Part 4 (1/2)

And no money for her twenty-five percent of the land.

Derry had told Hawk about thata”Angel and a quarter of Eagle Head. Hawk a.s.sumed that it was payment for services rendered. How else could Angel afford to laze away three months of the year and her holidays, too?

Somebody had to pay for the privilege of Angelas company. A quarter interest in Eagle Head wasnat bad wages for three years of awork.a Angel didnat see Hawkas cynical appraisal of her. She was watching Derry, seeing the shadows of pain and sleeplessness beneath his tanned skin. Derry looked very young, but she knew that he wasnat. Not really.

No one who had lived through the wreck three years ago would ever be young again. Inexperienced, yes. Young, no.

Angel sighed.

Derry must like Hawk very much to promise him me as a tour guide, Angel thought unhappily.

Derry, too, must have sensed the loneliness beneath Hawkas proud surface. As lonely as a hawk riding a cold wind. And as compelling.

Power and grace and darkness, eyes that see all the way through to the core.

Angelas hand hesitated over Derryas hair, then resumed stroking him almost absently.

Thereas no real reason not to show Hawk the leisure possibilities of the Pacific Northwest. I would spend my summer roaming the Vancouver Island and the Inside Pa.s.sage anyway.

Itas hardly too much to ask that I take Hawk along, and in so doing help Derry fulfill a dream.

Angel looked up at Hawk, not surprised to find that he had been watching her. She met his hard, enigmatic eyes without flinching.

aHow long will you need me?a Angel asked calmly.

A corner of Hawkas mouth turned down in a cynical curve. Not more than a night or two, Iall bet.

But the thought went no further than Hawkas narrowed eyes. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, without emotion of any kind.

aSix weeks at most,a Hawk said. aThatas all the time I can afford. I have several other land deals coming together.a Hawk frowned faintly. He had an intricate, interlocking network of stock and land sales that should culminate within six weeks. Then he would either be a great deal richer or he would get to start all over again.

Either way, it would be exciting.

That was what mattered to Hawk. Not the money, but the adrenaline. He had made and lost several fortunes since he quit racing. As in racing, he preferred winning in business to losing or cras.h.i.+ng.

But win or lose, the adrenaline flowed. The discovery, the pursuit, the kill. The endless cycle, endlessly exciting, telling Hawk that he was alive.

aSix weeks,a repeated Angel, keeping her voice level with an effort.

aOn and off. Iall be flying in and out.a Hawk gave Angel a dark-eyed glance. aWe can hammer out a tentative schedule. You tell me whatas available to see and do, and weall figure out the best times for both of us.a Angel nodded absently.

aNo promises,a Hawk added. aI may not like what I see. If I donat, no sale.a Angel looked at Derry. Despite the barbiturateas embrace, he stirred restively and made a small sound. His pain had merely been put at a greater distance, not vanquished.

For an instant Angelas hand hesitated in its soothing journey as she realized how many times Derry had sat by her bed, watched her restless sleep, and heard her whimper as unconsciousness released the harsh guard she kept on her emotions.

So many times she had awakened to his affectionate smile and encouraging You look better today.

There was really no question about helping Derry. If Hawk needed Angel as a guide for six weeks or six years, she would be there.

Gently, Angelas hand resumed smoothing back Derryas springy blond hair.

aFine,a Angel said quietly, not looking up at Hawk again. aWhatever is necessary.a

5.

It was still dark outside, almost an hour until dawn. Angel worked quietly in the kitchen, putting food into grocery bags, wrapping sandwiches, and turning strips of bacon in the pan.

When she heard the thump of Derryas crutches in the hallway, she peeled off another handful of bacon and put the strips into the pan to fry.

aYouare up early,a Angel said, turning to smile at Derry. aDid I wake you?a aNo.a Derry grimaced as he s.h.i.+fted his weight. Normally he was cheerfula”maddeningly soa”in the morning. His present state told Angel that his ankle was throbbing.

aHow did you sleep?a she asked, searching his face.

Derry glowered. Between that and his tousled blond curls, he looked a surly sixteen.

aLousy,a he muttered. aI feel hung over.a aYou look it, too. Orange juice?a Yawning, ruffling his hair with one hand, Derry nodded.

aPlease,a he said. Then, hopefully, aCoffee?a aSit down. Iall bring it to you.a While Derry went to the little breakfast nook that had a view of the strait, Angel fixed up a tray with coffee, juice, toast, and homemade jams. The latter were courtesy of Mrs. Carey, a neighbor who made the best jams on Vancouver Island. Two months ago she had tripped over her cat and broken her hip. The cast was off now, but Angel still shopped for her, as well as for two other temporary shut-ins.

aWhereas Hawk?a Derry asked as Angel set the tray on the table.

aTelephone.a Derry shook his head. aHe works too hard. The sun isnat even up.a aIt is in London. Heas talking to Lord Someone-or-other.a aMust be the island heas trying to buy.a aA whole island?a asked Angel.

aYeah,a Derry said. aHe wants to turn it into a cracking plant for North Sea oil.a Angel hesitated, then went back to the stove.

aHawk must be very rich,a she said.

aI guess. When I asked the bank to check him out as a potential buyer for Eagle Head, I got no further than the name Miles Hawkins. Old Man Johnstonas eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.a aOrange juice,a Angel said.

Obediently Derry drank the juice.

aHawk has quite a reputation in what Johnston refers to as athe international financial community,a a Derry added. aA bona-fide high roller.a Derry paused long enough to take several long swallows of the fragrant coffee. Sighing, he looked hopefully at the coffee pot.

Smiling, Angel picked up the coffee pot and topped off his cup.

aOdd, though,a Derry said after a moment. aHawk doesnat act rich.a Shrugging, Angel returned to the bacon.

aHow does someone aact richa?a she asked.

aYou know. Throwing money everywhere. Dropping the names of the right resorts, the right people. Private jets and cars faster than the speed of light.a aLike Clarissa?a Derry paused, then sighed. aYeah. She was something else, wasnat she?a Angel suppressed a smile.

aIad tell you what that something was,a Angel offered, abut Iam not supposed to know the word. Thank G.o.d you saw through her, Derry. She was gorgeous, sure, but she had the intelligence of a clam.a aYouare slandering clams,a Derry said dryly.

Smiling openly, Angel set strips of bacon out to drain on paper towels.

aHow many eggs?a she asked.

aFive.a aHungry, arenat you?a aI slept through dinner, remember?a aUmmm,a Angel said, wielding a chopper over the crisp bacon.