Angel Falling Read online

  Angel Falling

  By Audrey Carlan

  Text copyright © 2013 by Audrey Carlan

  ISBN-10: 0991535103

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9915351-0-1

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic format without expressed permission by the author.

  Dedication

  To the one and only, author Jess Dee.

  I love you like family, even though we’ve never met face-to-face. You have touched my heart and my soul with your guidance and mentorship. I am eternally grateful for your kindness. You will forever be a beautiful part of my journey.

  Namaste

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Book 1 (The Trinity Trilogy) Excerpt

  Acknowledgements

  Audrey Carlan Bio

  Books and Coming Soon by Audrey Carlan

  Chapter 1

  New York City sucked. If the work hadn’t been good and the pay decent, I’d have hightailed it outta here and headed back home to my ranch.

  People here were just drones, lifeless husks that scampered through the concrete jungle. Always afraid to be late or miss something. They ran around with hopeful looks plastered across their plastic faces as if the next big break were right around the corner. It wasn’t.

  God, I hated the fucking city.

  The only thing that made it bearable was the women. New York was full of beautiful women who ached to be taken by a guy like me. They saw me as a simpleton. A hunk of meat. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t looking for happily ever after. We were all in it for one thing … to get off.

  As beautiful women went, the woman that arrived here every morning at seven sharp had my attention. She was a classy one. She usually wore button-up suits, her tight skirts slit up to mid-thigh with legs that went on for days. Her heels were so tall they were like stilts. It must have taken practice to walk on spikes every damn day. She’d be smokin’ hot in a pair of cowboy boots and nothin’ else.

  I could tell she was smart, or liked to put off that she was. She had money, too, lots of it. Every day a town car or shiny black limo dropped her off. Never with a man though. Sometimes, I caught her peeking over her sunglasses, taking in the view of my crew. Hell, maybe she even sized me up a time or two. I would like that. I’d even consider making a move if I didn’t think she was out of my league. Women as fancy as she was didn’t date men like me. They dated billionaires with flashy cars — men who drove Ferraris, not Ford pickups.

  My company, Jensen Construction, was hired to expand a section of the skyscraper where she worked, add a new lobby with another ten stories above it. When all was said and done, the completed project would add a couple hundred new offices to the building. Even though leaving Texas was rough, the money here was too good to pass up.

  My crew and I were making five times as much as we would back home. That was the new direction I’d decided to take my company. I bid on jobs outside the state if they were worth it. Somehow, I kept underbidding the locals here in New York and secured the work.

  For me it was a win-win. I had family back home, but no wife or kids. I also had my ranch, a couple of horses, and Butch, my yellow lab. I brought Butch with me because a man doesn’t leave his best friend sitting at home for three months. The horses were being taken care of by my brother in exchange for being able to ride ‘em whenever he wanted. It was a fair deal. His boys loved it and I got “Best Uncle” status in the process.

  After checking that my men were hard at work and that everything was moving along as planned, I headed for my portable office. The sleek black limo appeared at the curb, sun glinting off the chrome bumper, blinding me with its sharp light. I leaned against the metal railing on the steps, ready to watch the show.

  She was a damn vision today. Her usual black suit left behind, replaced with a tailored white number that hugged every curve. She looked like a naughty angel. She turned around and pulled her briefcase out of the car. Her ass was tight; the white fabric accentuated the perfect heart shape.

  What I wouldn’t give to smack that ass, make her scream out, and beg me to fuck her.

  Those long legs of hers took her past me quickly. She wasn’t wearing the big ol’ round glasses that hid her gorgeous eyes today. The sun broke across the building, and her blue eyes sparkled in the light. Long golden hair flapped in the wind behind her. A red scarf tied around her neck cut across her form, a slash of crimson splitting a perfect blank canvas.

  She dug through the oversized brown bag hanging over her delicate shoulder, her cell phone glued to her ear. A noise screeched from up above. I jerked my head up. A stack of large metal pipes held together by chains swung precariously from the crane. My lady in white stopped right under it, and the scene played out in sickening slow-motion in my mind’s eye. Her phone fell to the concrete; she cursed and bent to retrieve it, unaware of the danger that lurked above her.

  “Watch out!” I yelled as I barreled toward her, pointing upward. Her gaze drifted up as I heard metal scraping across metal, then a loud clink, signaling that the pipes had separated from their chassis.

  One side of the chains held, sending one-inch metal pipes flying downward like daggers falling from the sky. My inner Superman reacted and I shot forward, knocking her to the ground, my much larger body covering hers. Without warning, a gut-wrenching, piercing pain ripped through my left shoulder. She was screaming under me, trying to push me off her. Moving wasn’t an option. Searing pain blazed through my shoulder as if I were being stabbed with a large butcher knife. Every movement stole my breath.

  I only saw red. This time it wasn’t her scarf. It was blood, lots and lots of blood, pouring over her white suit, painting it with color.

  “Help him!” she screamed. “It’s going to be okay.” Cool hands and fingers slid along my temples and cupped my face. “Please, please, look at me.”

