A Season of Angels Page 0,11

you can answer Timmy's prayer you've got to deal with Jody. She must learn to trust enough to willingly let go of the past and reach toward the future. If she doesn't, she'll never be ready for the man God has for her."

"But it's been over eight years, doesn't she realize what she's doing to herself and to her son?"

"No, all she knows is the pain. Your assignment is to gently guide her toward the joy that awaits her and Timmy."

"And you expect me to accomplish this before Christmas?"

Gabriel didn't look any more pleased about this time restraint than Shirley. "I can't spare you any longer."

Shirley's wings stretched to their full reach, then folded over themselves once more. She'd assumed this would be a cushy assignment. After all, she'd only been serving as a prayer ambassador for a short while. The other cases she'd been given had been far less complicated.

"I . . . might not be able to help her," Shirley murmured.

"Apparently God the Father feels otherwise, or He wouldn't have personally requested you for Timmy's prayer."

"But how can I reach Jody when others have failed? How can I show her she doesn't have to stop loving Jeff, only open up her heart and her life to the love God has ready and waiting for her?"

"You'll think of something, only . . ." Gabriel hesitated and leveled his strict gaze on her. "You're not to pull the tricks you have in the past, understand?"

"Yes," Shirley agreed. "I won't misplace a single thing," she promised.

"That's what Goodness and Mercy told me earlier. I don't know what it is about you three, but you worry me more than all the other prayer ambassadors combined." He wiped his hand across his face, and briefly closed his eyes. "Just do your level best to stay out of trouble."

Chet Costello sat down at the bar in the Blue Goose and ordered a cold draft beer. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure that pesky little missionary hadn't decided to follow him inside. Seldom had he met a more aggravating woman.

"What's plaguing you?" Lou asked from the other side of the bar. He polished the mahogany surface with a clean rag, his hand making wide circular movements as he studied Chet. "You look like you've lost your best friend."

"You would too if you'd sat up all night in the cold."

"You were on a case?"

"No," Chet returned sarcastically, "I enjoy spending my nights in a freezing car peeking at a couple through binoculars. These infidelity cases have always thrilled me."

"No need to bite my head off."

"Then don't ask stupid questions." His little run-in with the do-gooder hadn't done anything to improve his mood. He'd encountered a hundred pious souls just like her over the years, each one convinced he needed to be saved from himself. He'd had it with that religious garbage years ago, and hadn't darkened the door of a church since his mother had died ten years earlier. He had no intention of changing his ways now.

He laughed out loud, the sound echoing like a sonic boom around the almost empty bar.

"What's so funny?" Lou asked, eager to share in the humor.

Chet paused, the beer bottle poised in front of his mouth. "She said there were better ways of settling problems than booze."

"Who?" Lou asked, bracing both hands against the edge of the bar and grinning, waiting for an explanation.

"Never mind." Chet wasn't in the mood to talk. She'd gotten under his skin, he realized, somewhat surprised. What was her name again? Marcia, no Monica. With her clear, dark eyes and her prim and proper ways, she was desperate to save him from the clutches of demon alcohol.

Part of the problem was how good she'd felt in his arms, all soft and feminine. The last time he'd held a woman had been . . . longer than he cared to think about, Chet realized. It was this job, he decided, that soured him on relationships. No one was faithful anymore, not according to the statistics he'd collected. The child custody cases were the worst and he'd sworn off those. After he'd left the police department years earlier, he'd floundered for a bit before deciding to work as a private investigator. What a crock of bull this had turned out to be. The time was fast approaching when he'd need to find something else. He wouldn't go back to the force, not after Tom's death. He didn't trust himself, not anymore. His partner had