Gabriel

by Naima Simone

  Maybe he was right. But there was more; since last night, she’d been tumbling her conversations with Chay and Catherine over and over in her head. When Richard’s mother had mentioned Renee Pierce’s name, venom had coated her voice. There had to be a reason Catherine despised the woman who’d once been married to her “special boy.” And Leah wanted to know why.

  A glance at the screen revealed Nathan’s name. Damn, Leah grimaced. She’d meant to call her boss this morning. But between discovering she was next on a killer’s hit list, finding out her uncle had been killed by a boy he’d tried to rape, and experiencing the customary awkward first morning after with Gabriel, it’d been a busy twenty-four hours.

  She tapped the answer button. “Hi, Nathan.”

  “Leah,” Nathan said. “Care to explain to me why I had to hear from a third party about my investigator being attacked in her home last night?”

  Oh, shit. She swiped a hand over her head. How had Nathan—?

  No. He wouldn’t. “Would that third party happen to be a writer who doesn’t know how to mind his business?”

  “You are my business,” Nathan snapped, then sighed. “I should’ve heard from you.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I intended to call you this morning but got sidetracked.”

  “You’re not still working the investigation, are you?” he asked sharply. “Leah, while I understand your reasons, this case has become too dangerous. You were almost killed for God’s sake! For the second time, may I remind you? You should be resting, not working.”

  “Nathan, I—”

  “No, Leah.” His tone hardened, and she realized she was now talking to her employer, not her family friend. “I agreed you could look into Richard’s disappearance because of your connection. But not at the risk of your life. Wednesday I’m reassigning you,” he said flatly. “And I say Wednesday, because you’re not allowed back in this office until then.”

  “Are you kidding me?” It was just Thursday. Five days? He had to be kidding.

  “Not even a little bit,” Nathan stated. “Where are you staying?”

  She rubbed her forehead, impotent anger momentarily robbing her of speech. Yeah, where was she staying? For damn sure Gabriel’s place was out. If she went back there, Boston’s murder rate would surely climb. Yet going home was out of the question. Her options had dwindled to one. “My father’s house.”

  “Good,” Nathan said matter-of-factly. “Go home, Leah. Rest. Take care of yourself.”

  “Nathan.” Leah again tried to make him listen, but an unyielding silence met her attempt. “Fine,” she bit out.

  “Leah.” Nathan sighed. “I know you’re upset, but this is your life we’re talking about.”

  “I understand, Nathan.”

  “Okay. I’ll call later to check in on you.”

  She nodded, though he couldn’t see the gesture. “I’ll talk to you then.”

  She pressed “end call” and stared at the blank screen. Then she held the power button down, reopened the car door, and tossed the phone inside. Turning on her heel, she strode up the drive toward the white clapboard house.

  Renee Pierce—now Mercer, as she’d reverted back to her maiden name after the divorce—had reluctantly agreed to speak with her when she’d called the previous afternoon to request an interview. Her uncle’s ex-wife had insisted she didn’t have information that could help, but after Leah’s patient persistence, Renee had capitulated. As Leah climbed the one step to the small porch, the house’s front door opened, and Renee stood in the doorway.

  The petite woman stirred hazy memories Leah hadn’t realized she’d retained. Richard and Renee had divorced when Leah was seven years old. But the vague image of a small, slim blonde with brown eyes and a tight smile superimposed itself over the older version before her. The spray of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth were new, as were the delicate, paper-thin wrinkles across her brow, but Leah immediately recognized her.

  Renee pushed open the storm door and with one hand beckoned Leah inside the house. Obviously, she remembered Leah, as well. Murmuring her thanks, she stepped into the entryway. Renee closed the door behind her, and led her into the sitting room. The warm, airy room of dark woods and floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t reflect the chilly reception she’d received. Overstuffed leather couches and chairs littered the space, along with magazines and books. It was comfortable, inviting, and in spite of the cold gaze its owner settled on her, she brushed her hand over the soft leather with a smile as she sat on one of the sofas.

