Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) Read online

  Warren jumped up, “Come on, Jack! I paid good money!”

  “You haven’t paid me one hot dime.”

  “You know I’m good for it. As God is my witness, Jack, if you don’t tell me – I’m going to…!” Warren’s wild eyes scrabbled around the office as if searching for a weapon.

  Jack slammed his hands on his desk and leaned forward menacingly, “You’re going to what?”

  Warren blinked, backing down. He got up, paced. He absentmindedly stepped over the little girl rolling on the floor in lumpy leaf-stuffed pants. Warren stopped at the desk and gave Jack a who-stole-my-teeth look. “Did Sheila go to the store? Yes or no?”

  After a long moment, Jack pulled a file from the drawer and placed it on the desk.

  Warren’s eyes were glued to the folder.

  Jack pressed his fist down on the folder. He said softly, “Not in front of the kids, Warren.”

  Warren’s face quivered like he took a welterweight blow. He sat down heavily. After a long moment, he reached out a trembling hand for the file.

  Flip-flop girl skipped over, tugged on Warren’s sleeve. “Is mommy a hoe?”

  Warren froze. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Gran-ma.” She bit down on Barbie’s left foot and let it dangle from her mouth as she waited for an answer.

  “Don’t do that. It’s bad for your teeth,” Warren said.

  She bared her teeth and, laughing, danced away to commence torturing her brother. Warren stared at her, one cheek muscle twitching.

  “You hired me to find out the truth,” Jack said.

  Warren grunted like a wounded animal.

  Jack examined him with shrewd but sympathetic eyes. “Are you going to be all right, Warren?”

  Warren looked away, wiping the water from his cheeks with his shaking hand. He shook his head.

  Jack slid the folder into the drawer.

  “Can’t trust women,” Warren muttered.

  Jack shoved a card across the desk. “Here’s the card of a good marriage counselor. Mention my name and you might get a discount.”

  “They’re not even my kids,” Warren said.

  “You’re kidding!”

  Warren didn’t seem to hear.

  Irritated with himself for his outburst, Jack assumed his most professional voice. “Warren, if you need the photos, you can have your lawyer contact me.”

  It took several minutes for Warren to muster the energy to round up the kids and propel them out of Jack’s office with a vague promise of a check in the mail. Jack was left in their wake with a bare-assed rubber tree, a pink Barbie shoe and the boy’s saliva stains on the carpet.

  Jack glanced at the door that Warren had exited through and his breath caught. Sitting in his waiting room were the most amazing pair of legs he’d ever set eyes on. He couldn’t see the rest of the woman but the legs were stunning. He felt himself moving toward them with the exhilaration of a surfer caught in the belly of a dream wave.

  Please let her face be half as perfect as those legs.

  Reaching the doorway, he heard Rachel say, “Mr. Fox, this is Ms. Jennifer Hargrove.”

  Jack smiled politely, not daring to breathe. The woman turned her face up to him and Jack felt a jolt of horror hit him like a cattle prod. He staggered back, slamming into the wall.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew.

  –Charles Dickens

  Bud Orlean stared at the marriage therapist and his wife in horror. Despite the fact that he adored his wife and was shelling out an obscene amount of money for the counseling, he felt a steely determination to resist.

  They were crazy!

  He wasn’t old and he sure as spit wasn’t ready to retire. No power on earth was going to get him to turn in his badge and walk away from being Phoenix’s top homicide detective. He loved his job and he wasn’t about to don a Hawaiian shirt and cruise the Caribbean playing Bridge with a bunch of old farts.

  At sixty-four, Bud had already shrunk two inches from his high school height of six-foot-two. He remembered the shock he had felt when, several years ago, the ridiculously young medical assistant said aloud, “Six-foot-even” like she hadn’t just called out the beginning of a slow descent into a grave.

  He was shrinking!

  It was that moment when he realized that it was all downhill unless he hung on to his manhood with every fiber of his being, and the only way to do that was to work.

