Serving Up Trouble Page 5

  “Please.”

  College started. Angie had decided on several general education classes after talking to a college advisor who’d suggested a teaching career.

  Teaching art…it appealed in a way she hadn’t imagined. She could use her passion and still make a living. On her first night of class, she nearly burst with pride as she picked a seat among the students and soaked up the next hour.

  She loved it. Loved everything about it: the smell of the room, the desk that made her bottom numb, the thirst for knowledge all around her.

  Okay, it was only her thirst. All the other students were younger, more hip…and bored.

  Which made no sense to her at all. Nothing about it bored her, not when she was finally there. Which probably explained why she’d grinned like an idiot all the way through the English lecture that put just about every other student in the room to sleep.

  The self-pride sustained her all the way home, in her 1974 VW Bug that had seen better days. It wasn’t the lack of money in her check book that kept her loyal to the ancient clunker, though that was why she hadn’t gotten the pale blue Bug the paint job it long ago deserved.

  She simply loved the car. It’d been her first, bought with hard-earned money she’d saved from her various assortment of jobs over the years, and she saw no reason to change it.

  Her entire life was changing. In light of that, keeping the old Bug was a sort of security blanket. Her one allowed weakness from the past.

  She could live with that.

  Her phone was ringing when she pulled into the carport next to her apartment. The place had been built in the early 1920s, and was a bit run-down since its last renovation in the early 70s, but she loved it, too. The wrap around porch, the myriad little windows and turrets…the place had charm and personality and never failed to warm her heart when she came home.

  Though it sat on prime land in South Pasadena, and by rights should have been far out of her rent bracket, she got the place for practically nothing. Mostly because she kept up the yard, and also because she always had time to chat with Mrs. Penrow, who’d owned the place for more than fifty years.

  As Angie hustled through the small, cozy and comfortably over grown yard, with the grass she needed to cut this weekend, and the daisies just beginning to take over the ground at the rosebushes’ roots, her phone continued to ring.

  The hour was late, which meant, darn it, it wouldn’t be Ed McMahon saying she’d won the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweep stakes.

  “What are you doing up this late?” her mother demanded when Angie finally answered just as her machine picked up.

  Given the heavy breathing accompanying her mother’s voice, her father was on the extension as well. “How do you know I’m still up?” Angie asked, her good mood holding. For the moment. “Maybe you woke me.”

  “Oh!” Her mother sounded horrified and apologetic. “Did I?”

  “No.” Angie smiled because she was still so thrilled with how her night had gone. She should have done this long ago, so very long ago. Why hadn’t she? Why had it taken a near tragedy? Didn’t matter, she decided. And though she knew her parents would misunderstand, she had to tell them. “Mom. Dad.” She took a deep breath. “I took my first college course tonight.”

  “Oh my God!” Her mother squealed with shock and delight. “You’re going to be a doctor after all! My daughter, the doctor.”

  “No, Mom—”

  “This is wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us you’d enrolled in medical school?”

  Some of Angie’s glow started to recede. “Mom, you have to get a bachelor’s degree before you can go to medical school.”

  “So you’ll get a bachelor’s degree. How long will it take?”

  “But I never wanted to be a doctor. I want—”

  “Sure you did. When you were a little girl, you used to love to carry that little toy medical kit around and fix up all your stuffed animals.”

  A headache started between Angie’s eyes as her newfound determination warred with her age-old need to please them.

  “And then all through high school we talked about you getting scholarships—”

  “I never had the grades for that, Mom. And we both know, being a doctor was never for me. It was for you.”

  Utter silence. Even her father didn’t have a comment. At first.

  “I’m sorry to speak so bluntly,” she said. “You’ve never wanted to hear this. You probably don’t want to hear it now, but…well, things have changed for me.”

  “Because of the holdup.” Her mother’s voice softened. “You’re still in shock, you—”

  “I’m not in shock. But I did get a wake-up call. I mean I could have d—”

  “Don’t say it,” her mother interrupted fiercely.

  “But it’s the truth. I could have died, without ever really having lived my life. I don’t want that to happen, Mom. Can’t you try to understand that? I want to go after some thing from my own heart.”

  “I thought Tony was your heart. What a wonderful man. And a lawyer! You could try to get him back.”

  They knew nothing of what had split the two of them up, and yet they assumed Tony had left her. Not a surprise, Angie supposed, but just once she would have liked the benefit of the doubt.

  Tony had been a prime example of bad judgment. A serious lapse. He was everything her parents had ever wanted in a son-in-law. Educated, smart, independently wealthy.

  And he’d never ever really known Angie, or even tried to. The pressure had been similar to what her parents had put on her to be someone she wasn’t, and she’d nearly suffocated. To combat it, she’d done nothing with herself. She’d stagnated. “Tony wasn’t the one for me.”

  “You say that because he left. But how could a perfect man not be the one?”

  “Tony and I wouldn’t have made a happy couple. Being a doctor wouldn’t have made me happy either. But,” she said quickly before she could get interrupted again, “college does.”

