Bedeviled Angel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Annette Miller

  Bedeviled Angel

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Misty began to tremble

  as she stepped into Taylor’s apartment. He pushed the door and it shut with a loud click, making her jump. His home was the same as before, increasing her nervousness as she looked around. The picture of Scavenger floated behind her eyes, making her stare at the man with her.

  I’ll tell him I’m not ready and ask him to take me home. She turned to tell him and stopped. He looked so alone as he gazed at her, her resolve melted and the words died in her throat.

  He took her hand. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No. Yes. I mean...”

  “It’s all right,” he said as he laid his hands on her shoulders. He gave her a small smile. “You’ve been saving yourself, haven’t you?”

  She nodded, feeling her face grow hot.

  He massaged her shoulders, helping her relax. “I’m as far from Mr. Right as you get, you know.”

  “I don’t think so,” she whispered.

  “Say the word, and I’ll take you home right now.” He snorted. “If you knew the truth about me, you’d run for the hills.”

  Misty smiled as she laid her hands on his chest. “I don’t know about that. I do know I want to be with you, right here, right now, whoever you are.”

  Praise for Annette Miller

  “[NIGHT ANGEL] is the first book of Ms. Miller’s Angel Haven series, and I am hoping she will come up with a bunch more.”

  ~Annetta Sweetko, Fresh Fiction Reviews

  Bedeviled Angel

  by

  Annette Miller

  An Angel Haven Romance, Book 2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Bedeviled Angel

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Annette Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-718-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-719-1

  An Angel Haven Romance, Book 2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Brian, Scot, and Alex,

  who always believed I could realize my dream.

  Chapter One

  Misty hobbled through the New York rush hour crowd, her pinched toes shrieking for mercy inside the Jimmy Choo’s Rena insisted she wear.

  “High heels ought to be outlawed,” she grumbled. “No matter how good they look.” I don’t know why I let Rena talk me into using this stupid pair. Just because she can wear these things doesn’t mean everyone can.

  She checked her watch, staring in disbelief at the time. Late again. If the public knew I was a hero, I could use my power to get there faster.

  “Excuse me.”

  Misty stopped and turned. Irritated at the delay, her breath caught in her throat. A man stood behind her, holding out one of her bags. He was at least six feet, five inches tall, his T-shirt pulled tight across his wide chest, outlining the muscles beneath. Her glance drifted downward to the jeans hugging his hips, the seams straining around his legs. She swallowed hard, wondering what he looked like under that dark blue denim.

  She forced her gaze back to his face. Some of his red hair had escaped the ponytail he sported, and the eye-patch covering his left eye was not big enough to hide the scar starting at his hairline and ending in the middle of his cheek. Had his nose been broken? It looked like it. He could pass for an eighteenth century pirate, she thought.

  “You dropped this,” he said, his slight British accent surprising her.

  She reached out to take it, her fingers brushing his. “Thanks. I never knew it was gone.”

  “Where’re you off to in such a hurry?”

  “I’m meeting a friend for dinner, and I’m late.” She sighed. “Again.”

  He smiled, taking some of the bags from her hands. “Why don’t you drive?”

  She pointed to her right. “The restaurant is just down there.” She grinned. “I was going to walk then decided to run.”

  “Want some company?”

  “Sure.” She nodded. It’d be worth being late now, she thought.

  He offered her his arm, and they headed toward the restaurant. “Taylor Tremain.”

  “Misty Severin,” she said. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned serious. “I’m surprised I actually saw the bag fall. I’m not at my best currently.”

  Misty glanced at him. “Problems?”

  He shrugged. “I’m job hunting and nobody’s hiring.”

  “Do you have any prospects at all?” she asked, holding his arm a little tighter.

  He shook his head. “A few, but not enough. Right now, I’m working nights as mall security. Between that and job hunting during the day, I guess I’m half asleep.”

  “Night work is hard on the body,” she said. And what a body it is.

  Someone called her name, and they turned simultaneously.

  “We seem to be at your destination.”

  She nodded, gazing into his right eye. It was as blue as the Caribbean Sea. “Thanks for walking with me.”

  He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more. “Would you meet me here for dinner tomorrow night around six?” he finally asked.

  Misty’s heart pounded in her chest. Oh yeah. I’ll be here with bells on. But caution kept her quiet. What if he was some nut job or a serial killer? It’d kill her hero street cred to be found hacked to death by some lunatic. But his right eye was kind, and they’d be in public. Besides, she could take care of herself.

  “Okay,” she said. “Sounds great.”

  He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. “Until tomorrow.”

