"Angels- 01 - A Season Of Angels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Macomber Debbie)

а
For the life of her, Monica hadnТt been able to forget the private investigator. Heaven knew sheТd tried. He was little better than an alcoholic, drinking beer in the middle of the day. Not only that, heТd been arrogant, rude, and curt with her. HeТd treated her as if she were a senseless child when sheТd tried to help him.
Monica didnТt understand what it was about this one man that intrigued her so. SheТd gone to bed that night and dreamed of him. SheТd woken breathless, her heart pounding double time. A woman had no control over her dreams, Monica assured herself. If she had, Monica certainly wouldnТt have allowed that .а.а. man to touch her. The very idea was appalling. No, Monica corrected, closing her eyes and shaking her head, that wasnТt the truth. It was the problem. She had thought about him touching her, kissing her. Her untamed imagination had taken over and sheТd allowed it to happen in her dreams.
УThere you are,Ф her father said, strolling into the living room. УIТve been looking for you.Ф He settled down in the leather chair by the fireplace and reached for the evening paper. УIТm afraid IТm going to need you tomorrow afternoon.Ф
УFor what?Ф He seemed to forget she had a job and even if she did work as the church secretary it was a demanding position. Her father would cover for her if necessary, but she would rather he asked first instead of volunteering her services, which was something he often did.
УMrs. Ferdnand just phoned and she canТt be a bell ringer for the shift she signed up to take last Sunday.Ф
УBut, Dad.Ф Standing on a cold street corner and collecting charitable donations was the last way Monica wished to spend an afternoon. An hour never lasted so long and by the end of her shift sheТd be frozen solid.
УI wouldnТt ask if it wasnТt necessary.Ф
УI know.Ф It was useless to argue with him. The man had the patience of Job and an answer for every argument.
УItТs downtown so youТll be sure to get plenty of traffic,Ф her father added, reaching for the sports section of the newspaper and folding it open.
УGreat.Ф She stabbed the needle into the fabric and set aside her needlepoint. After working on this Ten Commandments project for weeks she was only on the fourth commandment, which meant she hadnТt a prayer of finishing before Christmas. She studied the tiny stitches. Ironically the one she was currently stitching stated Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. God must have worked it out that way, sealing any argument she might have given.
УAre you all right?Ф her father asked her unexpectedly, momentarily setting the paper aside.
УIТm fine,Ф she said, then amended, Уa little tired perhaps.Ф
УI thought as much. You donТt seem to be yourself lately.Ф
УOh?Ф
УI know this thing with Patrick hurt you and .а.а.Ф
УPatrick is a friend, Dad. He was never anything more. I donТt know why you insist upon dragging his name into every conversation.Ф It was a white lie to suggest she hadnТt cared about Patrick, but sometimes she found those necessary, although she was never comfortable stretching the truth.
УI noticed Michael talking to you the other day. HeТs a very nice young man.Ф He eyed her speculatively as if waiting for her to comment.
УVery nice,Ф she agreed. But Michael didnТt stir her blood, he didnТt 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 Уgiving her five.Ф 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 УitФ was.
Okay, so she wasnТt cool, if that was the current vernacular. Nor was she hip or groovy or several other words that came to mind. She was GodТs willing servant. All right, she wasnТt 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 whoТd caught her in his arms three days earlier, the one sheТd 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 heТd simply walk past and not notice it was her.
Monica should have realized that would have been asking too much.
УWell, well, well,Ф he said, strolling all the way around her. УAnd who do we have here? Monica, am I right?Ф
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.
УItТs mighty cold to be standing outside for any length of time, isnТt it?Ф
Monica didnТt deign to answer him. A lady in a fur coat walked past and dropped a few coins into the red kettle. УMerry Christmas,Ф Monica said from pure habit.
УThe same to you,Ф the private investigator answered.
УPlease leave me alone,Ф she whispered.
УIt 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.Ф He flung his hands into the air. УHallelujah, brother.Ф
УPlease.Ф She tried again.
УNot on your life, sister,Ф he responded.
УIf you continue to pester me youТll leave me no choice but to contact the police and have you forcibly removed.Ф
УThreats?Ф He folded his arms over his broad chest and arched both brows in mock terror. УSo you want to involve the authorities. Fine. Good luck finding a cop walking his beat. In case you werenТt aware, the cityТs seriously understaffed, and this time of year is busier than most.Ф
Monica knew God was looking out for her when a city cop turned the corner just then, casually sauntering down the sidewalk. УOfficer, Officer,Ф she called, wasting no time. УThis man is bothering me.Ф
The policeman, who was tall and burly beneath his thick coat and cap, was casually swinging his billy club. УYou troubling this young lady, Chet?Ф
It was just her luck that they knew each other.
УBothering this woman? Me? You know me better than that,Ф Chet answered, beaming Monica a cocky smile. УIТve got more important things to do.Ф
УThatТs what I thought.Ф
УHe refuses to leave,Ф Monica supplied huffily.
УNow, listen, miss, I know ChetТs a sorry-looking alley cat, but heТs harmless. Let me assure you, youТre in no danger from him.Ф
УThanks, Dennis,Ф Chet said and dipped his head slightly.
УThatТs simply not true,Ф Monica tried again, more adamantly this time. УI politely asked him to leave and he refused.Ф
Dennis bounced the billy club against his open palm a couple of times. УChet, stop pestering this pretty young lady.Ф
УSure thing.Ф