What it was, she wasn’t quite sure. But her womanly instincts told her that her marriage was in even more trouble than she knew. Angel looked at the clock on the wall, staring at the second hand as it ticked its way from the six to the twelve. Those thirty seconds alone felt like a lifetime. Eleven P.M. What in the world is going on? A part of her wished for a phone call from any one of the hospitals in metropolitan Atlanta. If a voice on the other end of the line told her that her husband had been in a horrible accident and was brought in with his life hanging in the balance, at least then she’d know that Colin didn’t have a choice in the matter. If he were in the ER, with tubes running down his throat and doctors pounding on his chest, at least then she’d know that the only reason he wasn’t at home was because he couldn’t be. Couldn’t . . . not wouldn’t. There was a difference. But something inside of Angel told her that it wasn’t an accident that was keeping Colin away.
