A Real Angel Page 2

  A compliment? Though Rafe didn't wish to be suspicious, he sensed that Saint Michael was leading toward something unpleasant. "What's my next assignment?"

  "It isn't exactly your kind of job. Nothing political. However, this assignment comes from the highest authority. It's about the death of a man named Eddy Benson."

  "I don't recognize the name." Rafe routinely worked with presidents, excellencies and heads of state.

  "Eddy Benson was a stunt coordinator for the movies."

  Rafe felt his lip curl in a sneer. He had little use for the superficiality of the motion picture industry and the people who ran it. For the most part, they were ill-mannered—dull and frantic at the same time.

  As Saint Michael explained the circumstances of Eddy Benson's death, Rafe's disdain grew. Why should his talents be wasted on such a trivial death?

  "I assume by your presence," Rafe said, "that Eddy did not die of a simple heart attack."

  "Know this, Rafael. It wasn't his natural time to die. Eddy was a good man, conscientious in his work. In his twenty-one years as a stunt coordinator, there was only one serious accident. Two years ago. Though it wasn't Eddy's fault, he mourned the tragedy. At that time, he rediscovered his faith."

  Rafe didn't really care about Eddy Benson's tawdry little life. If he was to be stuck with this tedious assignment, he wanted it solved as quickly as possible. "Was he poisoned?"

  "I don't know. The autopsy will be performed within a few days. You will investigate this death and report directly to me. I've cleared your schedule."

  "Very well." Rafe tasted the smoke of his Havana cigar.

  "Do you think this job is beneath you?"

  Assuredly, it was. In his international work as an avenger, Rafe had manipulated the rise and fall of empires. He had been matched against some of the most heinous criminals of history. In the grand tapestry of human events, this little murder of Eddy Benson was an infinitesimal snag. Yet, Rafe knew better than to voice his opinion. "I will complete the assignment to the best of my ability."

  "It might be good for you to be involved in something that was less than earthshaking."

  "Why?"

  "Arrogance, my boy. Pride is a sin."

  "And too much humility is a bore."

  Saint Michael puffed on his cigar and chuckled. "Well, Rafe, we'll never have to worry that you might become boring."

  With Eddy gone, Soundstage 7 was even more chaotic than usual. Jenna stood in the semidarkness, watching as the grips rearranged the Garden of Eden to suit the vision of Alex Hill, the director of Alien Age. Before working on this film, Jenna had great respect for Alex, an Englishman who had directed an award-winning BBC children's series. He was, however, out of his depth in working with adults. He vacillated. He was moody and indecisive. Sometimes, he even second-guessed himself. "Excuse me," came a deep voice from behind Jenna's right shoulder. "I'm looking for Hugh Montclair, the producer."

  "Good luck. I haven't even met the man, and—" When she turned, Jenna was struck speechless, her gaze riveted to the handsomest man she'd ever seen in her life. He was tall and had a great body. His Levi's outlined muscular thighs, and his fitted, custom-made work shirt spanned well-developed shoulders. His thick black hair fell loose to his shoulders. His eyes were a mysterious blue. He was so gorgeous that he seemed to glow.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "Sorry." She shook her head but didn't look away. "It must be a trick of constantly standing in bright light, then shadow. It looks as if you're…shimmering."

  "I'm not," Rafe assured her. "I'm not a star."

  He studied her curiously. Very few mortals were so perceptive in detecting his angelic aura. "What's your name?"

  "I'm Jenna Denardo, the animal handler for the film."

  "Pleased to meet you." He knew from Saint Mike that Jenna Denardo was the woman who'd discovered the body of Eddy Benson. "I'm Rafe Santini. Could we talk for a moment? Privately?"

  She glanced toward the set where technicians were adjusting lights and rearranging the greenery. "We can talk privately all you want," she said. "It's going to be a while before they're ready for my animals. Come with me."

  He followed her past a caged tiger and into a separate room where she closed the door behind him. This area, filled with caged animals, was well lit, so Rafe assumed that his aura would be less noticeable. Yet the woman, Jenna, eyed him suspiciously.

  "What?" he asked.