  “As I told you over the phone,” Renee said, settling into a wide armchair across from the couch and jumping right into the topic without any niceties, “I don’t have anything that can assist you with your investigation. I told the police what I knew a long time ago, which was nothing of importance as Richard and I had divorced four years before he went missing. We’d had little-to-no contact in a long time.”

  “I understand,” Leah said, folding her hands on her knees. “And I want to thank you for agreeing to meet me.” The other woman didn’t respond, and the temperature in the room dropped several more degrees. This isn’t going to be easy. Leah bit back a sigh. “One of the things nagging me was why the police interviewed you? As you said, you and Richard had been apart for several years. What did they want to find out from you?”

  The aloof mask dropped from Renee’s face, replaced by a soul-deep bitterness. “Catherine pointed them in my direction. Apparently, since I’d had the audacity to divorce her perfect son, I was still on her short list of people to detest.” Renee smiled, but the sharp edges of the gesture could have sliced through stone. “I heard she’s dying. Did she ask you to reopen the investigation?” She made a sound of derision. “This smells like something she would request. God forbid whoever took her precious son would continue to walk the earth when she can’t.”

  Shock rippled through Leah. “You believe Richard is dead?”

  Renee made a face. “What do you think?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  The woman regarded Leah, her stare hot with fury. The acrimony Renee was spewing sounded nothing like the woman that Detective Connor had described. He’d said he was surprised Renee had voiced positive things about her ex-husband. Strange. What had happened between then and now?

  “You’re the detective, Leah. After so many years without a word or sighting of Richard, what other explanation could there be?”

  Now there was a nice, safe answer.

  “Why are you so angry?” Leah inquired softly.

  Another emotion besides rage entered Renee’s expression. Weariness and sorrow etched new lines on her brow and cheeks. She closed her eyes and muttered a curse incongruous with her elegant, urbane appearance. When she lifted her lashes, Leah blanched. Pain darkened her brown eyes to a bottomless, inky black. The agony reached out to Leah and squeezed her heart in its icy grip.

  “Catherine should have left it alone,” Renee whispered. “She never could accept what her son was. Even when I told her.”

  A horrible anticipation yawned wide in Leah’s gut. Oh, sweet God. She knew what was coming. Though part of her needed to hear Renee’s confession, the other piece of her soul wanted to slap hands over her ears and block the words confirming the new, twisted image of Richard that had started to replace her memories of the warm, caring man she’d loved so much.

  “Can you explain what you mean by that?” Leah asked and rose from the couch. She circled the coffee table separating them and lowered to a chair next to Renee’s. “Please, Renee, tell me. I’m listening.”

  Renee stared at her for several long seconds, her eyes searching, digging deep. “You’re listening, but you really don’t want to know, Leah.”

  “I have to know,” she insisted. “Please.”

  A pause and then the awful twist of her lips that masqueraded as a smile curved Renee’s mouth. “Richard was not the man you and his mother believe him to be. I divorced him to protect my
son—I had no other choice. And when I went to Catherine for help, she threw me out of her house, calling me a liar and a gold digger.”

  The same ice filling Renee’s voice slid through Leah’s veins, freezing everything in its path in an avalanche of rage and sorrow. Protect her son, not protect her and her son.

  “All I wanted from Catherine was help to get away from Richard, for her to keep him away from Brandon.” Her voice lowered to a hoarse plea, as if once again she sat in front of Catherine as she’d done years ago. “But she refused. She didn’t want to hear me besmirch her son’s name for my own perfidious gain.” From the snarled tone, Leah surmised the words had been a direct quote.

  “If Catherine hated you, why would she send the police to your door? Especially when it was possible you would tell the police about Richard?”

