Angel's Hero

Chapter 23

Angel organized a service to pack up her belongings in her room at the hotel, and had them transported along with her Jeep back to Boothbay.
It was tedious, and expensive, but Conner couldn't leave town again right now and he'd refused to let her travel by herself. She agreed that it was just tempting fate, although she was certain that Owen wouldn't strike so soon after the fire that morning. Even so, she went along with Conner's wishes.
They stood on the front lawn of the old house, soaking in the sun. She let the warmth seep into her, and beat back the chill that had settled on her neck after Conner shared that information about Owen.
Bo had dropped Jackson off shortly before the group had dispersed and Angel had watched as Michelle had gathered her child close, and held on to him.
The time had come to tell the boy about the man who'd fathered him. Michelle and Sienna, each taking a hand of the little boy, had disappeared into the house to do the deed, and Robert had remained outside with Angel and Conner.
Raymond was down in the street talking to the deputy who'd shown up for the first watch.
Conner's phone rang and he stepped away from Angel and Robert to answer it.
Looking back at the house before turning to the blonde man, Angel got his attention by placing a firm hand on his arm, and spoke to him in even tones.
"You ready for this? For everything that comes with her? Jackson, Sienna, me," she paused. "Owen?"
Taking a moment to look back at the house, too, Robert sighed. "I don't know."
Angel studied him. She saw his throat work as he swallowed, his brow furrowed.
"I want to be," he said with resolve.
Angel smiled. "Good enough," she chuckled at his raised eyebrows. She hugged him, and he returned the pressure with a one armed embrace.
"Enough of that," Conner approached them. He dropped an arm over Angel's shoulders protectively, effectively pulling her out of the other man's embrace.
Robert rolled his eyes and laughed. Angel found she quite liked the possessiveness.
"That was Adams, he's just caught the lead investigator from the FBI handling the case up with everything that has happened. The agent, Du Pont, wants to talk to you in the morning, Angel. She has a few instructions," Conner nodded to Robert before shaking his friends hand.
"Call me if you need me," Robert said.
"Same."
With that they went to Conner's car. He'd left the cruiser at the Sheriff's department, and come over in the silver sedan. It didn't suit him at all, but he explained it was his 'meantime car', when she said as much.
He aimed the car away from the harbor, and drove them in the early evening light.
"What's a 'meantime car'?" she said lightly, amused.
"I'm renting a small apartment at the moment, while I shop around for a place to buy. Same principle with this car. I haven't found one I want for keeps yet. It was the best choice immediately available, at the right price."
"Ah," she said. "Any ideas yet?"
"Sort of. There's a particular yellow off-road number that's caught my eye."
She returned his smile, enjoying his banter, grateful for the distraction. When they reached her home, he told her to wait in the car before doing a sweep of the property.
He took a gun she hadn't seen before from the holster at his side. It was early evening, and the trees surrounding her home cast everything in shadow.
Conner circled her cottage, and when he disappeared around the back, she held her breath, the muscles of her neck tensing when he didn't appear as soon as she expected.
He should have rounded the other side by now.
Putting her hand on the door handle, about to swing it open, he appeared at the other side, a torch she also hadn't noticed tracking the side of the house.
He signaled for her to get out of the car.
She moved to the front door, and he met her there.
"Angel," he started. She could see something in his face akin to restraint.
What was he holding back?
"I know we haven't had a chance to talk after last night. With everything that happened today... It's just not how I had envisioned... I mean, I don't want to presume, that is, can I, uhm, I can stay on the couch, or," he ran a hand through his hair, charming her with his uncertainty, his cheeks flushing. "Jeez, uh, Angel-"
"Conner," she interrupted him, a hand on his arm. He looked at her with round eyes. This big man, so sure in everything, so confident, so efficient as the Sheriff of Boothbay, didn't know how to ask a girl if he could spend the night.
Ah, that's done it. I love him.
"Would you stay with me?"
He smiled at her, his shoulder's dropping instantly in relief.
Angel took his hand and led him into the house, locking the door behind him, and sliding her newly installed deadbolt into place. She had a matching one on the back door.
She looked at the lounge, at the sofa where only a month ago she'd told Michelle about the man who had pulled her over.
Has it only been a month?
Then Angel thought of the other significant moments she'd had here in the past month, as she stepped to the large window and opened it to the quiet evening outside.
