The Marriage Profile

Three

“Ex-wife,” Justin corrected. “We’re divorced.”

Angela tensed at the sound of Justin’s voice just outside the door. Despite a sleepless night and the lecture she’d given herself this morning, she was every bit as anxious at the prospect of working with Justin now as she had been when she’d agreed to take the assignment. But even if she could convince the FBI and the police chief to release her from her agreement to work the case, her conscience would never allow her to walk away. That meant she had to face Justin now and try to make him see that this wasn’t about them, but about the welfare of a missing little girl.

Bracing herself, Angela turned away from the window she’d been staring out of and watched Justin saunter into the room with that same purposeful stride she’d noted the first time she’d set eyes on him. His air of self-confidence had always fascinated her. Perhaps because she’d had so little self-confidence growing up and throughout their marriage. It had only been in the past few years that she’d begun to feel more sure of herself.

She hadn’t been mistaken in her impressions of him last night, she mused. Age hadn’t diminished Justin’s looks in any way. If anything, he was even more handsome in the slate-gray sheriff’s uniform than he had been the previous evening in the expensive suit. The silver badge pinned on his shirt gleamed beneath the office lights. With his service revolver strapped to his waist and the Stetson in his hand, he could have stepped right off the pages of some slick magazine showcasing lawmen hunks of the Southwest. Right down to the forbidding scowl on his face. She wasn’t sure if that grim set of his lips was due to her presence or to Audrey Lou’s reference to her as his wife. Probably both, she decided.

“For what it’s worth, I did try to explain that I was your ex-wife,” Angela told him. “And the truth is, I was surprised that Mrs. Cox even remembered me, let alone the fact that we were once married.”

“Audrey Lou’s got a memory like a computer chip,” Justin informed her as he made his way over to his desk. “The woman doesn’t forget anything when it comes to the citizens of Lone Star County. And there’s very little that goes on in this town that she doesn’t know about.”

The mention of how everyone knew everyone’s business made her smile. “I guess I forgot what a small town Mission Creek can be at times,” Angela offered.

“It’s not all that small of a town. But then I suppose that depends on the person and what they want.”

Angela knew it was a dig at her because she’d opted to move to the big city of San Antonio instead of remaining in Mission Creek and trying to salvage their marriage. Since Justin had refused to admit five years ago that the real problems at the core of their marriage had little to do with their careers and everything to do with their relationship, she doubted that rehashing her reasons for leaving would serve any purpose. Deciding to let the remark pass, she said, “Well, I’m sorry, anyway, about the confusion and any embarrassment it caused.”

“The confusion was of my own making. I thought you were Rose,” he explained as he dropped his hat on the corner of the paper-laden desk. “As for embarrassing me, you didn’t.”

“I’m glad. That I didn’t embarrass you, I mean,” she added nervously. “But I suppose I should have made sure Mrs. Cox understood.”

“She understood, all right. But whether we’d been divorced five years or fifty, it wouldn’t have made a difference to Audrey Lou. As far as she’s concerned, you’re still my wife.”

“I take it she’s not too fond of divorce?”

He made a dismissive sound. “That’s like asking if water is wet. The woman thinks the only time a marriage ends is when one of the pair dies. As far as she’s concerned, ‘until death do us part’ means just that. And since she’s been married to the same man for over forty years, I guess I can understand why she feels the way she does.”

“I suppose so,” Angela offered, feeling more awkward by the second. “The idea of two people spending their lives together, well, it is a lovely sentiment.”

“I guess that would depend on the two people and whether or not the marriage works out. In our case, it didn’t.”

While he didn’t say “because of you,” Angela could almost hear the words he’d left unsaid. Uncomfortable, she stared down at her clasped hands a moment. She’d long ago accepted blame for the failure of their marriage. Looking back now, she could see so clearly that their marriage had stood little chance of succeeding. How could it? Even without the added strain caused by Justin’s family’s objections to his choice of her as a wife and her inability to conceive a child, the marriage had mistake written all over it from the start. Someone like her wasn’t meant to be anyone’s wife—especially not the wife of a man like Justin Wainwright. Yet knowing that, she’d been too blinded by her love for him to say no when he’d proposed. And because she’d been selfish, she had married him and had made them both miserable.

