Gabriel

by Naima Simone

  Alarm trickled past the shock, and she edged her jacket to the side as she shifted her hand toward her holster and SIG. Then…Wait. She squinted into the darkness. She knew that car…

  The driver’s side door swung open and a tall figure emerged. The man strode toward her, and the light of the streetlamp revealed the stark planes of Gabriel’s face.

  Relief slammed into her.

  “Gabe,” she breathed, lowering her hand away from her weapon. “You scared—”

  “Car trouble?” The soft question echoed as loudly in the night air as if he’d shouted it. A shiver danced over the back of her neck then skipped down her spine. “Car trouble?” he rasped, his long strides eating up the distance between them. “Were you ever going to tell me the truth, Leah?”

  Damn. Somehow he’d found out about the hit-and-run before she could explain. She grimaced. “Yes, I planned to. It just wasn’t the right time,” she said.

  “The right time. The right time,” he repeated. “When exactly is the right time to tell me someone tried to kill you? You make the damn time!” The low growl rumbled up out of his chest, and by the time his chest bumped into hers, it had escalated to a full roar of fury. The blast of his rage reverberated over her skin like the solar wave of a sonic boom, and she backed away from it, stunned. He’d never yelled at her before. Raised his voice in exasperation, yes, but never in anger.

  Eyes narrowed, he reclaimed the space, a silent predator with his prey in sight. Shadows flickered over his features, concealing then revealing them as he shifted closer. “You could’ve been killed, damn it. Dead, and it would’ve been my—”

  He bit off the sentence, lifted his arms, fists curled as if he longed to grab and shake her. Instead, as if rethinking touching her, he tunneled his fingers through his hair, gripped the dark curls, then dropped his arms to his sides. He turned from her, uttering a burning, foul curse under his breath.

  Then he wheeled back around and was on her before she realized he’d moved.

  Hard palms clapped her cheeks, bracing her head and holding her captive for the mouth that crashed down on hers.

  Shock rocked her back on her feet. Instinctively, she cuffed his wrists and clung, only his grip on her face holding her up. That, and the lips molded to hers in a kiss that grabbed her by the soul and refused to let go.

  Oh, God.

  She whimpered. The heat. The hard, almost cruel press of his mouth. His taste. She shuddered and couldn’t hold back the cry that broke free past her bruised lips. With a groan, he slanted his head and thrust his tongue between her lips, taking immediate advantage. Over and over, he delved deep, licking, sucking, taking.

  Desire unlike any she’d experienced seared into her, forever branding her with his special stamp of pleasure. It unfurled from a tight knot in her stomach and emanated outward to every limb before zooming back to coalesce in a hot, insistent throb between her legs.

  She wanted. She ached.

  She loved.

  “Shit!” Gabriel tore away from her. The shock of plummeting from the height of such passion to the cold reality of his rejection was the harshest of acts. As though her heart had been ripped from her chest by the most pitiless hands. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself, to offer even the smallest degree of comfort, but she was powerless. Again.

  In silence, she watched as Gabriel gripped his head as if in agony. He turned back to her, his arms falling to his sides. His gaze penetrated her and, across the distance that separated them, she witnessed the conflicting rage, fear, and grief that flickered over his features like a vignette.

  “Shit,” he repeated, this time softer, darker…desolate. “I’m sorry, Leah,” he rasped, and cupped his forehead, his gaze darting down, then back to her. “I’m so…”

  With a curse, he pivoted on his heel and strode toward his car, flung open the door and disappeared inside. Leah watched silently. As the vehicle backed up and peeled away, she couldn’t help but wonder to whom Gabriel had really been apologizing.

  Her?

  Or his dead wife?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Though this wasn’t Leah’s first time visiting Chay’s home, surprise never failed to well within her at the sight of the quiet, tree-lined street in his homey Randolph neighborhood. The split-level, lemon-yellow home with dark brown shutters and circular gate seemed a perfect reflection of the successful bachelor computer programmer’s quiet, reserved demeanor.