When she'd been injured and Conner had sat with her, and held her hand while she'd been stitched up, and then when he'd told her about her mother.
Both of those times she had been at her most vulnerable, and he had been so patient with her, and so kind.
Turning to him now, she wanted to repay him, thank him somehow.
He'd moved to the center of the room, and put his cell phone and jacket on the coffee table.
Angel walked up behind him. His attention was on the folder; he had it open in his hands, and was flicking through the pages, murmuring to himself. He looked incredibly sexy in his uniform, sans jacket, and the shoulder harness holster.
Her mind filled with devilish thoughts, Angel stepped out of her white sneakers, and dropped her bag to the floor, deliberately making a noise.
They had about half an hour before the service arrived from Portland. She intended to make the most of the next thirty minutes.
Conner turned at the sound of her bag hitting the floor.
He looked at the bag and shoes, before lifting his eyes to her face. He closed the file and dropped it on the table behind him without looking.
They stepped together, his hand going to the back of her neck to lift her face to his, his other hand sliding down her back and closing firmly over her butt, scrunching the fabric of her sundress.
The kiss was long and intense, both of them grounding themselves after the day's events.
Conner broke the kiss and put his forehead to hers, breathing heavily.
"I wanted to say earlier, at least, what I had tried to say earlier, was that today was not what I had planned. I wanted to treat you to a date. I owe you a date," he huffed out.
"A date?" she looked up at him, her hands on his chest, her fingers around the lapels of his shirt.
"Yeah, I'd told myself that when I got to you yesterday, that I should stop fighting it, and date you. Give it a shot," he finished, shrugging.
"Give what a shot?" Angel queried innocently.
"You're going to make me work for it, aren't you?" He teased.
At her smile, he dipped and lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, holding her up with his wonderfully large hands under her thighs.
"Fine. I'll play," he turned and walked with her to the sofa, dropping them onto it, his hands shooting out to catch them as her back hit the cushions. Angel's squeal of delight wrought a laugh from him. "I couldn't stay away from you. I don't want to. I still don't know what it means. I just know that, for now, this is where I want to be. So, Miss Lew, will you date me?"
"Are you asking to court me, Conner Grayson?" Angel smiled brightly, beaming, laying her accent on thick.
"Yes ma'am, I am," Conner said. His own smile was wide and completely disarming. Without waiting, he dropped his head again and his mouth went to work.
Her heart exploded at the tenderness in his words.
She pushed at his chest until he sat up, still kissing her.
Breaking the kiss, she stood. When he made the move to follow her, she held up a hand.
He stopped. Smiling demurely, she went to the sound system, and put on a favorite of hers, an old blues playlist.
The soft, smooth tunes filled the room, blending with the warm air coming in from the recently opened windows.
Turning back to him, she saw he had settled himself against the cushions.
Locking her eyes with his, she brought her fingers to the small pearl buttons of her cardigan.
She slipped the garment off her shoulders, rolling her hips slowly in time with the music.
He smiled, his eyes alight with mischief and desire.
Angel moved her hands to the hem of the dress after dropping the cardigan, and she dipped her hips more provocatively. She lifted the edge of the material to give him a glimpse of her upper thighs.
He appeared cool, but she saw his hands fist on the seat beside him.
Sashaying towards him, she casually lifted a foot and pushed the table out the way.
It slid easily on the carpeted floor, stopping a short distance away, freeing the space in front of him.
Keeping her eyes on his face, she watched him watching her. Lifting the same foot, she brought it to his knees, and spread them. His long legs parted. She stepped between them, bent to put her hands on his knees and leaned forward to kiss him slowly.
Straightening, she brought her hands to the hem of her dress again, this time going under them.
She hooked the cotton underwear she had on with her fingers, and slipped them down her legs slowly.
"Angel..." Conner's voice shook. His eyes followed the path of her hands.
She kicked the small amount of material away, and sank to her knees. She came up between his legs, her body pressed to his and latched her mouth to his again.
He gripped her upper arms to hold her to him. Her hands travelled between them and she unfastened his belt, unhooked the latch to his trousers and unzipped him. Reaching a hand inside she closed her fist around the steel length of him. His breath exploded against her face as his head dropped backwards.