Shoving aside the sad thoughts, Angela lifted her gaze again and found Justin’s eyes on her. And as had so often been the case during their marriage, those cool green eyes of his gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Growing more stressed by the minute, she decided the best thing to do was to get this over with and tell Justin the reason she was there. “Justin, I—”

“Listen, Angela, I—”

He chuckled.

So did she. And she let out a breath as some of the tension eased. Even though she realized that she was simply delaying the fireworks that her announcement was sure to set off, she said, “Go ahead. You first.”

“I was about to say that considering how our conversation ended last night, I’m surprised to find you here.”

“I realize I should have called you first, instead of just showing up here like this,” she said, feeling defensive. “But to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d agree to see me. So I decided to just take my chances and come by.”

A hint of red burnished the sharp lines of his cheeks. “Yeah, well, can’t say that I blame you. I didn’t do such a good job of handling things last night. Seeing you…well, it took me by surprise. I was out of line.”

Angela knew what a proud, stubborn man Justin was, so the unexpected admission that he was wrong left her reeling. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure what to say.

It was Justin who spoke. “Anyway, I apologize for the way I acted last night.”

“Apology accepted,” she finally managed to say.

“I’d have apologized to you sooner, but I couldn’t find you at either of the hotels.”

“I didn’t stay at a hotel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” he said, a slight edge in his voice. “And I don’t suppose you drove all the way back to San Antonio last night and then turned around and drove back here this morning.”

“No, I didn’t.”

His lips tightened at her response, but he made no comment. And the short break in the tension between them evaporated as quickly as it had come. Once again Angela rued her decision to accept this assignment. “May I?” she asked, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.

“Suit yourself,” Justin replied, and once she was seated, he sat down in the black swivel chair behind the battered mahogany desk.

Striving to smooth the way for the bombshell she intended to drop on him, she said, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t make the decision to attend the dedication ceremony at the hospital until the last minute. Otherwise, I would have called and warned you that I’d be there.”

“As you pointed out last night, I don’t own Mission Creek and you’re no longer my wife. Where you go and who you go there with isn’t any of my business.”

The cool reminder stung. “True. But considering that we share a history, telling you that I’d planned to be there would have been the courteous thing to do. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“Fine. Now that we’ve both got our apologies out of the way, you’re going to have to excuse me because I need to get back to work.” Without waiting for her answer, he reached for the stack of mail in his incoming basket. “You can just leave the door open on your way out.”

His dismissal stunned Angela almost as much as it irritated her. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here because I felt I owed you an apology or because I expected one from you.”

“Whatever you say. But I can’t imagine anything else we have to discuss and I really do need to get back to work.” Obviously believing the matter was at an end, he went back to perusing the papers in front of him.

Angered by his arrogance, Angela shoved to her feet. “Aren’t you even the least bit interested in knowing why I’m here?”

“Not particularly,” he told her without so much as a glance in her direction.

Suddenly Angela’s patience snapped. She came around the desk, slapped her hands down on the papers in front of him. “Dammit, Wainwright, look at me!”

Slowly he lifted his gaze to hers. And the heat in those green eyes sucked the breath right out of her. “All right, Mason. I’m looking.”

Angela’s pulse jumped. Her head began to spin, and she tried to remember exactly what it was she’d been about to say to him.

“As much as I enjoy looking at you, Angel, I’m pressed for time. So if you’ve got something on your mind, I suggest you spit it out.”

Angela felt a sharp pang at Justin’s use of the pet name he’d given her during the early days of their courtship. She started to speak, but her throat seemed impossibly tight, and she closed her mouth again. She couldn’t think about the past now, she reminded herself.