  “Oh.” Her mother sighed. “Well, it’s a nice start. Frank, maybe you can talk to her about a medical degree—”

  “No. Look, I’m nearly twenty-six years old.” Angie talked as she flipped through her mail. “I’m going to do this my way, okay?” She realized that the “okay” part of the sentence left room for debate. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” she said more firmly.

  Then she saw the package that had come for her, and she smiled again. “I have to go. Got the early shift in the morning.”

  “After college, you’ll be able to get a real job.”

  Her mother never gave up. “I gotta go. Love you, bye.” Then she hung up quickly so she couldn’t hear any more disappointment or doubt. She didn’t need that right now, the extra tug on her emotions that might cause her to give up.

  No more giving up. Ever.

  With that in mind, she tore into the package she’d been waiting for. She’d ordered it after the holdup, when she’d realized her life had nearly been extinguished before she’d ever even lived it, when she’d realized there was more out there for her than waking up and going to sleep.

  When she’d realized Sam made her heart quiver.

  Of course that was also before she’d realized he was not so different from the others in her world. Condescending. Unaccepting.

  But she was human. And as a very human female, she did know, no matter what he thought, that she could help him with his case. She had seen his witness and she knew she’d see him again.

  Pulling the fingerprinting kit free of its wrapping, she reached for the directions and began to read.

  It was three days before Angie saw the suspect again. Three days in which she was aware of every hour, every moment. She absorbed another class. She took a long walk every morning and concentrated on the beauty around her. She read voraciously.

  She lived. And as a result, she felt unbelievably…alive.

  Yet she still avoided the bank. Strong as she told herself she was, she wasn’t quite that st
rong. But by the end of the coming week, she knew she’d have to get over that particular fear, as she’d simply have to get money into her account.

  A worry for Friday, she told herself. Besides, maybe her newly ordered ATM card would come.

  She went to work thinking that this very moment was the first day of the rest of her life. From now on, every day was the first day of the rest of her life.

  It felt good. It put a little bounce in her step as she went up the steps to the café. Reaching for the door, she glanced over her shoulder and noticed a car pulling into the alley.

  Many cars went down the alley every day: for deliveries, for workers going in and out the back of their buildings, for people looking for a shortcut through traffic, so why she noticed this non de script color and model, she didn’t know.

  But things were different these days. She paid attention to everything. She’d even put on mascara and lip gloss this morning. The woman in the reflection of her mirror had looked…happy.

  Oh, yes, she was proud of herself, and liked it. She hadn’t even had a single night mare last night, not about bank drawers or knives or threats…not a one.

  Then some thing warm slithered around her calf and she leaped into the air.

  “Meow.”

  “Saber.” Josephine’s cat. Angie let out a gasping laugh and put a hand to her racing heart before she hunkered down to pet the twenty-two-pound tabby. The cat sprawled shamelessly on her back, a loud purr rumbling. “No scraps yet this morning,” Angie said, amused. “Though by the looks of you, you don’t need any.” She came to her feet.

  Now there were two men standing by the car in the alley. The first man, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, moved out of sight, but before he did, Angie jerked with recognition.

  Sam’s suspect.

  The other, a tall and elegantly dressed man, didn’t walk away. He was on a cell phone.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ve just got a quick errand,” Angie over heard him say. Then he pocketed the phone and walked in the opposite direction without a backward glance.

  Angie stood there, staring at the car, feeling the weight of her fingerprinting kit in her purse. Her cell phone was there, too.

  Options raced through her head. Call Sam, of course. Which would, no doubt, end in her humiliating herself once more.

  She could call the police anonymously. Leave a tip. She’d seen enough American’s Most Wanted to know they wanted any and all leads, even if she turned out to be wrong. No one there would look at her as if she needed to have her head examined.

  Last option—she could do nothing.

  But that wasn’t in her nature. At least not anymore. With a sigh, she thought of Sam again. She could already see his frustration. But this wasn’t about Sam. No, it was about her. And proving herself.

  Being held up in that bank, being saved by him…it had all definitely been one of the most terrifying yet oddly thrilling experiences of her life, which really, when she thought about it, was a sad statement on her existence to date.

  But no more. She had strength and courage and a great future.

  Calling Sam was the right thing to do, no matter that he would give her the look that told her he was torn between irritation and honor, between wanting to wring her neck for bothering him, and needing to make sure she really was a loon before ignoring her.

  The woman who cried wolf. That’s who he thought she was. A thrill seeker. A hanger-on.

  She was none of those things, and she wanted him to know it. She’d take his suspect’s prints with her new kit, and then she’d call him. She’d give him the prints. She’d take charge.

  Yep, first day of the rest of her life. She moved toward the car. Not being completely stupid, she glanced up and down the alley first, but there was no one in sight. Surely she had enough time to get a print, then get out of the way and make the call.