She hadn't had much chance to explore him yet, and she wanted it more than anything right now, but her inexperience reared its ugly head, making her hesitate.
"I'm not sure what to do," she said softly, feeling embarrassed.
The rod in her hand jerked, fascinating her. She thrilled at his reaction as she explored it. His voice, hoarse, brought a wide smile to her lips.
"Keep doing that, and I'm not going to last very long," Conner choked out a laugh. His breathing hitched on his moan as she lifted and lowered the hand she circled around him again.
His shaft pulsated in her grip, and her eyes widened in delight. Freeing him, she marveled at the sight of her hand on him.
It turned her insides to liquid.
He grabbed her upper arms again, and pulled her up to his mouth. She used the momentum to carry her forward, and she climbed into his lap. He pulled one of the flimsy straps down, the top of the dress slipping to expose her breast.
She raised herself on her knees as he pulled her upper body to him, throwing her head back.
He gripped her hips then, and she pushed herself down, impaling herself on him.
They sighed simultaneously at the joining, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him.
Unsure of how to move, of how to be the one in control, she flexed her hips forward.
"I don't... I'm not sure how..." She blushed.
Brushing the back of his fingertips against her cheek, he pulled her head down to his for a sweet kiss.
He laid both hands back onto her hips, his long fingers gripping her flesh.
Conner helped raise and lower her, excruciatingly slow in the movements, letting her gain the momentum. The sensations running through her banished any embarrassment she might still have had.
Testing, she rolled her hips, mimicking her sultry dance as he lifted and lowered her again. It felt wonderful. No longer shy, no longer insecure, Angel took her control back and surged ahead, straining for the promise of release.
If the sounds he was making were any indication, Conner was enjoying himself. Very much.
He closed his mouth over her bare breast, pulling on the budded peak, and wound his tongue around the sensitive skin. Panting his name, she dropped her head back as she shattered.
All the tension from the day poured out of her.
Conner's own orgasm followed swiftly, his arms locking around her to hold her to him, his face pressed in between her breasts. She bucked her hips as a second wave washed over her, depleting her.
Stroking her hand over his hair as their heart rates returned to normal, she considered the man underneath her and their whirlwind romance.
Because that's exactly what this was; a romance.
No point in denying the draw she'd felt to him from the moment she'd met him, but the emotions deep inside her now were too serious, too soon. She had to keep things light. Casual.
Just date the man, and see where things go. Don't start planning the wedding quite yet.
Shifting her off his lap, he put her beside him, and readjusted his clothes.
She left her breast out for him to enjoy.
Oh, yeah. Real casual.
He looked at her, and raised an eyebrow at her.
She raised one back, leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa, arching her back in a provocative pose.
Just then, lights shone over the windows at the front of the house, sending Angel into a panic to get herself covered.
Conner laughed heartedly as she shrieked.
"Oh, shut it, Grayson," Angel giggled despite herself and went with him to answer the door.

*

Conner got a call in the middle of the night that there had been a break in in the marina. The vibrations of his cellphone on the wooden bedside table woke him.
Although he was supposed to be off duty for the whole weekend, his deputies knew to call him for anything serious.
Since the fire, since Owen, everything was being considered serious until proven otherwise. No one was willing to risk anything while the bastard was still out there.
He sat up in the bed, Angel beside him buried under the covers. As quietly as he could, he moved to the bathroom connected to Angel's room and closed the door.
He spoke briefly with Donoghue, the deputy who'd caught the case, regarding the details.
A boat in the marina appeared to have been ransacked. All valuables had been stolen. Locks ripped off.
It was a standard break in and simple enough for the deputy to handle. He told his deputy to call him should anything else of interest come up.
Disconnecting the call, he moved back to the bed. It was the most comfortable bed that he'd ever slept on. Plus, his feet didn't hang over the edge, which was a bonus he wasn't expecting. He'd have to ask her where she'd bought it from. He wanted one.
Climbing back under the covers Angel rolled towards him in her sleep, and buried her head against his chest.
This was the second night in a row he had gone to sleep with her in his arms. Their interlude on the sofa downstairs had been spectacular, but then again, so had each of their encounters over the past two days.
As he lay there, trailing his hand up and down her back, he looked at the ceiling.
He wanted to sleep, knew he should try to catch another few hours before sunrise, but his mind wouldn't settle.