  Misty was still watching his retreating figure as her
friend walked up.

  “You’ve got another new boyfriend?” Rena asked. “You could’ve said something, you know.” She raised her hands to stop Misty from saying anything. “I know I used to be the one with the revolving door of men, but you’re catching up. I wouldn’t have even told the rest of the team.” She gave her friend a stern glare. “The honeymoon’s over, isn’t it?”

  Misty rolled her eyes. “You know, Rena, it’d be nice if you let me get a word in edgewise.” She stared at Taylor’s retreating figure. “Actually, we just met.”

  Rena watched him walk away then grinned, nudging her with her elbow. “So is he another candidate for the list of ‘Men Not Going to Heaven Because What They Do to a Pair of Pants Is a Sin’?”

  “Right now, he is the entire list. Come on. Let’s order, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  ****

  Jack McClennan, the man calling himself Taylor Tremain, hurried down the street, limping the last few paces before stopping in front of a sleek, futuristic, black van. Glancing over his shoulder, he murmured, “Defensive systems off.” The lock popped and the door opened with a soft hiss. He hauled himself into the driver’s seat, and the door shut with a quiet click behind him.

  He pulled off his right boot for the second time that day. “Engage autopilot. Enter coordinates for Warehouse One. Surveillance systems up. Let’s go home.”

  As the auto-drive engaged, he grabbed a large briefcase from between the seats and opened it, revealing tools for slim wire and computer circuitry repair. He stretched his leg across the passenger seat and rolled up his pant leg. Peeling back the artificial skin, he popped open a panel the length of his shin. He shook his head, sighing when he saw the same wire had broken loose, again. It needed to be replaced.

  “Bloody junk,” he growled, soldering the wire as the van drove him home.

  The bay door to the warehouse opened, closing silently when the van idled to a stop next to a beat up Chevy. He climbed out and limped to the living area. All he wanted to do was collapse on the sagging couch, but passed it, in favor of the bedroom and the small bathroom beyond.

  Running water in the sink, he pulled off the eye-patch, placing it on the back of the toilet. He stared at the solid white artificial eye, lightly fingering the scar that ran down his face. His eye was just about the only part that didn’t give him problems. Considering he’d ripped it out of an android, and it wasn’t government-issue, it was to be expected. He wore the eye-patch for show. The scanners in the eye let him see perfectly all the time.

  “They should’ve let me die,” he whispered.

  He stared at his reflection before pulling off his shirt, splashing water on his face, and rubbing his wet hands on the back of his neck. “Nice to meet you, Taylor Tremain.” He shook his head. “Just bloody terrific. As if I don’t have enough identities to keep track of, I come up with another one on the spur of the moment.”

  The water swirled down the drain, and he watched the droplets drip off his chin. Misty’s face intruded on his thoughts and, against his better judgment, he let her. He’d lied to her right from the start. He lived on lies these days, but he hated them, hated himself for being reduced to using them.

  He’d studied her when she’d taken her bag back. She was beautiful. Her round face gave her a youthful look, but the full lips were definitely a woman’s. Her hair was soft brown, almost auburn, hanging halfway down her back, her eyes maybe a shade darker. He’d slowly looked her over, taking in the full breasts, the small waist, and those long, nicely shaped legs.

  What had possessed him to ask her out? He shook his head. He remembered how Misty looked, the life and laughter in her eyes. Her touch on his arm had shocked him. The same vibrancy had drawn him to his wife the day they’d met years ago. Asking her out must’ve been a moment of insanity on his part, nothing more. One date wouldn’t hurt, would it? He glanced at himself in the fogged glass of the old mirror.

  “You’re a liar and a fraud, hero.” He sneered at his reflection. “You just keep telling yourself lying to her is for her own good, and maybe you’ll believe it.” He squeezed his eyes shut. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up as crazy as his ULTRA records indicated.

  He snatched the towel from the hook on the wall. “If she knew the truth about me, she could get hurt, even killed, just like...” He threw the towel on the floor. “Damn it!”

  Limping to what could loosely be called a kitchen, he snatched a beer from the compact fridge. He yanked out the rubber band, scratching the back of his head as his long hair fell around his shoulders. He hobbled to the living room, easing himself down on the couch, and stretched his leg out to rest on the coffee table. He turned on the TV, letting the news babble in the background while his mind wandered.

  A name pulled him out of his reverie and he frowned. “Captain Starblast, leader of the hero team, the Challengers, will be dedicating the new children’s wing of St. Anne’s Memorial Hospital tomorrow at noon. As the premier hero team in the city, the Challengers not only defend the people who live here, but also help the community on a more personal level.”