“You going to tell me why you’re all worked up? Or am I supposed to guess?”

Angela swallowed, tried to clear her head. But before she could answer him, he shoved away from the desk and walked away from her, only to whirl around and march back over to stand in front of her.

“Since you seem to be at a loss for words, why don’t I tell you why I think you’re here,” he began, his mouth hard, his expression even harder. “I think you’re here because you want a little payback.”

“Payback?” Angela repeated.

“Yeah, payback. I gave you a rough time about the divorce, and last night you decided to pay me back by flaunting your relationship with Ricky Mercado in front of me and everyone else in this town. Well, it worked. I blew my cool last night when I saw the two of you together. But that was last night. It isn’t going to work today. You’re not going to be able to use Mercado to push my buttons.”

“Is that really what you believe? That I would do such a thing?”

The look he gave her could have melted ice. “You saying it isn’t? Are you going to stand there and deny that you wanted to rub my nose in the fact that you’re sleeping with Mercado?”

Taken aback by his accusation, Angela remained speechless for several moments. While Justin had never liked nor understood her friendship with Ricky, she had always believed it was because of the Mercado’s family business and Ricky’s ties to organized crime. It had never crossed her mind that Justin might have seen Ricky as a romantic rival. Staring at the man she’d given her heart to so long ago, she wondered how she could have been so blind. “You’re jealous of Ricky,” she murmured more to herself than to him as realization dawned. Which made no sense—especially now when Justin had all but said he wanted nothing to do with her.

“The hell I am!” He jammed a hand through his hair, paced the length of the room. “I just don’t like seeing you hooked up with a scumbag like Mercado.”

“But you’re wrong. Ricky and I—” She swallowed, deciding she needed to be blunt. “Justin, I’m not sleeping with Ricky.”

He whipped around, pinned her with those stormy eyes. “You expect me to believe that when I know damn well that you didn’t stay in a hotel last night?”

“Believe whatever you want,” she told him while she tried to convince herself that what Justin thought about her didn’t matter. “But the truth is I didn’t spend the night with Ricky. I spent the night in my own bed.”

Justin narrowed his eyes. “That’s quite a trick since you’ve already said you didn’t go back to San Antonio.”

“But I did return to my condo. Or perhaps I should say to my new condo—the one that I’m leasing, which happens to be located just outside of Goldenrod and is the place where I spent the night in my own bed, alone.”

Justin marched back over to her. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about something like that? It’s easy enough for you to check. I moved into the place two days ago.”

“Why?” he demanded, eyeing her warily.

“Because I didn’t want to be living out of a suitcase while I’m working here.”

Justin’s head snapped up at that. “Working here? On what?”

“Finding the baby that was kidnapped from the Carsons’ ranch. The FBI said they’d had a request for my help.”

“The hell they did,” Justin shouted. “There’s no way that I asked for you, and if anyone in Lone Star County had, I’d know about it.”

“Evidently, someone did,” Angela replied, recalling her conversation with her FBI contact and her dismay upon hearing no one had advised Justin about her involvement in the case.

Justin snatched up the phone. “Audrey Lou, get the person we had as a contact with the FBI on the phone for me. Now.” When he slammed the receiver back down, he said, “I’ll speak with the Bureau and have them take you off the case.”

“I don’t want off the case.”

“No offense, Mason, but I don’t need your help.”

“No offense taken, Wainwright. But you obviously do need my help. So does the FBI. From what I understand, the little girl’s been missing for almost three months now. And you and I both know that in a kidnapping every day that goes by without her being found makes the chances of getting her back even slimmer.”

“I’m well aware of that fact.”

“Then maybe if you’d get past your anger at me, you’d see that you’re not getting anywhere on your own. I can help you find her, Justin,” she said, trying to ease the tension so that working together wouldn’t be more difficult than it had to be. “We can help each other find her.”

“I prefer working alone.”

