Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

out to him as they passed.
    With pride Kael noted how popular Angel was. Everybody liked him. The only friend
    Kael had ever had was Freddie. He had always hung out with groups of boys at school,
    but no one sought him out individually. They were all scared of him.
    Angel hugged him, hanging on tightly for a moment, his cheek pressed against
    Kael’s chest. When they parted, Kael leaned against the car, watching Angel’s leggy,
    racehorse walk as he hurried back to the building, the sun gleaming on his pale blond
    hair.
    I love you, Angel.

    * * * *
    “Sir, what’s the likelihood of being tortured? Has it ever happened to you?”

    The seminar had gone well, and Kael had seen the man watching him intently
    throughout. Watching more than listening. He was in his early thirties, big, and tall, but
    with a quiet disposition. The quiet wasn’t the problem, nor his retiring demeanor. It
    was the fear in his eyes.
    “I have found myself in a few very sticky situations over the years. This job might
    not be for you. What made you want to be an operational officer?”
    “I’ve been with SIS for seven years, but I’ve always been in IT. I want something
    more exciting.” With a self-deprecating smile, he patted his belly. “I want to get fit.”
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    “Join a gym.” Kael looked at the soft, protruding belly. “If you were accepted for
    training, somebody thought you had some potential. See how it goes.” He clapped the
    man on the shoulder and strode off toward the lift.
    On the third floor, in the quiet, sedate reception area, Conran’s secretary looked
    up at him from her desk outside her superior’s office. The stout, usually dowdy woman
    was actually looking quite attractive. The old-fashioned twin sets she always wore were
    replaced by a fashionable dress that made her look younger and slimmer.
    “Hello, Mr. Saunders. Do you mind waiting a minute or two? Mr. Conran is
    involved in a rather important three-way.”
    “I didn’t know he was that sexually adventurous.” Surprised that the woman
    started to laugh, he said, “Was I funny?” He had meant to be sarcastic.
    “Yes,” she said, still chuckling. “You’re usually so serious.”
    “Oh.” Still brimmingly happy that Angel’s future education was working out to
    plan, he sat down in the tasteful, wood-framed leather chair near her desk. “You
    usually look really frumpy, Mrs. Lane. You look very nice today.”
    With a rosy-cheeked smile, she said, “Diplomacy has never been your strong
    point, has it, Mr. Saunders?”
    Angel had told him about his bluntness before. “You never sugarcoat it, do you,
    Daddy?” “I meant it as a compliment,” he said defensively. He had seen the woman on
    and off over the last ten years, but more often in the last year, since he had been
    teaching classes at Vauxhall Cross. It wasn’t that long since she’d seen him pin Conran
    up against a wall, so she was right about the diplomacy. “You look younger. I thought
    you were fifty.”
    “I’m forty-three, sir.” Her smile was fast fading.
    “Never ask a lady her age or her weight, Daddy.”
    “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not very good at guessing.” He pulled out his mobile,
    which he had turned off in the library at Redmond. Angel sometimes sent him sweet
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    little texts, which always made him smile. He pressed the On button. “I forgot there’s
    no signal in here,” he mumbled, pocketing the phone again. He still bought disposable
    phones and destroyed them every few weeks, but since having Angel in his life, he
    always made sure his boy had his number in case he needed him. Lately he had been
    giving the number to his mum as well so she didn’t always have to wait for him to
    phone her. She just couldn’t understand why he kept changing his number.
    A glance at Mrs. Lane proved she was still not best pleased with him. Attempting
    to redeem the moment, he said, “So why did you get yourself a makeover? That’s what
    it’s called, isn’t it? A makeover? Because you do look better.”
    Folding her hands in her lap and sitting back in her swivel chair, Mrs. Lane said,
    “My husband left me. He said I’d let myself go.”
    “He was right. All you needed was a kick in the ar…bum.”
    “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “Especially since I don’t really want my
    husband back anyway. Do you have a wife, Mr. Saunders?”
    “I’m gay. I have