  “Because I sold my soul to the devil,” Renee confessed. “Meaning her. I sold my silence for a quick divorce and a hefty settlement. She knew if I dared say anything to the police, I would violate the terms of our agreement and lose everything. I didn’t believe I had a choice at the time.” Renee hung her head, and Leah stared at the blond and light gray crown of her head. “I was a single mother from a low-income family working as a secretary when I met Richard. I had no money except the funds he gave me. I couldn’t fight the powerful Pierce family and hope to win.” When she lifted her head, Renee’s dark eyes begged for Leah’s understanding, her sympathy. “Brandon was fifteen at the time Richard and I divorced. I couldn’t drag him through the humiliation and horror of a court battle—he’d suffered enough. At the time of Richard’s disappearance, my son had just turned nineteen, had entered college. He was doing so well, starting a new phase of his life, I couldn’t bring the past up again. I just…couldn’t.” A sob escaped her, and a shudder racked her body.

  “What—” Leah swallowed, her mouth dry. “What did Richard do to your son?”

  Silence met her question, and foreboding crept across her soul like a malevolent shadow. A part of her had maintained a small shard of hope that maybe Richard’s crime against Chay had been an aberration, that maybe a tiny bit of the man she remembered still existed. But as Renee’s piercing brown eyes examined Leah’s face with the precision of the sharpest scalpel, the dregs of that wish faded.

  Renee rose to her feet with a slow nod. “Follow me.”

  Without waiting for her agreement, Renee turned and left the room. Leah followed—the entire Boston police force couldn’t have prevented her from shadowing Renee down the hall and into the kitchen. Renee passed through the sunny room and opened a side door. Stepping over the threshold, Leah skimmed her gaze over the small garage that was obviously maintained as a storage space. Several pieces of furniture, a lawn mower, and boxes filled the contained area. At some point central air must have been installed, because the room didn’t contain the musty, stale air of an unused space.

  She watched as Renee navigated the crowded floor to the farthest corner. Glancing over her shoulder, Renee beckoned her forward. When she reached the other side, her eyes widened. In front of her were stacked several containers with the word “Richard” penned on the sides in black marker.

  She directed a questioning look at Renee, who returned an impassive stare. “He left these here after our divorce.”

  “Why didn’t you give them back to him?”

  Renee’s expression darkened, the severe line of her mouth straightening into a grim line. “Because he wanted them too much,” she said in a flat monotone. “He begged me—even tried to break into our old home when I wasn’t there. Fortunately, I had changed the locks and the security code. The alarm scared him away before he could retrieve these things.” Her attention switched back to the boxes. “Eventually I told him I’d burned everything he’d left behind. It angered him, but I also heard a note of relief in his voice.” She paused, remained quiet. When next she spoke, a chill skated down Leah’s spine. “At that moment, my suspicions were confirmed, though it was weeks before I gathered the courage to verify my hunch.”

  “And?” Leah whispered the question around the fist in her throat.

  “And,” Renee said, her expression harsh, bitter, “they’re yours now to do with what you want. I’m tired of bearing this secret by myself.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Leah crouched over the toilet in Gabriel’s bathroom, her stomach heaving. Pain seized her chest as the sour odor of vomit permeated her nose. Still she clung to the porcelain god as if worshipping at its feet. Or as if it were the only thing grounding her to a world that had suddenly flipped and morphed into a strange, cruel, ruthless place.

  A sob tore out of her throat, and the tears she’d been unable to check since hunching over the bowl streamed down her hot cheeks. They scalded her face, but she couldn’t stop. Exhausted, she plopped on the floor, her back thumping against the wall.

  And she wept.

  Wept for every boy her uncle—No! Richard! She refused to think of him as her uncle any longer—had defiled and hurt. Every boy whose innocence had been ripped away by his perverted cruelty.

  Tapes. Boxes of VHS tapes, labeled Keith, Charles, Brandon. And too many others.

  Bile razed a path up her throat again, and she gagged, fighting it down with a willpower she hadn’t known she possessed. The nausea slowly subsided, but the pain, fury, and feeling of betrayal…those stayed like unwanted overnight guests.