  Sure, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he still went to the gym three times a week and sweated it out to AC/DC’s “Back in Black” as he struggled to keep some semblance of shape. His muscles were still solid. Only his belly, out over his belt, made him wince when he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. His grey hair was dignified but thinning and he found to his disgust that, as the years went on, he was shaving not just his face but the shaving had now expanded to his ears and nostrils. He wore a light grey suit and white shirt without a tie, which, for Phoenix, was overdressed, but he prided himself on looking the part of the professional police detective that he was.

  Bud squinted at Dr. Tanya’s diploma that hung on the wall over his wife’s head. He still harbored a sharp suspicion that she bought it from the back of Mad magazine. Of course, she hadn’t; he had run a full background check on her and she came up clean.

  “How do you feel about what your wife expressed, Bud?” Dr. Tanya asked.

  Bud grimaced, too irritated to answer. He took a deep calming breath. Losing your temper was the lowest form of human emotion and revealed a weak mind. To think logically and remain in control of your emotions was the sign of a superior mind. To his surprise, as he got older, he was finding it harder to control his emotions and keep his mouth shut.

  The last two years had been trying. Bunnie was constantly pushing him to retire and he’d lost his temper on several occasions, which filled him with a deep sense of self-loathing at his lack of control. Being at home with Bunnie was like walking on eggshells, which was another reason why he needed work more then ever. It was all about controlling your emotions and being logical.

  It’s what separates us from the degenerates.

  Dr. Tanya gave him a quizzical look. “Are you listening to your wife, Bud?”

  Bud grimaced, knowing that if Dr. Tanya’s mother got hacked to pieces and mailed to Peoria, she’d consider Bud her new best friend and sure as heck wouldn’t be taking sides against him with his wife.

  “I’m not retiring,” Bud said in a firm voice.

  Bunnie pointed at Bud, “They offered him early retirement and he won’t do it! He’d rather be out there with gang-banging meth-murderers than be at home with his wife.”

  “Are you hearing what your wife is saying, Bud?” The doctor asked.

  Bunnie waved her hand in exasperation, “Listening is not Bud’s problem! He always listens. In fact, I wish he listened less.”

  Bud made a face. As usual, Bunnie was being overly dramatic because she had a fresh audience.

  It always amazed Bud that he married such a tsunami of emotional, illogical feminine energy. Bud’s eyes lingered on the curves and rolls of Bunnie’s body that were haphazardly crammed in her pink velour bejeweled tracksuit. From her bright blue eyes to her Z-Coil shoes that kept her bouncing through her day like the force of nature that she was, Bud was disgusted to find that he was as attracted to her as the day he first saw her when she was eighteen years old.

  “Do you have any hobbies, Bud?” the doctor asked.

  “Ha!” Bunnie exclaimed, “His only hobby is murder!”

  The doctor smiled nervously, “Are there any other, uh, activities you enjoy?”

  “A man should have a hobby, right?” Bunnie looked at the doctor, who was examining Bud with narrowed eyes.

  Don’t project, doc. I’m not your daddy or the guy that did you wrong.

  “What is it that appeals to you about your job?” Dr. Tanya asked. “Justice? Catching
the bad guy?”

  The hunt.

  “I’m not going to retire,” Bud stated.

  “What about our marriage? What about me?” Bunnie shrieked.

  The doctor gave Bunnie a cautionary look. Reluctantly, Bunnie sat back in her chair, tossing her head so that the platinum ponytail bobbed spastically.

  “Bud,” the doctor looked at him, “Do you have any other interests?”

  “Chip,” Bud said without hesitation.

  “He’s in college. He’s gone. Get over it.” Bunnie crossed her arms.

  “He might come back to Phoenix,” Bud said.

  “Are you crazy? Some girl is going to clap eyes on Chip, drag him off by the short hairs to live near her parents in Long Island, Krakow or the burg of butt-spaz-tattoo for all we know.”

  “Krakow?” Bud asked incredulously. “How did you come up with Krakow?”

  “What’s wrong with Krakow?” Bunnie demanded. “Don’t tell me that big fancy medical school doesn’t have girls from Krakow.”

