Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 12

For a moment Emma seriously considered getting rid of the tree. Instead, she moved the Kennedy rocker into the study and put away the box of decorations that had been intended to grace the mantelpiece in there. Gage would have this haven until the holidays were past.

Turning to leave the room, she found herself staring at the black leather couch. Lord! The brandy had certainly loosened her inhibitions, but, unfortunately, it hadn't dulled her memory any. Vividly, in embarra.s.sing detail, she could remember everything she had done. Everything Gage had done. Every luscious touch and kiss and sensation... Oh, Lord!

Quite apart from her sense of horror over her conduct, her body experienced an exquisite, clenching thrill at the very memory of what had occurred. Yes, she told herself tartly, it was a very good thing that Gage wanted to reestablish some kind of s.p.a.ce between them. Apparently she was quite capable of succ.u.mbing to temptation. In fact, she was more than eager to succ.u.mb. It must come from too many years alone, she told herself. It was merely a reaction to ... to sensory deprivation. Yes. That was it.

Oh, Emma, she thought gloomily moments later, you know better than to lie to yourself. What had happened with Gage had happened because he turned her on. Didn't she practically drool over the sight of his buns in his jeans? Never in her life had she noticed a man's physical attributes that way. Never. What was this? Some kind of delayed adolescence?

Still shaking her head over her own behavior, she slipped on her parka and reached for her purse. Maybe, instead of checking out the latest thriller for the weekend, she should check out a romance. There was a lot she didn't know about such things, and it occurred to her that a better understanding might do her some good.

The phone rang just as she was opening the door. Sighing, she dropped her purse on the counter and reached for the receiver.

"h.e.l.lo?"

Silence answered her. The silence of someone on the other end, listening. Perhaps they hadn't heard her.

"h.e.l.lo?" she repeated, louder. "Is anyone there?" Again no answer. Well, Emma thought, there must be something wrong with the line.

"I can't hear you," she said into the phone. "The line must be bad. Goodbye."

She felt a little foolish talking to an empty line like that, but it could have been any of her friends, and she didn't want to be rude. Although in all likelihood, she admitted as she climbed into her car, it was probably one of those horrible telephone sales people who were nice until you told them you weren't interested.

She backed out of the driveway, but just as she was about to wheel into the street, she looked back at her house and gasped.

There, in hideous, brilliant color, on the fresh snow between her car's tire tracks, where she had parked overnight, was a huge patch of scarlet that looked exactly like fresh blood.

Chapter 8.

Gage had gone out to Jeff c.u.mberland's place first thing, because the rancher had spotted some marks in the snow on a remote section of his ranch. Together, with Jeff in the pilot's seat, the two of them had flown out to take a look.

"Looks like helicopter skid marks to me," Gage said as they circled slowly. "Lots of them. Have you had any cattle out here in the last couple months?" "You bet."

The two men exchanged significant looks. "Any out here now?" Gage asked. "Nope. We rounded 'em up and brought 'em in closer last week. Getting a herd through the winter takes some logistic planning, let me tell you. And this looks like it'll be a bad one."

"What makes you say that?""We've had more than half our annual snowfall, and it isn't even Christmas yet.""Maybe we'll be lucky.""Lucky don't feed cows," Jeff said dryly."How close are the herds now?" Gage asked him. "Would you hear a chopper if it came in to swipe another of your head?"

"I might, if the wind was blowing the right direction. It's sure as h.e.l.l a sound I'd recognize anywhere." "Micah's getting back from his honeymoon tomorrow," Gage observed. "I'll see if I can't get him out here on Sunday. He'll be able to read a story in those tracks."Jeff nodded."In the meantime, don't let anybody go out there. We don't want to lose any evidence.""d.a.m.n straight," Jeff said tautly. "Wasn't so long ago we hanged rustlers.""At least now we know for sure it's rustlers."Jeff glanced at him and grinned unexpectedly. "Yeah. I was starting to look out for little green men."

"Don't laugh. There're plenty of these mutilations that aren't so easy to explain."

"I know, but I'm happier than a pig in mud that mine are. At least there's hope we can put a stop to it. Hot d.a.m.n!"