His rebuff hit her like a slap. But Angela reminded herself she had a job to do—to find the missing little girl—and that meant she didn’t have the luxury of running away and licking her wounds. “Suit yourself,” she told him, and picked up the handbag she’d placed next to the chair. She walked toward the door, paused and turned back to face him. “But whether you like it or not, I’m on this case now, too. I’d prefer working with you because I think our chances of finding her are better. But I’ll work alone if I have to. It’s up to you. Either way, I don’t intend to leave until I find that little girl.”

“And how are you planning to do that? Hope that one of your dreams tells you where to find her?”

Angela stiffened. During their marriage, Justin had always skirted the issue of her psychic abilities and chalked up her uncanny accuracy as woman’s intuition. And because the memory of her family’s rejection had been so painful, she’d allowed him to do so. Not anymore. “I intend to use any and all means available to me to find her—including my psychic abilities. I’ve already made arrangements to visit with Flynt and Josie Carson tomorrow, and I’ve requested copies of the Bureau’s files on the case. I’ll want to take a look at your files, too.”

Justin shot across the room, slapped his hand against the door she’d started to open and sent it slamming shut again. “Let’s get something straight here, Mason. This is my case. Mine.”

“Then I suggest you have that chat with the Bureau because they don’t see it that way. Now, get out of my way,” she said evenly, and reached for the doorknob. When he made no move to allow her to leave, Angela looked up at his hard face, noting the grim set of his mouth.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared down at her. “I’ve been searching for that little girl for months and have hit one dead end after another. So have the feds. You think just because you’ve had some success tracking down a few missing people, you can waltz in here and tell me to turn over my files? That I’ll let you take over my case?”

Angela sighed. She didn’t bother telling him it wasn’t his case—that officially it was a federal matter. She knew Justin well enough to know that once a case was his, it remained his. Not even the head of the FBI himself would be able to convince the stubborn man otherwise. While he might have made noises about cooperating with the FBI, Justin would have continued to work the case on his own. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Justin. I’ve offered to work with you. I’m still willing to work with you on this case.”

“Right. You expect me to put my faith in the woman who walked out on me? Better yet, I’m supposed to tell the Carsons to put their faith and hopes of finding Lena into some psychic mumbo jumbo?”

Angela flinched at the barb. Her father had made her an outcast in her own family, subjecting her to brutal lashings of both his tongue and his belt, claiming it was the devil that enabled her to see things others couldn’t. It had taken her years to learn to control her own tongue, to not let others know about her visions. But no matter how hard she had tried, sooner or later she would slip and earn her father’s wrath. She hadn’t thought it possible for anyone else’s rejection ever to hurt her so much.

She’d been wrong.

Justin’s jibe about her psychic abilities had been just as sharp, just as painful, as Horace Mason’s leather belt had been all those years ago. Feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes, she blinked hard, determined not to cry in front of him.

“Angel.” He said her name softly and started to touch her. “I—”

“Don’t,” she said firmly. And because she felt so vulnerable, because she was afraid if he touched her the tears would start and not stop, she deliberately pulled open the door. “I want copies of the files, Justin. I’ll leave my number with Mrs. Cox. Have her call me when you have them ready and I’ll come by to pick them up.” Then before he could respond, she walked out the door without looking back.

Justin pulled his truck up to the curb across the street from Angela’s condo and shut off the engine. After turning off his headlights, he sat in the darkness and stared at the place Angela had moved into several days earlier. Located on the outskirts of Goldenrod, it was one of the newer developments that had gone up in Lone Star County during the past year. There were six units in all, moderately priced and small by Texas standards. The limestone facade still had that new look about it. He supposed the small trees with their less-than-lush branches had been the developer’s attempt at landscaping. They didn’t even come close to the massive century-old oaks found on the Wainwright ranch. But he had to admit the rows of azaleas that lined the front of each unit and the walkways were a nice touch. No doubt it had been those rose-colored blooms that had sold Angela on the place. She’d always had a weakness for flowers, Justin remembered.

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