Angel's Hero

Chapter 22

The rest of the morning passed in a blur.
Angel sat at the table in Sienna's kitchen, waiting, for the most part, until Conner was done.
She didn't know what was going on outside this house, what was going on anywhere, actually. Had they finished at her bakery? Was there any more information? Had the FBI joined the investigation yet?
Everyone was waiting to hear from Conner.
Michelle had cried a lot. Once they'd returned to Sienna's house, they'd all spoken about the night Angel had fought with Owen, when he'd tried to kill Michelle.
Half way through the retelling, Sienna had gotten up and brought over a bottle of whiskey, and four glasses.
They'd all been grateful for the stiff drink, and Angel had thrown hers back, enjoying the burn as it hit the bottom of her empty stomach. Her glass was instantly refilled.
It was now almost mid afternoon, and she hadn't eaten all day.
She stood up and moved to the cabinets and started pulling things from them.
She needed to keep busy, and making macaroni and cheese was a good way to do that. She diced smoked ham into thick cubes, sliced tomato, and grated cheese. They needed hearty food.
Robert and Raymond had asked a lot of questions about the night of the attack, and what had happened after. Michelle, not feeling well, had left them to go lie down an hour ago. Angel couldn't blame her. She wished she, too, could curl up and sleep, just to forget for a while.
Hurry up, Conner.
Raymond had done his best to lighten the mood, by engaging conversations, and showing off pictures of his infant daughter. It worked for a short while.
There was a knock at the door, and Sienna got up to answer it.
Conner walked into the kitchen with a folder under his arm, and Angel relaxed instantly, not realizing her shoulders had been up to her ears. Her jaw ached from clenching.
He dropped the folder on the counter then took a seat.
"May I?" He pointed to the bottle, and Sienna wordlessly got him a glass, pouring him a finger full.
He slugged it back. Grimacing as the spirit hit his throat, he blew out his breath slowly.
"Where's Michelle? I want to say it all once," Conner asked.
"I'll get her," Robert said.
"I'll be back in a sec. Bathroom break," Angel said a moment later as she left the kitchen.
Nearing the back of the house where the bedrooms were, Angel slowed. She heard Robert's mumbled voice coming from Michelle's room, and without meaning to, she spied on her friend.
Robert, seated on the bed in the curtained room, was running a hand over Michelle's shoulder as she woke up.
Angel watched as her friend sat up, and wrapped around Robert in a hug. He held her, gently rubbing her back. Leaning back slightly, Michelle moved her mouth to Robert's, and the surprise on his face disappeared a second later as he pulled her closer to him, deepening the contact.
Feeling guilty at secretly watching the intimate moment, Angel moved past the door to the next one down, and used the facilities quickly.
She splashed water on her face once she was done, staring into her reflection as she dried it.
She noticed the beauty mark high on her right cheek, just below the outer corner of her eye.
Her lips, a natural dark pink against her honey skin tone, were a bit dry. Eyebrows, thick and slightly curved, framed her amber eyes, and her inky lashes.
Angel looked at herself, and saw only herself.
She didn't see her mother anymore. Her heart constricted and she closed a hand over her mouth and tears filled her eyes.
Oh, Angel knew her mother was there, in the shape and color of her eyes, and around the edges, but her reflection didn't scare her anymore. Didn't make her sad anymore.
Angel smiled to herself, despite what she was about to face, the tears brief.
She thought about the people in this house, and the extended few who had come to support her that morning, and realized that she had made a real home here in Boothbay. She had a community. That fact settled over her like a security blanket, and combined with the whiskey, she felt strong.
Happy, despite the dourness of the morning, Angel went back to the kitchen, feeling prepared to handle anything.
She took a seat next to Conner, and listened.
Her lifted mood didn't last.