  “Odds are higher that he’ll end up with a girl from the burg of posterior-aspect-spaz-tattoo.”

  “Okey-dokey now, what’s our ‘timeout’ word?” Dr. Tanya said, nervously holding her hands in a “T”.

  “Not Krakow,” Bud muttered.

  “Chip’s not coming back,” Bunnie scowled.

  “What’s our word?” The doctor asked hopefully.

  Bud and Bunnie reluctantly looked and each other and simultaneously muttered, “Bunion.”

  “Let’s talk about Chip,” Dr. Tanya said. “Let’s talk about what Chip-not-moving-back-to-Phoenix looks like.”

  Bud and Bunnie glared at each other.

  “Okay,” the doctor smiled at Bud, “Let’s pretend someone has a gun to your head.”

  Bud shot her a look.

  “Figuratively speaking, that is,” she continued. “If you had to choose a hobby, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

  “Spousal abuse,” Bud said dryly.

  “You and what army?” Bunnie scowled.

  “That’s good! Bud is expressing his frustration,” Dr. Tanya said. “Let’s explore that.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Bunnie. I’m not going to retire.”

  “I’ll leave you!” Bunnie jabbed her finger in the air. “Cha-ching goes your pension ‘cause Bunnie is gonna cruise!”

  “You get seasick.”

  “My future hot young stud boyfriend, who is a doctor, will prescribe Dramamine!”

  “He’s going to need to be a doctor so he can wheel you around in your wheelchair while everyone asks him: how’s your mother today?”

  Bunnie gasped in horror. “Oh - no - you - didn’t!”

  Did.

  Bunnie spun toward the doctor, “Do you see what I put up with? How am I supposed to deal with that?”

  Bud said, “I’ve given you a good life, a house, a kid – all I want in return is to keep working. Is that too much to ask?”

  The doctor held her hands in a “T” as Bunnie went nose-to-nose with Bud.

  “Bunion. Bunion,” the doctor called out as she jumped up and began moving away from them.

  “It’s me who has given you a good life, Bud Orlean! It’s me who has cooked and cleaned and kept you and Chip in clean socks and underwear! You need to retire! I want to enjoy what’s left of our life before we end up shriveled up in some nursing home too damned demented to put in our own teeth!”

  Dr. Tanya’s back was against the wall, her hands out. “Bunion! BUNION!”

  “Shut up!” Bud and Bunnie shouted.

  In a scurry of size ten Birkenstocks, the doctor made her escape.

  Bud opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as his cell phone vibrated. Like professional boxers separated by a ref, Bud and Bunnie stepped away from each other.

  Bud felt the familiar sense of self-loathing at losing his temper sweep over him. He took a shaky breath and read the message. It was from his partner, Jenson. It was a call to duty.

  Murder.

  Bunnie picked up her purse and snapped, “You wearing sunscreen?”

  Bud nodded.

  She grabbed his face in her hands and locked her eyes on his, “Is today a good day to die?”

  Bud held her eyes with matching intensity and answered, “Not today.”

  Bunnie released him. Bud headed for the door.

  “Bud?”

  Bud turned, impatient to be gone.

  “I will leave you,” she said softly.

  He stared at her.

  I can’t stop.

  He didn’t say it aloud but he had no doubt she heard his words.

  Her lips tightened.

  Bud flinched like she’d struck him. Before she could say anything, Bud was gone.

  Adrenaline pumping, he moved as fast as his right knee and his sixty-four years on earth would allow. Once in the sunlight, Bud felt his uneasiness slip away. He hurried toward his truck, his eyes gleaming with raw hunger for the hunt.

  I can’t stop.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Change your life today. Don’t gamble on the future, act now, without delay.

  –Simone de Beauvoir

  Enid snuck another look at the woman’s amazingly gorgeous legs. Enid glanced down at her own legs and grimaced at her faded denims and battered Converse sneakers.

  If I had legs like that…

  “Would you like a bottled water?” the receptionist asked. A placard declared she was “Rachel” and Enid was comforted to see that she was also sneaking looks at the woman’s legs.

