Page 93 of Crow
Angie turned on the radio to Kane Brown & Chris Young’s “Famous Friends” and cranked up the volume to drown the recriminating voices in her head. She sang louder, pouring every bit of anger and sadness and guilt into each note, refusing to let the tears spill down her face. The ear-piercing music and the cool air rushing through the car helped defuse the pain she’d felt ever since she found Abe.
As soon as she pulled into the garage, her neck and shoulder muscles relaxed. She’d pour herself a glass of red wine, settle onto the couch with her favorite sherpa blanket, and force the day’s events and images from her mind.
After dropping her purse and car fob on the kitchen counter, Angie made a beeline to the pantry, pulled out a bottle of Chianti, then grabbed a wineglass from the cupboard and shuffled into the family room.
Her cell phone rang just as she took her first sip, and her heart leaped when Crow’s name popped up on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His low, husky voice warmed her.
“Hey.”
“I heard about Abe. How’re you doing?”
“Not so good.” She took another sip of wine.
“It’s fucked up that you found him. Where are you?”
“My boss sent me home.”
“I’m on my way.”
“What? No, I mean … I’m okay.”
“You’re not. No one would be.”
“I can visit my brothers if I need company.”
“Yeah, right. If your brothers knew you walked into that clusterfuck, they’d be on your ass to quit your job.”
She chuckled in spite of herself. Truthfully, her family would be the last people she’d ever tell about what happened that day—they’dallbe pressuring her to quit her job.Aunt Rosa and Dom would be on the hunt of a lifetime to find me a husband.
“Are you still with me?”
“Yes, but honestly, I’m okay. I don’t want you going out of your way, though I appreciate the offer.”
“Fuck that. I’m not asking; I’m telling you—I’ll be over in a few. Hang tight.”
“You’retellingme?”
“Yeah—see you soon.”
And with that, the phone went dead.
He’s got a lot of damn nerve.But even as Angie fumed, a flush of adrenaline tingled through her body. She wanted to see Crow again. Besides, he’d also liked Abe, and she needed someone who cared about this man’s life and death.
After draining the last drops from her wineglass, she climbed the stairs to change. When Angie glanced at her reflection in the mirror, a serious case of raccoon eyes, lips smeared with deep mauve, and hair that looked like a disheveled bird’s nest was staring back at her. Squeezing a large dollop of face wash from a tube, she washed off the makeup, patted her face dry, then brushed out her hair. A swipe of crimson lip gloss, a stroke of rose powder blush, and two coats of mascara made her feel human again. After tugging on black jeans, she slipped on a burgundy knit top and a pair of black ballet flats, then headed downstairs. Before she had a chance to pour another glass of wine, the loud rumble of an approaching motorcycle filled the room. With her pulse racing and butterflies fluttering wildly inside her, Angie walked to the front window, pulled aside the curtain, and watched Crow turn into the driveway.
The Harley shined under the bright sun as he jumped off and swaggered toward the porch. Crow’s gray muscle shirt stretched across his firm chest while the tattoos on his bare arms danced with each step he took. He was six feet of pure, unadulterated masculinity with broad shoulders, defined biceps, narrow hips, and long legs. Bristly scruff shadowed his chiseled face, and his tanned skin looked golden in the sunlight.
Damn, Crow looks so good—and dangerous.
And it was the dangerous part that scared the hell out of her.
