An Angel's Song Read online

  He crossed his arms over his chest, hands curled into tight fists, and turned his face away toward the window. He clenched his jaw so tightly, its sharp angles appeared carved in stone.

  In her childish desperation to be the acknowledged center of his universe, she’d not only broken two hearts and destroyed a marriage, she’d caused him to doubt himself, doubt his worth. Yes, he’d been a blind fool. He owned part of the blame. But, she’d taken a difficult situation and made it worse. Well, she might deserve to pay the price for her foolishness for the remainder of her very long life, but Alec did not.

  “Alec, there’s something I should tell you,” Tessa croaked, twisting her fingers together in her lap and clearing her throat. Alec didn’t so much as flick his eyes in her direction. He simply continued to stare at the wall as though she hadn’t spoken. “You’re probably going to be angry…” If possible, his jaw clenched even tighter and his lips thinned. “Um, okay, so you’re already angry. Well, I had a plan, you see, but somehow it all went wrong. I never meant for it to go so far. I didn’t know how to…I should have told you—”

  “There’s only one thing I need you to tell me, Tessa,” Alec ground out, turning back to face her. His hands dropped to his sides, but remained tightly clenched. His pain filled eyes, two bottomless pools darkened nearly to black, pinned her to the bed, stabbing sharply at her conscience. “His name. Give me the bastard’s name.”

  ****

  Alec cracked open his eyelids with a groan, shifting his weight on the hard antique settee that hadn’t even been designed for fleeting comfort let alone sleeping. After storming from Tessa’s room when she declined to identify the sonofabitch, he headed straight for the library. He grabbed the first bottle that came to hand, well aware it would take a hell of a lot more than a good stiff drink to ease the memory of his own failures and the ache of her infidelity in his heart. But, even though alcohol had little effect on an Earthbound, three bottles of Scotch, combined with the emotional toll of the last twenty-four hours and a significant lack of sleep, actually managed to produce a slight buzz. What difference did learning the bastard’s identity make now? Knowing would probably only sharpen the sting. Still, the thought of finding himself in the same room with the guy and being ignorant of it…well, he didn’t much like that idea, either. He’d only intended to close his eyes for a moment before heading to his own bed, but somehow he managed to doze off.

  A quick glance at his watch told him it was just after three. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble roughened jaw, before hauling himself to his feet. A coverlet tucked in around him twisted about his legs and foiled his attempt to get upright. How many times did he fall asleep at his desk, his nose buried in some dusty research, never having made it to their bed, only to wake up tucked in snugly by Tessa? Too often, probably. Well, it was a sure bet she didn’t tuck him in this time.

  He took the stairs two at a time, and rapped sharply on her door. Receiving no response, he cracked it open and found the room empty and the bed neatly made. He showered and dressed in record time, and then headed back downstairs to find Tessa. He’d promised to take her to the flat today, though he knew it would be difficult for her. He certainly didn’t look forward to it. She’d need comfort, and even though she allowed him to provide it last night, he probably made damn sure she wouldn’t want him anywhere near her today. Entering the kitchen, he found his mother’s housekeeper, Maria, humming over an enormous pot she stirred on the stove. The rich herbed tomato and beef scented steam rising from the soup filled the kitchen. The table was cleared, the sink was empty, and there was no sign of Tessa.

  “Morning, Maria.” He grabbed an apple from the wooden bowl on the counter and sank his teeth into the crisp skin.

  “Good afternoon, you mean.” She laughed, setting the large wooden spoon on a plate on the counter and turning to face him. “The signora is out for the day. Your young lady said she tired of waiting and to give you this.”

  Maria plunged her plump fingers into the pocket of her tomato spattered apron and fished out a crumpled slip of paper. Alec plucked it away impatiently, knowing exactly what he would see before he even glanced at it. He slammed the fruit on the table and brought the paper to his nose.

  “How long ago did she leave?” he demanded shortly.

