Chapter 19: Chapter 19

ANGEL

From under the table, Angel felt Nash take her hand in his. She looked at him, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement, and was shocked to see how pale he’d turned.

The sheriff asked Frank for a cup of coffee, then pulled up a chair at the end of the booth. His smile had faded; evidently, he’d noticed she and Nash weren’t as excited as he’d expected they’d be.

“So, what have you found out about me?” Angel asked. Her fingers tingled.

“You are Olivia Powell from Beverly Hills.”

~Olivia…Powell? That’s my real name?~

“How did you find this out?” Nash’s voice was shaky, and his knee was moving up and down, although he still held Angel’s hand gently. “Did her family get in touch? Parents?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Your mother passed away six months ago. As for your father, I’m afraid I couldn’t find any record of his identity.”

“So, who…?”

“I received a phone call from a Mr. Sanchez about an hour ago. He told me he has been searching for you for a week now. He did a reverse image search online and came across the image I posted of you.”

“Just a week?” Wade said. “She’s been here for quite some time now. What took this Mr. Sanchez so long to start looking for her? Who is he to Angel?”

Frank brought over the coffee, and the sheriff tipped his hat to thank him.

“He says Angel, or Miss Powell rather, told him she was going away for a couple of weeks, so he wasn’t concerned until she didn’t show up for some meeting.

“Then, when he tried calling, and the phone went straight to voicemail, he got really worried.”

“Why didn’t he come here looking for her?” Nash sounded almost angry.

“Says he had no idea where she was.” He glanced at Angel. “Sounds like you needed some time off, and it was all decided very last minute, so no one knew where you were going.”

Angel put her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples. “But why did I come here if I live in Beverly Hills? And time off from what? Did he say what I do?”

The sheriff frowned, and his eyes became softer. “He didn’t. Guy was so excited to come get you, he told me he was already boarding a helicopter to fly out here.”

“A helicopter? What the—?”

“Yeah,” the sheriff said, scoffing. “Fancy one too. Made a mess of the field he landed in though.”

Angel’s eyes went wide. Nash gripped her hand a little tighter. Whether this was to calm her down or because he was just as scared as her, she didn’t know.

“Wait, what? He’s here?”

The sheriff took off his hat and ran his fingers around the rim. “I’ll level with you folks. Mr. Sanchez is here. Arrived about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well, where is he?” Abby said, sounding as frustrated as Angel felt.

“He’s outside. I wasn’t expecting you to react this way. Told him to wait out there until I gave the signal so he could come in and surprise you.”

Nash made a fist with his free hand and dropped it on the table. “What? Sheriff, we don’t even know who this guy is. He could be some weirdo who’s going to kidnap her.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way I’m letting her leave with a perfect stranger.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, Nash, but he showed me his ID and proof of his relationship with Miss Powell.”

“Stop calling me that,” Angel whispered.

“But it’s your name, Oliv—”

“Please, Sheriff, stop!” A tear fell down Angel’s cheek. “Nash, w-why don’t I remember my name still? Nothing about this sounds familiar. Don’t let him take me away.”

She pushed herself into Nash’s arms.

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” He stroked her hair. “Look, why don’t we invite this guy inside and listen to what he has to say. No one will force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Sweetheart, Nash is right,” Sherry said, leaning over the table, a deep groove in her forehead from frowning so hard. “Whoever this man is, he can’t force you to go with him.”

The sheriff got to his feet and looked at Angel. “With your permission, miss, I’ll send him in. He’ll be able to explain better than I can. And seeing him might jog your memory.”

Angel nodded, and the sheriff replaced his hat and moved toward the door.

Abby moved into the sheriff’s vacated chair. “We’re all here for you and we won’t let that man take you. You’re my friend, and we’ll look after you.”

She let out a sob, so Angel reached over to hold her hand.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Abby said, wiping her eyes. “I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.”

Nash hugged Angel tighter and gazed into her eyes.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m scared. I’m scared of who this man is and what it means for me, for us. I don’t even feel like the name Olivia suits me; it just doesn’t feel right.”

Nash put his fingers under her chin, lifted her head, and kissed her. “Angel, I love you. Whatever this man has to say, that’s not going to change.”

Angel peered back at him with tears glistening in her eyes. “I love you too.”

The door opened, bringing in a gust of blowing snow. While the rest of the party continued on, the guests oblivious to Angel’s plight, everyone at the booth froze as the stranger approached.

