by Naima Simone
Yes. Yes, she did.
She understood the sender’s desire for resolution, for justice.
At an early age, she’d lost her mother to a senseless death, her father to grief, and Richard under mysterious circumstances. It seemed as if her life had been one loss after another. And each one had left a jagged hole in her heart no amount of medical jargon or therapist’s soothing words could fill. Oh, logically she grasped that a weakened wall of a cerebral artery inside her mother’s brain ballooned until it finally burst. She got that bad things sometimes happened to good people. Yet these explanations never offered resolution. Never supplied justice. But they had stirred her desire to be a police officer and bring to others answers that she’d never received herself.
As an officer, though, she wouldn’t have been able to take on this case. Not only would she not have reached the rank of detective yet, but no superior worth his or her badge would have allowed her to investigate with her close personal connection.
But those restrictions didn’t apply to her present circumstances. She was no longer a cop. For the first time since her resignation, that fact gave her a small dose of satisfaction.
“You’re going to pursue this, aren’t you?” Nathan asked from beside her. She glanced from the note to her employer. He searched her face. Whatever he perceived there must have confirmed his suspicion, because he sighed and perched on the edge of her desk. “I guess it would be pointless for me to mention you’re too closely related to this case to maintain objectivity.”
A smile wavered across her mouth. “Yup,” she said. “I loved him. I owe him.”
An emotion flickered in his green eyes, there and gone between one blink and the next. And if she hadn’t been so acquainted with the emotion, she wouldn’t have been able to identify it.
Sadness.
Another memory stirred like dust motes in a ray of sunshine. Faint but shimmering, barely in focus.
“You knew Richard, too,” she murmured. “I’d forgotten.” An image of a solemn, quiet teen and a strong, masculine hand resting on the boy’s slender shoulder wavered and solidified. A young Nathan and Richard.
“Yes,” Nathan said, voice gruff. “After my father left, he was a good friend to our family.” Exhaling heavily, he scrubbed a palm down his face. “Leah, you have my permission and blessing to look into Richard’s disappearance. But”—he rose to his feet and slid his hands in the front pockets of his slacks—“you are aware this may all be a wild goose chase? It’s been twenty years. The police weren’t able to find a trace of Richard when he vanished, so unearthing clues now may be a bit far-fetched.” He studied her, and she caught the jangle of loose change as he rocked on his heels. “That said, if there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word.”
She rolled back her chair and stood. “Thank you, Nathan,” she said, clasping his wrist and squeezing. “You can’t imagine what this means to me.”
No, he couldn’t imagine.
It meant closure. Truth.
Justice.
…
Gabriel snapped the lid of the coffeemaker down harder than was necessary to ensure the blue ready light quit flashing, and jabbed the start button.
“Shit.” Hot water hissed as it poured into the waiting mug. But the aromatic scent of freshly brewing coffee didn’t accompany it, since he’d forgotten to fill the machine with grounds. He jerked the arm up and began the process over again.
Distraction had been his pal since Leah had left hours earlier. Left hurt because he’d been a grade-A asshole.
As usual.
Damn. It was a wonder he still had any friends. He would’ve abandoned himself a long time ago. But even in the darkest depths of his depression and rage immediately after the accident when he’d been a snarling, alcoholic, suicidal mess, Leah had refused to desert him. The woman could give a mule lessons in stubbornness.
A knock reverberated on his front door. He frowned, setting the coffee can on the counter and exiting the kitchen. One glance through the peephole, and his scowl disappeared, replaced by surprise. He opened the door.
And gazed down at Leah.
“I was a bastard,” he blurted.
Her lips twitched and, in spite of the tension humming under his skin, wry amusement spurted within him.
She patted him on the arm. “I hate to break it to you, Gabe, but the ship has sailed on the subject of your bastardry. Mal, Rafe, Chay, and I have already debated smothering you in your sleep.”
