She grinned down at the girl and repeated what she’d always said to her daughter, “As you wish.” Tears spilled freely as those memories resurfaced, and she sang her heart out for the petite woman fighting so hard to live.
Keeley woke up to a beautiful, melodic voice. At first, she thought it was an angel. But quickly reminded herself that if she were dead, angels would not be who greeted. Shivers traveled up and down her spine at the acknowledgment that demons were her companions. The singing silenced. Above her was a pretty oval face. She was maybe thirty, possibly thirty-five. In need of a shower, but not really that dirty. Shelter came to mind. Keeley knew all too well how to survive on the streets. This woman had a fairly nice setup from what she could see.
“How are you feeling, hon?”
Keeley answered honestly, “Like hell.”
“To be expected,” she answered with a warm chuckle, then grew serious. “Want to tell me why you were not in a hospital right after surgery?”
Keeley quirked a brow. “How did you know that?”
“Spent a few years as an ER nurse. I’d say you’ve had major surgery within the last seventy-two hours.” Another chill danced across Keeley as she recognized what it was from just when the nurse confirmed, “You were an addict.”
No point in lying. “Yes. And you gave me morphine?”
“Very low dose, but your body knows what it now craves. I am sorry.”
Keeley shook her head. “Not your fault. Fire was my downfall, but it all started with oxy.”
“Fuck! I’ve really screwed you up,” she began to cry and stood wringing her hands.
“Rehab. Could you get me to one that would keep my identity off record?”
The nurse scoffed, “Sure, let me just call the rich and famous for you.”
“I-I’m sorry. Not thinking clearly.”
“Of course you’re not. And I’m the one that needs to apologize. Let me think about it. There may be a way to get you help through the church where they wouldn’t need any name but the one you want to give.”
Keeley sneered, “Church is the last place I would be welcomed.”
The nurse patted her arm. “You’d be surprised. At least let me look into it for you. Decision is ultimately yours.”
“Totes,” Keeley replied. “Do you have a name?”
A sad little smile appeared. “My name is not important.”
Keeley nodded. “How about I call you Angel?”
“Why in the world would you call me that?!”
“Because you’re mine. If it wasn’t for you,” Keeley swallowed on the emotions rising, “I’d be dead.”
“Yes. If that dreadful woman who found you first had her way, you most definitely would.”
Keeley blinked as a new fear increased her heartbeat. The loud thump-thump-thump was all she could hear. After a deep breath, she asked the one question she didn’t want an answer to. “Did she have bleach-blonde hair?”
“Why yes. How did you know?”
Keeley never answered, passing out on the confirmation.
Chapter Five
Recognizance on the old warehouse was a necessity. Tar felt it in his bones. A hunch he couldn’t shake. The gut didn’t lie so he knew he found her. But where was she? He approached the east side, facing the alley, and bingo, confirmation was on the ground in a dried pool of blood. He didn’t need any more proof than that. Plus, someone had dragged her. Tracks led him to a tarp, but then it all disappeared. Training and full-on knowledge told him there was an entrance there, somewhere. He tapped along the wall and once more hit pay dirt. The hole was small and required him to get down on his stomach, crawling through reminded him of basic training some ten years ago. His eyes adjusted to the change in lighting as he scanned the premises. Whoever’s setup this was made it as close to a home as possible. Impressive actually. He calculated there were at least two people here, recently. More evidence was there that one was wounded, and the other had an immobile leg. Drag marks led through the building, but he lost them once the flooring changed.
Damn.
Tarius McNeal was a patient man; he’d wait for their return. In the meantime, he’d get to know who was assisting Keeley. Better yet, why? His examining provided him with the information needed. Someone with medical training had lent a hand. For the first time since Keeley’s disappearing act, he took a deep breath. At least she was somewhat safe. The Good Samaritan had tended to her, replaced her dressings. Gratitude filled him as he found even more proof that this person meant to help, not harm her. Who was this angel? A new quest pushed him on until he uncovered some old newspaper articles. Not uncommon to find with the homeless, but these were handled with care and put away with a semblance of cherished treasure. What he found was the obituary of a doctor and his daughter.