Death Angel

But if he thought he was in love with her, at least for now, that gave her some leverage. That leverage, of course, came with strings, because he might want to stick close to her, and that was the last thing she wanted. She needed a little alone time, so she could get her plans organized and launched.

From the beginning of her relationship with Rafael, she’d taken steps to secure her future. He’d given her numerous gifts of jewelry, but at no time had she ever assumed he’d let her take the jewelry with her when he dumped her. To circumvent him there, she’d taken photographs of each piece and had them all duplicated in paste-very good fakes that had cost her hundreds of dollars to have made, but the cost was well worth it. Each time she’d worn a piece of the real jewelry, when she gave it back to Rafael for him to lock in the safe, she’d swapped the costume piece for the real thing. Rafael guarded the fakes, and when she could, she slipped away to the bank where she had a safe-deposit box he didn’t know anything about.

She could live for a while, and live well, on the money she could get from selling the jewelry, but that wasn’t enough. Taking the jewelry would make him angry, but it wouldn’t be a slap at him, an insult that would cut him to the quick. Besides, he’d given the jewelry to her, so it was hers anyway. She wanted to do something that would make him a laughingstock, that would eat away at him.

Yeah, it was dangerous. She knew that. But she’d thought things out, and once she was out of the city she had an advantage; Rafael was purely Big City. He’d lived his entire life in either Los Angeles or New York. Rural America was as foreign to him as Timbuktu, but she’d grown up in a small town in the middle of the country, and she knew how to make herself inconspicuous, how to blend in. There were a lot of places where she could reinvent herself. He wouldn’t be expecting that, because he thought she was too dumb to pull it off. On the other hand, he also thought she was too dumb to steal him blind, and pretty soon he’d know better.

She’d have to move fast and keep on moving, and have an alternate plan she could go to each step of the way, in case something went wrong. She should expect things to go wrong, then she wouldn’t panic when they did.

She would have, at most, a few hours’ head start. If she wasn’t out of New York City by then, she was as good as dead.

Chapter Six

DREA OVERSLEPT, AND FINALLY DRAGGED HERSELF OUT OF bed feeling as if she’d been battered, in both body and mind. Four hours of sex, even really good sex, might sound good in theory, but it wasn’t something she wanted to do again, even without all the emotional upheaval that had accompanied it. She couldn’t deny the physical pleasure, but she liked to be the one in control. She’d rather have a clear head during the act, and take care of her own needs later, when she was alone. Look how stupid a few orgasms had made her, even if the dumbing effect was only temporary. She’d never make that mistake again; if anyone was made stupid, it would be the guy, not her.

This morning she didn’t let herself wimp out in front of the mirror; she squared up to it and focused on what she saw now, not the reflection that had been there years ago. She wasn’t that stupid, vulnerable girl any longer, so thinking about her was a waste of time.

The present was bad enough, she thought critically, turning her head from side to side as she examined herself. Her face was colorless, unless she counted the bruised-looking shadows under her swollen eyes, and her hair was so snarled it looked as if a nest of rats had been wrestling in it. Maybe it was just ego, but she didn’t want to look pitiful. She couldn’t wipe away every trace of yesterday, but she could certainly look better than this.

For the first time ever, she locked the bathroom door before undressing. She didn’t care what Rafael thought, didn’t care if he didn’t like it.

She picked up a comb and fiercely attacked the knots and snarls in her hair, then got in the shower and scrubbed with her favorite perfumed shower gel. Yesterday afternoon she hadn’t had time to put conditioner on her hair, which was why it was such a mess this morning. She took the time now, and felt the thick strands turn silky under her fingers.

The first thing she’d do, she thought grimly, was cut most of this mess off. Not only was her hair too identifiable, but she didn’t like her hair this long, or this curly. She had some natural wave in her hair but these corkscrew curls resulted from stinking chemicals and hours of maintenance. She’d deliberately chosen the look, knowing it made her look more frivolous and less capable, but, damn, she was tired of it. She was tired of pretending she didn’t have a brain, tired of putting someone else’s needs and wants ahead of her own.

She pulled on her robe and tightly belted it, then swiftly began putting on her makeup, feeling as if time were slipping away and she had only a few hours in which to escape. She shouldn’t have slept so long, she should have set her alarm, but she hadn’t, and now she had to move fast. With Rafael weirding out on her the way he had, as if he’d suddenly discovered this deep love for her-yeah, right-she couldn’t predict what he’d do next, and the uncertainty scared her. He was a dangerous man, and a smart one. All it would take to tip him off was for her to make one slip of the tongue, or forget to guard her expression. She hadn’t made that mistake in the two years they’d been together, but she’d never before been so on edge, either. She didn’t trust him, and she no longer trusted herself to hold things together.

An idea struck, something that might give her a small advantage if it worked. If not, then at least her situation wouldn’t be any worse. She forced herself to cough. The sound was mild, at first, but as she did it again and again the cough became deeper, rougher. She stopped after a minute and said "Damn it" out loud, to test her voice. Already she sounded hoarse, but not hoarse enough. She coughed some more, pulling the effort from deep in her chest, and felt her throat burn. If she were sick, she’d have a ready-made excuse for keeping Rafael at a distance if he tried to have sex with her-and she’d also have an excuse for looking so pale, which was nothing but her ego talking, but after yesterday she needed every bit of ego she could rustle up. Between the two of them, Rafael and the assassin had pretty much ground her into dust.