  Pulling into the paved drive, she thought of her own big, empty Victorian. Maybe Chay’s reason for living in the family-oriented town mirrored her secret longing for a home filled with laughter and love.

  Of their own volition, her fingers lifted to her lips, touching them. Last night they had been slightly tender from the bruising crush of Gabriel’s mouth. This morning when she’d glance in the mirror and noticed the puffiness had disappeared, her disappointment had been acute. The reminder of the one time he’d touched her with passion was gone, leaving her with only a memory—and judging by Gabriel’s horrified expression before he’d driven off like a bat out of hell, all she would have was a memory.

  His taste had earned a place in her sensory hall of fame. Right next to his scent of sunshine and skin.

  She couldn’t forget the thrust of his tongue, the firm press of his lips as they reshaped and slanted over her mouth. Up until yesterday, her dreams of him had been grounded in imagination. But now she’d heard his sensual purr that resembled the rumble of a big lion. She’d experienced the feel of his roughened palms and calloused fingertips against her skin as he angled her head for more intimate access.

  How could she forget? She couldn’t.

  But Gabriel obviously did want to forget.

  She could guess the cause behind the stream of emotion that had swept across his face. Anger at himself for kissing a woman he considered his best friend. Anger and fear because of her hit-and-run. Grief because he’d kissed a woman who wasn’t his wife.

  Of all the reasons, the last one hurt the most.

  Though Maura had died two years ago, and Gabriel no longer wore his ring, he remained a married man.

  Gabriel loved his dead wife, and Leah loved him.

  She was in one screwed-up ménage.

  She huffed, exited the car, and knocked on Chay’s front door. Her foot tapped out an erratic cadence as she dug in her jacket pocket and removed a peppermint, hearing the faint tread of footsteps from inside the house. She popped the candy in her mouth just as the door opened. Chay stood on the threshold, his impassive expression revealing nothing of his thoughts about finding her on his doorstep.

  He was such a beautiful man. Golden-brown waves framed a face that could make angels weep. Solemn, hazel eyes heavy with wisdom and secrets; elegant bone structure; and pretty, sensual lips—they could have graced a painting. Instead of the fierce, four-faced and -winged angel he was named after, Chay resembled the archangel Michael—grave, deep-eyed, even as he defeated the dragon.

  “Hey, Chay.” She smiled as her nerves leaped. Though she’d called him yesterday to set up this appointment with him and Evelyn, he didn’t appear overjoyed to see her. Resigned, tired, but not delighted.

  “Hi, Leah.” He stepped back. “Come in.”

  She nodded and accepted his invitation. He closed the door behind her and, with a dip of his head, indicated she should follow him. They walked the short hallway in silence. Chay was not a garrulous man, and they’d always shared a companionable quiet. But now this…this void stretched between them like a yawning chasm. He probably resented her questioning his mother days after her husband had been murdered.

  Damn. In that moment, she felt like a carrion-eating vulture.

  “Mom.” Chay led her into a medium-sized living room. Sunlight streamed in through wide windows, illuminating an overstuffed couch and loveseat. Bookshelves lined one wall and a huge man-cave-worthy flat-screen television mounted another. It was a comfortable space, and yet revealed nothing of the man who owned it. Lovel
y but generic paintings, only a few photos of Chay, his mom, and his best friends. Stylish but general color scheme. The room lacked not just personality, but soul.

  Evelyn Sheldon rose from a corner of the couch, and once again Leah was struck by the woman’s beauty. Monday, her face had been ravaged by grief, and today the lines remained and the sorrow continued to shadow her dark eyes, but the creases had smoothed, the sharp edge of despair blunted.

  Chay had inherited his mother’s golden-brown hair and gorgeous features. Though in her mid-fifties, she possessed the kind of loveliness time could not fade or erase, and her petite frame remained slender and compact. No wonder Richard had fallen in love with her.

  Leah smiled somberly. “Hi, Mrs. Sheldon,” she greeted and moved forward, hand outstretched. “I hate to impose during this time, but I thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

  Evelyn grasped her hand and squeezed it lightly. “It’s not an imposition, Leah.” She returned to the couch, waving Leah toward the seat beside her. “Please. Sit. Chay told me you were coming over and why.”

