Prologue

     The lone figure collapsed into the only available seat in the antechamber where he had sneaked in to wait for a chance to plead his case with the Archangel Michael—Prince of the Heavenly Host and scariest entity in the cosmos. Desperate for an opportunity to press for redemption and his chance at penance, he had gambled on trespassing into the Prince’s private quarters.

     The rest of the Watchers waited patiently outside the pearl gate. But he couldn’t afford to wait any longer with the others for his summons from the Prince, as they had all been instructed to do. The others would wait an eternity for their chance.

     He couldn’t cool his heels forever. He had been keeping an eye on his old assignments on Earth while he waited in exile, and trouble was brewing. Big trouble. If he were like the Watchers already called up, he would be given one chance to make good on his penance to achieve parole, and he needed that chance to happen soon. Because if he waited any longer, he might be too late.

     So he took a colossal and very risky chance today, sneaking in to confront the Archangel Commander on his own turf.

     I’m lucky to get this far. Guards are everywhere.

     Like the other Watchers, he had once had the best gig going—one job, Protect and Serve—and he had blown it along with the other cursed and exiled angels. Falling for some smooth talk from the Evil One and a chance at more. Ending up with promises not kept. Offers ignored. Until it was too late . . . for all of them.

     Without warning, a violent whirlwind materialized in the chamber, and the young Watcher’s raiments whipped and snapped tightly against him. A brilliant light erupted from within the powerful vortex and forced the Watcher to avert his gaze.

     “How dare you come in here?” a terrifying voice bellowed, as the whirlwind slung the sound like an echo against the walls of the chamber, deafening again and again. 

     Well, he had gotten his wish. He would now have to face the Archangel Michael, one-on-one.

     “I had to come,” the intrepid Watcher hollered back.

     “You were to await your summons! You have disobeyed your orders.”

     This was his judgment day, again. Already on shaky ground, the young Watcher knew he could be eliminated on the spot for this additional transgression. “I only wanted to help!” he shouted over the din of the ferocious winds and prayed for just a few moments more to explain. “We were told we’d be helping. Satan promised we’d be serving at a higher—”

     “Silence!” the Prince stormed, his immense form now visible within the vortex. “I know what you were told. He lied.”

     The Watcher bowed his head in submission. “Yessir.”

     “Why would you wager all to invade my chamber, knowing what your fate would be?” The voice, ever loud, rumbled even angrier.

     “I am out of time. I came to ask, beg forgiveness, and for another chance.”

     “Why should I grant you another chance over the others waiting?”

     The young Watcher risked all and looked up straight into the Archangel’s eyes. “Because he lied to me.”

     “He lied to everyone!” the great Prince thundered.

      “Yes, but I need to rescue my old assignments. I kept an eye out for them. Things have gotten worse, and they’re almost out of time. They need me.”

     As the young Watcher stared, the violent winds gradually slowed until they stilled altogether. Only the formidable Archangel remained with him in the room, the glint in his eyes more than a little chilling.

     “You dared to watch humans on Earth from your exile?” the Prince demanded in a sinister tone.

     Now or never. Defiance is never well-received, but I have to try.

     “I worried,” the young Watcher whispered. “I just couldn’t lose sight of them.” He kept his gaze on the floor, dreading any eye contact at that juncture.

     Long moments passed in silence.

     “Look at me,” the Prince finally ordered.

     The Watcher did as commanded but anxious all the same.

     The Archangel frowned down at him, his height much greater than that of the rebellious Watcher. The Archangel’s massive shoulders and muscles would have made short work of the task if he chose to end the fallen angel.

     “You had much worry for these humans to risk trespassing into my chambers to see me.”

     At least the annoyance in his eyes no longer made the Watcher fear for his life.

     “Yessir.”

     “Your loyalty to the humans has earned you a second chance. You may take earthly form to watch over them.” The Prince turned to leave.

     “But—” the young Watcher blurted, then stopped himself. Get while the getting is good.

