Read A Season of Angels for Free Online Page A

need to bite my head off.”
    â€œThen 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.
    â€œWhat’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.”
    â€œWho?” Lou asked, bracing both hands against the edge of the bar and grinning, waiting for an explanation.
    â€œNever 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 gotten killed, and Chet had accepted responsibility for the loss of his friend. The incident continued to haunt him. There were certain things in life a man didn’t put behind him, and this was one.
    For reasons he couldn’t explain, the erstwhile missionary drifted back into his mind, with her warm, pleading gaze and her soft, sweet mouth.
    â€œYou know, what she really needs is to be kissed,” he said aloud. “None of this pansy stuff of holding hands and gazing longingly into each other’s eyes either.”
    Lou glanced his way and without comment continued to polish the sleek wooden surface of the bar. After a moment, he paused and scratched his head. “You looking to talk?” he asked.
    â€œHell, no.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought.” The bartender resumed his task.
    Remembering the way she’d flung herself against the tavern door produced another burst of laughter. The buttons of her jacket had strained with the effort until she resembled a martyr tied to the stake. She had nice, full breasts, although heaven knew she did everything she could to disguise the fact that she was a woman. If he ever did have the opportunity to kiss her, which was highly unlikely, the first thing he’d do was pull the pins from her hair. It was a travesty to keep it twisted away from her face that way. She’d have thick, luxuriant hair and he’d run his fingers through it. He imagined she’d put up a fuss at that. Anything remotely related to sensual pleasure was sure to be sin, pure, unadulterated sin.
    Chet knew her type. The mission house down the street from his office was filled with do-gooders thinking their efforts with the derelicts and vagrants was going to make a difference. Chet felt sorry for them more than he did the street people they struggled to reach with their message.
    Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? The hell if he knew. The hell if he cared. One consolation, he wasn’t likely to