Part 7 (1/2)

”He?” Kristen smiled and reached out to pat the nun's arm. ”I believe I already have my angel. You've been very kind to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Sister Marian blushed. ”You, dear girl, are as beautiful as you are brave. Your mother must be very proud of you.”

The comment was unexpected, but Kristen kept her focus. She had lied to Sister Marian. She'd said she was searching for her father who had abandoned her and her mother years ago. She hadn't revealed her loss of memory, or that she was on the run from Salva. She'd just needed a strong enough reason to allow her and Amanda to stay at the shelter. An abandoned family in search of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d father who had run out on them seemed like the perfect excuse to be asking the shelter for sanctuary. And it had worked-the shelter had welcomed them with open arms.

”So you'll stay with Amanda tomorrow night?” Kristen asked.

”Tomorrow it's my turn to lead the evening praise service. It usually lasts until eight, sometimes eight-thirty.”

”I can't take Amanda with me. He can't know about-” Kristen snapped her mouth shut.

”What was that? Are you speaking about that wild Blu Devil again? Do you really think he has information about your father?”

”Yes, I do.” Hating the way she had to continue to lie, Kristen changed the subject. ”Were you able to get me a phone book?”

”It's on your nightstand.” Sister Marian stood, then painted to the thick directory where it sat on the tattered little table. ”I'll let you rest now, and see you in the morning at breakfast. And don't worry about tomorrow night. As soon as I can, I'll be back to watch Amanda for you.”

Hours after Sister Marian had left, Kristen was still up. Amanda was asleep on the narrow bed, but she was seated in the chair with the phone directory in her lap, scanning the pages in hopes that a name would spark her memory. All she needed was one name-any name-that would become a small clue as to who she was and where she belonged.

Kristen was still going through the lists of names at 4:00 a.m.

Chapter 6.

Cruger's was always crowded on Friday nights, and noisy, too. But when the screen door swung open, then slammed shut, the noise settled and heads turned to watch the Blu Devil saunter through the door in his usual attire of faded jeans and a black sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt. What followed was at least a dozen offers to pay for his beer and share a table-a year ago, no one would have offered him squat. Just look what a few newspaper articles could do for a man's image, Blu thought with disgust.

He declined the offers, waved a few genuine friends off with a nod, and dismissed the three women bunched together at the bar who were anxiously waiting to be asked upstairs. In truth, since he'd made the decision to work for Patch, the only s.e.x he could round up was the kind he had to pay for. But it had been weeks since he'd used an upstairs room.

Dismissing the women, Blu limped to the far end of the bar and hooked his backside onto a stool. Nate Cruger, the establishment's owner, stood behind the bar, both hands moving in two different directions. He'd been serving beer and gossip to his customers for over thirty years and he was the best in the business at both. WithOui, mon ami, and a smile quickly following, he slid a beer bottle in Blu's direction while he kept one ear on Billy-Bob LaRoux whining about his girlfriend's old man, and his free hand ringing up Spoon Thompson's tab.

When Spoon spied Blu, he stuffed the change into his pocket and came to stand beside him. ”You want to find a table and talk over my offer, duFray? I've been rethinking the money end of it and-”

”And it won't be enough, Thompson. You can't afford me.”

Spoon shook his head. ”Now, Blu, I don't think that's true. I'm willing to-”

Blu turned his head barely an inch and evil-eyed Spoon into silence. ”Go away, Thompson. We don't have anything to talk about.”

When Blu released the older man from his devil's stare, he tipped up his beer bottle and took a healthy swig. He heard Spoon swear, then out of the corner of his eye, he saw him back up-right into a drunk who had staggered to the bar to pay for the pleasure of his condition. The drunk lost his balance and fell to the floor. When Blu saw who was beneath Spoon's feet, he took a second look. Perch Aldwin-drunk? That was a surprise.

He knew Perch had hit on hard times-only yesterday Spoon had said that his business had gone belly-up. But falling-down drunk didn't fit Perch Aldwin. He'd been raised on principles and the idea that hard workfixed everything. Or fast fists and no conscience, Blu thought with a sardonic grunt that was directed at himself more than anyone else.