  The man she’d considered a father figure, the man she’d adored, the man who had loved and pampered her like a favored daughter…had raped young boys. And recorded the assaults to keep as fucking trophies.

  How could he?

  Leah dug the heels of her palms against her eye sockets and pressed mercilessly. How could Richard have used the same hands he’d pushed her on a playground swing with against helpless, trusting boys? What kind of monster had she loved all these years?

  She choked on her rage. How had Renee felt discovering one of those tapes had been of her own son? How could she have managed not to kill the son of a bitch? Leah would have; she would have gone after him like a mythical Fury, and damn the legal system. She would have meted out her own brand of justice.

  God, she almost wished she could rewind the hands of time and remove the images branded into her brain. But to walk around believing Richard had been this paragon of virtue when he was no more than an evil pedophile seemed worse. At last her eyes were wide open; she refused to be blind again.

  “Leah?”

  She jerked her head up. A second later she lurched to her feet, the tile of the bathroom wall cool against her hot palms. As she stumbled forward, Gabriel appeared in the door, the light from the hallway illuminating his tall frame.

  His gaze scanned the room and studied her ravaged face. Certain she looked a mess after retching and crying for what seemed like hours, she ducked her head and flushed the toilet. Then she stumbled to the sink, twisted the faucets, and allowed the rush of water to pour over her hands and wrists. Bending over, she rinsed the bitter aftertaste from her mouth. The bracing cold felt good but did nothing to alleviate the ache that stabbed deeper than flesh to pierce the soul. Nothing could wash away the filth that coated her spirit; she felt smothered, forever touched by the evil committed by a man she’d loved and trusted.

  The kind, compassionate touch on her shoulders was like a length of rope she grasped and clung to with desperate hands. The strong chest and thighs pressed to her back and legs lent her a strength she’d believed depleted by grief and rage. The familiar sunshine scent anchored her, shoving back the despair.

  She leaned her head backward against his shoulder, resting her cheek on his collarbone. Comforting, dependable arms wrapped around her waist, cradling her close. She didn’t speak. She just let him hold her and lend her his quiet strength. The warmth of his arms and body melted the chill encasing her. His soothing presence promised protection; she could lower her shields, and he would be there to beat back the dark.

  This had been why she’d come ba
ck to his home when she’d had no intention of returning after last night. But as she’d driven away from Renee’s with the boxes in her trunk, a terrible foreboding had taken up residence in her heart. Its dark, greasy stain had spilled into her spirit. At the time, she hadn’t known the exact nature of the evil stored in the containers, but instinct had her passing the Beacon Hill exit and her father’s home, and driving toward Charlestown.

  Toward Gabriel.

  He’d always been her sanctuary and, in spite of the uneasiness and hurt between them, she’d gravitated toward her safe place. Though he hadn’t been home when she’d used the emergency key to let herself in, his scent had permeated the air, his coffee mug had sat on the table, his T-shirt was draped over the back of the couch, and it had been enough.

  Now he was here, holding her, protecting her.

  How long they stood with the water running, she didn’t know. When the tears came again, she had no idea. She wasn’t aware of Gabriel ushering her from the bathroom to his bedroom, or when he lowered onto the bed and drew her onto his lap. She clutched him to her, and sobbed out her hurt into his neck. It swelled out of the obsidian, bottomless well of her soul. The pain surged and overflowed in tears, and they scalded her eyes, face, and heart.

  Through the storm, he stroked her head and back, bore her up so she didn’t plummet into the abyss clawing at her. When she eventually calmed, the rhythmic thump of his heart resounded in her ear. He didn’t say a word but continued to caress her hair and plant tiny, soothing kisses to the crown of her head as he handed her a wad of tissues.

  She felt so empty…hollow. The tears had eased the pressure in her chest, but hadn’t cleansed her mind of the images—the horrible images. A shiver quaked through her as she wiped her face. She wanted them out, gone. Her head couldn’t contain them without her losing her sanity.