His mouth curved as he stepped back and waved her inside. He didn’t doubt she, Malachim Jerrod, Raphael Marcel, and Chayot Grey had discussed methods of offing him. Gabriel had been friends with the three men since birth. Before birth, actually, as they’d inherited their relationship through their mothers, who’d bonded when the four of them had been in utero. Ana Devlin, Pam Jerrod, Sharon Marcel, and Evelyn Sheldon—then Gray—had met at Boston Children’s Hospital. He and his friends had heard the story countless times. The women, though from different economic and social backgrounds, had connected and shared worries about their high-risk pregnancies, nervous excitement over the imminent births, and hopes for their babies’ futures. They’d decided to name the boys they considered God’s gifts after angels—Gabriel, Malachim, Raphael, and Chayot. Their angels.
There was nothing he couldn’t tell his best friends—well, nothing except this growing, confusing desire for a woman they all considered a beloved friend. Since the day twenty-two years ago when his mother had accepted the position as housekeeper in the Bannon household, Leah had been in their lives. A sister. A friend.
That thought effectively wiped the smile from his lips.
“Thank you for not going through with your homicidal inclination,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Leah entered the living room and settled on the couch, placing the large bag she laughingly called a purse near her feet.
“What’s the deal? You actually knocked.”
“I wasn’t exactly certain if I was welcome or not, so I decided to go the traditional route instead of letting myself in.” She folded her arms, studied him with her unflinching, uncompromising gaze. “I tried calling earlier. Several times. But there wasn’t an answer.” And I was scared hung between them like an ugly, ghostly specter.
God. He lowered to the cushion beside her. Another you-don’t-need-to-be-worried-about-me reminder was on the tip of his tongue. At the last second he held it in. Both of them would recognize the statement for the lie it would be.
So he repeated the same words from earlier in his office. “I’m fine.” The phrase had become his mantra.
“Gabe, have you been drinking again?”
“I’m fine.”
“Gabe, when was the last time you ate?”
“I’m fine.”
“Damn it, Gabe! Why is there a gun under your pillow?”
“I’m fine.”
Since his family’s death, he’d mastered the arts of lies and avoidance.
“I left the phone in the bedroom. The ringer was off.” Lie. He’d tossed the damn thing in the bathroom drawer a day ago. The cell phone’s insistent ringing had annoyed the hell out of him, especially when he’d been at the computer. By now the battery was most likely dead.
She stared at him, her green eyes unblinking. He glanced away. One of the problems with having people in your life who knew you inside-out was they smelled your bullshit a mile away and had no issue with calling you on it.
She reached out, laid her hand on his thigh. Desire and shame slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer. His breath snagged in his throat, and he barely managed not to jerk away. The light touch held comfort, concern, but his body hardened as if she’d brushed her fingers over his dick instead his leg. He shot off the couch.
“I was just making some coffee when you arrived. You want some?” He didn’t wait for her response but headed for the kitchen. Escaped. Like the fucking coward he was.
God, he hated this…this thing that
wouldn’t go away. He pressed the brew button and remained standing in front of the coffee machine for several long minutes, inhaling and exhaling, dragging his body under control.
Two months ago, Leah had started haunting his dreams and creeping into his thoughts during the day. Every time he woke with his heart pounding against his rib cage and his cock saluting him under the sheets, his soul ripped open all over again. The pain, rage, and grief spewed out like a geyser from a fissure in the earth.
He loathed his flesh for betraying his heart. Hated that he wanted Leah even as his heart still beat for Maura.
Maura.
Pain sliced him open, leaving seeping cuts.
What kind of man—what kind of husband—did it make him when he already lusted after another woman? Maura owned his heart. Death may have separated them, but his love hadn’t been buried with her.
Muttering a curse, he removed another mug from the cabinet and poured coffee for Leah and himself. When he returned to the living room, he offered her a cup and reclaimed his seat, deliberately placing more space between them. If she noticed—Hell, who was he kidding? Of course she noticed. She was the Filipina Dick Tracy, for God’s sake.
“What? Do I have cooties?” she asked.