  "It's strange. The animals generally react to the presence of someone they don't know, but look at them."

  "They're well behaved," he said.

  "Trust me, Rafe, this is a very rude bunch."

  He reached toward the tall cage where four spider monkeys had ceased their play to watch him. With attentive calm, they scampered toward his hand and sat in a neat row. Their behavior was typical in Rafe's experience. Humans, with all their supposed sophistication, were generally unaware they were in the presence of angels. But animals, even the lower species, responded with instinctive reverence.

  "Amazing," Jenna said. "You've been around animals before."

  "I lived in Africa for a time."

  Though he enjoyed her puzzlement, Rafe knew he shouldn't be so conspicuous. In a quiet thought, not unlike a prayer, he sent a message to the primates. Dance for me.

  Immediately, the spider monkeys began darting around their cage.

  "That's more like it," Jenna said. "I'm always worried when they're quiet. It means they're plotting something."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "That monkeys are mischievous? You bet I believe it."

  "Can they think?" he queried. "Can they plan? Do they feel emotions?"

  "I believe they do. Surely, they experience love and rage. I've seen it."

  "Some people would say your opinion was anthropomorphic and foolish."

  "But you wouldn't, would you?"

  Not unlike the creatures she worked with, this small woman with the mane of curling blond hair seemed attuned to him on an unusual level. In some strange way, he felt he'd known her before. Her taut body, clad in snug black leggings and an oversized red cotton sweater, appeared familiar to him, as if he knew the details beneath her clothing, the scent of her flesh, the softness of her skin. Her dark eyes shone with an odd intimacy.

  But this was impossible! He couldn't have known her before. Rafe couldn't remember a single detail of his earthly existence. It had been centuries ago, and there had been no grand passion during his mortal life. He hadn't been the sort of man who gave himself to love. His only alliances with women were sexual, marvelously sexual. Distracted, he exhaled a brief sigh. Sex was a pleasure he hadn't indulged in for a long time—centuries. Lust, of course, was forbidden to angels.

  He strode across the room. "It was in this room that Eddy Benson died."

  "That's right," Jenna said. "Are you a cop?"

  "No."

  "Then why are you interested? You're not a reporter, are you? Because if you are, I have no comment."

  "Why not? I thought all movie people loved the media."

  "Not me. I don't want to see Eddy's death sensationalized on the front page of some cheesy tabloid." She bristled. "He was a good guy, and it wouldn't be right to—"

  "Calm yourself. I'm not a reporter."

  "Then tell me why you're here."

  "I'm a stuntman," Rafe said. He hadn't precisely formulated his plan of action, but this direction felt right. As a stuntman, he could be on the set. He'd have ample time for investigation because he would only be called upon occasionally to perform simple physical feats. "I'm looking for a job."

  "Did you know Eddy?"

  "Only by reputation," Rafe said. He repeated the words of Saint Michael. "I've heard he was conscientious in his work."

  "That's right." She strolled to the enclosure, where two llamas gazed haughtily through their thick lashes. Jenna reached inside to stroke one and then the other. "Eddy was a pro. I'd worked with him on another project and liked him a lo
t. I'm sorry he passed away."

  Rafe sensed a thought that was deeper than her words. "Was he murdered, Jenna?"

  "That's an odd question."

  "I've heard rumors."

  "Well, you can forget about murder," she said. "He wasn't wounded. Not as far as I could tell."

  "Heart attack?"

  "I don't know. This seemed different. More like a seizure or something. He had a hard time breathing, and he was weak as a newborn kitten." She frowned. "Actually, his symptoms reminded me of a really bad case of bronchitis or flu."

  "A virus?"

  "Maybe."

  Rafe nodded, considering. There had to be a reason Saint Michael had assigned him to this seemingly unimportant case. If Eddy Benson had been killed by a deadly virus, the implications were as far-reaching as the spread of Ebola. "What else can you tell me, Jenna?"

  "Eddy was incredibly hot. Sweating like a pig." She smiled fondly at the piglets in their pen. "Pigs really aren't that gross, you know. Their reputation as slobs is undeserved. In fact, they're very like humans in their metabolism and bodily functions."