  Pain gripped my upper body as if two plates of metal were pressing me flat as a pancake. I lay on my side, unable to move. Briefly casting a glance over the heart of the excruciating ache over my left shoulder, I could see the glint of metal protruding a good couple of feet out of my back.

  The swells of nausea churned in my gut and my mouth watered with that sour taste that comes just when you’re about to blow chunks. Closing my eyes I tried to take a deep breath, but the pain that followed tore through bone, muscle, and skin. The only things that kept me firmly planted to this earth were those gray-blue eyes. They were like crystal pools, refreshing and inviting.

  “So pretty,” I mumbled through dry lips.

  She smiled, and I closed my eyes knowing that I couldn’t look at God’s angel any longer or I’d get lost in her beauty and willingly leave this earthly plane. Sirens blared in the background, but my angel held me, speaking softly. “It’s going to be okay. You saved me. You’re going to make it, just hold very still.”

  I risked opening one eye for a split second and what I saw almost broke me. Those beautiful blue eyes weren’t serene. They were choppy, ragged waters that swirled with fear.

  It started to rain. Big fat wet droplets landed on my face. Only the droplets weren’t rain, they were her tears.

  “You saved me,” she whispered against my f
orehead, her lips moist and soft. I wanted to say something to her. Introduce myself in some small way before she was taken away from me. Tell her my name was Hank and that I thought she was beautiful, but the words didn’t come. Wouldn’t come. Breathing alone took all my effort.

  I felt arms all around me, lifting me up and placing me onto something soft. A cloud perhaps. My angel was pulled away. Time seemed to slow and ebb. So much was happening around me, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. Pain controlled my attention and I succumbed to its sickening grip with a guttural howl.

  “I’m coming with you!” tore from her throat as bodies moved around and harsh words were exchanged. “This is my building and he, he … he saved my life! I owe him everything!” My angel hollered at the people who tugged and pulled at my face, my chest, pressing me deeper into the cloud. For a brief moment I felt happy someone cared. No, not someone — her.

  I couldn’t feel anymore. My eyes were heavy and I blindly reached out my hand. An icy, feather-soft hand closed around mine, taking away my anxiety.

  “I’m here. I’m here. Just let them take care of you.” Her voice was smooth and sweet like a melody. Then blackness enveloped me.

  ***

  I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long! It had been hours — hours — since the man who risked everything went into surgery. Please God, please let him be okay. He saved my life. A stranger saved my life. I pulled out my phone and called my assistant Oliver.

  “Aspen, where are you?” he rattled off quickly without a greeting. “Something happened today at the building. A man was hurt. A crane dropped some pipes.” His voice was higher than normal, and rushed as if he couldn’t get out what he needed to say fast enough.

  I had worked with Oliver a number of years and was long accustomed to his eccentric nature. I already knew all he was telling me, but he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise, so I let him continue. “I’ve already called Legal; someone should show up at the hospital any minute to find out his prognosis.”

  “Oliver … Oliver, stop.”

  “What?” The words screeched out tight and restrained. He took a ragged breath.

  “I’m here, at the hospital. The man that was hurt, he uh … he jumped in front of me. Prevented me from being impaled.” My voice cracked and hiccupped to a halt. It took everything I could to hold back the tears.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God, Aspen, are you okay? Shit! I’m going to cry. I can’t lose you. I love you.” And there was my drama queen. His effeminate voice strained; he started to cry.

  “Oliver. Ollie, honey, I know. I’m fine.” I took a deep breath. “The man that saved me, I don’t even know his name. They’re not telling me anything here at the hospital. I need you to get me some information. Find out who he is and his emergency contacts.”

  “Okay, yes. I got it. Anything else?”

  “I need to know who runs the show at the hospital. I need to have access to this man. Whatever the cost.” Through the receiver, Oliver’s heavy breathing and the rustling of papers drifted through the phone.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll get it. Give me fifteen minutes max.”

  “Thank you.” I sighed and looked down at my suit in horror. “Oliver, one more thing: I need a change of clothes. Don’t send a courier. Bring me a suit from the closet in the office.”

  “Why?”

  I shuddered. “Because this suit is covered in blood.” A sob tried to escape my throat but my hand effectively suppressed the sound. The last thing I needed to lose was my control. After a couple of deep, calming breaths, my nerves were back intact. Mostly.

  “Oh my God, okay. Soon. I’ll be there soon. I love you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I love you, too, Ollie. Now hurry. People are starting to stare.” I looked over at the couple across from me, mouths agape and eyes opened wide.

  The day couldn’t have gotten any worse. Not only was a man fighting for his life on my behalf, but an accident of this nature would undoubtedly set the project back for weeks. I’d promised the stakeholders for Bright Magazine that the building would be ready to start work in the next fiscal year. This kind of delay could cost severely, but not as much as a man’s life.

  And what if my savior sued? This catastrophe had the potential to demolish the plan altogether. If he died, it would be worse. A fucking media frenzy. I rubbed at the headache that started to creep into my temples.