  Leah sank to the cushion and set her tote bag next to her. A quick glance revealed Chay leaning a shoulder against the door frame, a silent guardian.

  “I know this can’t be easy, Mrs. Sheldon,” Leah murmured to mother and son. “If you’d rather I come back later.”

  “Please call me Evelyn.” Evelyn flicked Leah’s use of “Mrs. Sheldon” away as if shooing a fly. “And no, I want to help if I can. Chay said you’re investigating Richard’s disappearance?”

  “Yes.”

  Sadness flashed across Evelyn’s lovely features. She closed her eyes, and when they reopened, sorrow darkened her brown eyes to a haunted black. “They’ve found him? Chay didn’t say they…”

  Leah shook her head, momentarily shaken by Evelyn’s reaction. All these years later, Richard had been mourned by someone other than his family. Sympathy and a connection forged in loss compelled her to lean forward and clasp Evelyn’s fingers. “No, he hasn’t been located. I’m looking into the circumstances surrounding his disappearance, hopefully to provide answers.” She didn’t disclose the contents of the anonymous letter or share her belief that Richard was indeed dead.

  Evelyn nodded. Leah released her hand and leaned back.

  “He adored you,” Evelyn murmured, a small smile ghosting across her lips. “He always boasted about how lovely and smart you were. That’s where I met Richard—picking up Chay from your home one evening. He just”—she emitted a short, thin chuckle—“swept me off my feet from the moment I laid eyes on him.”

  “I regret causing you distress, and if I could avoid it, I would,” she assured Evelyn, picturing a greedy vulture circling a carcass. Her heart gave a twinge of remorse at the wistfulness weighing heavily in the other woman’s voice. “But—”

  “No,” Evelyn interrupted with a hand held high, palm out. “Please don’t apologize. This isn’t about me. Whatever I can do to help, I’m more than willing. Richard and I had only been seeing one another for a year and a half, but aside from Darion, he was one of the few men in my life who treated me with respect.” Her voice trailed off as a faint half smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Like a lady.”

  “I know it’s belated,” Leah murmured. “But I’m sorry.”

  Surprise flickered across Evelyn’s face, and Leah’s assumption about no one thinking to consider this woman’s feelings as one of those affected and devastated by her uncle’s disappearance was confirmed. How selfish of them. She’d loved Richard, and unlike Catherine, Leah, and Richard’s family, Evelyn had had no one to lean on or to offer her comfort during those bleak hours of worry and grief.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn whispered. “I—Thank you.”

  Leah cleared her throat, turned to her bag, and dug in the deep depths for a notebook and pen. After flipping to a clean sheet, she glanced up at Evelyn. “Did you and Richard have a good relationship?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Yes, we did. Like I said, he treated me like a queen. I know many people considered his interest in me—a poor, single-mother from Dorchester—weird, but we were so compatible. No, I didn’t play golf, nor had I ever dined at L’Espalier, but the things that counted—our values, beliefs, a love of family—we shared those in common.” A soft smile curved her lips. “If anything, those last few weeks were the best of our relationship. We were closer than ever, spent more time together. We even discussed a tentative date for Chay and me to move into his home. How many men accept a teenage boy as his own…love him as his own?” she said. “Things were good.”

  “So Chay and Richard got along?” Leah jotted down a note to check with some of her uncle’s friends at the time and verify Evelyn’s view of the relationship.

  The other woman hesitated, and Leah looked up from her notebook to catch the pained glance she cast in her son’s direction.

  “Well—”

  “Not always,” Chay interrupted, piping up for the first time since Leah entered his home. He crossed his arms and met Leah’s eyes with his steady gaze. “Early on, we didn’t. I’d been the ‘man’ of the house for so long, and suddenly having another man enter the picture when I was fourteen…” Chay shrugged. “Eventually things smoothed out between us.”

  “Especially those last few weeks,” Evelyn said. “It’s why Richard and I started talking about moving in together. Richard had actually asked me six months earlier, but I resisted because of Chay. I wanted him to be completely on board with it.”