  “Maybe an hour? She said you were sleeping and wouldn’t mind if she went ahead. I’m sorry, Signore Alec, should have I come to get you sooner?” The elderly woman wrung her hands and looked up at him with a worried frown creasing her brow.

  “No, no, it’s fine, Maria. I’ll, uh, just meet her there.” He patted her arm.

  “Va bene. I’ll leave this on the stove for you, and there is fresh bread to go with it.” She bustled back to the stove and turned off the flame. Hanging her apron on a hook behind the door, she turned to leave. “A domani.”

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Alec replied absently, as the kitchen door closed behind her. He drew in a deep, cleansing breath, blowing it out through clenched teeth. He glanced at the paper again, shoved it into the pocket of his jeans, and faded to the Borgo.

  The complex, plaintive strains of Rachmaninoff filled the air as he materialized inside the third floor flat. Her back to him, Tessa’s fingers flew over the keys, oblivious to everything except the music. Though some artists shied away from the lush grandeur of this composer’s pieces, and the intensity of emotion required to perform them well, Tessa lacked neither courage nor passion. As her long fingers softly struck the final chord and came to rest quietly on the keys, her breath caught on a sob and her body shuddered. The somber Russian’s compositions always resonated with Barachiel. Perhaps, the former angel identified with Rachmaninoff’s grief over the loss of a way of life, of being a man divorced from his past. Alec swallowed hard over the knot rising to clog his throat and his earlier irritation faded away. He understood now why she’d come alone. Tessa played for her father. She was saying good-bye.

  “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini in A minor,” he said. “His favorite.”

  Though she hadn’t turned around, Tessa knew he was there. The awareness of his presence sizzled along her nerve endings the moment he materialized behind her. “You remembered.”

  “I remember a lot of things.”

  “Not all of them bad, I hope?” She turned slowly on the piano stool, eyes narrowed in his direction. She anticipated his anger for setting out on her own, but his casual stance and placid expression gave nothing away. His gaze locked on hers, unblinking, unreadable. As she tugged her gloves from the pocket of her jeans and slipped them on, she wished she could discern even a single one of his thoughts, but his mind remained locked tight from the moment she barreled into his chest at the hospital. Still, the way he looked at her now made her almost believe—Of course, she hadn’t gotten much sleep, so it was entirely possible she was hallucinating.

  “Most of them incredibly, unforgettably good,” he said at last, breaking the silence and glancing away toward the window. “With one notable exception.”

  “And we’re back to that.” Tessa sighed and rose slowly to her feet. “One moment of flawed judgment, one desperate, defensive decision compounded by two massive cases of insecurity, and sprinkled with a hefty helping of wounded pride. I guess it will always come back to that.”

  Alec’s massive shoulders rose and fell. Tessa sighed again and crossed to the pile of cardboard cartons awaiting her attention in the corner. She wrapped her arms around the top box and yanked it against her chest, grunting as she absorbed the unexpected weight. Alec turned from his contemplation of the street below, and crossed the room in two long strides, plucking the container from her arms as though it weighed nothing. He dropped it on the table against the opposite wall that she cleared earlier and stepped away. Tessa dusted her gloved hands down the sides of her jeans and moved around him, tearing at the packing tape and jerking open the flaps.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “Gloves?”

  “Not ready to be
smacked in the head with the memories just yet.”

  “Ah.” He hesitated. She thought perhaps he might let it drop for the moment, but his next words negated that hope. “I don’t know how to overlook it, Tess. Did you expect I would?”

  “No.” Tessa blew at a stray wisp of hair that escaped the loose knot on top of her head, and lifted a stack of papers from the box, gripping them until her knuckles turned white. “I never expected you to overlook it. I expected you to be furious. I expected you to rant and rave. I expected you to be shocked out of your complacency for five damn minutes, but to ultimately see through it for what it was. I expected…” Her breath caught in her throat. She’d expected—hoped—to discover she was more important to him than his precious research. Instead, he regarded her coldly, like some contemptible specimen that crawled out from under a rock, and then closed his heart and mind to her as firmly as he closed his office door in her face. She took a childish gamble, and she lost. Everything. “I expected you to fight.”

