The Marriage Profile

Justin flexed his hands into fists, fought the primal urge to storm over to the two of them and tear Ricky’s hands away from Angela. She was no longer his wife, he reminded himself. He no longer had any rights where she was concerned.

“Sheriff, you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Justin ground out the lie as he struggled to regain control of himself.

“So I take it you know the lady?”

“Yeah, I know her.” At one time he had thought he knew her as well as he knew himself. He’d loved her, had hoped to spend his life with her, create a family with her.

“So who is she?”

“Her name’s Mason. Angela Mason.”

“Angela Mason,” Bobby repeated. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because she’s a hotshot profiler out of San Antonio,” Justin explained as he watched Ricky lead Angela over to where Johnny and his friends were huddled. “She’s helped out in a number of high-profile kidnapping cases and has been in the news off and on this past year.”

“Yeah. Now I remember. She helped locate that politician’s kid about eight months ago—the one whose little boy was strapped in the back seat of the family car when they stopped for gas and were carjacked.”

“That’s right.” Justin had read about the case, and had watched Angela downplay her role in the boy’s recovery.

“There was a lot of hype about her. The congressman and the media all credited her with saving his kid’s life.”

“That’s because she did save his life,” Justin pointed out to his deputy. Knowing Angela, he figured she would have driven herself relentlessly, forgoing food and sleep in order to find that child and bring him back safely to his family. “She’s good at her job, probably among the top profilers in the country.”

“Makes you wonder what a woman like her sees in a guy like Mercado.”

Justin remained silent, but it was a question he had asked Angela more than once during their marriage. The truth was he had never understood Angela’s loyalty to the likes of Ricky Mercado. Her friendship with the thug had been one of the sore spots between them. And, Justin admitted, he’d nearly driven himself crazy after he and Angela had split up, because he’d worried she would take up with Mercado. As far as he knew, she never had. But then she’d been living in San Antonio, while he had remained in Mission Creek.

“You ever work with her?”

“A time or two,” Justin replied.

“So,” Bobby began, a lazy grin curving his mouth, “seeing how you and she are old friends, maybe you could introduce me.”

Justin frowned. “Forget it.”

“Aw, come on, Sheriff. I’d really like to meet her.”

“I said forget it, cowboy.”

“How come?” Bobby persisted.

“For starters, she’s too old for you.”

Bobby grinned. “I like mature women.”

“Then I suggest you go introduce yourself,” Justin said, more irritated than he had a right to be.

“But I bet a good word from you would go a long way.”

“Trust me, you’d do better without any recommendation from me.”

“But I thought you said you and she were old friends.”

“I’m not sure ‘friends’ is the term I’d use to describe our relationship.” He and Angela had been colleagues, lovers, husband and wife, and at the end, they had been enemies. But he wasn’t sure they had ever been friends and doubted that they ever would be.

“All right, so you were more like acquaintances. But you do know her, right?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.

“I mean I know Angela about as well as any man can claim to know his ex-wife.”

“Let me look at you,” Johnny Mercado told Angela, holding her hands in his following their greeting. “Why, I still remember when you were just a skinny teenager. Now look at you, all grown up.”

Puzzled, Angela said, “But it hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me, Mr. Johnny. Don’t you remember, until about five years ago I used to live here in Mission Creek?” She didn’t bother adding that it had been during her marriage to Justin.

“That’s right,” he said, a look of confusion in his faded eyes. “And you’re still as pretty as a picture.”

“Thank you,” Angela replied while he continued to clutch her fingers in his weathered palms. “And it’s really good to see you again. I was sorry to hear about your wife.”

Something dark and dangerous flashed in the older man’s eyes, and his fingers tightened their grasp on hers for a moment. “My Isadora. She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did. I should have taken better care of her. If only I had protected her—”

“Pop,” Ricky said, and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Mama had a heart attack. Remember? There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I—” Johnny clamped his mouth shut, but not before Angela noted the murderous look he’d cast across the room. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, of course,” Johnny told his son. Releasing her fingers, Johnny took a step back so that Ricky’s hand fell away. But Angela couldn’t help but notice how the older man had averted his gaze. It didn’t take psychic abilities for her to recognize that something besides grief was troubling the usually easygoing Johnny Mercado.

“I saw Del Brio talking to you when I came in. He giving you a hard time about something?” Ricky asked, an edge in his voice.

“Del Brio is a yellow-bellied snake. He doesn’t scare me.”

“I didn’t ask if he scared you, Pop. I asked if he was giving you a hard time.”

“No,” Johnny told his son.

But Angela didn’t believe him. There was an aura of darkness about Frank Del Brio that she’d picked up on the moment she’d entered the room. And it was obvious that something Del Brio had said or done had set off the older man. Or was she imagining things? Angela wondered. Maybe the undercurrents and shadows she sensed were of her own making and had nothing to do with the Mercados or Frank Del Brio. After all, she hadn’t exactly been herself since she’d agreed to come back to Mission Creek.

Because you knew coming to Mission Creek meant seeing Justin again.

Angela let out a shaky breath at the admission. Even after all this time just the prospect of seeing him again still had the power to tie her up in knots. It had been that way from the first moment she’d set eyes on him at the police academy when she’d been a new recruit and he’d been the handsome deputy assisting in her training class. She’d looked up into those green eyes and the world had shifted beneath her feet. It didn’t seem to matter that they were all wrong for each other. That he was a member of the prominent Wainwright family, and she was the estranged daughter of a farmer who could barely make ends meet. She’d fallen for Justin like a ton of bricks, and when he’d asked her to marry him she had accepted.

Overcome by a wave of sadness, Angela attempted to shut off the memories and the ache that always came when she thought of Justin. Hardening her resolve, she reminded herself of all that she’d accomplished since leaving Mission Creek. Not only had she carved out a career for herself as a profiler, but she’d saved dozens of lives and reunited families. And she’d done it by finding a way to put the curse she’d been born with to good use. As much as she’d hated the visions that had made her different, they had served a purpose. She had served a purpose. She had made a difference—at least in the lives of those people she’d been able to help.

Did Justin know? Had he followed her career as she had followed his?

Probably not, she conceded. Why should he when he’d made it plain that he never wanted to see her again the day she’d told him she was leaving. Angela whooshed out a breath as she recalled how angry he’d been. She’d hurt him. Or perhaps it had been his pride that she’d hurt. She’d never been quite sure. All she had known was that Justin wasn’t a man used to failing at anything, and by choosing her as his wife, he’d failed big time. He certainly wasn’t going to be happy to have her showing up on his turf now. And he was going to be even more unhappy when he found out the reason why.