  Leg-woman grinned and patted her huge purse. “You kidding? I don’t go to the mailbox without water.”

  “How about you?” Rachel asked Enid.

  Enid shook her head. Rachel went back to her computer.

  The bus had gotten into Phoenix three hours ago, which had given Enid enough time to wash up in the bus station bathroom, have a fast food meal and walk the thirteen blocks to the Jack Fox Detective Agency. She had loitered another twenty minutes in the lobby of his building, which was old but clean, until she had gathered the courage to get on the elevator.

  Leg-woman jumped in the elevator at the last moment. On the third floor, Enid was surprised when the leg-woman also entered the Jack Fox Detective Agency. Enid hesitated and signed in as Ivanna Hamm, since she was still hungry and envisioning a ham sandwich. From the sign-in sheet, Enid divined that leg-woman’s name was “Jeni”, with the ‘i’ in the shape of a heart.

  So ninth-grade!

  There were only two chairs in the reception room. Enid and Jeni sat next to each other, their elbows almost touching.

  Jeni was stacked four inches higher than her actual height of five-foot-eight with the help of chunky red heels. Even to Enid’s untrained eyes, Jeni’s outfit had all the subtlety of a bullhorn in announcing that Jeni had more than a passing acquaintance with poles.

  For twenty minutes, they listened as a series of loud voices and strange “thunks” emanated from behind the door that they were waiting to enter.

  Finally, the door was yanked open and a squall of kids spilled into the reception room. A man trudged out, herding them toward the exit like a worn-out giant trudging after a swarm of alley cats.

  Enid’s mouth went dry and her heart pounded to the point of hurt, like when she was a kid and sat on the curb watching the parade and the drum section passed too close. The horrible pounding reverberated through her whole body, leaving her feeling like she wanted to run away. She fixed her eyes on the door, not daring to breathe.

  Is that him?

  The man who came to the door was in late thirties. His thick brown hair and hazel eyes in a bronzed face seemed rather average – until he spoke.

  “Hello,” he said in a masculine voice that was as smooth as Velveeta. Suddenly, she saw that he was handsome. Enid stared at him, looking for any sign of resemblance.

  With no warning, the man’s face drained of color and he staggered back. Enid glanced at
Jeni, who looked equally surprised at his strange behavior.

  Enid watched the play of emotions on his face. With obvious difficulty, he gathered himself together and gestured for both of them to come into his office.

  Jeni hopped up and went into the office. Jack gave Enid an expectant look. In a flash, Enid realized that the man mistakenly thought that she was with Jeni and was waiting for her to come into his office also.

  He thinks I’m with her…

  Before she could think better of it, Enid jumped up and followed Jeni into the office. She sat in a chair by the door, several feet behind Jeni.

  While Jack was walking around his desk and had his back turned toward them, Jeni shot Enid a questioning glance. Enid leaned forward and mouthed, “I’m with him.” She gestured toward the unseeing Jack.

  Jeni smiled politely and turned her attention back to Jack.

  Jack sat at his desk and gave Jeni a forced smile.

  Enid stared at the man who her mother claimed was her real father. To her surprise, she felt a knot of anger tighten in her stomach. Without warning, she could feel her face contorting into a scowl so deep that it hurt her teeth.

  What kind of jerk abandons his daughter?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind.

  –Aristotle

  For one horrible moment, Jack thought that Stella-psycho-Monroe had come back to put the squeeze on him and what little bit of money she hadn’t already drained out of his checking account. Stella Monroe was a sociopath, a full-fledged psycho – and his first wife.

  Jeni Hargrove was her spitting image – with better legs. Like Stella, everything about Jeni’s appearance was calculated to be the embodiment of a hormonal schoolboy’s fantasy. Unlike Stella, a closer look at Jeni left Jack startled to see an aristocratic beauty cleverly hidden under tight clothing, heavy makeup and a bevy of hardcore daddy issues. He could taste her cloying perfume that teased the space between them.

  Jack’s eyes flickered over Jeni’s face, making damn sure it wasn’t Stella.