Page 21 of Angel

“What about?”

I hold my breath. Fuck, this won’t go down well.

“She wants our help to kill the man who murdered her father.”

“His name?”

“Johnathan Powell.”

“Is this a fucking joke, Angel?”

“Am I laughing?”

“Who’s her father?”

“Oscar Malone.”

He says nothing. Doesn’t even react, merely stares at me with his usual cold glare, one I have gotten used to over the years.

“And her evidence?”

“Her mom told her.”

I add. “Before she died.”

He leans back, no expression, no compassion.

“And you told her…”

“That I’d look into it.”

“Then you left.”

“No.”

I lean forward and stare him straight in the eye.

“Then I finger-fucked her on the beach in front of her home and escorted her back to her door. I gave her my t-shirt on account of ripping her fucking dress off.”

He winces.

“Careless, Angel.”

He shakes his head.

“Giovanni’s throat was cut between leaving Sophie at midnight and being discovered at six this morning. Did you see anything suspicious?”

“No. I entered from behind the house.”

He sighs.

“Okay. We will put the word out on the street. If anyone has any information, we will soon know about it.”

He lifts his phone and snaps, “Sophie Clere’s CCTV. Wipe it.”

He replaces the phone. Tapping his fingers on the table, the sound of the ocean rolling in the distance.

Gabriel loves the beach mansion. He is like Sophie. I prefer my Bel Air residence. Clean, orderly, and secure.