  No wonder Chay loved his mother so much, Leah reflected. How many women, after being alone for so long and having Prince Charming appear in her life, would still place their son’s feelings first, even at the risk of said prince riding off on his white stallion?

  “Do you know if he had any difficulties with anyone, or did you ever witness an altercation that someone might have held a grudge over?”

  “No, never,” Evelyn stated, shaking her head. “Everyone seemed to love Richard. As hard as it is to believe—”

  “It’s not too difficult to believe,” Leah interjected softly. “I remember how people seemed to gravitate toward him. When my father hosted parties, I would sneak out of bed and spy from the top of the staircase. His charm and laughter drew people like bees to honey.” She had been one of those bees. Richard’s heart had been huge for his best friend’s daughter.

  “Yes,” Evelyn whispered. “That was Richard.”

  A moment heavy with memories passed between them, two women bonding over a man they’d both loved.

  “So,” Leah cleared her throat and tried again, “can you tell me about the last time you saw or spoke with him?”

  “It will be etched in my mind forever.” She plucked at the crease in her pants. “As best as the police could tell, Richard vanished either Friday night or Saturday morning. We’d spent Thursday evening together at my home. I’d prepared dinner, and we’d watched TV afterward. I spoke with him Friday afternoon. He had a business engagement scheduled, so we wouldn’t see each other that night, but made plans for brunch Saturday morning.” Her voice thickened, and she tugged harder at her pants. “Since he had plans for Friday night, I called Pam, Ana, and Sharon—Mal, Rafe, and Gabe’s moms—for a girls’ night out. Saturday morning, I waited for Richard to arrive, but he didn’t. I never saw or heard from him again.”

  Leah’s hand froze over her pad, pen clutched between her fingers. Sorrow poured from the woman. And Leah’s questions had dredged up these memories of a time that while had most likely been some of the happiest, were also some of the most painful.

  She set aside her pen and notebook, reached across the small space dividing them, and once more covered the other woman’s hand with her own. She squeezed Evelyn’s fingers, hoping the sympathy filling her chest was transferred through her touch. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Evelyn rasped, and Chay appeared beside his mother, tissue in hand. She accepted the offering and smiled. “And thank you, too. God, I’m sorry. You�
�d think I would be cried out by now.”

  “You’ve had a tough week, and I regret adding to your pain,” Leah said. “Thank you for your help. And I’m so sorry for your loss.” Leah tucked her pen and notebook in her bag and rose. Evelyn stood as well and surprised Leah with a strong hug.

  “You’ll let me know what you find?” Evelyn asked.

  “Absolutely.” She smiled at the other woman.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Chay offered quietly.

  Leah followed him toward the front door. She studied the wide breadth of his shoulders under a black sweater. I love him, but I hardly know him. Funny how she hadn’t realized that until this moment. Chay was affectionate, compassionate, and so guarded she wondered if he allowed anyone besides his three best friends to infiltrate the invisible barrier he’d erected.

  “I feel like such a heel intruding on your mother’s grief,” Leah muttered.

  Chay lifted a shoulder. “She didn’t mind. Besides, it took her mind off Darion for a little while.”

  “Great. I distracted her from her husband’s death with the death of a former boyfriend.” She shook her head. Evelyn, and now Chay, had assured her she hadn’t imposed, but she still felt like something scraped off the bottom of someone’s Manolo Blahnik.

  “You want to get my interview over with now?” Chay asked as he closed the door behind them.

  She started, a little taken aback. “I did want to ask you about that night eventually, but we don’t have to do it now.”

  Chay perched on the porch railing, and his fingers curled around the wood as if it were a lifeboat in a raging sea. “I’d prefer to get it over with.”

  Leah slowly nodded and leaned on the railing, as well.

  “Okay. What your mom said about Thursday night. Are her recollections how you remember it?”

  “Yes,” Chay said. “I came home around eight. I had been at Gabe’s house until then. When I came home, I didn’t really speak to Richard, since he and Mom were watching television.”