As Perch grumbled his displeasure from his sprawled position on the floor, Spoon Thompson laughed, then gave the downed man a kick before stepping over him. Blu watched as Perch groaned, then tried to get up. On the third try, he gave up and laid there. Blu waited to see if someone was going to be a good-ol'-Joe and help him out. When no one made an effort, he slid off his bar stool and hauled the old man to his feet. Since Perch was too rubber-legged to stay vertical, he shouldered him and headed out the back door.

In the alley, Blu propped Perch against the brick wall, then backed off. When the older man finally focused on who it was who had come to his aid, he started swinging his arms. ”Get away from me, you no-good evil b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You got no reason to come after me. Not anymore, you don't.”

”I'm not ha.s.sling you, old man. I'm not in that line of work any longer. You want me to call somebody to pick you up? Curt?”

”Go to h.e.l.l, you black-haired devil. Don't owe n.o.body nothing anymore. Ain't got nothing no more.”

They were old enemies, and Blu knew that Perch would forever remember the night he had put his grandson in the hospital. He eyed the scar over the old man's graying brow, knowing every time he faced this man, he would be reminded of who he had been once upon a desperate time.

Realizing there was nothing he could say to make Perch feel better, to make himself feel better, Blu left the old man in the alley and went back inside. Seated at the bar once more, he slipped Billy-Bob LaRoux twenty bucks to drive Perch Aldwin home, then checked his watch.

It was after nine, and Blu was beginning to think Angel wasn't going to show. He would be annoyed if that was the case, but not worried. Last night he'd followed her after dropping her off at DuBay Pier, and he'd learned she was staying at the Catholic women's shelter on Carmel Avenue.

He didn't want to have to run her down, though. It was crazy, but he wanted her to come looking for him, as she'd done before. He wanted to see her step into the bar and scan the room full of faces until she found him. He wanted her to come to him a step at a time, wanted to watch it happen.

Wanted her totrust him.

h.e.l.l, he was wanting too much from a littlefille he barely knew. That wasn't the Blu Devil's style-wanting what you couldn't pay for, or didn't deserve.

He glanced at the door as it opened, disappointed when he saw it wasn't her. He wished he had mentioned someplace a little less busy for them to meet. Cruger's was packed on weekends and he should have considered that. And if that wasn't bad enough, the crowd was mostly men. With what Angel had gone through in the past three years, she didn't need to be meeting him in a barroom full of rowdy, obnoxious men. Especially since the men viewed the women who frequented Cruger's in the same light as the three easy females at the other end of the bar.

When Angel finally showed up, she was forty minutes late and Blu was on his fifth beer, two over his limit-a limit he'd set for himself not because he didn't enjoy drinking, but because excess often led to reckless behavior he usually regretted later, or couldn't afford financially.

He pushed away from the bar, forgetting all about waiting for her to come to him. Relieved to see her, and at the same time annoyed as h.e.l.l that she'd kept him waiting, he crossed to the door, took hold of her arm, and steered her toward an empty table at the back of the room. Without a word, he jerked the chair out and put her on it. Then he reached for a chair close by and straddled it, wedging her into the corner, forgetting about her fear of big men and being manhandled.

”You're late,” he snapped. ”Where the h.e.l.l have you been? I said nine o'clock.”

”Nine didn't work.”

Blu eyed her hair, suddenly realizing that half the length was gone. ”Where is it?”

”Where's what?”

”Your hair, dammit.”

”I feel better if I keep changing my looks in case Salva-” She stopped herself. ”It's a wig.”

Blu eyed the wig. ”So you think Maland's out looking for you.”

”I don't think. I know he's looking for me.” She laid her small bag on the table, opened it and pulled out

the photos. Handing them to him, she said, ”The first four are me, the other two are you. The ones of me aren't recent.” She leaned toward him and Blu caught a whiff of lemon. ”See, my hair is short in that one. These were taken before I met Salva because I've worn my hair to my waist for two years. Salva insists.”

Her last comment made Blu take his eyes from the picture to stare at her. ”What do you mean, he insists?”

”Like he insists all the men working for him wear his tattoo, the women wear their hair long and straight.” A control freak, Blu decided. A twisted crazy who likes to play power games. He kept his thoughts to himself and shuffled to the next picture.

”See, my hair's the same in that one. That's a Sandpiper there, and I'm standing near-”

”Hold it.” Blu jerked his head up again. ”A Sandpiper? You know what kind of boat this is?”

”Yes. But I don't know why I know that.”