After they landed and drove back to Jeff's ranch house, Gage declined the offer of breakfast. He needed to get back to the sheriff's office and find out if Brian Webster had called about the photograph yet. Sally had promised that she would have Brian call just as soon as he received the photograph, and since it was now late morning on the East Coast, he must have gotten his mail for the day.

It was 10:30 when he pulled up before the sheriff's office. Emma, he thought, was probably deep in her work at the library. Placing books on shelves, perhaps. Or making new entries for the card catalogue. There must be a dozen things a librarian did that he had no idea of.

He was trying to imagine them as he stepped into the offices, and also trying not to get too impatient about whether Brian had called. He might have a cla.s.s, of course, or some meeting to keep him from calling Gage right away.

"Gage?" Velma snagged his attention from the dispatcher's desk. "Gage, you better get up to Miss Emma's. She hollered for Sara a little while ago, and now Sara's hollering for the crime-scene team. And that includes you."

Gage froze. "Emma?"

"She's all right, boy, except for her nerves. As I understand it, there's blood all over her driveway, though. Not hers," Velma added swiftly when she saw the look on Gage's face. "It's not her blood. Nate has already headed over there."

Her last few words trailed after him as he headed out the door.

Emma was standing with Sara, the sheriff and another deputy at the edge of her driveway. The convergence of three sheriff's Blazers with flas.h.i.+ng lights had drawn some of her neighbors out of their houses to watch from a distance, but no one came too close when they saw that Emma was all right. Later they would undoubtedly all take a moment to drop by and speak with her.

Gage's black Suburban growled to a slushy halt behind Nate's Blazer, and that was when Emma felt the last of her terror seep away. Gage was here. She didn't even try to argue with the irrational feeling of safety that swept through her in a warm tide. Gage meant safety, and that was a gut instinct that knew no logic.

He met her eyes from across the twenty feet of snow that separated them. The contact was almost electric, and it hurried his limping steps toward her and the cl.u.s.ter of lawmen. She was pale, he thought, but not afraid. No, her hazy green eyes were sparking with anger.

"Will you look at that?" she demanded angrily of him when he reached her. She pointed at her driveway. "Will you just look at that?"

Reluctantly he tore his attention from her small, delicate features and looked to where she pointed. Blood stayed crimson on snow, and this blood was a ghastly crimson. Bright. Jarring. Threatening.

Someone had used blood to draw a five-pointed star inside a circle on the snow between the tire ruts in Emma's driveway. Gage recognized it instantly, then recognized the tightening in his gut as honest-to-G.o.d dread.

"It's a pentagram," he said. And in each of the five star points had been written a letter: E-M-M-A-C.

Emma C, Gage thought, as the fist in his belly tightened its grip even more. Someone was threatening her. Someone was deliberately trying to terrify her. There was no question in his mind now that this went past an ordinary teenage prank. He glanced up at Nate. The sheriff's face was like carved granite.

"We need samples of the blood," Gage said. "What about footprints?" Suddenly he faced Emma. "You were parked right there last night, weren't you?"

She nodded. "I saw it when I backed out of the driveway. I don't understand how somebody could have drawn something so intricate under my car, though."

Gage shook his head. "That little car of yours could be picked up and moved by a few average-size people. I've done it." He scanned the ground, seeing instantly that everything was too trampled to yield any useful footprints. "I wonder when it happened, whether we were even here..."

Nate arched an enquiring brow, and Sara glanced at Emma, a suspicious curve to her mouth.

Nate spoke into the tense silence. "Where might you have been?"

"We went for a walk down by the creek early this morning," Gage said. "I guess we were gone more than an hour. It doesn't matter. They had plenty of time to pull this stunt, regardless."

"It wouldn't take a whole lot of time, or even make much noise," Nate agreed. "I

guess somebody's a little mad at you, Miss Emma.""It certainly looks that way," Emma said sharply. "Whoever it is must be aboutfourteen years old. This is ridiculous, Sheriff. Juvenile. How can they possiblythink they'll scare me with a stupid pentagram in the snow?"

