For many months Angelina had been struggling with the notion that she should confront Alastair about his abusive behavior-not so much toward her, even though it was excessive, but to literally everyone they met. This latest affront gave her the impetus to address the problem. She would no longer abide his rudeness. Even though she realized her protestation would bring an end to the easy life she enjoyed under his care, the thought of him mistreating Dr. Coscarelli had irreparably destroyed her loyalty. This has got to stop, she thought. From this day forward, I will no longer tolerate his mean-spirited behavior.
“Where have you taken her, Alastair?” she demanded, blasting into their suite. She stood in the center of the spacious room with her hands on her hips, a withering look of fury in her eyes. There was no mistaking that she was highly distressed.
Holloway was sitting at a small dining table overlooking the gardens outside. Before him were a pitcher of decaf coffee and a plate of croissants. The Washington Post and the Wall Street Journal were two of several papers he was reading.
He looked up from the paper and casually said, “Excuse me? I don’t see that’s any of your business. You’ve become too personally involved, Angel. When I agreed that you could care for the woman’s personal needs I didn’t intend for you to question my every decision. If you must know, she’s been taken to a more secure location…and that’s all you need to know,” he said deliberately, leaving no doubt the matter was settled.
“It…i…is…my business,” she stammered, unaccustomed to defying the man who had provided for her welfare the last three years. “These men of yours…they don’t know how to care for a woman’s needs. I don’t ask much of you, Alastair, but I asked you to let me take care of her. She’s a decent woman…not…not like me, I know. She needs someone to look out for her,” she argued, still standing rigidly in the middle of the room.
“Angel, I’m in no mood for this insolence. Coscarelli is none of your business. And she’s tougher than you think…she’ll be fine. Now, please…that’s my last word on the matter.”
“It’s not the last word. I demand to know where she’s been taken. I heard that pilot talking about flying to Kentucky. I want to join them. Please Alastair, please,” she implored less stridently, trying desperately to change his mind.
“That’s out of the question, Angel. Really…what do you think you can do that she can’t do for herself? Don’t you see she was just ingratiating herself to you to get information? Are you really that naive, for chrissake?” he said sarcastically, going back to reading the papers.
“You make it sound like I’m stupid and worthless. I’m not just a bimbo, Alastair. If you don’t agree to let me join her, then I see no reason for me to be involved with you any further. I’ll pack my things and be out of here by noon,” she said, issuing an ultimatum. She had been around Holloway enough to know that he didn’t take threats lightly. She braced herself for a barrage as she could see the anger welling inside him.
“Suit yourself, goddamnit. I always knew you were an ingrate. I’ve taken good care of you, Angel, and this is how you show your gratitude? Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house. Now! I don’t ever want to see your face again,” he yelled, gathering himself up from the table, enraged by her defiance.
Angel’s voice quavered. “You’re the…the meanest most sel…selfish man I ever met,” she said, choking back tears, fearful of his anger. But she summoned her courage and pressed forward, determined not to let him have the final word.
“I’ve tried to love you and be more than just the whore that you fuck. I curse you, Alastair. I curse you for all those people that you’ve destroyed over your lifetime. I curse you for treating your only daughter like an outcast. I curse you for all the people that you shamefully mistreat. Go to hell, you bastard.”
“You first, bitch!” he yelled, throwing the plate of croissants at Angel, who was moving quickly toward the door.
“No one walks out on me…you hear me, Angel? No one! You’re fired, you’re fucking fired!” he screamed, the blood vessels in his neck threatening to burst.
Angel was shaken by the altercation. She was sobbing and trembled uncontrollably as she retreated to the sanctuary of the gardens surrounding the estate. But as unsettled as she felt following the fight, she also felt a strange sense of freedom, as if she had finally vanquished an age-old fear.
As she was walking on the path leading to the beach house she saw a man approaching whom she had never seen before. He was obviously not one of Alastair’s employees; this man had a presence about him and carried himself confidently. He was perfectly proportioned for his average size and appeared to be in superb shape. She noticed as he drew closer that he had kind eyes. She figured he must have recognized her distress and she could tell he was going to offer her assistance.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you okay? I don’t mean to intrude…but I couldn’t help recognizing that you look troubled. Can I help you?” asked the stranger.
“I wish you could, mister. But, no…this is standard around here. If you know Mr. Holloway then you know he can be pretty nasty at times. This is one of those times for me,” Angelina said, wiping her eyes and trying to compose herself in front of this strange, good-looking man.
The stranger looked at the woman admiringly. Even though she was obviously distraught-eyes red, mascara running, lipstick smeared-he thought she was still a vision of beauty. How anyone could mistreat someone of this quality was beyond him. He took an immediate dislike of the person behind her distress.
“I’m so sorry you’re upset, ma’am. I wish there was something I could do. My name is Emerson Palmer,” he said holding out his hand, taking hers gently in return. “I’ve been sent to question Mr. Holloway about an urgent matter in conjunction with a situation in California. Would you know where I can find him?”
“Are you a policeman?” Angelina asked, startled by how quickly the winds of fate seemed to be blowing in her favor.
“No, ma’am. I’m not with the police. I run a private investigating firm and a friend of mine asked that I contact Mr. Holloway about a difficult case in California. I’m sorry to bother you with this,” he replied, reluctant to withdraw his hand.
“My name is Angelina,” she said, a faint smile creasing her lips. “I may be able to help you, Emerson. Do you mind if I call you Emerson?” she asked charmingly. She didn’t know how, but she had a powerful premonition that the gentleman holding her hand was the answer to her prayers.
“Not at all, ma’am,” he replied.
“Oh, please, call me Angel; all my friends do,” she cooed beguilingly, drawing him in with her standard line to quell his defenses.
“Yes, ma’am…Angel,” he replied, correcting himself. There was something enchanting about this woman. Emerson was not easily smitten, but Angel had an aura about her he had never experienced. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. She was possibly the key to unraveling the mystery behind Holloway. Because she was upset, he hoped she might be more candid than normal about whatever she knew about the man.
“Now, how can I help you, Emerson?” she asked, completely composed. “Do you mind if we walk to the beach house? I was on my way down there. It will be more private.”
“Thank you, Angel. Lead the way,” he said, motioning that she precede him along the path.
“As I said, I’ve been asked to question Mr. Holloway about a matter in California. His company, Triton Energy, has been linked to a man that’s involved in developing a new technology for the Department of Defense. Unfortunately this man was killed yesterday, and the research they were developing is also missing. We want to know if Mr. Holloway can shed any light on the matter,” he said, providing a plausible explanation for his presence at the estate.
“Are you looking for the woman, too?” Angel asked. “Because they just moved her this morning. That’s why I’m so upset. I can’t believe what they’re doing.”