Hawk’s eyes narrowed.
“A lot of names that angels wouldn’t know about,” he said.
His clear, hard eyes measured her impersonally, lingering on the nimbus of light that was her hair.
“Angel. It suits your looks.”
Hawk’s tone said that her name was Angel so far as he was concerned, and Angel was what he would call her.
She bridled at his arrogance, then forced herself to relax. Derry needed Hawk. In any case, Hawk couldn’t know the meaning of the name Angel for her.
Something alive that once had died.
“Then I will call you Hawk,” Angel said, her voice soft, “and we both will be unhappy with our names.”
Chapter 2
Hawk’s left eyebrow lifted, emphasizing the ruthless lines of his face. He turned away from Angel and took a step back toward his table.
As he turned, he spoke. “What do you drink, Angel?”
“Sunlight.”
Hawk turned back so suddenly that Angel couldn’t suppress a startled sound. She had never seen such quickness in a man. Yet for all his speed, his motions were smooth, utterly controlled, and as graceful as wind.
“Sunlight,” he said, gesturing to the smoky room, “is in short supply here.”
“I didn’t come here to drink, Hawk. I came because Derry needs me.”
Though Angel’s voice was soft, there was real determination in it. It was the same tone that had warned Bill she wasn’t prepared to be reasonable on the subject of Derry.
“What does Derry need?” Angel asked.
Hawk hadn’t missed the changed quality of Angel’s voice.
“A new leg,” he said bluntly. “He had an accident.”
The room swirled darkly around Angel, sound spinning into cries of pain, red light splintering into broken glass frosted by moonlight, the smell of raw gas choking her, fear and pain clawing in her throat.
Angel tried to say something, to ask questions, to reassure herself that Derry was all right, that this wasn’t a return to the horrible car wreck three years ago when her mother, her father, and her fiancé had died, and she had been broken almost beyond healing.