  "Perhaps, then, their reputation is deserved, after all. Much of human behavior is despicable."

  "Well, we can't all be sublime." She grinned. "Okay, Rafe, you're looking for Montclair, the producer, and you want a job. Do you belong to the union?"

  "Of course." Paperwork was never a problem for Rafe. Given a few moments, he could create any necessary credentials through various angelic resources or his human contacts. But he didn't want to discuss his cover story. His intellect had been sparked by her mention of viral infection. He was thinking of poison gases, virulent disease, a plague that would sweep like wildfire across densely populated southern California.

  From outside the room, they heard a sudden commotion. Loud shouts echoed. Then, a scream. There were crashes, and the noise of people running across the concrete floor.

  When the roar of a tiger exploded, Jenna cringed. She flung open the door and stared. "Damn!"

  Darius stood outside his cage. His huge head swung from side to side. He sniffed the air and growled, appearing to enjoy his power to terrify these puny human beings who ran from him.

  Though declawed and trained, Darius was still a wild animal, not a house pet. He weighed over four hundred pounds. From his nose to the end of his long tail, he was ten feet in length. His shoulder height was three feet. With one lazy swipe of his paw, he was capable of flinging Jenna across a room. She had to respect his physical strength and predatory instincts.

  The director of the film, Alex Hill, dashed to Jenna's side. "Thank God, you've returned. Get your animal back in his cage."

  Easier said than done. "What happened here?"

  "We were arranging the set and needed the tiger to check the lighting. You didn't seem to be about, so I told one of the crew to fetch the beast."

  Darius threw back his head and roared.

  Within her breast, Jenna felt a similar primal fury. No one should have gone near her animals. If Eddy had been here, this never would have happened. "Why?"

  "Well, the tiger seemed rather tame. Yesterday, when you walked him through his paces, he was utterly gentle."

  She didn't bother to explain that she used severe restraints for handling Darius. All that was important now was to get her tiger back into his cage before he injured himself…or someone else.

  Before she could act, Darius sprang. In a majestic lope, he charged toward the lights of the set. Gracefully, he avoided the tangle of wires on the floor and the forest of klieg lights and reflectors.

  "No!" Jenna shouted. She strode after the tiger, exuding a courage that she didn't truly feel. "Darius, no!"

  He paused and turned his head toward her. Though tigers were fearsome stalkers, their eyesight wasn't keen. Nor was their sense of smell. They responded best to auditory commands.

  "Sit!" she commanded.

  He snarled, and raised his paw in a threatening gesture as she approached.

  "Sit!" she repeated. "Darius, sit!"

  Jenna was well aware of the peril in getting too close. She was completely unarmed. If she'd been thinking, she'd have grabbed the tranquilizer gun in her supplies. Or her whip. But there wasn't time.

  She needed to gain immediate control. But how? Even if she managed to hook her hand through the tiger's collar so she could lead him to his cage, Darius might break and run. With his powerful strength, he was capable of yanking her shoulder from the socket.

  She was only five feet from the big cat. "Darius, sit! Stay!"

  He took one stride toward her. Almost apologetically, he reached out with his huge paw and batted her arm. The blow staggered her, but Jenna remained on her feet. If she'd fallen to the floor in front of him, Darius might assume she was prey. He might be old, but there was nothing wrong with his teeth.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Rafe step up beside her.

  "What are you doing? Get back, Rafe."

  "Let me help."

  "He doesn't know you," she said. "He might—"

  "Darius," Rafe said softly. He went down on one knee, putting himself at eye level with the animal.

  The enormous cat cocked his head. His fierce eyes gleamed like amber jewels. He made a low rumble in the back of his throat. His tail lashed. The muscles in his haunches tightened, preparing to leap.

  "Darius," Rafe whispered.

  A crashing door at the rear of the soundstage distracted the beast. He looked away from Rafe.

  Jenna saw two of the studio guards. They entered the room with their pistols drawn.

  "Hold it!" she yelled as she stepped around Darius and positioned herself in front of the tiger. "Put down those guns!"

  "No way, lady. That's a dangerous animal."