  “For a woman who preferred someone else?”

  “No. For me. Your wife. The other half of your soul. For a woman who not only loved you with every fiber of her being, but was intrinsically incapable of betraying you. You should have known that. Yet, given the most circumstantial evidence, how easily you jumped to conclusions, how easily you believed the worst of me.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “You know what you think you saw. I should have explained right then and there, but I was hurt and angry. You know what they say, even negative attention is attention. I’ve since realized that isn’t true, by the way. So, I ran with it. I expected you to fight for me, for us. You didn’t. Instead, you snatched away the one tiny sliver of yourself I believed still belonged to me. Then you retreated. You refused to listen.”

  Hearing his sharply indrawn breath, Tessa spun to face him, finding he’d come to stand uncomfortably close. He gazed down at her from his great height, blue eyes wide, jaw clenched as tightly as the hands fisted at his sides. A nerve jumped in his cheek. Well, he refused to listen back then, but he sure as hell was listening now. Tessa crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin.

  “And, God help me, I refused to beg. I hope your pride kept you warm at night these last ten years, Alec. I know mine sure as hell hasn’t.”

  “What are you say—” Alec began in a choked voice. He’d let her down on one of the most important nights of her life. He knew that. He also knew he’d been blind to a lot of things back then, but there was a man with her that night. He’d seen it with his own eyes. Still, one night, one embrace, didn’t necessarily translate to an affair. Unless you were a man painting the picture with a brush dipped in a healthy portion of guilt.

  “I’m saying we’re both a couple of fools and it’s really hard to decide who deserves the grand prize.” Her lips compressed into a tight, thin line. Uncrossing her arms, she glanced around at the contents of the apartment and shivered. “I knew my father was a collector, but I think after I moved to the States he crossed the line into hoarder territory. How will I ever get through all of this? I—” The distinctive zing of evil raced up his spine. Tessa’s abrupt silence and wide eyes indicated she felt it, too.

  “It might just be Gia coming upstairs for something,” Alec said slowly, struggling to turn his attention from Tessa’s words and concentrate on the potential threat at hand.

  “Gia?”

  “Giovanna Moscato. She owns this building and the pastry shop downstairs. Both she and her uncle Enrico, a former Defensori, keep apartments here. She’s half Fallen, so she triggers the alarms when she’s close enough.”

  “Okay.” Tessa tore off her gloves and stuffed them back in her pocket. Then she hurried across the room, and began quickly laying her hands on each box in the stack. “But, just in case—”

  “What in the hell are you doing?”

  Neither of the two sets of footsteps Alec heard plodding down the hall in the direction of the door sounded like a woman. Tessa spun from the corner and pushed past him, sprinting into the bedroom where more stacks of boxes waited. Alec stayed right on her heels as she ran her sensitive fingers over first one carton, then another.

  “Tessa. Let’s go. I need to get you out of here.” Alec gripped her shoulders from behind and attempted to turn her in his arms as a door banged open down the hall, but she shrugged him off and continued her odd behavior. Damn, he should have packed a weapon, but he never expected he’d need one. His mouth went dry and his heart raced as someone stopped outside the door. Thank the saints the door remained locked. He wouldn’t hesitate to take on the scum, armed or otherwise, but he had Tessa to consider. He would not put her at risk. “It’s definitely not Gia. I’m guessing it’s animorti. I’m not armed and I need to get you out of here. Now move!”

  “Wait. Just give me another second. Where is it?” she mumbled under her breath as her hands flew over one box after another. “Where in the hell did he…here, this one!”

  “What the—?” A heavy thud was followed by a shout. Alec recognized the deep voice and uneven gait of Enrico Moscato as he charged down the hall from his flat. He might be retired from the Defensori, and operating on a prosthetic leg, but the man remained as deadly as ever. A couple of animorti, low-lifes with a thirst for power duped and inducted by the Fallen as expendable servants, were no match for his skill. Tessa tugged ineffectually at a cardboard carton buried under three others.

