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searching, a lot of weighing pros and cons, and letting a
bucketful of self-doubt run rampant. As much as it
pained him to let the closest thing he had to a father
down, he saw no other way. "Doc, I'm sorry, but I can't
do this anymore."
His mentor didn't even have to ask what "this" he
referred to. "I've always wondered when you'd have
enough. And while I worry that you're allowing some
petty felon to dictate your life, I fully understand in light
of recent events." Noah sensed Doc had something more
to say, and for some reason chose not to.
That bothered Noah, who cared about Doc's opinion
more than anyone else's save Jeremy's. "It's not me I'm
worried about. It never has been. It's Jeremy." He
nodded toward the door Jeremy'd just left out of. "What
if it'd been him at home and not me? Or what if someone
decided to hurt him to get back at me? I can't do that to
him.
"Besides," he continued. "He's never had a real home,
a safe place to go to. I don't want him to live in fear.
He's done enough hiding already."
Doc smiled the same kindly smile he'd used to win
Noah over years ago. "Shouldn't you ask Jeremy? He's
quite capable of deciding things for himself, in case you
haven't noticed."
Noah grimaced. "He's also too damned noble for his
own good. And altruistic. And young. Which means he
may not be considering the whole picture. Hell, when I
was his age I didn't believe anything bad would ever
happen and look where my arrogance got me! I nearly
freaking died."
Ever the voice of reason, Doc didn't back down. "But
you didn't."
No, he didn't. Might as well give credit where due.
"Thanks to you."
Fallen Angel 173
Doc's bushy mustache crawled upward on the ends,
hiding what might have been a wistful smile. Sometimes
Noah wished he'd shave the damned thing, make it
easier to read him. "Oh, I wouldn't give me too much
credit. Your stubborn will to live might have played a
part. I'll make you a deal. I'll accept your resignation on
one condition."
It couldn't be that easy. "What's the condition?"
"That you discuss your decision with your partner
and he fully agrees, because I can't imagine you sitting
at home while he's doing visitations."
Noah hadn't anticipated that. While he had every
right to decide for himself, Jeremy had an equal right to
continue putting himself in the line of fire. And probably
would, too.
He started to speak, but Doc cut him off. "However, I
should tell you right now that I fully intend to enforce
our changes in policy."
Noah quirked a brow, as much as his bandages
allowed. "Really?"
"Yes, really. From now on no one, and I mean no
one, will venture out without a partner, so while Jeremy
may be out there, he won't be alone, and preferably in a
group."
"Just as well I'm quitting, I suppose."
Fallen Angel 174
Chapter Seventeen
Noah nailed the windows shut in the house, in
defiance of the "sometimes it works, sometimes it
doesn't, sometimes you wake up in the Arctic tundra"
air-conditioning unit. He hacked down the bushes he'd
lovingly planted four years ago -- eliminating places for
evildoers to hide. He installed motion lights, hung
"Beware of the Dog" signs, and priced a security system,
settling for a cheap, "These premises protected by"
notice for the front yard for the time being.
The truck sat in the driveway, patched up for now,
according to the mechanic, who still insisted Noah
needed a new ride. "If I can't afford an alarm for the
house, I sure as hell can't afford a new truck," Noah
mused to the hammer in his hand.
In the middle of checking the camera system in the
closed bar one Sunday afternoon, Noah paused to take a
break. Spying a bottle of whiskey on the bar, he carried
it with him to the end of the polished oak surface,
snagging a glass along the way. "Sunday, can't serve
drinks," he muttered to himself, adding, "watch me." He
held the bottle aloft, admiring the light playing off the
swirling liquid. Pouring a shot, he plunked down onto a
bar stool. How long since he'd drunk anything stronger
than beer? Ten years? Longer? Back in the day he'd
preferred rum. Whiskey had been& Noah swallowed
hard, remembering.
"Here's to you," he heard Billy say, raising a glass of
fiery liquid in toast. Noah raised his glass in the here and
now, saluted the friend Billy had been, not the lover, and
downed the shot. The amber fluid seared his pipes going
down, the distant familiar ache of days gone by.
Three shots later found him in his office, digging
through a drawer to find a box he'd tried to forget. He
placed it on his desk, pouring another shot, and
Fallen Angel 175
rummaged through the torturing evidence of his past,
tossing aside the first dozen pictures. At last he found
what he'd been digging for. A photo taken nearly
thirteen years earlier, when he'd hitchhiked to the city
with dreams of making something of himself. He'd been [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]