The Marriage Profile. Metsy Hingle

him, and picked up the handbag she’d placed next to the chair. She walked toward the door, paused and turned back to face him. “But whether you like it or not, I’m on this case now, too. I’d prefer working with you because I think our chances of finding her are better. But I’ll work alone if I have to. It’s up to you. Either way, I don’t intend to leave until I find that little girl.”

      “And how are you planning to do that? Hope that one of your dreams tells you where to find her?”

      Angela stiffened. During their marriage, Justin had always skirted the issue of her psychic abilities and chalked up her uncanny accuracy as woman’s intuition. And because the memory of her family’s rejection had been so painful, she’d allowed him to do so. Not anymore. “I intend to use any and all means available to me to find her—including my psychic abilities. I’ve already made arrangements to visit with Flynt and Josie Carson tomorrow, and I’ve requested copies of the Bureau’s files on the case. I’ll want to take a look at your files, too.”

      Justin shot across the room, slapped his hand against the door she’d started to open and sent it slamming shut again. “Let’s get something straight here, Mason. This is my case. Mine.”

      “Then I suggest you have that chat with the Bureau because they don’t see it that way. Now, get out of my way,” she said evenly, and reached for the doorknob. When he made no move to allow her to leave, Angela looked up at his hard face, noting the grim set of his mouth.

      A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared down at her. “I’ve been searching for that little girl for months and have hit one dead end after another. So have the feds. You think just because you’ve had some success tracking down a few missing people, you can waltz in here and tell me to turn over my files? That I’ll let you take over my case?”

      Angela sighed. She didn’t bother telling him it wasn’t his case—that officially it was a federal matter. She knew Justin well enough to know that once a case was his, it remained his. Not even the head of the FBI himself would be able to convince the stubborn man otherwise. While he might have made noises about cooperating with the FBI, Justin would have continued to work the case on his own. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Justin. I’ve offered to work with you. I’m still willing to work with you on this case.”

      “Right. You expect me to put my faith in the woman who walked out on me? Better yet, I’m supposed to tell the Carsons to put their faith and hopes of finding Lena into some psychic mumbo jumbo?”

      Angela flinched at the barb. Her father had made her an outcast in her own family, subjecting her to brutal lashings of both his tongue and his belt, claiming it was the devil that enabled her to see things others couldn’t. It had taken her years to learn to control her own tongue, to not let others know about her visions. But no matter how hard she had tried, sooner or later she would slip and earn her father’s wrath. She hadn’t thought it possible for anyone else’s rejection ever to hurt her so much.

      She’d been wrong.

      Justin’s jibe about her psychic abilities had been just as sharp, just as painful, as Horace Mason’s leather belt had been all those years ago. Feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes, she blinked hard, determined not to cry in front of him.

      “Angel.” He said her name softly and started to touch her. “I—”

      “Don’t,” she said firmly. And because she felt so vulnerable, because she was afraid if he touched her the tears would start and not stop, she deliberately pulled open the door. “I want copies of the files, Justin. I’ll leave my number with Mrs. Cox. Have her call me when you have them ready and I’ll come by to pick them up.” Then before he could respond, she walked out the door without looking back.

      Justin pulled his truck up to the curb across the street from Angela’s condo and shut off the engine. After turning off his headlights, he sat in the darkness and stared at the place Angela had moved into several days earlier. Located on the outskirts of Goldenrod, it was one of the newer developments that had gone up in Lone Star County during the past year. There were six units in all, moderately priced and small by Texas standards. The limestone facade still had that new look about it. He supposed the small trees with their less-than-lush branches had been the developer’s attempt at landscaping. They didn’t even come close to the massive century-old oaks found on the Wainwright ranch. But he had to admit the rows of azaleas that lined the front of each unit and the walkways were a nice touch. No doubt it had been those rose-colored blooms that had sold Angela on the place. She’d always had a weakness for flowers, Justin remembered.