     The Prince stopped. “But, what?” When he glanced back, the young Watcher again saw the dangerous glint in his eyes.

     Uh-oh.

     “But, what?” the Prince repeated, losing what little patience he had.

     “What if I require help with this assignment?”

     He got the archangel version of stink eye, but persevered, careful to keep his voice calm and submissive. "There is more than one problem and more than one human.”

     Then came a sound he never thought he would ever hear. The Prince actually sighed. A disgusted sigh, but a sigh, nonetheless.

“    Pick a Watcher from those waiting outside the gate and take them with you. Choose wisely, for both of your fates now rest on your shoulders.”

     Oh boy.

Chapter One

     “Emily, come on! Get down here! Your mother will be mad if we’re late,” the deep masculine voice hollered from downstairs, sending a shudder through Em.

     “Just—” Her voice squeaked. Clearing her throat, she shouted, “Just a minute!”

     Her bedroom mirror reflected a teenage girl in layered attire—tank, then polo shirt, then thick sweatshirt, and finally jeans—designed more to combat Stanley’s ogling than protect against any outside chill. Em’s cheeks and neck flushed bright pink at the moment and not from the warmth of her extra clothes.

     Large brown eyes stared back from the mirror, and Em wished she had beady eyes like the mean girl in her gym class. Those beady eyes always scared her. Em’s mother always bragged, “My daughter’s doe-eyes make everyone want to hug her like a lost puppy.” Unfortunately for Em, that included the guy downstairs—Stanley Nolan, her mother’s boyfriend.

     “Emily!” his deep voice boomed again.

     She gulped a lungful of air and cast a last glance around at the safety of her room, then grabbed her coat and headed downstairs.

     Stanley leaned on the balustrade at the bottom step and eyed her as she descended, one step at a time. His thick, bushy eyebrows jutted out over dark, glittering eyes and gave a creepier quality to his stare.

     Em hated when he stared at her like that, and her steps hesitated as she neared the bottom of the stairs.

     She wondered, for the millionth time, what her mom could possibly see in the guy she called her boyfriend and now, her fiancé. Getting past Stanley’s bulky body on the stairs would be difficult if he refused to move.

     When her mom first started dating Stanley, Em hadn’t minded him so much, but her opinion had slowly turned to yuck. The last few months had seemed like an eternity. Stanley searched for reasons to get Emily alone and constantly offered to play chauffeur or babysitter when her mom had to work.

     As a realtor, her mother’s schedule was different from week to week, often with evening client meetings and social invitations. She was an awesome realtor and covered the plush Greenwood section of College Park, Florida for Best Realty. That required wining and dining commercial clients to get listings or celebrate sales. Stanley always volunteered to look after Emily in her mother’s absence.

     Even at a naïve thirteen, Em could tell Stanley’s intentions were nowhere near honorable. His zombie stares during her mother’s absence gave her goose bumps.

     While her mom had dined with clients one evening, Stanley had asked if Em would like him to come upstairs and tell her a bedtime story, offering a “real good fairy tale about how a little girl finds a boyfriend who was older and real nice and took care of the little girl.” She declined and locked her door.

     Then just last week, he had shown up at her friend’s condo on the other side of their condo complex to walk her home instead of driving over to get her. He had insisted Emily hold his hand, so he could keep her safe. More goose bumps.

     Walking at a painfully slow pace, Stanley had continuously rubbed a finger on her hand clutched in his and stared at her with a strange look on his face. As he always did, he reminded Em how much Connie loved him and thought him to be perfect, and no one would ever convince her mother otherwise. His plan worked. Em had talked herself out of complaining to her mother, yet again.

     Her fear maxed out in a scary-as-heck scene two nights past when Stanley had come into the bathroom while she was taking her bath. Using a key kept above the doorframe for emergencies, he had unlocked the door and wandered right in without knocking. Mortified, Emily had shrieked and jerked the shower curtain around her.