Gage squatted, ignoring a sudden, shearing pain, and studied the symbol. "Iwonder if that's cow blood."

"h.e.l.l," said Nate. "I didn't even think of that."Sara spoke. "I don't see why there should be any connection between themutilations and Emma, though."

"Why not?" Nate growled. "d.a.m.n near everything seems to happen around this

county lately. Why not rustlers who get their jollies by scaring maiden ladies?""Rustlers?" Emma repeated, refusing to let Nate's reference to maiden ladiesdisturb her. "You've decided Jeff's cattle are being hurt by rustlers?"

"A strange kind of rustler," Sara remarked. She looked at Gage. "What did youfind at the Bar C this morning?""Helicopter skid tracks. Our villains are human for sure.""Well, at least that's settled," Nate said sourly.

"Did you ever doubt it would be?" Gage asked."Not really. But at least I have concrete rea.s.surance now for all the worriedranchers. I'm not equipped for s.p.a.ce wars, son. That much is obvious."

Still squatting beside the pentagram, Gage glanced up and surprised them allwith a grin. "What, no laser guns and particle beams?"

"Nope. Just a couple of automatic weapons.""I'm glad you all find this so amusing," Emma said tartly. "Well, if everyone'ssatisfied, I have to get to work. No one else will open the library!"

She would have loved to stalk over to her car and drive away in high dudgeon,but two of the sheriff's vehicles blocked her car in the driveway, so she had tocontent herself with stomping into the kitchen. Her reaction was a little silly, shesupposed once she was inside and warming up with a fresh cup of coffee, but she honestly didn't think any of them were taking this seriously enough.

Yes, it was juvenile, just as the rabbit and the balloon had been juvenile, but the combination of the three things gave her the uneasy feeling of being stalked. Nor was the thought that someone really wanted to terrify her exactly an easy one to live with.

The idea that someone in the county might actually want to do more than frighten her or annoy her was unthinkable, but Emma knew the unthinkable happened. For her, such possibilities were far from remote. She had been the victim of violence once before in her life, and that made it all the harder for her to dismiss the possibility of it now. Irritated, annoyed, frightened, she paced the kitchen with her mug in her hands and listened to the rustle of voices at the edge of her consciousness, felt the internal pressure of memories she wanted to keep buried, glimpsed the flashes of gold from the corners of her eyes.

She wasn't going to open the library today, she decided abruptly. To heck with it. n.o.body would come today, anyway, except possibly Mr. Craig, and she could call him and tell him not to. There was no story hour to worry about, no scheduled event, and today she wouldn't even have had an a.s.sistant. Friday was the quietest day of the week.

Giving herself no opportunity to change her mind, she phoned Mr. Craig and told him she had a touch of stomach virus and wouldn't be opening. He was sympathetic and told her that he hadn't planned to come in, anyway.

"There's snow in the forecast again, Miss Emma," the elderly gentleman told her. "Can you believe it? I don't think I recall this much snow so early in a winter in at least fifty years. It's a good day to stay indoors and off the roads."

"I believe that's exactly what I'll do, Mr. Craig."

She changed from her gray wool slacks and blouse into jeans and a navy blue flannel s.h.i.+rt, then went into the living room to decorate the tree. It took some doing, but she refused to look out the kitchen window to find out what the sheriff and Gage were up to. If they wanted to treat this cavalierly, she didn't want to know about it. When she had first seen that pentagram, something deep within her had turned cold. Anger had briefly squelched her fear, but now she felt afraid again.

What was it? she wondered as she knelt before the twinkling tree and adjusted the red velvet skirt. Most people lived ordinary, pleasant and relatively uneventful lives, didn't they? Of course, she reminded herself before she could sink into the quicksand of self-pity, that was precisely what she had been doing for years now-leading a quiet, uneventful life.

Sighing, she climbed to her feet and began to open the boxes of cherished ornaments. Some were as old as her family's history in Conard County. Some were as new as last Christmas. Each year Emma continued the family tradition of purchasing one or two new ornaments for the tree. Last year's bra.s.s angel would join all the memories from Christmases past and, eventually, all the soon-to-becreated memories of future Christmases.