  She set her tools down on the ground, knelt by the door handle and concentrated on the directions she’d memorized. It wasn’t as easy under pressure, and she messed up her first try. But before she could try again, she heard a noise and rushed to her feet. As she did, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, and—

  Came face-to-face with a police officer who didn’t look nearly as happy to see her as she was to see him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Oh, Officer, great.” She sent him a megawatt smile, both because he’d scared the living day lights out of her, and because she was relieved it was a cop who had managed to sneak up on her, not a bad guy. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Really. What a coincidence.”

  “Yes. I have reason to believe that the owner of this car is a wanted man.”

  “Wanted for what?”

  “What’s going on here?” A man stepped out. Not the suspect, but the tall, elegantly dressed one, and he looked more than a touch annoyed. “This is my car.”

  The officer looked at Angie.

  Angie sighed. “I thought the other guy owned the car, the one who came with this man.”

  The man shook his head. “I’m alone.”

  “But I saw him. He was standing right next to you in the alley.”

  “There was never anyone with me this morning.”

  It was the officer’s turn to sigh. “It’s too early for this.”

  “I’ll say.” The owner brushed past her, inspected the door for scratches, then gestured for Angie to move out of his way so he could get in.

  “You’re going to let him go?” Angie asked the officer.

  “I’m going to let you go.”

  “Yeah.” She supposed she’d have to start the rest of her life tomorrow.

  She went to see Sam in his lion’s den—er, his office. She refrained from making any cracks about the condition of his office, but it wasn’t easy.

  And given the vaguely amused way he watched her as she entered, he knew it.

  “You should know,” she said right off, wanting to just spit it out. “I had a little chat with a very nice policeman today in the alley where I was at tempting to take fingerprints off a car I thought was your suspect’s.”

  He blinked, shook his head, blinked again and still didn’t appear to be able to speak.

  “I know you’re going to say I shouldn’t have interfered, but it’s done. And no, I didn’t get the prints. Turns out I’m not quite as adept as I thought I was.”

  He rose out of his chair and came to stand in front of her. He slowly reached out, cupped her jaw and stared into her face. “First of all, are you hurt?”

  His fingers on her skin sent an electrical charge through her body, not that she could concentrate on that through her confusion. She’d been so certain he’d be furious. Why wasn’t he furious? “Um…no. I’m not hurt. Not at all.”

  “Well, thank God for small favors. Now tell me what happened.”

  “I saw two men by the car. One was your suspect. I had looked down for just a minute but assumed he’d gotten out of the same car and—”

  “And he didn’t, I take it.”

  “No. And then the other guy thought I was some sort of a loon, so the policeman wasn’t happy with me. I realized after I left that I didn’t even get the car’s license plate number.” She bit her lower lip, waited for his annoyance. His frustration.

  Instead, his thumb continued to stroke her jaw, his gaze following the motion in tensely.

  She almost wished he wouldn’t, because she was looking at him, feeling him, seeing an almost…tender side she hadn’t realized existed.

  She was a sucker for tender. “Sam?”

  With a sigh, his eyes cleared. He dropped his hand. “You terrify me, you know that?”

  “Why?”

  “What if the other guy had come back and found you alone in the alley?”

  “Well, I thought they were together, you see, and the first man, the owner of the car, was talking into his cell phone and he said he’d be a half an hour, so I thought…”
<
br />   “You thought you were safe,” he finished grimly, and shoved his fingers through his hair. “Promise me you won’t do anything like that again.”

  She looked into his eyes, saw his intensity, his worry for her. She really wanted to be able to make the promise, she really did. She wanted a whole heck of a lot, she was discovering, when it came to him. “Sam, I can help you on this case.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed again. And when he opened them back up, she saw another heart-stopping flash of that tenderness.

  “Angie, I know you felt helpless at the bank holdup. I know you felt weak and defenseless, when you’re none of those things. But making up for it by catching a different bad guy isn’t the answer. I want you to promise me you won’t do anything like this again.”

  “I can promise you I won’t get hurt,” she said softly, begging him with her eyes to understand. To let her help.

  But he shook his head and turned away, staring blindly out the window. “That’s a promise you can’t keep, so let’s not even go there.”

  The end of the week came. The entire seven days had been one big exercise in frustration for Sam. The holdup. Angie. The consequential news pa per extravaganza. Angie. The calls. The paperwork.

  Angie.

  She just wouldn’t go away, and yet she confused the hell out of him because even as she wanted to be in his life to solve his case—which still bugged him—she didn’t want to be in his life.

  And yet in his experience, women wanted in. So what made Angie so different? Why couldn’t he put her out of his mind?

  Because he was afraid she was going to get herself killed, that’s why. It was that simple. He had the incident in the alley as an example.

  No doubt, she terrified him.

  He just had no idea what to do about it. So he checked on her. Stopped by the café. Stopped by her apartment.

  All in the name of duty.

  Mostly.

  Angie turned out to be a busy woman, not as easy to peg as he’d imagined. Which is how he found himself three mornings in a row sitting in the kitchen of the café, drinking the best coffee he’d ever had, bantering with Josephine and watching Angie when she wasn’t looking.