     Stanley had only laughed. “It’s okay for me to see you in the tub now that I’m part of the family. I only came in to check on you since you’ve been in here a while. You weren’t making a sound, and I got worried. I promised your mother I’d keep you safe while she was out tonight.”

     Em had held her breath so long her head began to pound. Eventually, he backed out of the room, never taking his eyes off hers until the door had finally closed.

     Now, only three steps separated them on the stairs. Em held her position and waited for Stanley to move aside.

     He didn’t budge.

     Two more steps.

     She stopped—eyes wide—and held her breath. His creepy smile seemed to reach out and stroke her.

     “Come on. Connie will wonder where we are.” His beefy closed the distance between them. “I told her we’d pick her up for dinner at six.”

     Em shrank back from the outstretched hand, still hoping he would turn and go.

     Impatient, Stanley grabbed her arm and tugged her close.

     “Get a move on, Em.” He backed off the bottom step and crossed the foyer, hustling her alongside.

     “My name is Emily! Don’t call me Em.” She tried her best to sound tough or at least brave.

      Stanley opened the front door with his right hand and snuggled his left in against her upper body.

     Em felt her neck heat up with shame as his knuckles intentionally rubbed the outer edge of her chest. She shot him a glare and attempted to jerk away, but his dark eyes stayed glued to the spot where his knuckles caressed her.

     She struggled mightily, and Stanley gave her arm a painful twist to keep the contact in place, then leaned in close. His stale breath swept over her burning cheeks.

     “Don’t you get smart with me,” he grumbled, his voice husky and mean. “Your mother will always take my side.”

     He yanked the door wide and shoved her outside.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     “You want me to take on two more kids?” Rachel stared incredulous.

     The White Wolf Café was hopping that morning, waitresses scurrying everywhere amidst the chaotic din of glassware being loaded into dish tubs and silverware clattering against dishes.

     Eyes wide, her best friend Jill returned an innocent stare.

     “You can’t be serious.” Rachel had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the noise. “My schedule is already full, and several of those clients were your referrals, I might add.”

     Dr. Rachel Kelly was a child psychologist and specialized in both middle school and high school counseling. Four of her present clients attended Cherokee Middle School, where Jillian Henry worked as the school guidance counselor. The two women had met at an education workshop a couple of months after Rachel moved to College Park and had been best friends ever since.

     Jill had the good grace to wince. “I know and I wouldn’t ask, but these two students are . . . different.”

     “Different how?”

     “They’ve both changed dramatically since last year.”

     “Go on.”

     Jill paused and studied a point beyond Rachel as though seeing the kids. “They’re both withdrawn. Two kids, eighth graders—a boy named Chad, and a girl named Emily. The girl I know very well, so she is the bigger shock for me. Last year Emily participated in several after-school activities, and now this year, nothing. Every time I see her, she’s alone and looks despondent. Doesn’t hang with any friends. The boy, Chad, I’m not as familiar with, but a few of his teachers have expressed grave concerns. One of those teachers was John Parchment.”

     Rachel arched an eyebrow. “I thought he retired.”

     “No, Parchment says he’ll stay until he’s eighty, and frankly, I’m glad. I’ve grown fond of the old guy, and I trust his instincts. Just yesterday, he submitted a counseling referral form to my office. He wanted to document that Chad had more potential than most of his students, yet the boy was growing more withdrawn every day. Parchment wants something done, some type of investigation initiated to find the cause of the boy’s lapse. On the form, he wrote, The boy’s defiant and volatile attitude could decimate his potential.”

     Rachel sighed. “The man is an excellent teacher.”

     “Not only that,” Jill went on, as though Rachel hadn’t spoken, “but I substituted in the boy’s class early last year during flu season, when we couldn’t get anybody on short notice, and I’m telling you the boy was a shining star—bright, alert, and anxious to participate. This year, Parchment says the boy sits like a statue and never opens his mouth. And there’s a look in Chad’s eyes that worries me, too, but I can’t prove a thing.”

     “Prove?”

     Jill leaned across the table. “Abuse of some kind.”