  "Please, give us a chance. Please."

  The guards exchanged a glance. "What do you need?"

  "Silence," she said. "Everyone, please be quiet."

  "You got it," the guard said. "Now, step aside."

  "No." She stayed in front of the tiger, her arms outstretched, shielding him with her body. "Please, all of you. Silence."

  An eerie stillness descended upon the soundstage, as if everyone had caught their breath at the same time.

  Jenna looked over her shoulder at Rafe and the tiger. They hadn't moved. Caught in a private rapport, man and beast stared at each other. As the hush wrapped around them, they seemed to be communicating in nods and frowns. The tiger relaxed his powerful musculature. He blinked lazily. Slowly, Darius lowered himself to the concrete floor and turned his head to one side, conceding natural dominance to Rafe.

  When Rafe stood, the tiger stepped up beside him. Together, they walked through the clutter of moviemaking equipment toward the iron cage.

  Jenna kept pace beside them, still protecting Darius from the overzealous guards. In Eden, she imagined, Adam must have been like Rafe. Unafraid, he was master of all he surveyed. The rivers bent to his will. The beasts obeyed without question.

  He held open the door to the cage, and Darius calmly walked inside.

  When Rafe locked the door behind the tiger, the soundstage erupted with applause. No one clapped more fervently than Jenna. This incident could, so easily, have ended in tragedy. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she flung herself into Rafe's arms.

  As soon as her body made contact with his, a shock went through her. It was a jolt, as if caused by high-voltage electricity. She'd never felt anything like it before. Immediately, she recoiled.

  Who was this man? What was he? No ordinary human being had the willpower to dominate a Siberian tiger.

  As she stared at him, Jenna shuddered inside. She'd never met anyone like Rafe Santini before.

  Chapter Two

  Regular activity resumed on the soundstage. The guards holstered their guns and left. The art director returned to his set, signaling to the grips which props should be repositioned. The gaffers fussed with their lighting equipment. Other members of the crew and cast meandered past the caterin
g tables to chug coffee, nibble on dried-out sandwiches and brag about their role in this real-life drama.

  Jenna stood apart Didn't these people realize what they had just witnessed? Were they too jaded by movie magic to recognize the real thing? In her heart, she knew she had just seen a miracle. There was no natural explanation for the way Rafe had stared Darius in the eye and directed him back to his cage.

  "That was fabulous," Alex Hill exclaimed. He raised his voice. "I don't suppose anyone happened to catch that fabulous moment on film?"

  There was a mumbled chorus of negative replies.

  "Pity."

  Alex Hill, outfitted from head to toe in black, stroked his goatee thoughtfully as he scanned the faces of his crew through his round, silver-rimmed glasses. His gaze finally came to rest upon Jenna.

  In his eyes, she saw a sly comprehension. He knew. Alex knew—as she did—that there was something unearthly about Rafe Santini, something beyond pale, everyday experience.

  Rather than feeling relieved that somebody else saw the strange magic in Rafe, Jenna was worried. Alex was smart without being wise. Though he acted like an artsy British fop, he hadn't achieved a position of power in the movie industry without being a master manipulator. He wouldn't hesitate to use anyone, even Rafe.

  "Well, Jenna," he said. "Won't you please introduce me to your friend?"

  "This is Rafe Santini." She inhaled a deep breath, struggling to suppress her apprehensions. "He's a stuntman."

  "Really?" Alex grabbed Rafe's hand. "Consider yourself hired, Rafe. While I watched you subdue the savage beast, I was inspired, positively inspired. You've given me the precise vision for this first segment of the film."

  He held up his hands as if framing a headline. "The strength of pure innocence."

  "Come again," Rafe said.

  "The aliens in this film represent the forces of evil beyond our control. Therefore, man must be heroic and good. Yet, vulnerable. Powerful. Yet, weak as a babe in arms. Dynamic. Yet…"

  The wiry young director exuded more energy than Jenna had seen from him thus far in the production. Though she hated to rain on his parade of Hollywood cliches, she couldn't allow Rafe to be misled about the terms of his employment. "Alex, don't you have to check with the producer before hiring or firing anyone?"