  “For the love of…” Still having no idea what she was doing or why, Alec reached around her and heaved it free, leaving the others to tumble to the floor.

  “Yep. That one goes with us. Now, if you’ve finished standing there looking pretty, McAllister, sounds like we’ve got company, and I’m really not prepared to entertain.”

  “Enrico can handle them, but yeah, we should go.” Knowing Enrico, Alec suspected the animorti were already puddles of black slime, but just in case, he sent out a mental question on the channel used by all Earthbound to confirm it. The low rumble of laughter he received in return verified the retired warrior had the situation well in hand and enjoyed the unanticipated exercise.

  Keeping the carton securely tucked under one arm, Alec reached out and pulled Tessa to him with the other, though he knew she could have easily faded back to the villa on her own. Her arms came around his waist without hesitation, and she buried her face in his chest. In seconds, they stood in one another’s arms in the kitchen of the villa in Trestevere.

  Chapter Seven

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Alec observed, feeling Tessa’s arms tighten around him briefly. Then she stepped back and tugged the box from under his arm. She set it on the enormous farmhouse table and pushed it away slightly, drawing her hands back as though something might jump out to bite her.

  “It’s been so long since I ran into one of them, I almost forgot what it felt like.”

  “What do you mean?” Tessa’s super sensitivity had always been an unerring early alert system for evil. Why would it change?

  Tessa drew in a deep breath and blew it out.

  “I told you, I moved to the States.”

  “What difference does that make?” The U.S. certainly had its fair share of evil ones. “Rome doesn’t have the monopoly on the Fallen population. In fact, their numbers are usually lower here, since it’s Michael’s home base.”

  “I’ve been teaching at a small, privately funded conservatory in Kentucky for the last couple of years. Underprivileged kids who exhibit extraordinary musical talent. Incredibly rewarding. The area is in the mountains, rather isolated and off the grid. I guess nothing there drew them.”

  “I see.”

  “But, you know what’s been bothering me? As much as I loved it, I could have taken a leave of absence and come back at any time. My father knew that. Why didn’t he let me know how ill he really was? Why did he wait until there was a very real chance I wouldn’t have time to say good-bye? And why, in the name of all that’s holy, did he contact you?�
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  Stung by her remark, but damned if he’d show it, Alec shrugged. “Because he knew I’d come, I guess. He said he didn’t want you to be alone.”

  “I understand, but didn’t you find it odd, or feel there must be more to it?” She searched his face, as though he might have the answer to a dying old man’s idiosyncratic behavior. “He knew he was dying. Why move everything here, check into a hospital, and only contact me at the bitter end?”

  “I’ll admit, I found the whole situation a bit off. Maybe he wanted to spare you watching the decline. It was difficult enough for me to see him in that state. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. He didn’t leave much time for questions or lengthy discussions, did he?”

  “Exactly. And just for the record, it isn’t right, you know. That whole the-Brothers-will-take-care-of-it thing. No body, no funeral, no peaceful grave on the side of a hill, no place to visit. Do you know why I went to the apartment alone today? I hoped I’d find him, some sense of him, something. Surrounded by his things, in the end I discovered they’re really only things, aren’t they? He wasn’t there and it wasn’t home. Then again, we always moved around so much, I guess we never had a real one.”

  A pang of regret stabbed him at the wistful note in her voice. “And then you married me, and I dragged you halfway around the world at the drop of a hat. Or the hint of a clue,” Alec added. Stepping closer, he reached out and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along the velvety skin of her high cheekbone. “I never gave you much of a home, either, did I?”

  “Maybe home is a choice, not a place.” Tessa stepped back, breaking the contact and ignoring the opening he’d provided. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she twisted her fingers together in front of her, a nervous gestures so familiar to him. “So, as I started to say back at the flat, my father was quite a collector. Art, music, manuscripts…he loved beautiful things. I guess, given his origins, it’s not so surprising. It’s going to take me weeks to go through and catalog it all. I’ll end up donating most of it to libraries and museums, I suppose.”