Something the profiler had said about Owen still niggled at him. He'd said that Owen presented as your perfect sociopath. He'd wet the bed as a kid, so his mother had punished him with burns from a knife held to an open flame. There had been more available for Conner to read in the file, and he'd meant to, but then Angel had done that thing with the dancing and he'd gotten distracted.
Slipping out of the bed, making sure Angel stayed asleep, he decided that it was best he learnt all there was about the man terrorizing her.
They'd taken a quick drive after her Jeep had been returned to get some things from his place, agreeing that he needed a change, and that he would spend the day with her the following day.
With a bag packed, they'd stepped out of his small townhouse, and Angel had thrown him the keys for the return drive.
He'd felt his smile split his face, and she'd returned it with a laugh.
Remembering the way it had felt with the night air washing over them, his hands commanding the machine, he felt another smile now.
Donning tracksuit bottoms, he went downstairs.
He moved to the kitchen where he turned on the light, and spread the contents of the folder out.
Finding the piece of paper with the information he was looking for, he started to read.
After there had been an incident with a fire at the prison, Owen had been forced to seek psychological evaluations. It was during these numerous meetings that his history had come to make it's way into the system. As a young boy, he'd been severely abused by his mother, who'd used many different ways to punish him.
He'd been beaten, and burned, and then when he'd gotten older, he'd been locked in the basement for days, weeks at a time, with hardly any nourishment.
When he was a young teenager, his mother had had another child, a girl, and this child hadn't received the same treatment. According to the report, there was mention that Owen's father had left his mother when he'd been born, and his mother blamed him for being alone.
The psychologist who'd conducted the interviews had made a note as that being the catalyst for a young Owen.
Conner could see how that might have sent an abused child over the edge. The unfairness of it all. While in prison, Owen had shared all his secrets about his past. Relishing the chance to tell his story, be in the spotlight.
His little sister had been given a cat for her fourth birthday.
Owen had asked for a pet for years, but was always denied one.
The cat had scratched him one day, when he'd played with it, so he'd punished it.
He'd put it in a box in the basement.
Turning the pages Conner found the transcript from the recordings taken during his interviews, and moved to the part about the cat.
What did you do with the cat, Owen?
I punished it.
How?
I punished it the same way Mama punished me. I put it in a box in the basement where no one could find it.
When did you let it out?
I didn't.
Conner felt sick.
He felt sorry for the little boy who'd been subjected to years of torment at the hands of a monster. How anyone could do something like that to a child, especially one of their own, was beyond him.
There were some notes and fact sheets printed out about something called The Macdonald's Triad and it's links to serial killers with high IQs and them being masterminds.
Bed-wetting, playing with fire, and animal abuse; Owen checked all three boxes.
While reading the document though, Conner found that is wasn't a definitive study, as many other's had come forward to either discredit it, or prove another theory altogether.
Conner's head began to hurt trying to figure out what all the psychology of it meant, but he got the gist of it.
Owen was bad news.
He was incredibly smart, even though he hadn't had a traditional schooling. The psychologist had done an IQ test, and he'd scored over one-forty, closing in on the genius level. And the man was mostly self-taught. It made him an even more formidable foe.
This was not good news to Conner. They would have to be careful moving forward, dealing with such an intelligent enemy. Conner turned his head and looked towards the stairs that led to the room above, and to the woman asleep up there.
He'd asked her to date him, in his mind solidifying his intent to pursue a future with her. As cheesy as that sounded, he believed she was worth it. Despite his previous promise that he couldn't guarantee more, he wanted more. With her.
She was an incredible woman.
She was tough, feisty, and strong. But those weren't the qualities that had drawn him in.
It was the sweetness, the nervousness and that courageous streak that drove her to protect those around her. He responded to that part of her the most, feeling connected on an integral level. At his core, he was a protector. So was she.
Conner looked at the clock on the wall, sighed at the early hour. He'd been awake for roughly two hours, and it wasn't even five yet.
Should he make some coffee and get the day going? Make some breakfast, too? The horizon was just starting to lighten. He could take up a tray with his signature breakfast dish of apple pancakes. Did she have the ingredients?
He could kiss her awake and surprise her.
Turning the light off, he went back up the stairs and climbed into the bed beside the warm woman lying there.
He found a better way to start his day.