  Jesus Christ! When did I become so cold? A man’s life hung in the balance and I was worried about the magazine.

  Because all you have is work.

  Long ago, I made the decision never to let anything or anyone get in the way of being successful. Growing up, my parents were beyond rich; the perfect socialites. I was groomed to be the epitome of high society. After my Ivy League education, I used my trust fund for the startup costs to build AIR Bright Enterprises from the ground up. Seven years later, I’m worth billions and have my own spot on the Forbes Top Ten Most Successful Women list — a huge feat for a woman only twenty-eight years old.

  A half hour went by and the stale air surrounding me changed. Oliver must have arrived. His presence hit me before I even heard his wingtips clacking against the linoleum floor. His gait was rushed. A frown marred his familiar pointed face. The frosted tips of his hair gave the appearance he had been in the sun for hours on end, but I knew his secret — a visit to New York’s finest hair salon twice a month. It was one of my gifts to him for Administrative Professionals Day. A garment bag hung loosely over one arm, man purse over the other, and he clutched a pair of black heels in one hand. His eyes were the size of saucers. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw my blood-crusted suit.

  “Oliver!” I hugged him fiercely. He was warm and solid as we stood holding one another.

  He pulled back, still holding onto my shoulder. His lip trembled as he looked me over. “Princess ... I — you look awful. Are you sure you’re okay?” Tears filled his eyes, and I wiped them away with my thumbs and smiled for his benefit.

  “That bad, huh?”

  He nodded. “Here, please go change. I’m burning that suit.”

  My smile didn’t quite reach my eyes, but I took the clothes and changed in the ladies room. Once situated in the black suit and heels Oliver brought me, I exited and handed him the bag of soiled garments. He rolled up the bag, walked over to the nearest trash can and tossed the whole lot of it in it without a second thought. He just pitched a three-thousand-dollar suit as if it were a wad of chewing gum that had lost its flavor. I couldn’t care less. I’d never wear it again. Even if the dry cleaners removed the bloodstains, my memories of the experience would never fade. Oliver knew me well.

  “I feel better. You?” He rubbed his hands together and straightened his suit jacket.

  I swiped my hair off my face and neck. Oliver walked over and caught it in his capable hands. He pulled a black elastic hair tie and bobby pin out of his suit pocket and adeptly streaked his hands through my hair. The calming motion of his fingers combing along my scalp soothed me, reminded me that I was here. Still alive.

  Oliver was not only my assistant, but also my best friend. Technically, aside from my sister, my only true friend. Most people in my world were there because of what I could do for them. Money brought out the leeches in droves. I paid Oliver more than I paid my high-powered executives, but he was worth every cent. Oliver never complained and was always there when I needed him, day or night. He was the perfect man.

  “Have I told you lately that I love you?” I tipped my head back and smiled.

  He leaned over and kissed my temple. “No, I don’t think you have.” His grin was playful.

  “Tell me about the man.”

  Oliver fastened the severe ponytail low on the nape of my neck. He spun a piece of the hair he left out around the elastic tie, hiding it from sight, then slid the pin through the hair along my scalp, securing it in place. I’m sure it looked flawless. He was incredible at styling me, buying my suits, fixing my hair. The best I co
uld do on my own was a blow-dry and a few rounded curls when my hair was down. Growing up, I spent too much time hitting the books and not enough time socializing with women to learn simple things, such as styling one’s hair.

  The only source I had for things that one would consider “girly” was my sister, London. She was everything I wasn’t. She had honey-colored skin and black hair, like our father, while I had pale skin and blond hair, shared by our mother. We both had our father’s gray-blue eyes. London wasn’t as big in business, but she was a very sought-after interior designer who did very well for herself. Not as well as I had done; my financial worth far exceeded that of my family’s, but it had never been a problem in our relationship. London cared nothing for money, whereas the more money I had, the more secure I felt.

  “… and he owns the firm we contracted.” Oliver’s voice brought me back from my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I said his name is Hank Jensen. He owns Jensen Construction.”

  “Hank?” The name rolled off my tongue and ended with a sharp click. It suited him.

  “Yeah, Hank the Hunk,” Oliver laughed. “Look at the picture from his badge entry photo.” He handed me the image. Though he looked handsome in the photo, my memory of him was better, only tarnished by the pain I saw in his eyes.

  Oliver was right. The man was attractive, in a rugged manly-man way. His hair was dark, full, and thick. Even white teeth stretched into a forced smile. Subtle green eyes complimented his tanned skin. Made me curious as to what color the skin was under the T-shirt he wore for the picture. Would he have a hokey farmer’s tan? I wondered if I would ever know the answer to that question. Probably not.

  “Where did you say Mr. Jensen was from?”

  “Texas. It says here on his background check that he owns several acres of land. According to Google Earth, it looks like a ranch. Oh, color me pretty — he’s a cowboy. I love cowboys!” Oliver fiddled with his phone and flipped it over to show me a large green expanse of land.