A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis - Robyn Peterman Page 0,47

me now before we go in.”

“Have you been here before?” I asked.

“I have. What do you recall?”

Breathing in through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth, I closed my eyes. What would help was to run ten or twenty miles. Running let my thoughts come freely and without any filter on my part. Going for a run wasn’t in the cards at the moment. Plus, I was wearing high-heeled boots and cashmere—not really running attire.

“Gold,” I whispered as pictures raced across my mind. “Gold fountain. Paintings—frescos on the ceilings. Angels. Violent Angels. Pale pink clouds.”

Gideon’s hissed intake of breath wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I was onto something.

“No rugs. Squares. White and gold square tiles on the floor.”

Opening my eyes, I stared at Gideon. He stared right back at me.

“Am I right?”

“You are,” he said tersely. “Do you remember when you were here? Who you were with?”

I shook my head. “No. I had to be young, but I don’t remember anyone else being around. Could I have dreamed it?”

“I don’t see how,” Gideon said, gripping the steering wheel. “I’m not sure this visit is a good idea. I don’t like how I feel right now. Too many puzzle pieces missing. It gives the Archangel the upper hand.”

“Too late,” I whispered.

John Travolta stood ten feet from Gideon’s car and eyed us with curiosity. He didn’t seem angry. Although, he certainly didn’t seem excited to see us. He was more resigned than anything else. Maybe the man had known we were coming after all.

“Follow my lead,” Gideon said.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Not a clue,” he replied. “You with me?”

“One hundred percent.”

Chapter Fifteen

The interior was eerily like the memories I’d described. It did absolutely nothing to calm my already jangled nerves. It increased them. Today, I was unearthing parts of my past that I’d buried long ago. It wasn’t fun.

“May I ask what brought you here today?” my father questioned as he led us through the grand foyer to an opulent office.

The office was unfamiliar. Gideon covertly caught my eye and I shook my head no. He nodded curtly.

“We were out for a drive and found ourselves in your neck of the woods,” Gideon replied in a cold tone.

“I’m supposed to believe that?” the Archangel shot back equally as cool.

“You’re welcome to believe what you want,” Gideon said, taking a seat on a white marble bench in the office. “Not very comfortable.”

“Not meant to be,” my father replied with a dismissive shrug. “Ensures guests don’t get too comfortable and overstay their welcome.”

“Not very Southern of you,” I commented, looking around.

“I’m not Southern,” the Angel pointed out. “Have you heard from the Angel of Mercy?”

My head whipped up and I pinned the man with a glare. “No. Have you?”

He walked around his desk and seated himself before he spoke. “I have not.”

“Did you warn her before she ran? Your reluctance to punish her is suspect,” Gideon ground out as John Travolta’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I did not warn her,” he said evenly. “Is that why you came? To ask me if I’d apprised Clarissa of the bounty on her head for her plethora of crimes?”

I narrowed my eyes at the man. “You clearly have a conflict of interest, Darth Vader.”

“I thought it was John Travolta,” he replied.

I shrugged. “I like to change it up.”

“You’re going to answer a few questions,” Gideon announced.

“Am I?” The Angel raised a brow and glared at the Grim Reaper.

“You are, Archangel.” Gideon smiled. It was not a nice smile. I’d have to classify it as terrifying.

“We shall see, Reaper.”

This wasn’t going what I would call well. Gideon and John Travolta didn’t like each other a bit. It was becoming very clear that the meeting was going South—pun intended.

“Gideon,” I said, wondering if I was making a gargantuan mistake. “Can you give my father and me a moment?”

Gideon jerked his head in my direction and looked at me as if I was nuts.

I was nuts.

However, I came for information and I wasn’t going to get it at this rate.

“Bad plan,” he hissed.

“The plan we’re working with now is worse,” I told him.

I was in love with Gideon, but that didn’t mean he was always right. Not that I was either, but my gut said I’d get more out of the Angel if it was just him and me.

“You heard her,” John Travolta said smugly. “Leave.”

“Pipe down,” I snapped at my father, whose expression registered shock at my rude admonishment. “I did not tell Gideon