A Season of Angels Page 0,14

agreed. But Michael didn't stir her blood, he didn't make her heart throb and the thought of him kissing her produced not so must as a whit of excitement.

Her father was right, there was definitely something wrong with her.

The following afternoon, Monica was dressed in her dark blue suit, standing on the corner of Fifth and University, ringing her little heart out. Surely there was a reward awaiting her in heaven for this.

A man dressed in leather and wearing enough gold to strangle himself stopped and inserted a ten-dollar bill in the bright red pot. When Monica thanked him, he insisted upon "giving her five." It took her a good three minutes to realize what he intended. He was simply looking to slap her hand. He ambled away, suggesting she get with it, whatever or whomever "it" was.

Okay, so she wasn't cool, if that was the current vernacular. Nor was she hip or groovy or several other words that came to mind. She was God's willing servant. All right, she wasn't so willing just then, but she was doing her part and that was all that mattered.

Her ears were cold and her fingers had lost their feeling and she had another half hour to go when it happened.

It was him.

The man who'd caught her in his arms three days earlier, the one she'd attempted to restrain from entering the Blue Goose. He was standing on the other side of the street waiting for the traffic to pass so he could cross. Everyone else would wait for the green light and the walk sign, but not him. Oh, no, he was too impatient for that.

She stopped ringing the bell, then started again with a vengeance, closing her eyes, hoping with everything in her that he'd simply walk past and not notice it was her.

Monica should have realized that would have been asking too much.

"Well, well, well," he said, strolling all the way around her. "And who do we have here? Monica, am I right?"

She ignored him and stared straight ahead, jerking the small bell back and forth for all she was worth, her shoulders so stiff they ached.

"It's mighty cold to be standing outside for any length of time, isn't it?"

Monica didn't deign to answer him. A lady in a fur coat walked past and dropped a few coins into the red kettle. "Merry Christmas," Monica said from pure habit.

"The same to you," the private investigator answered.

"Please leave me alone," she whispered.

"It seems to me I asked the same thing of you recently and did it help? Oh, no, you were convinced I needed to be saved." He flung his hands into the air. "Hallelujah, brother."

"Please." She tried again.

"Not on your life, sister," he responded.

"If you continue to pester me you'll leave me no choice but to contact the police and have you forcibly removed."

"Threats?" He folded his arms over his broad chest and arched both brows in mock terror. "So you want to involve the authorities. Fine. Good luck finding a cop walking his beat. In case you weren't aware, the city's seriously understaffed, and this time of year is busier than most."

Monica knew God was looking out for her when a city cop turned the corner just then, casually sauntering down the sidewalk. "Officer, Officer," she called, wasting no time. "This man is bothering me."

The policeman, who was tall and burly beneath his thick coat and cap, was casually swinging his billy club. "You troubling this young lady, Chet?"

It was just her luck that they knew each other.

"Bothering this woman? Me? You know me better than that," Chet answered, beaming Monica a cocky smile. "I've got more important things to do."

"That's what I thought."

"He refuses to leave," Monica supplied huffily.

"Now, listen, miss, I know Chet's a sorry-looking alley cat, but he's harmless. Let me assure you, you're in no danger from him."

"Thanks, Dennis," Chet said and dipped his head slightly.

"That's simply not true," Monica tried again, more adamantly this time. "I politely asked him to leave and he refused."

Dennis bounced the billy club against his open palm a couple of times. "Chet, stop pestering this pretty young lady."

"Sure thing."

Dennis touched the tip of his hat. "He'll leave you alone now, miss." With that he strolled away.

"You aren't going to leave, are you?"

"Trust me, sweetheart, he's got better things to do than listen to you making a fuss over nothing. This is a public sidewalk, there's nothing Dennis can do but ask me to move on, which he's already done."

"Why