He picked up his mug and sipped. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he mumbled and glanced around the living room—anywhere but at her and her too-perceptive gaze. Not that there was much in the room—or the condo for that matter—for him to observe. The apartment contained the bare essentials—a desk with a computer and laptop, couch, table, chairs, and bed. And Leah, Mal, Rafe, and Chay used the couch, table, and chairs more than he did.
“Thanks.” She sighed, and the weary sound dragged his attention back to her. For the first time he noticed the tight pull of her full lips, the grim line of her jaw.
“Hey.” He set his mug down on the low table in front of the couch and scooted closer. Though his mind screamed “hands off!” he placed a fingertip under her chin and turned her face toward him.
Alarm struck him.
Except for at his family’s funerals, he’d rarely seen Leah without a sparkle in her eyes. When her dream of being a police officer had fallen apart, he had been crawling out of the worst of his grief, and he hadn’t been there for her. Not that she’d allowed him to see her disappointment. Within a short amount of time, she’d moved on, turned to the private sector as an investigator. And like everything she did, she gave it all her passion and effort; she held nothing back. Yet this was the first time in years he’d glimpsed…sorrow…that wasn’t his own. The sadness, more than her words, set his warning bells clamoring.
“What’s wrong?” he barked, worry sharpening his tone to a razor’s fine edge. “Talk to me.”
She studied him for several long moments. Finally, she leaned forward, placed her mug on the table, and opened her bag. She straightened, and his gaze dipped to the long, white envelope resting on her lap. Curiosity roused, he waited. When she didn’t speak immediately, but fiddled with the piece of mail, sliding it back and forth between her fingers, his interest spiked even higher.
“It’s like a bad case of déjà vu,” she finally murmured, lifting her head. She inhaled. Blew the breath out slowly. “We were just talking about him this morning and then this came to the office today.”
He stiffened. With effort, he steadied his voice and blanked any hint of emotion from his face. A yawning, black pit filled his stomach that food couldn’t fill it.
Nothing could.
“Richard.” The name echoed in his head even as he said it aloud. “That envelope has something to do with Richard?”
She nodded. “It’s weird. First the conversation with Dad and then with you. It’s like I conjured him up after such a long time.” She shook her head. “When he disappeared, I believed something had happened to him—something bad. But you said he had probably left Boston and started over somewhere else. That he was alive, fine.”
Gabriel shrugged. “You were terrified, having nightmares. Besides, men pack up and leave their homes, family, and friends for any number of reasons. I should know—my father did it. Why wouldn’t Richard? He had the money to begin a new life.” He stated the explanation with a calm belying the storm shrieking in his head.
She nodded, still fiddling with the envelope. “I latched onto your assurance then. But there always remained this small part of me that knew—just knew he was gone.”
Gabriel’s heart shot to his throat. Lodged there. “What are you talking about?” he rasped.
“This.” She held up the mail, and her name and address seemed to expand in size until the black letters covered the entire envelope. “This contained a letter and an old missing-person flyer. Richard’s flyer from twenty years ago.”
Gabriel stared at her. Shock robbed him of speech, but questions, denials, and protests howled in his head in a cacophonous din. He had the sense of hovering on a ledge, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
“What did the note say?” he managed.
She met his gaze again, and the sadness he’d detected earlier darkened her expression. But something more dwelled in her eyes—determination.
God. That unsettled him more than the grief.
“It stated Richard is dead.” At her words, foreboding crept across his soul like an insidious shadow. “The letter asked me to bring him justice.”
There went that other shoe.
Chapter Three
Gabriel fell back against the back of the couch.
Richard…dead…justice.
Nausea bathed his gut in a shower of acid and fear.
“Gabe?” Leah leaned forward, frowning. She settled a hand on his thigh, her elegant fingers with their no-nonsense, blunt nails squeezed his leg. This time he didn’t shift away from her touch. Hell, it was the only thing anchoring him to a world suddenly shifting on its axis.
“I’m sorry.” He tried for a smile. And failed miserably. “I’m just…surprised.”