*

Michelle listened to the Sheriff as he talked, the words sounding like they were coming from somewhere down a long tunnel. He was saying that the FBI had sent a team over, and they were busy setting up at the Sheriff's station.
The FBI. This was bad.
How was she in the middle of something like this?
How had Owen taken over her life? Again?
"Why wasn't he being watched when he was released?" Robert asked.
After their kiss earlier, she deliberately kept her distance.
Now was not the time to be starting up a new romance. She'd said as much to him as they'd parted, both of them panting after she initiated the kiss, regretting giving in momentarily.
"Tough," was all he'd said and kissed her again, but he'd refrained from touching her once they'd left her bedroom.
"Aren't guys out early on parole supposed to be under supervision?" It had only been eight years, and he'd been sentenced to ten. All eyes turned to Conner as he dropped the bomb on them.
"He wasn't released on parole. He was released after all charges against him were dropped."
"What? How?" Sienna shot to her feet.
Conner shook his head in disgust. "Something to do with a technicality. One of the witnesses came forward during the appeal and said that the women had attacked him and he was just defending himself. The entire case had initially been built around that witness's statement, because - and I say this lightly, Michelle, I had to read the file, and I'm just repeating what was said in the court case - Owen's lawyer destroyed your and Angel's credibility as reliable witnesses, due to your joined abandonment issues. And that he framed you two as accomplices and having planned the whole thing out to get the baby. Having that initial witness statement supporting you retracted meant the whole thing fell apart quickly."
"After all these years?" Raymond said. "That's unlikely."
"My thoughts exactly. I think Owen got to him somehow," Conner sat forward and shuffled some of the papers around, before he pulled a sheet out and laid it on top.
"This is the psych report they did on Owen when he was incarcerated. The FBI profiler is over at the station now briefing my deputies with their team of agents on the type of person Owen is, and how best to deal with him."
He pushed the sheet towards Michelle.
She picked it up, and skimmed her eyes over the page.
"It says he was abused as a kid. That he'd been locked in a basement, and burned as punishment. How did I miss that?" She shook her head. "How did I not know these things about him?"
How had she not seen that side of the man she had married? A man she had thought she was in love with.
"Hey, don't do that," Conner looked at her, and Angel took her hand. "This guy is a sociopath. He gets a kick out of controlling others and playing games. He only showed you want he wanted you to see. That is not your fault."
"See? It is not your fault," Angel squeezed her fingers.
"After listening to this guy, Adams, the profiler, I have to admit that I'm glad for their involvement. If Owen were just your run of the mill bad guy, I could have handled him no problem. I don't want to take chances with someone like Owen. He's got games to play."
"Agreed." Raymond nodded. "Arsonists are a different kind of criminal. You don't take chances with them."
"So, what do we do now?" Sienna said as Robert asked a similar question.
"I gave him the recording I made of the phone call. Adams doesn't think that Michelle is in any immediate danger, because his fixation and obsession is with Angel, and the fact that she took the control away from him," Conner said.
Sienna visibly relaxed. Then seemed to comprehend how that could be construed and looked at Angel. "Sorry, I didn't... I mean, it's just... She's my daughter." She dropped her head in shame. "Sorry."
"Don't worry, Sienna, I'm relieved too. Owen doesn't scare me," Angel smiled, the line of her mouth hard. "Let him come for me. I want to get a chance to hurt him."
Michelle wanted to laugh.
"Okay, enough of that. Seriously," Conner turned his deep gaze onto Angel, halting any other idiotic words she would say. "I don't want you playing into this assholes hands, because, believe me, with the intellect that Adams says Owen has, he would have thought of it. We have to be smart. I don't want you risking yourself just because you're mad."
Angel fought an internal battle to rage against the constraints of the situation; Michelle could see the struggle inside her friend.
Her friend was a warrior. A true hero in her opinion.
Looking at Angel, then at Conner, her mother, Raymond, and then finally settling her eyes on Robert, she recognized that they were an incredible group. Solid. Somehow, in some way, they had been thrown together, and they were now this unit. They would fight together, and they would fight for each other.
Some of her fear fell away.
They started talking amongst themselves, trying to figure out where they should go from there.
"I'm thinking Michelle, Sienna and Jackson need to leave town," Angel spoke up.
The twins stopped talking, and turned their attention to her.
"Why just them? Why not you too?" Robert asked.
"We already know that I'm his target. Get them away somewhere safe and then we know it's just me we have to worry about," she shrugged. "Makes sense."
"Out of the question," Michelle said.
"But, Shelley," Angel turned pleading eyes on her. "You have to."
"I said no. I'm not running. This is my home, Angel. Our home," she looked around at everyone else, and received nods from the others.
Realizing she was outnumbered, she relinquished.
"Fine," Angel got up to turn the oven timer off and take the baked pasta out. "Who's hungry?"

*

He watched them.
They were so stupid, all of them. Bringing in the FBI?
Please, he was smarter than all of them, smarter than anyone.
Owen, seated up on the roof of the house across the road from Sienna's, watched them smugly.
The fact that he could sit here so easily, without worry about being caught only strengthened his convictions.
He wanted to rush through the plan now. He wanted to be at the pinnacle of it all, with his hands on Angel, watching her suffer and hearing her cry in pain. His skin prickled in gooseflesh as excitement ran through him.
No.
He needed to be patient. Rushing now would lead to him making a mistake, and that would ruin everything.
Everything had to be perfect. Not now, not when he was this close.
The front door opened, and the Sheriff and Angel stepped out into the late afternoon sun.
Owen had his gun with him. Something he'd purchased the day he'd shed his shackles.
America, the land of the free.
It would be so simple to raise the barrel and pull the trigger and kill the man at that woman's side.
It would be another nail in the coffin that was her suffering.
He resisted the urge to pull the trigger though, but he did lift the weapon and aim it at them, using the scope to see their faces more clearly.
We're only just getting started! Oh, how much fun we're going to have, Angel. It's going to be a story that will haunt the lives of those I let survive. If I let anyone survive.
He couldn't wait for the coming days, and the next phase of his plan, but knew he would have to. Timing was everything.

Let's get going.