A Season of Angels Page 0,70

and painful twisted in his gut. He could deal far easier with her anger than he could her tears.

"I'm not going to marry you, Monica," he told her harshly. "So get that idea out of your head right now. It's just not going to happen."

She was silent for a moment, then nodded. "You can't get much clearer than that. Good night, Chet." Her voice was soft and a little broken.

She had her hooks in him good and deep. The best thing for him to do was to get out while the getting was good. Working as a private investigator, Chet had developed a sixth sense for these things. The time to leave was about five minutes ago.

"I'll see you around," he tossed over his shoulder. He waited for her to close the window, but she didn't and he was left to wonder exactly how long she stood there watching him.

Fighting himself he made it all the way to his car, which he'd parked two streets over. He didn't want anyone to see his vehicle and connect Monica with him.

He unlocked the door and sat in the front seat and battled with himself until he accepted that he wasn't going to be able to leave matters unfinished between them.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, climbed out of the car, and retraced the same route he had taken only moments earlier. He came by the side of the darkened church and toward the back side of the house where Monica's bedroom was situated.

Her room was dark. He hesitated, then carefully made his way to the window, tapping lightly against the glass pane. He heard her climb out of the bed and pull up the sash.

Neither of them spoke right away. It was as if they were both unsure of what to say. After coming all the way back, Chet hadn't any more of a clue than when he left the car. Apparently Monica didn't either.

"I volunteered to be a bell ringer," she whispered. He couldn't see her face as clearly as he would have liked, but he could tell from the soft catch in her voice that she'd been crying.

Damn fool woman. She should have known better than to fall in love with the likes of him.

"When?" he found himself asking, already anxious to see her again. They were playing a no-win game, but for the life of him Chet couldn't make himself walk away from her.

"Tomorrow afternoon between two and three."

"Same street as before?"

"Yes." The last part was barely discernible. "Chet," she said more clearly, but he heard the hesitation in her voice. He heard the pain too, but ignored it as best he could, which was near impossible.

"Yeah?" he prompted when she didn't immediately continue.

She was kneeling, he noticed, her face only a short distance from his own. "Do you . . . are you in love with me?"

It didn't take him long to respond. "I don't know." It was the honest-to-God truth. What did someone like him know about love? Damn little to be sure.

"You can't be any more articulate than that?" The righteous ring was back in her voice and he found himself smiling.

"I like you," he said, realizing what an inadequate phrase that was.

"In other words I turn you on?"

He wasn't sure he liked her vernacular, but he wasn't in any position to be arguing since he was the one who'd taught her everything she knew about the sexual part of her nature. He never figured she'd be such a fast learner.

"It's more than that," was about all he was willing to admit.

"How much more?"

He should have known she wouldn't leave that alone. "I don't know," he said, raising his voice more than he'd intended. His words seemed to echo like thunder in the silence of the night. All they needed now was to wake her old man. "I just don't know," he repeated, softer this time. "Listen, Monica, it doesn't help to phrase the same question in different ways, the answer's going to be the same. I don't know about love. I've never been in love before, so how am I supposed to know if what I feel for you is any different than what I've felt in the past?"

"But surely you've had some experience with love."

His laugh was low and husky. "Experience I've got, lots of that, but mainly it's of the physical nature."

"In other words if . . . if we'd made love, then you might be able to tell me exactly