“I know the feeling. All these years…” She tapped the envelope, her frown still in place. “Seeing the flyer”—she shook her head—“it brought back memories of his disappearance. The confusion, grief. God. I remember being so scared. I had nightmares for months about him dying like Mom. There one minute, gone the next.” She paused, and in the breath of time, Gabriel’s heart lurched. After a moment, she shrugged. “Anyway, once the shock from the flyer and letter wore off, I wondered why now? Why, after twenty years of silence, does this person decide to come forward?”
“And who is it?” Of all the questions swarming his brain, who droned the loudest.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Who? And…”
She stared out the floor-to-ceiling window. The sun had already set below the horizon. Thousands of tiny lights twinkled from the surrounding buildings and the nearby HarborWalk like fireflies on a summer’s night. As beautiful as the view was, Gabriel doubted she was admiring the sight. The pensive slant of her eyebrows telegraphed deep thought. For the second time, he reached for her. Gently, he took her chin between his finger and thumb, turning her head toward him.
The impact of her face seared him. Branded him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. She emitted a noncommittal sound and batted his hand away, but he refused to be dissuaded. He wanted in her head. “What secrets are you keeping, Leah?”
“None, Gabe,” she scoffed. “I—” Her fingers flitted as if trying to conjure the words seeming to elude her. “Can I be honest?”
“Always,” he said quickly. “With me, always.”
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise briefly flaring in their depths. She hesitated, but he didn’t rescind the offer…or his touch.
“I can’t help but wonder if this,” she waved a hand toward the floor, “was somehow meant to be.” She huffed out a short laugh. But he would have had to be deaf, blind, and dumb to miss the pain straining her lovely features and trembling in her low voice. “Ever since the shooting, the hip surgery, and ulti
mately leaving the force a year ago, I’ve wondered why my one dream had been ripped away. Why, when all I’ve ever wanted was to be a cop? And now—” Hurt and the faint echo of hope in her expression clutched him by the throat, reverberated in his chest. “I’m not naive. This person obviously has no concrete evidence of a crime, so they can’t go to the police. But what if my injury led up to this day when I could freely investigate Richard’s disappearance? Something I would not have been able to do if I was still a police officer. I know it sounds like a load of woo-woo.” She chuckled, the sound brief and humorless. “And maybe I’m just trying too hard to make sense of something that is senseless.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Gabriel whispered.
When had he become such a self-absorbed ass? Here she’d been struggling, and he’d been so wrapped up in himself he’d taken her carefree attitude at face value. He hadn’t delved beneath the surface to see the sorrow and pain that obviously continued to haunt her.
He clearly remembered the middle-of-the-night call that had brought him to the hospital four months after Maura’s and Ian’s deaths. Terror had pierced his grief as he faced a grim Malachim who’d informed him Leah had been shot during a robbery at a convenience store. But even after her recovery, months of therapy, and eventual resignation, she’d appeared so pragmatic and accepting that he’d bowed to her insistence that she was “fine.”
He smiled wryly. Apparently, he wasn’t the only person fond of that particular lie.
Still, if the tables had been turned, she would have questioned, nagged, and browbeat him until she’d uncovered the truth. He’d failed her, hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. What kind of friend did his negligence make him? A really shitty one.
He dragged his fingers through his hair. It was either that or haul her over his thighs and cradle her against his chest.
“Listen to me,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I don’t know about divine intervention or how the universe works. Which, by the way, does sound like a shitload of woo-woo,” he drawled, eliciting the smile he’d hoped to receive. It was small, but there. “But don’t you doubt for one second the reason they sought you out. Cop or PI, you’re a damn fine investigator. You’re determined, thorough, scary-intelligent, and stubborn enough to frustrate a bull.” She snickered, and he smiled. Unable to fight the urge any longer, he allowed himself a small brush of his knuckles over her cheek. So soft. He dropped his arm but the silken texture of her skin remained, a sensory echo that wouldn’t fade. “They also know your love for Richard makes you the most logical person to take this on,” he finished roughly.