Rachel measured her words carefully. “Eighth grade is a tough time, as you well know. Early adolescence and puberty make even well-balanced children a little nuts until they get a handle on things. There’s also the possibility that both kids are already involved in a relationship, which could make them withdraw into the company of their new chosen crush. At this stage, my only advice is to watch them both until you can determine whether it’s something temporary or something more serious. You cannot get involved, Jill, unless you have definite proof. You know the rules.”

     “I do, and thanks. I felt like I could tell you since you’re Cherokee’s referral counselor. I’ll watch the students like you suggest, but there’s something wrong. I just know it.”

     “Remember the proof. And I’m always available for questions.”

     “But if the situation gets more serious, will you talk to the students to verify my suspicions?”

     “My calendar is already full, and I’m referring clients to Dr. Whitcomb.”

     “I don’t want these kids to go to Whitcomb.” Jill schooled her expression to sufficiently pitiful and then begged, “Pleeease?”

     Rachel knew her friend would never give up if a kid in trouble needed her. One of the many reasons the two women were best friends.

     “I suppose I could.”

     “Thanks.” Jill beamed, then turned serious. “The parents of these students have never come to meet with me. That’s part of my concern. The parents either haven’t noticed or don’t care that their child has changed so much over the last year or so. Besides, I doubt either set of parents could come up with the fees needed for even one counseling session.”

     “Wait a minute.” Rachel narrowed her eyes. “You want me to talk to two new clients to verify your hunch that they need help, and you want me to do it pro bono. Have I got that right?”

     “Um, pretty much.”

     “And I should do this for you because . . .”

     “Because I’m your best friend?” Jill shot her a beatific smile.

     Rachel shook her head. “You’re impossible is what you are.”

     “—and still your best friend.” 

     “How do I let you talk me into these things?”

     “I won’t bring in the kids unless things get more serious. You’ll be able to tell if my hunches are correct, and if I’m right, I’ll know what action to take.” Jill grabbed Rachel’s hand. “You’re the best! You won’t regret this. I promise.”

     “I already do,” Rachel muttered as the waitress showed up to take their order.

     The women both ordered Western omelets and coffee. When the waitress moved on, Rachel asked Jill how the rest of her job was going. Anything to keep the conversation away from Rachel’s personal life today.

     Jill rolled her eyes. “It’s the end of the first month of school, and I’m where I should be after the first week of school. Same old story this year. More kids for the same number of teachers and the same amount of space and money. But we’ll get by somehow, just like always.”

     The waitress deposited two coffees and cream and sped away.

     “So, how are you doing?”

     “All right,” Rachel dutifully responded. “More clients and still just me in the practice. The only afternoon I have off now to do my research is Wednesday. That, and the evenings or Saturday.”

     Jill steered the discussion to the College Park Art Festival in the historic district that weekend and their plans to go together, for which Rachel was grateful as she had no desire to discuss a certain personal subject yet—not even with her best friend.

     Jill stopped to take a sip of her coffee. “So how’s Jake?”

     Aaaaand, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

     She should have guessed her friend would kamikaze on the one subject Rachel didn’t want to discuss. If she talked about it, that stabbing pain near her heart would show up again.

     “What’s wrong, Rach? You went a little pale on me.”

     She sighed. How much to divulge, and how much to keep secret?

     “Come on, what is it?”

     “I, uh . . .” She searched for the right words, then gave up. “Jake and I broke up.”

     “What?” Jill gawked in shock. “You and Mr. Perfect? I don’t believe it. What happened?”

     Rachel knew her friend wouldn’t be appeased by some lame attempt at an explanation like “we decided to move on” or “we weren’t ready to settle down to a monogamous relationship.” But could she handle telling Jill the truth? Sharing all would mean reliving her nightmare.

     How could she calmly explain the impossible, that which boggled the mind when considering the odds? How to explain to her best friend what Rachel hadn’t yet accepted herself? Even though she had witnessed the act with her own two eyes. Never had she expected this outcome for her relationship with Jake—the only man she had ever loved. Or would ever love.

