The Marriage Profile. Metsy HingleЧитать онлайн книгу.
come these wise guys have all the luck when it comes to women?”
At his deputy’s comment, Justin turned to see what had put that dumbstruck look on Bobby’s face.
And his own jaw dropped at the sight of Angela.
Feeling as though he’d been sucker punched, it took Justin a moment to regain his breath as he watched his ex-wife greet one of the hospital’s board members. Emotions stormed through him at breakneck speed—anger, disbelief, regret. He stared at her, noted that her hair was shorter now than it had been five years ago, a cap of sexy dark curls that framed her face and emphasized her cheekbones and those incredible blue eyes. She was thinner, too, he decided, as he followed the lines of the little black dress that skimmed her breasts, her waist, the curve of her hips. Disgusted by the unmistakable tug of sexual attraction, Justin scrubbed a hand down his face.
Get a grip, Wainwright.
He and Angela had both moved on with their lives since their disastrous attempt at marriage. She was a hotshot profiler now, and he was the sheriff of Lone Star County. And they had even less in common now than they had had when they’d split, he reminded himself.
But damn if just the sight of her didn’t still have the power to make his blood heat, his body ache for her. And if he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself falling under her spell all over again. Infuriated by that realization, he swore. “What in the hell is she doing here?”
“If by ‘she’ you mean the hot number with the legs, she came in with Ricky Mercado.”
Justin looked across the room at Angela again. A red haze of fury rushed through him as he stared at that scumbag Mercado whispering something in Angela’s ear, placing his hand at her back.
“Sheriff?”
Justin flexed his hands into fists, fought the primal urge to storm over to the two of them and tear Ricky’s hands away from Angela. She was no longer his wife, he reminded himself. He no longer had any rights where she was concerned.
“Sheriff, you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Justin ground out the lie as he struggled to regain control of himself.
“So I take it you know the lady?”
“Yeah, I know her.” At one time he had thought he knew her as well as he knew himself. He’d loved her, had hoped to spend his life with her, create a family with her.
“So who is she?”
“Her name’s Mason. Angela Mason.”
“Angela Mason,” Bobby repeated. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because she’s a hotshot profiler out of San Antonio,” Justin explained as he watched Ricky lead Angela over to where Johnny and his friends were huddled. “She’s helped out in a number of high-profile kidnapping cases and has been in the news off and on this past year.”
“Yeah. Now I remember. She helped locate that politician’s kid about eight months ago—the one whose little boy was strapped in the back seat of the family car when they stopped for gas and were carjacked.”
“That’s right.” Justin had read about the case, and had watched Angela downplay her role in the boy’s recovery.
“There was a lot of hype about her. The congressman and the media all credited her with saving his kid’s life.”
“That’s because she did save his life,” Justin pointed out to his deputy. Knowing Angela, he figured she would have driven herself relentlessly, forgoing food and sleep in order to find that child and bring him back safely to his family. “She’s good at her job, probably among the top profilers in the country.”
“Makes you wonder what a woman like her sees in a guy like Mercado.”
Justin remained silent, but it was a question he had asked Angela more than once during their marriage. The truth was he had never understood Angela’s loyalty to the likes of Ricky Mercado. Her friendship with the thug had been one of the sore spots between them. And, Justin admitted, he’d nearly driven himself crazy after he and Angela had split up, because he’d worried she would take up with Mercado. As far as he knew, she never had. But then she’d been living in San Antonio, while he had remained in Mission Creek.
“You ever work with her?”
“A time or two,” Justin replied.
“So,” Bobby began, a lazy grin curving his mouth, “seeing how you and she are old friends, maybe you could introduce me.”
Justin frowned. “Forget it.”
“Aw, come on, Sheriff. I’d really like to meet her.”
“I said forget it, cowboy.”
“How come?” Bobby persisted.
“For starters, she’s too old for you.”
Bobby grinned. “I like mature women.”
“Then I suggest you go introduce yourself,” Justin said, more irritated than he had a right to be.
“But I bet a good word from you would go a long way.”
“Trust me, you’d do better without any recommendation from me.”
“But I thought you said you and she were old friends.”
“I’m not sure ‘friends’ is the term I’d use to describe our relationship.” He and Angela had been colleagues, lovers, husband and wife, and at the end, they had been enemies. But he wasn’t sure they had ever been friends and doubted that they ever would be.
“All right, so you were more like acquaintances. But you do know her, right?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.
“I mean I know Angela about as well as any man can claim to know his ex-wife.”
“Let me look at you,” Johnny Mercado told Angela, holding her hands in his following their greeting. “Why, I still remember when you were just a skinny teenager. Now look at you, all grown up.”
Puzzled, Angela said, “But it hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me, Mr. Johnny. Don’t you remember, until about five years ago I used to live here in Mission Creek?” She didn’t bother adding that it had been during her marriage to Justin.
“That’s right,” he said, a look of confusion in his faded eyes. “And you’re still as pretty as a picture.”
“Thank you,” Angela replied while he continued to clutch her fingers in his weathered palms. “And it’s really good to see you again. I was sorry to hear about your wife.”
Something dark and dangerous flashed in the older man’s eyes, and his fingers tightened their grasp on hers for a moment. “My Isadora. She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did. I should have taken better care of her. If only I had protected her—”
“Pop,” Ricky said, and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Mama had a heart attack. Remember? There’s nothing you could have done.”
“I—” Johnny clamped his mouth shut, but not before Angela noted the murderous look he’d cast across the room. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, of course,” Johnny told his son. Releasing her fingers, Johnny took a step back so that Ricky’s hand fell away. But Angela couldn’t help but notice how the older man had averted his gaze. It didn’t take psychic abilities for her to recognize that something besides grief was troubling the usually easygoing Johnny Mercado.
“I saw Del Brio talking to you when I came in. He giving you a hard time about something?” Ricky asked, an edge in his voice.
“Del Brio is a yellow-bellied snake. He doesn’t scare me.”
“I