Angel of Mercy Read Free Page A

corporate law firm in Los Angeles. Stevie’s wife, Laurel, was a beautiful five-foot-ten-inch California blonde with a dark complexion and Wedgwood-blue eyes. She could have easily been in the movies, but instead was a production assistant for one of Hollywood’s biggest producers.
    “He said he’s bringing Beth,” Jennie added after a moment. Frankie turned his head and raised his eyebrows. He and his daughter seemed always at odds with each other these days. If she wasn’t off marching and protesting with her chapter of NOW, she was carrying picket signs on Wilshire Boulevard in front of the federal buildings protesting the violation of animal rights or U.S. involvement in South America.
    Whatever cause it was, Frankie believed it was simply compensation for the early failures in her life, which included a fourteen-month aborted marriage and dropping out of college to work with a holistic doctor in Santa Monica.
    Frankie felt himself sink deeper into the bed as if it were made of sponge. He sighed and shook his head.
    “So what am I going to do, Jen, retire and take up golf?”
    “You’ll do what you have to do, Frankie. And you won’t give me a hard time about it,” she added firmly.
    “I never complained much all these years when you were on stakeouts that kept you away for days on end.
    I barely uttered a sound when you were shot at and when that teenager tried to carve you with a hatchet, or when that man on crack cocaine deliberately crashed his pickup truck into your car. I swallowed my fears, told myself this is what I took on when I married a policeman, and accepted. Now it’s time for you to accept, Frankie.”
    “I don’t know who’s worse, you or that horse’s ass we have for a chief of detectives. Since he was appointed, the whole atmosphere’s changed at the department. He’s got everyone growling at everyone.”
    “So maybe it’s a good thing you get out now,” Jennie said. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee.
    Rosina’s still outside waiting to see you.”
    “Send her in,” Frankie said.
    Jennie leaned over to kiss him softly on the lips. For a moment she lingered, her hands gripping his shoulders.
    “I thought I was going to lose you this time for sure,” she whispered tearfully.
    “You’re not losing me, Jen. You might be sorry, but you’re not.”
    She wiped her tears away and smiled. It rained sunshine down on him.
    How had he been lucky enough to have this beautiful, gentle woman fall in love with the likes of him? He never stopped being in awe of it.
    A moment after Jennie left, Rosina Flores stepped into his room. She was a striking woman with olivebrown skin and hazel eyes. She kept her ebony hair cut just beneath her ears. Hardened by the difficulties she had endured struggling against prejudice and poverty, the twenty-five-yearold Mexican-born woman had excelled in public school and graduated as her class valedictorian. Like a star running back in football eluding tackles, she had held off the suitors who would confine her to a home and children, and went on to study law enforcement. Her initial goal had been to become a California highway patrolwoman, but her superior mental abilities found more challenge first in forensics and then in detective work. “Coma est, stupido ?”
    “Terrific.”
    “I told you to get back into the car and we’d cut him off at the pass.
    But no, not Palm Springs’s Charlie gronson.”
    “Not you, too, Flores. Per favor. What happened to the perp?,”
    “Cathedral City police picked him up walking along Highway One-eleven.”
    “G re at.”
    “Nolan wants a full report by oh eight hundred.”
    “He just loves that military shit, doesn’t he? Oh eight hundred. Did you salute?”
    “He’s on your case, Frankie.”
    “I expect so.”
    “He spoke to your doctor at length out in the corridor. How bad is it?”
    Frankie described hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, using the rubber-band