with a check and a casual wave.
Then back to the cold, transparent sky, back to circling and gliding and waiting for that flash of vulnerability far below, the instant when adrenaline raced and the chase began, making Hawk alive again.
Years ago Hawk had stopped believing that he would ever capture a woman who had no lies. He didn’t even know he was looking for one.
He only knew the hunt, and the kill.
Impassively Hawk caught up to Angel as she raced through the kitchen and family room to the enormous, cantilevered cedar deck that flared like bronzed wings over the rocks and sea.
Derry was stretched out on a chaise lounge. From his left thigh to his big toe there was a swath of bright white plaster, immobilizing his normally active body.
Angel caught her breath at the paleness of Derry’s skin, the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the full mouth drawn thin and bracketed by pain. Soundlessly she went to her knees beside him, cradling his head against her breasts. When she spoke, her voice was low, crooning, as though he were a sleepless baby.
“Take the pills, Derry,” she murmured.
She threaded her fingers through his blond curls, kneading neck and scalp muscles that had knotted against the agony that spread through him in waves with each incautious movement.
“Pain has nothing new to teach you,” Angel said gently. “Take the pills for a few days. Just until you can move without feeling as though a knife is turning in your ankle.”
Derry said nothing.
Angel leaned back, searching Derry’s blue eyes.
“Promise me?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Hey,” said Derry, his supple tenor voice at odds with the muscular breadth of his shoulders and chest. “I’m all right, Angie. Really.”
“The only thing you really are is pale,” retorted Angel.
Derry smiled and hugged her close.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Or I will be as soon as my back teeth stop floating.”
Angel smiled despite her worry. “That bad, is it?”
“Worse.”
She looked around for Derry’s crutches. She spotted them, grabbed them, and put her arm around Derry, helping him into a sitting position.
“Come on, ox,” Angel muttered. “Use those muscles for something besides impressing the pretty tourists.”
Belatedly Hawk understood that Angel was trying to help Derry to his feet. She looked absurdly fragile next to Derry’s bulk.
Yet before Hawk could object, she began levering Derry to his feet.
Instantly Hawk moved closer, taking Derry’s weight from Angel’s slim shoulders.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hawk demanded.
“Helping Derry to the bathroom,” said Angel.
She was surprised by the harshness of Hawk’s voice, and by his strength. He had literally lifted Derry off the chaise.
“Thanks,” she added, smiling at Hawk. “Getting up is the hard part. The rest is just awkward.”
Angel positioned Derry’s crutches for him.
“Ready?” she asked.
“I was ready hours ago,” Derry said sheepishly. “I just didn’t feel like struggling to get up.”
“You should have called me sooner.”
“Oh, hell, Angie. I can take care of myself. And I didn’t want to take you away from the opening.”
Derry looked at Hawk, then back at Angel.
“I still don’t think I should have,” Derry said. “I know what your art means to you.” “There will be other shows,” Angel said, firmly tucking the crutches under Derry’s arms. “There’s only one you.”
Hawk watched Angel with grudging admiration.
Hawk might have begun to believe it himself, if Angel hadn’t softened and flowed over him like honey at his first touch in a smoky bar. Angel didn’t love Derry or anyone else.
She could play the role, though.
And so could Hawk.
It was a necessary part of the chase, of the hunt. Hawk could appear to be whatever the prey wanted him to be, until it no longer mattered.
Angel paced alongside Derry as he lurched forward, not touching him despite her need to reassure herself that he was all right.
Derry moved awkwardly at first, then with more confidence.
“You haven’t been on these crutches much, have you?” she asked.
Derry shook his head, not wanting to talk. He knew that the pain that was sweeping up in waves from his ankle would change the quality of his voice, telling Angel just how much his ankle hurt.
“Where are the pain pills,” Angel said flatly.
Derry drew a deep breath.
“You didn’t take them three years ago,” he said.
“I did at first,” Angel retorted. “Too many and too often. This is different, Derry. You’re different than I was. Try one pill. Please. I’ll stay right by you. If you get groggy and forget which year it is, I’ll be there.”
Angel looked up at Derry with wide, haunted eyes. He started to protest, then sagged against the crutches, unable to argue with the dark memories in her eyes.
“How did you know what I was afraid of?” Derry asked.
“I’ve been there,” Angel said simply.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Derry closed his eyes and smiled.
“It’s good to have you home again,” he said softly. “The pills are on the kitchen counter.”
“Do you need any help in the bathroom?” asked Angel as she turned away to get the pills.
“If I get stuck, I’ll holler for you,” said Derry, grinning crookedly. “Almost like old times, huh?”
Angel laughed sadly and shook her head.
“Some homecoming,” she said.
Smiling, Derry swung his body between the crutches, heading for the downstairs bathroom.
“Watch the loose tile in the hall,” Angel called after him.
“I know, I know. I’ve lived here longer than you, remember?”
Hawk walked closer as Angel went to the kitchen cupboard and got a glass. She filled it with water and turned around.
Hawk was so close that he startled her.
“You live with Derry?” Hawk asked, his voice bland.
“Only in the summers,” said Angel.
She set aside the glass in order to wrestle with the cap on the pill bottle.
“The rest of the year I live in Seattle,” she continued. “I come up whenever I can, though. Especially on Christmas.”
Angel’s hands paused as she remembered the first Christmas without her family. Without Grant. Christmas was the worst time for memories and regret and rage.
She and Derry spent the Christmas season together, knowing that the other would understand if tears rather than smiles came in response to carols and presents.
But Angel wouldn’t think about that now. Tears couldn’t bring back the dead.
Beneath Angel’s white-knuckled grip, the cap popped off the bottle and fell to the floor.
Hawk retrieved the cap with a smooth, rapid motion. He had seen both the sadness and the… courage… in Angel’s face. He wondered what thoughts had caused her such deep unhappiness.
