A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(35)

“You’re twenty-five and I didn’t ask you that,” he barked, then seemed to regret his tart remark. “I never found a woman who’d be willing to put up with me.”

Monica smiled to herself. “I guess you could say the same thing about me. I don’t seem to communicate very well with men. I thought I did, but I was wrong.”

“That sounds like you’re speaking from experience. I take it someone’s hurt you.”

She shook her head. “We’re talking about you, remember?”

He frowned as if he found the subject boring and was much more interested in her. “What do you want to know about me?”

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. “Where’d you go to school, that sort of thing, and how you got into the detective business.”

“All right,” he said, releasing a beleaguered sigh. He seemed eager to get this part over so he could learn what he wanted to know about her. “I graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in criminology and took a job with the local police force. After a few years I decided I’d rather strike out on my own.”

Monica speculated that there was a great deal missing in this story, but she didn’t feel she should pressure him for details, not when she was unwilling to supply the missing pieces of her own story.

“Did you enjoy police work?”

“Yes and no. When I was shot—”

“You were shot?” Monica couldn’t hide her alarm. She studied him for any evidence of permanent injury, and her heart raced at a furious pace.

“It was little more than a flesh wound, nothing to worry about physically, at any rate.” He hesitated as if he’d said more than he intended, more than he wanted her to know.

“What do you mean?” she probed, not willing to drop the subject.

“Nothing. We’ll leave it at that, all right?” The way he said it told her she wouldn’t get any more information out of him. Knowing that he’d been physically injured had a curious effect on Monica. A strange sick feeling attacked her. Knowing he’d suffered terrible pain greatly distressed her.

They reached the waterfront, the day was cold and gray, and the angry sky reflected on the waters of Puget Sound. The sidewalks were crowded with the heavy tourist and Christmas traffic.

“What made you decide to become a private investigator?” she asked as they stood at the end of the pier. The wind buffeted her and she turned her back on its force. Chet, however, leaned against the rough wood railing, his hands clenched.

Chet glanced her way. “You aren’t going to like the answer to this one.”

“I asked the question, didn’t I?” His attitude irked her.

“All right, since you asked, I’ll tell you. A shapely blonde with loose morals and legs that reached all the way to her neck—”

“You’re right,” Monica cut him off, “I don’t want to hear the rest.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They strolled back to the sidewalk and turned into a small shop that specialized in seashells, tacky souvenirs, and gaudy jewelry. Curious, Monica moved to a crowded aisle, no particular destination in mind. She found a paper Japanese fan with a brightly painted dragon and spread it open, fluttering it in front of her face.

Chet grinned and she lowered the fan. Slowly the amusement drained from his eyes and darkened to a shade as deep and dark as a moonless night. His sudden enmity unnerved her and she quickly snapped the fan closed and returned it to the table, wondering what she’d done that had displeased him so.

His hand stopped her. “You’re beautiful when you choose to be,” he said.

His words confused her as much as his look.

She turned hurriedly up another aisle and paused at a rack of necklaces. Taking one, she slid the chain against the palm of her hand until she reached the pendant. A mustard seed was framed in a glass teardrop. The scripture verse about faith the size of a mustard seed leaped into her mind.

“Faith is an amazing thing,” Chet surprised her by saying.

That he’d know the verse shocked her. “You’ve read the Bible.”

He made a gallant effort not to laugh and failed. “I’m not a heathen, Monica, even if I’ve been known to frequent seedy bars and sleep with immoral women.”

“I see.” Embarrassed now by his honesty and her assumptions, she started to leave the shop. To her surprise, Chet took the necklace from her hand and carried it to the front of the store.

“What do you believe in?” she asked as they waited to make the purchase.

“Do I need to believe in anything?”

She could tell that the question made him uncomfortable. “Everyone has a belief system, whether he acknowledges it or not.” She sounded far more versed in the subject than she was. Her own had been so clearly defined for her from the time she was a child.

He didn’t answer her for a long, silent moment. “I believe life’s a bitch,” he said as he paid for the necklace.

Monica bristled, but then she’d asked and he’d told her.

He moved behind her and put the necklace around her neck. The glass teardrop felt cool against her skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, touched that he’d bought it for her.

“Don’t make a big deal out of a few bucks,” he said as if he regretted the purchase.