Deadly Aim by Patricia H. Rushford Read Free Book Online

again.
    “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Angel wandered back into the kitchen and dropped a chamomile tea bag into the steaming water, then swirled and dunked. Giving the spent bag a final squeeze, she set it on the little ceramic tea bag holder her mother had made in an art class several years ago.
    Angel took her drink to the sofa and curled up under a cream cable-knit afghan. Her mother, Anna, had made that too. Angel warmed her hands on the cup, almost wishing her mother was there now, cooking up her spicy chicken noodle soup. She’d dish up a steaming hot bowl and bring it to Angel on a tray. “Eat up, honey. It’s good for you. It’ll make you feel better .”
    A tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. And another. “Not even your soup will make this better, Ma.”
    Her mother would be getting home from church about now. She’d be bustling around in that huge Italian kitchen of hers, getting lunch and making preparations for dinner. Sunday dinners at home had been one of the things Angel missed most when she’d lived in Bay City. And home had been a haven for her when she’d come back from Florida. She’d stayed six months, licking her wounds, trying to get over Dani’s death. Trying not to blame herself. Not a day went by that she didn’t wonder what she could have done differently, wishing she had run into that day care ahead of Dani.
    Then you’d be dead .
    Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t have been there today. I wouldn’t have fired at that boy .
    Billy. She wondered if her dad knew about him yet. He probably did. He’d been there. She’d forgotten that until now. She’d meant to check with dispatch and find out why he hadn’t been at the scene with the others. He must’ve been called away. She couldn’timagine Frank Delaney staying on the sidelines or not showing up when something like an officer shooting involving his daughter was going down. Unless he’d been hurt.
    The phone rang. Angel glanced at it and turned back to her tea. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet and wondered if she ever would be. After three rings the answering machine picked up.
    “Angel.” The rough voice belonged to her father.
    Angel blew out a sigh of relief. He was safe, which meant he’d gone to another call.
    “Just heard about your run-in with the gang. Joe said you brought one of ’em down and that you were taking it pretty hard.” Her dad hesitated, then added, “Don’t. You hear me? The streets are better off without punks like that.”
    “He had a toy gun, Dad,” she muttered into her drink. Chances are, since he’d talked to Joe, he already knew about the gun. Angel thought briefly about picking up the receiver, but she couldn’t trust herself to talk. Especially not to her father. Frank Delaney was a veteran police officer, crusty and tough. He would be okay with the shooting, he just wouldn’t understand why it was tearing her inside out. Angel had never told him about Dani and how her world had collapsed, how she almost hadn’t come out on the other side of the darkness, and how sometimes she felt like she was still there.
    Her father didn’t tolerate weakness in any of his kids. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; he expected some weakness in her, a girl, but she’d proven over and over that she could be as tough as any of his sons.
    “Call me.” He hesitated. “Oh, by the way, your mother wants you to come for dinner.”
    The machine clicked off. She was about to unplug the phone when it rang again. She got up to answer it. Her hand shook as she reached for the receiver, then stopped. It was probably her mother, the last person she wanted to talk to. “Sorry, Ma. I just can’t...”
    After the answering machine beep came a male voice. “Hi, honey,” Brandon Lafferty crooned.
    Had Brandon already heard? Probably not. The news programs wouldn’t start until 5:00, and Brandon’s plans for Sunday mornings usually included golf or tennis with his father and brother