Kiss an Angel(45)

Sheba rushed up. “For God’s sake, Alex, we’ve got newspaper people on the lot.”

As he set her back on her feet, Daisy braced herself for a lambasting. To her surprise, Alex turned to Neeco instead. “I think Tater got the point the first time.”

Neeco stiffened. “You know as well as I do there’s nothing more dangerous than an elephant that’s turned on his handlers.”

Daisy couldn’t hold her tongue. “He’s just a baby! And it was my fault. I wasn’t wearing perfume, and he got upset.”

“Be quiet, Daisy,” Alex said softly.

“He’s a one-ton baby.” Neeco’s lips narrowed. “I won’t let anybody who’s working for me get sentimental about the animals. We don’t ever take chances with safety. People’s lives are at stake, and the animals have to know who’s in charge.”

All her frustration boiled over. “The animals’ lives have value, too! Tater didn’t ask to be stuck in this awful circus. He didn’t ask to be lugged all over the country in a smelly truck, to be chained and shackled and paraded around in front of a bunch of ignorant people. God didn’t create elephants to stand on their heads and do tricks. They were meant to roam free.”

Sheba crossed her arms and lifted a sarcastic eyebrow. “Next thing you know, Alex, she’ll be throwing red paint at fur coats. Either control your wife or get her the hell out of my circus.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face as he met Sheba’s gaze. “Daisy’s supposed to be taking care of the elephants. From what I saw, she was doing her job.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Had he just defended her?

Her pleasure faded as he turned back to her, tilting his head toward the trailer that had hauled the elephants. “It’s late, and it doesn’t look like you have the inside hosed down yet. Get back to work.”

She turned away and, silently wishing all three of them in Hades, set about her job. She understood that if animals were going to travel with the circus, they had to be kept under control, but the very idea that they were being forced to behave in ways that went against their nature bothered her. Maybe she found their condition so disturbing because she felt as if she had something in common with them. Like the circus animals, she was held captive against her will, and, like them, her keeper had all the power.



Sheba had almost reached the red wagon when Brady Pepper came up behind her. As much as Brady irritated Sheba, she couldn’t deny that he was good-looking with his olive skin and sharp, even features. Although she knew for a fact he was forty-two, his wiry hair was only lightly threaded with gray and his powerful acrobat’s body didn’t have an extra ounce of fat.

“You sleepin’ with Neeco?” he said in that antagonistic fashion that never failed to set her teeth on edge.

“None of your business.”

“I’ll bet you are. He’s just the type you like best. Good looking and stupid.”

“Go to hell.” Her irritation was piqued by the fact that she had slept with Neeco a few times at the beginning of the season. She’d quickly lost interest, however, and hadn’t felt any inclination to repeat the experience. She’d never let anyone suspect that sex was losing its appeal to her.

“With a guy like Neeco, you get to call all the shots, don’t you. Whereas with somebody like me . . .”

“Somebody like you could never satisfy me.” Giving him a phony smile, she ran the tip of her fingernail over his deltoid, which was clearly outlined by his fitted tank top. “The showgirls say you can’t get it up anymore. Is that true?”

Much to her annoyance, he failed to respond to her barb, laughing instead. “You got a viper’s tongue on you, Sheba Quest. One day it’s gonna get you in big trouble.”

“I like trouble.”

“I know you do. Especially the male variety.”

She set off toward the red wagon, but instead of taking the hint, he fell into step beside her. The length of his stride, the set of his shoulders, everything about him announced that he thought he was God’s gift to women. He was also a dedicated male chauvinist, which meant she had to keep reminding him who was the boss. Still, as much as he aggravated her, he was the kind of performer she liked best: proud, hard-working, and honest. Beneath his rough exterior, he also had a generous nature, and unlike Alex Markov, there were no hidden depths to him.

He ran his eyes over her as he always did. Brady never made a secret of the fact that he appreciated women, and despite his dalliances with youthful showgirls, he had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if she were still in her prime. Not that she’d ever let him know that. His sexy swagger couldn’t hide the fact that Brady was a Brooklyn butcher’s son without a drop of circus blood in his veins.

“You and Heather been spending a lot of time together lately,” he said.

“I braided her hair today, if that’s what you mean.”

He caught her arm, pulling her to a stop. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m talking about all that extra coaching you’ve been giving her.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t want you getting her hopes up. You know she doesn’t have what it takes to be a decent performer.”

“Who says? You haven’t given her a fair chance.”