pushed those thoughts aside with an effort and went directly to her bedroom. She stripped off her clothes and left them in a little pile on the floor, but carefully hung her shoulder holster containing her SIG SAUER P320 on its designated hook inside her closet door for easy access. She’d been surprised her interrogators had allowed her to take her gun home with her, but they had, after they’d performed ballistics tests on it.
A hot shower beckoned. With the steaming-hot water streaming over her head, she could finally let herself cry. Cry the way she’d been wanting to cry since the moment she’d killed Sasha. Cry the way she hadn’t cried since she’d finally admitted she wasn’t going to be able to find her cousin, no matter how hard she tried.
She sagged against the tiles, the fingers of one hand splayed against the water-slick wall as sobs tore through her—her regret over taking a man’s life all mixed up with her remorse over Caterina, her inability to make her parents proud of her no matter how she tried and everything else she’d failed to do right in her life. She cried until the hot water turned lukewarm, until she cried herself out, and then wiped her eyes. She stepped tiredly from the shower and toweled herself off. She used a separate towel for her hair, rubbing it briskly until it was barely damp, then grabbed a comb off the small counter beside the washbasin and quickly combed her hair, forcing herself to look in the mirror.
She scarcely recognized the woman who stared back at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face puffy. She remembered the pride she’d felt earlier when Captain Zale had told her, “Good job, Lieutenant.”
Proud. You were so proud, and now what?
A proverb from the Bible came to her, one her mother had often quoted.
Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
She’d been so proud she’d helped save the crown prince. So proud she hadn’t interrupted the christening in doing so. But now her pride was humbled. In ashes. The questions her interrogators had thrown at her made it very clear they’d suspected her—as if she’d killed Sasha to cover up her own involvement. Crazy as that idea was, it had made a kind of illogical sense to her when her interrogators had raised the possibility.
Even Captain Zale had not defended her, and that hurt most of all. Everything she’d done since joining the queen’s security detail, all the sacrifices she’d made, and no one stood up for her.
The doorbell rang, startling her from her sad reverie. Who could possibly be calling on her at this hour of the night? She’d already spent hours being thoroughly interrogated by Captain Zale and the heads of the other two security details. They’d finally let her go when they were convinced she had nothing more to tell them and the crime scene reconstruction and preliminary ballistics tests had corroborated her story that Sasha had shot the cameraman to cover up
his
involvement in the plot, and that she’d shot Sasha in self-defense.
Even if she were completely cleared of suspicion, as seemed likely, given the strong evidence, would she ever be trusted—
really
trusted—again? Or would they insist on believing a
man
would not have let down his guard? That a
man
would have acted differently in the same situation?
She pulled her full-length ice-blue chenille robe on, firmly tying the belt as she walked barefoot to the front door. “Yes?” she asked in a voice that said whoever was on the other side had better have a damned good reason for being there.
“It’s Alec, Angel. Open the door.”
Angelina hesitated for a moment and realized she probably owed Alec thanks. If he hadn’t been a witness to what had occurred in the sacristy, she might not be a free woman now. She might still be suspected of being part of the assassination attempt.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open, then just stood there staring at Alec. He looked good, given it was past
A hot shower beckoned. With the steaming-hot water streaming over her head, she could finally let herself cry. Cry the way she’d been wanting to cry since the moment she’d killed Sasha. Cry the way she hadn’t cried since she’d finally admitted she wasn’t going to be able to find her cousin, no matter how hard she tried.
She sagged against the tiles, the fingers of one hand splayed against the water-slick wall as sobs tore through her—her regret over taking a man’s life all mixed up with her remorse over Caterina, her inability to make her parents proud of her no matter how she tried and everything else she’d failed to do right in her life. She cried until the hot water turned lukewarm, until she cried herself out, and then wiped her eyes. She stepped tiredly from the shower and toweled herself off. She used a separate towel for her hair, rubbing it briskly until it was barely damp, then grabbed a comb off the small counter beside the washbasin and quickly combed her hair, forcing herself to look in the mirror.
She scarcely recognized the woman who stared back at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face puffy. She remembered the pride she’d felt earlier when Captain Zale had told her, “Good job, Lieutenant.”
Proud. You were so proud, and now what?
A proverb from the Bible came to her, one her mother had often quoted.
Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
She’d been so proud she’d helped save the crown prince. So proud she hadn’t interrupted the christening in doing so. But now her pride was humbled. In ashes. The questions her interrogators had thrown at her made it very clear they’d suspected her—as if she’d killed Sasha to cover up her own involvement. Crazy as that idea was, it had made a kind of illogical sense to her when her interrogators had raised the possibility.
Even Captain Zale had not defended her, and that hurt most of all. Everything she’d done since joining the queen’s security detail, all the sacrifices she’d made, and no one stood up for her.
The doorbell rang, startling her from her sad reverie. Who could possibly be calling on her at this hour of the night? She’d already spent hours being thoroughly interrogated by Captain Zale and the heads of the other two security details. They’d finally let her go when they were convinced she had nothing more to tell them and the crime scene reconstruction and preliminary ballistics tests had corroborated her story that Sasha had shot the cameraman to cover up
his
involvement in the plot, and that she’d shot Sasha in self-defense.
Even if she were completely cleared of suspicion, as seemed likely, given the strong evidence, would she ever be trusted—
really
trusted—again? Or would they insist on believing a
man
would not have let down his guard? That a
man
would have acted differently in the same situation?
She pulled her full-length ice-blue chenille robe on, firmly tying the belt as she walked barefoot to the front door. “Yes?” she asked in a voice that said whoever was on the other side had better have a damned good reason for being there.
“It’s Alec, Angel. Open the door.”
Angelina hesitated for a moment and realized she probably owed Alec thanks. If he hadn’t been a witness to what had occurred in the sacristy, she might not be a free woman now. She might still be suspected of being part of the assassination attempt.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open, then just stood there staring at Alec. He looked good, given it was past
Similar Books