He was tall, had dark hair, and was so well dressed, he looked like he’d stepped from a fashion magazine. His handsome face had an air of sophistication and confidence about it.

When he spotted Angel, he smiled and walked toward her at pace. Reaching the booth, he opened his arms wide as if to hug her, but Nash placed the palm of his hand on the man’s chest.

“Just stop right there, mister.” His tone turned almost hostile.

The man’s eyes grew dark, and he glared at Nash, then down at his hand, which was still on his chest. “Your sheriff informed me that everyone is a little defensive.”

He turned his attention back to Angel. “Sweetheart, it’s me, Arthur, Arthur Sanchez. I’ve come to take you home.” The hope in his eyes faded a little. “Don’t you recognize me at all?”

Angel shook her head. “No, no, I don’t know you.”

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk instead of here in the middle of a Christmas party?” he asked, looking around the bar. “Maybe somewhere we can talk privately?”

Abby stood up and slipped back next to Eddie.

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my friends. Now”—she pointed at the free chair—“sit down and explain to me who you are and how you know me.”

He did as he was told. “My name is Arthur, and I’m a talent agent. I met you two years ago when you were working as a waitress in a small run-down diner.

“As I was leaving, I heard the most amazing voice coming from the kitchen. I wanted to know who was singing—it was you. At that moment, I knew I had found the next big star.

“I asked you if you’d like to break into the music business and told you I wanted to be your agent.”

Abby jumped up and down in her seat. “I knew it! I just knew she was a famous singer.”

“Well, she’s not famous yet, but she will be.”

Arthur turned back to Angel. “At first, you turned me down. I think you thought I was full of shit and just making a pass at you.

“But I kept coming back to the diner until you agreed to sit down and talk. Once I proved to you that I was telling the truth, you started to trust me.”

“I…I don’t remember you or any of it.”

Nash’s leg moved even faster. “If you’re some big-shot agent, why is she not famous?”

Arthur glared at him. “One does not become famous overnight; it takes time. For two years, I got her into nightclubs and introduced her to record companies and other singers.”

Angel cleared her throat. “I want to know more about me.”

Arthur nodded. “You’re twenty-six and live in Beverly Hills. Until recently, with your mother.”

“My mother? The sheriff said she’s dead.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Olivia. Your mother passed away six months ago from cancer. As far as I know, you have no other living relatives.

“I’m the closest thing you have to family left. And I care about you, you and your career. It was really starting to take off. We must get back to work if you want to reach your potential.”

Nash leaned in, gripping the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “If her career is taking off, why did it take you so long to come looking for her? Why only you?”

Arthur kept his eyes on Angel. “A month ago, you signed a contract with a record company. It was your big break.

“Everyone wanted to celebrate, but you said you wanted to take some time off before you started recording your album. You said you wanted to get away and had something you needed to do.”

“Do what?” Angel asked.

“I don’t know, you wouldn’t tell me, but I could see it was important to you, so I negotiated with the company to let you leave for three weeks.

“When you didn’t come back or answer my calls, that’s when I got worried.” He leaned over and smiled. “But I’ve found you. Now, we can go home, where you belong.”

Nash pointed his finger in Arthur’s face. “First of all, she’s not going anywhere with you.

“And second, how do we know you’re telling the truth? For all we know, this could be some kind of scam. You might not be who you say you are.”

“I have brought along some proof,” he said, pulling out an envelope from his pocket. He takes out some papers and photos, including some of him with some famous singers.

“I’m the agent for all these men and women, some of whom you may recognize. Here are my credentials, and here are some pictures of me and Olivia.”

Arthur pushes a photo toward Nash and Angel. “Here is a picture of us with the record producer as you signed the contract.”

Angel reached over and picked up the photo of her and Arthur in skis, both smiling, a mountain of snow rising behind them. She looked…happy.

“You’re the one I went on the ski trip to Switzerland with?”

After pawing through the credentials, Wade gazed at his son. “Everything appears legit, Nash. He’s telling the truth.”

~A singer with a record deal? A home in Beverly Hills? This should all be good news, no? Then why do I feel so…so…wrong?~

Tears welled in Angel’s eyes. “I don’t care about anything you’re saying. I’m not going with you, I’m staying here.”

Arthur’s face turned a light shade of red. “I’m sorry, Olivia, but you have no choice. You have to come with me, so get your coat, and we’ll be on our way.”