members of my clan, so — ”

“Five? I suppose I should be honored that you think I merit that kind of a response.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but almost out of nowhere my Aunt Rachel appeared, flanked by those five bodyguards we’d just been discussing.

“You should not be here, Mr. Wilcox,” my aunt said coldly.

“I needed to do some shopping,” he returned, smile never fading.

“You can do that in Flagstaff. You have your own mall there, don’t you?”

“But not this store. They have such a good shoe selection, and I happen to have very large feet.” This last was said with a wink sent in my direction, and I felt heat flood my cheeks. Even I knew what that “large feet” comment was supposed to imply.

“That doesn’t matter,” Phil put in, voice harsh and quite unlike his usual jovial self. “We had permission to be here. You don’t.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because Maya de la Paz would have told us, that’s why,” Rachel said. Her normally pretty, rounded features were set in a mask of loathing.

“Interesting.” He slanted another one of those sly glances in my direction. “It seems we have a stalemate, then.”