One of the first ornaments she lifted from the box was a ceramic angel garbed in a white-and-gold gown that had been hand-sewn by her grandmother. As she turned with it in her hands, she saw Gage hovering in the doorway.

"My grandmother made this," she said impulsively, holding it up for him to see. "She was ten at the time. It still amazes me when I look at these tiny little st.i.tches. I never would have had the patience."

Gage stepped reluctantly into the room, his gaze moving from her face to the angel and back again. "It's beautiful," he said rustily. "Aren't you going to work?"

"I've decided to take a sick day. It'll be the first one in three years. I'm ent.i.tled, don't you think?" Turning toward the tree, she looked for a good branch for the angel.

"I don't want you here alone."

Emma shrugged one shoulder, pretending an indifference she didn't feel. "I'll be fine. n.o.body's going to bother me in broad daylight."

Gage sighed and stepped closer. "Broad daylight doesn't cover the inside of this house. If someone got in here, no one would know you were in trouble."

"I'm still not sure why you think anyone wants to get in here. We've had a few juvenile pranks, that's all."

"So far." He came another step closer. "Listen, I sent that photo of the dagger to a friend of mine back East. He's a college professor, and he's a recognized expert in weaponry. I'm expecting him to call today and identify that knife for me. I need to get back to the office to find out if he's called yet. If he hasn't, I'm going to call him."

Emma turned slowly to face him, the angel still in her hands. "You sent him the photograph?" she repeated, her breath catching painfully. "I thought ... I thought..."

"You thought I'd dismissed it," he said heavily. "I couldn't, Emma. Not when it upset you like that."

She looked down at the angel and realized that her fingers were crus.h.i.+ng the white satin and gold braid. "You think it's part of this other stuff."

"It may have been the opening move. I don't know. I just know it bothered you, and I'm not going to rest until I find out why."

If Emma thought hard-very, very hard-she could almost remember a time when someone had taken any of her feelings that seriously. When someone had made her feel that she mattered enough. When someone had cared enough. Her throat tightened painfully as she stood there looking down at the angel. Funny that a total stranger made her feel cherished in a way she hadn't felt since childhood.

"Emma, why don't you come with me to the office? I'll help you with the tree when we get back. It won't take long."

It would nearly kill him to help decorate the tree, she thought, raising her head so she could look at him. She had learned a lot of things about Gage Dalton in one short week, but this was the first time she realized he was n.o.ble. He would ignore his own anguish to take care of her. He might be an archangel, she thought now, but he sure as heck didn't belong to h.e.l.l. He was battered and nearly broken from trying to make things right. Battered, nearly broken-and completely unbowed, because here he was taking up his sword again, determined to make things right, this time for her.

He stood now, hips canted to one side, minute movements betraying his pain-induced restlessness as he waited for her to agree with what he thought best.

He was a hero, she thought, swallowing hard. A genuine, real-life hero. The kind that n.o.body noticed, because they did the hard, dirty jobs quietly. She swallowed again.

"You can call from here, if you want. I don't mind."

"I need to make a couple of calls, not just one."

She shrugged a shoulder again. "Whatever you think best."

Unexpectedly, he held out a hand to her. Emma hesitated only an instant. Carefully setting the angel down on the box, she closed the s.p.a.ce between them and gave Gage her hand. Leather creaked as he pulled her to him and then wrapped her in powerful arms, in leather and the male hardness of him.

"Come on, Em," he said huskily. "We'll get it all straightened out, I swear."

She could have stayed there forever, she thought longingly, just filling her senses with him. The leather beneath her cheek was still cold from the outdoors, and the scent of the winter day clung to him. But beneath that smell of cold and snow there was the aroma of Gage, a mixture of man and soap that was heady and somehow satisfying.

"Come to the office with me, Em."

She sighed. "Okay."

He held her a moment longer, as if he, too, was reluctant to break away, and then he let her go.

"Just grab your jacket," he said. "The Suburban's already warm."

Emma looked up at him. "You're so sure I'll be able to get into it with you?"