Read Deadly Aim for Free Online Page B

curls.
    He nodded and straightened. “Want me to follow you?”
    “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself home.” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended.
    He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay.”
    “Nick... look, I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help, but I’m okay. Really.”
    “I understand. If you need me, I’ll—”
    “I know. You’ll be there.” Like he always was. Only she didn’t want his help or anyone else’s. She wanted to be left alone.
    Nick closed the car door and tapped the roof with the palm of his hand. “I’ll check on you later.”
    “Sure.” Angel started to back out when she remembered the replacement gun Nick had given her. “Um—Nick, do you want your gun back?”
    “No. It can wait until you get yours back. I have three more at home.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    An hour later Angel stood under a hot shower in her apartment, scrubbing Billy’s blood from under her fingernails with a brush. Even though she’d washed every trace of blood away, she lathered her body with fruit-scented soap over and over until the water went cold. She slammed her palm against the faucet to shut it off, then stepped out of the shower and rubbed herself down.
    Shivering, she pulled on warm sweats and towel-dried her hair. Black as midnight, it curled in loose ringlets and reached two inches below her shoulders if she straightened it out. Tears had turned her mascara to smoky gray smudges, adding depth to the shadows forming under her eyes. She turned away from the mirror and the accusing gaze that stared back at her. Had she really killeda twelve-year-old boy? Had his weapon really been a toy? It didn’t seem possible. How could she have made a mistake like that?
    This can’t be happening. It’s a dream, right? Please, God, tell me it’s a dream .
    Angel didn’t get an answer, but then, she hadn’t expected to. God wasn’t paying much attention to her these days—if he ever had. His indifference had come through loud and clear with Luke’s disappearance, and even more so with Dani’s death. A little over a year ago, her best friend, Dani Ortega, had been shot and killed while they had been trying to save the children in a day care center.
    Angel blinked away the fresh onslaught of tears. God had been as silent then as he was now.
    Still chilled to the bone, she went to the kitchen and heated a cup of water in the microwave. She paced across the clammy linoleum floor while she waited, rubbing her arms to warm them. Her apartment was one of those cookie-cutter places, long and narrow with not nearly enough light. There was a closet on the left of the entryway, and her bedroom was off to the right. The hallway opened into the kitchen, left, which melted into the living room with a breakfast bar in between. In the far left corner of the living room was an angled wall with a shelf for her television set and stereo. Under it was a gas fireplace.
    She wandered into the living room to the sliding glass door and miniature patio. Pushing the heavy door open, she stepped outside. She had a view of the ocean, though sometimes she wondered why she’d bothered. The weather was often gray in Oregon, with the ocean and fog melding into an obscure mass. At times like that, she actually missed Florida. Today though, the sky was clear, the temperature in the high sixties. All up and down the beach, Angel could see people taking advantage of the pleasant spring day. Below her a couple walked along the shoreline, stopping to examine something they’d found in the sand.
    The microwave beeped, letting her know the water was hot. She stood on the deck a while longer, her hands gripping the rail. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and she inhaled deeply of the moist salt air. She’d read somewhere that deep breathing relieved stress. It didn’t.
    Her teeth were chattering when she came back inside. Going to her fireplace, Angel switched on the gas and stared into the flames. The beeper sounded