Morris stood and walked toward the river, so lost in his own thoughts he still hadn’t seen William. He stopped a few paces back from the edge, hesitating as though surprised to find himself so near the river.

William held his hand against the outline of the gun. None of this felt right, as if he’d walked into a play and nobody had given him the script. He began to wonder if making his presence known to Morris was even a good idea. Should he turn around and head back along the path and leave him to whatever he was doing?

Morris’ behavior made no sense. Now he moved from one Italian-shoe-clad foot to the other, rocking his weight left then right, forward and back. He looked like a sapling blown by a gale wind. He looked like a man contemplating something terrible, the same action William had just been considering.

Was Morris Usher about to kill himself?

William had arrived at the festival determined to kill this man and avenge himself. Here he was now thinking he should speak and interrupt whatever plans Morris might have made.

You’d better do something, the damn voice in his head insisted. For a minute he wondered if it was an angel from that film, but then he was doddery and sickly sweet, where this voice was demanding as hell.

Morris shuffled a little closer to the edge and William stretched an arm out toward his back. Boy, he sure looked like a man ready to jump. Maybe William should ignore the boss-voice in his head and let him.

He wondered though, if he did nothing would that make him just as much a killer as if he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger.

What if he’s in the same boat as you?

If Orelia Mason caused his downfall, maybe she’d also turned on her agent. Now that might be of benefit to him because he wouldn’t be alone anymore. They could join forces and fight her.

Are you hearing yourself? This man threw him into the wind like a used napkin. Whatever is his problem, he could find his own way out.

Wait a minute though, if two of them put their heads together, maybe they could find proof of Orelia’s deeds. This might be his only chance to discover answers, and though watching Morris suffer might be a satisfying reward, that would be only William cutting off his nose to spite his face.

What he needed to do was talk to the man. So he reached out and slipped his hand over the man’s shoulder and said, “Morris! Morris…”

He expected him to turn around, surprised to see his ex-client, but Morris didn’t seem to hear. As if sleepwalking, he took another step closer to the edge.

Six feet below the man-made concrete wall bank, the river swirled, and William knew without a doubt he had only seconds to save the man. Somehow, without even trying, he’d become a second-class angel intervening in a life. As he pulled at Morris’ jacket, he wondered if he succeeded in saving him, would he earn his wings. Right now though, he’d settle for getting some answers.