     “Hey. . . are you okay?” Jill had again grabbed hold of her hand, and she hadn’t even noticed.

     “I’m . . .” The lump in her throat swelled.

     “Start at the beginning. When did this happen?”

     Rachel downed a gulp of coffee to force the lump back down her throat and promptly burned her tongue. “Six weeks ago,” she whispered.

     “I left you alone these past weeks because you said you were buried at work. You never said—” Jill stopped, obviously figuring out Rachel couldn’t talk about Jake just yet.

     She released Rachel’s hand when their waitress dropped off the omelets with a promise to come back for a coffee refill.

     “When you’re ready,” Jill told her, after the waitress left, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

     Rachel swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks. I’m just not ready yet.”

     Jill started to say something when her cell phone chimed. She took the brief call, made a few curt comments, and clicked off with a chagrined look. “There’s an emergency back at the school, and Principal Weathers is tied up off-campus. I have to get back.”

     Rachel waved her off. “Go, go. I’m fine, really. As long as I don’t talk or think about him.” Her big, handsome Jake with the slow, sexy smile.

     Jill flagged down their waitress for a To Go box for her omelet and departed in minutes.

     Rachel had neither appetite nor desire to remain in the bustling restaurant. She had a research tome to turn back in at the library downtown and decided to finish her lunch hour there. Luckily, she found a metered parking spot on the street about a block from the library. Grabbing her purse and the research book, she angled out of her Honda, then beeped the lock.

     Halfway down the block, she froze.

     Out front of the First National Bank building, just past the library, stood Lieutenant Jake Dillon. Her big, handsome Jake conversing with a security guard.

     Correction. Big and handsome, maybe. Hers . . . not anymore.

     Try as she might, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him—his features the same, yet achingly different—the not-regulation-length dark hair, the broad shoulders, the muscled arms, and narrow waist. She didn’t need to re-memorize his features. The man haunted her dreams in explicit detail.

     She hadn’t seen him in three weeks since her all-too-brief glimpse of him walking into the police station, when she’d driven by and tried to talk herself into going inside to see him. Only now—with him standing but yards away—did she realize how much she had missed seeing that easy, casual way he had about him.

     Jake towered over the bank security guard but leaned back with his hands in his pockets so the obviously agitated man wouldn’t feel intimidated. The ploy worked. The short bank guard babbled on and waved his hands about to punctuate his story.

     Another man hovered at Jake’s right. Rachel hadn’t noticed him at first. A stranger. The man was the same height and build as Jake and judging by the way he hung on the security guard’s words, the stranger must work with Jake.

     She couldn’t move closer to the library or Jake would spot her, and she couldn’t bear to have a confrontation with him today, not with her wounds still so fresh. She had to build up some scar tissue first. Nope, she was perfectly happy to stand here and just watch him for a few more minutes. Who knew when she might get another opportunity to watch him? Their parting hadn’t been exactly amicable, but she harbored no anger over their separation, only a profound sadness.

     The three men turned in unison to enter the bank, and Jake’s gaze locked onto hers. Rachel gasped. He stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring directly at her with a shuttered expression haunting his handsome features. Her legs felt wobbly, and her fingers tingled, eager to wave or reach out to him. In the next heartbeat, Jake shrugged one shoulder and followed the guard into the bank.

     Rachel felt the shrug hit her like a slap and grabbed the nearby light pole for support. She took several deep breaths to steady her heart and shake off the lightheaded sensation. Not even a wave. Just a "So what?" shrug, and Jake was gone.

     Somehow, she made it up the steps to the library and sank onto one of the wrought-iron benches flanking the entrance. How had everything come to this? And so fast? Two months ago, she and Jake were co-signing a mortgage together, planning a future together, and today, all she got was a cast-off shrug.

     Leaning back, she closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun to fend off the chill that enveloped her. She could still see the two of them that day last summer on the beach at Daytona—their last happy time together.