Author: Misa Buckley
Patient. Merciful. Protective… One out of three ain’t bad.
Small time crook Gabriel Kemp is just trying to make a living when a hit-and-run leaves him for dead. Waking up in hospital to an angel at his bedside gives him a second chance, but one that comes with a condition.
Fleeing San Francisco doesn’t mean he can evade the deal either – he still manages to meet Abigail Harris, the woman he’s promised to protect. He might not believe in the psychic visions she claims to have, but he knows if there’s even a chance she can identify the serial killer terrorizing downtown L.A. then she’s in danger.
The only way to keep Abby safe is to find and stop the killer. If that means taking on the devil determined to turn the City of Angels into the City of Hell on Earth, then so be it.
“You came,” she whispered. “You really came.”
What was wrong with me and attracting crazy women lately? I frowned and picked up an angel. Male, in jeans and a tee, features blurred in a way that made my stomach clench.
“I didn’t realize I was expected,” I said sourly, putting the damn thing down again. Glancing towards her, I caught the way her hands knotted on the grubby apron around her waist.
“I didn’t…expect, but I hoped. I prayed.”
Oh, God. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, whoever you think I am you’re sorely mistaken. I was just passing. On my way to the Laundromat.”
A small smile curved her lips. “You must be very new if you think that will work. Don’t you realize I can see them?”
My what, now? “Pardon?”
“Your wings.” She smiled again, her eyes fixed at some point just behind me. “They’re exactly as I dreamed them.”
I took a step away from the crazy lady. I needed to change my cologne, demand a refund or something. Why the hell had I even come in here? So much for indulging a passing ironic interest.
“Uh huh, course you did.”
She gave a high-pitched giggle and rolled her eyes. I moved back another step as she wavered closer, but her attention was on the counter and the angel I’d picked up. The creepy, featureless one that made my skin crawl.
“The wings were very clear, your face wasn’t. That was disconcerting. I usually see very clearly.”
What I saw clearly was that I needed to get out of there. Oxygen was suddenly in short supply, the walls that surrounded me solid and overbearing. An old but familiar panic crawled up my throat, choking me.
“I’m not what you think I am,” I told her, wincing at the desperation that colored my tone.
She just smiled and fondled the angel. I tried not to look at it, afraid of what I’d see.
The ironic thing was that I’d dropped everything and bussed a few hundred miles in an attempt to avoid this very meeting. I didn’t believe in fate, but something had pulled me here. The idea terrified me and I did what I always did when faced with anything that remotely resembled responsibility.
Misa Buckley grew up watching Doctor Who and Star Trek, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that, when she started writing in 2007, it was sci fi she wrote. Now multi-published, she finds writing a much-needed haven from the crazy of raising five children and a Land Rover-obsessed husband.
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