  The other news anchor nodded. “That’s right. The people know they can always count on the Challengers for any task, no matter how large or small.”

  “Damn heroes. At least one of us got something good out of my trial, captain,” he snarled at the image. He picked up the remote to turn off the TV when he heard his name.

  “Who is the Scavenger? We’ll be exploring that question tonight on NewsLine at ten. We’ll have an exclusive interview with a prominent ULTRA psychologist. Tune in. It should be very informative.”

  “I’ve finally made the big time. Can’t miss my television debut.” He checked his watch, noting he still had a few hours to kill.

  Glancing at his desk, he spied a note on top of a new stack of paperwork to replace the stack he’d finished the day before. He flipped it open and read:

  Hey, Jack.

  Call this pile an early Christmas present.

  Ho, ho, ho!

  Frank

  He snatched the page off the top and began typing. “Bloody hell, I hate paperwork.”

  Chapter Two

  At five minutes to ten, Jack grabbed a beer and settled back on the couch, clicking on the small lamp on the end table. He raised the volume, wanting to make sure he heard everything.

  He frowned. “What have they discovered that’s worth devoting their highest rated news show to me?”

  The reporter sat behind a desk, her dark business suit a telling sign this was a serious matter. “Good evening and welcome to another edition of NewsLine. I’m Marla Cramp,” she said. “Who is the Scavenger? Tonight, we’ll answer that question. With me is Dr. George Fenmore from ULTRA, the United Law-enforcement Tactical Response Agency.”

  Jack stiffened. What the hell? Had he heard that right?

  The camera pulled back, revealing more of the studio. “Dr. Fenmore and other criminal psychologists have been appointed by Commander Michael Frailer, to see if this dangerous man can be apprehended.” She turned to the man next to her. “Good evening, Dr. Fenmore.”

  George Fenmore pulled at his tie, giving his hostess a nervous smile. “Good evening, Ms. Cramp.”

  Jack shot to his feet, shattering the beer bottle in a tightening grip. Liquid sprayed everywhere. Blood ran down his hand and the alcohol burned, but none of it mattered. If not for the man on the television, he and his friends wouldn’t be in hiding, his wife would still be with him, and the past ten years wouldn’t have been hell.

  He stood there, staring at the screen. “You bastard!”

  Jack still had trouble believing Fenmore had been his toughest rival at ULTRA. In the field, the armor swam on the thin man, making him look like a bookkeeper trying to be a soldier. Now, he was playing at being the nervous doctor, pulling at his tie, smoothing his perfect pants, fidgeting with his small, round glasses. Fenmore’s strength and intelligence had always been underestimated, but Jack knew all about the litt
le man. After all, they’d worked together for nearly six years.

  He gave the image on the television screen a mock salute. “You’re still one hell of an actor, George. My congratulations.”

  Marla folded her hands on the desk. “Let’s start by telling the viewers a little more about ULTRA.”

  George cleared his throat. “ULTRA is one of the larger agencies for dealing with paranormal crime, threats to the world, and terrorists. We headquarter here in New York but have other facilities across the country. We work in concert with other world agencies in dealing with the previously mentioned threats. We’re basically the equivalent of INTERPOL for paranormal crimes. Our current commander is Michael Frailer. He’s done very well ever since he took office five years ago.”

  Marla nodded and made some notes before diving right into the heart of the story. “Dr. Fenmore, your group has uncovered information recently about Scavenger, one of the top ten villains in the city. Can you enlighten us?”

  Fenmore settled back in the chair. “We believe Scavenger is the former ULTRA field commander by the name of Jack McClennan. I worked with him when ULTRA was still new. Because of my past experience with him, Commander Frailer has asked for my help.” He paused for moment, his eyes sad. “He was the best agent the organization ever had.”

  Jack paced in front of the couch, glaring at the television. “Finally got around to revealing my name to the public. It’s about bloody time. It only took you a decade.”

  Marla tapped a pencil on the desk. “What supporting evidence do you have?”

  Fenmore folded his hands in his lap, sitting up a little straighter. “Thirteen years ago, we discovered someone inside the organization was selling secrets and arms. McClennan’s wife contacted us and turned him in. Because of her information, he was convicted of treason and dealing black market arms.” Fenmore paused. “And her murder.”

  “He killed her?”

  Fenmore nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so. She never had a chance.” He stared directly into the camera almost as if Fenmore knew Jack would be watching.

  “The little weasel’s trying to make me look worse than I really do,” he growled.