Gabriel

by Naima Simone

  Chay turned, his gaze gone nearly black. “Richard,” he whispered. “Richard called me his ‘special boy.’ It’s what he called the boys he—” He went silent, and the pulse at his temple throbbed. “What if the intruder’s message was meant for me?”

  An arctic breeze blew through the room. She could sense the ice-cold fury blasting from Gabriel, Malachim, and Raphael, and it chilled her skin.

  “Catherine,” Gabriel bit out. “She called her son by the sick endearment first. If she sent that man after Leah, she would be familiar with the name.”

  “But that’s assuming she also knew Richard was a pervert and that he’d given his victims the same name,” Raphael said, shaking his head. “And for the sake of argument, let’s say she did know all of this. How could she have found out Chay killed him and not have said anything for twenty years? It doesn’t make sense. Why wait so long to make him, and us, pay?”

  Gabriel shoved off the wall and paced to the far side of the office. He tunneled his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands in both fists. “This is pointless.” He drew to a stop at the end of the table. “While we sit here and speculate about who did it and why, somebody else we care about is being targeted. Who’s next? One of our mothers? He’s already gone after Evelyn—”

  “Wait.” Leah slapped her palms down on the table. “What are you talking about? He’s already gone after Evelyn? What am I missing?”

  Quiet descended on the room. She glanced from one familiar face to the other, beginning to wonder if she’d really known these men at all. They were her best friends, but had she only been privy to the faces they’d chosen to show her? In a world capable of changing from one moment to the next, the four of them had been her constants, her security. And now even they had become unpredictable variables in an equation she’d never had the answers to.

  “Darion,” Malachim said softly. “Maura and Ian.”

  “What?” She gasped, jerked her gaze to Gabriel. She examined his stoic features—the grim line of his mouth, the slight flare of his slender nostrils, and hard ice in his eyes. “What about them?”

  “The person who killed Darion also murdered Maura and Ian,” Gabriel said dully.

  “No,” she whispered, her stomach twisting in a slow, nauseating flip. Impossible. He would’ve said something. “It was an accident. A tragic—”

  “No.” His flat tone warned her to drop the subject.

  But she couldn’t. Her mind refused to accept his claim of a terrible accident suddenly turning into something sinister…something evil. “How do you know? What proof do you have?”

  “I found a coin next to Darion’s body,” Chay explained gently. “Two years ago, Gabriel discovered the same coin with Ian when he and Maura…died.”

  Leah rocked back in her chair. “Is this true?” she asked Gabriel.

  He nodded abruptly. “While Maura and Ian were Christmas shopping the afternoon they died, someone gave Ian the coin. When Maura told me about it, I didn’t think anything of the small gift because of the season.”

  “When did you figure out the connection?” She knew the answer; she just wanted to hear it from him.

  “Monday,” Gabriel stated, his gaze steady, unblinking.

  The day she’d discovered Darion Sheldon’s body. The evening she’d found Gabriel huddled on his bedroom floor. The night he’d sobbed in her arms.

  She’d believed his harsh outpouring of grief had been over his family’s death. He’d allowed her to believe that reason, when the truth had been he’d just learned Maura��s and Ian’s tragic, innocent, deaths were actually murders. Because of him. The guilt and pain must have shredded his soul into pieces. Now his claim about failing to protect Maura and Ian made sense. And, unfortunately, so did his unwillingness to take a risk on her—on them.

  And yet, he hadn’t said anything then, or even last night. Gabriel had trusted her with the truth regarding Richard’s disappearance but not about his wife and son.

  The knowledge punched her in the chest, driving the air from her lungs. She blinked. Blinked again. No tears, damn it. He could trust her with his twenty-year secret. He could trust her with his friends’ welfare. But trust her with anything regarding his wife and son? No. Never. They remained off-limits to Leah; they were none of her business. Because as much as she loved him, his heart had been entombed with Maura.

  She looked away from him and breathed past the pain radiating from her chest.

  “The coin. Was it gold? With a lion and wreath?” she asked Chay.

  “Yes.” Chay’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

  “The person who attacked me placed one near my head seconds before you and Gabe called out and ran him off.”

  Gabriel swore low and viciously from the head of the table. She kept her eyes fixed on Chay, knowing if she glanced at Gabriel once more, she’d break.

  “What’s the connection with the coins?” she asked.

  “Richard ‘gifted’ them to his ‘special boys,’” Chay murmured, the bitter twist to his lips echoing the raw fury in his hazel eyes.

  Jesus. “Maura. Ian. Darion. Me. People you love or care about. It’s as if the person responsible is saying, ‘You took someone I love; now I’ll take those you love.’” Leah glanced at Raphael. “She wants you to suffer.”

  “Catherine,” Raphael said. No disbelief colored his voice. Just resignation. He fell back in his chair and scrubbed a rough hand down his face. “Okay, but why now?”

  “She’s dying,” Gabriel interjected. “She wants revenge before she dies.”

  “Gabe’s right,” Malachim stated after several moments of silence. “We need to go to the police. Right now we have the advantage because we’re not on their radar. We have the information to clear up an old case and help them solve a recent crime.” He rose from his chair, clasped his hands behind his back, and faced them as if preparing to deliver closing arguments in a trial.

  “Even though we’re adults now, we were minors at the time. The odds are high in our favor we may be tried as juveniles. Chay would most likely be charged with murder, and Gabe, Rafe, and I would be charged with accessories after the fact for concealing the crime. But factor in that Chay killed Richard in self-defense and, as Gabe said, we have the video tapes to bolster his claim, which could result in lower sentences or even probation.”

  “He’s right.” Leah straightened. “If you go to the cops now, it won’t be your word and twenty years of silence up against the memory of a respected, charming businessman and a wealthy, connected Catherine Pierce. With you going in together and with the tapes, it won’t appear as if you’re just maligning Richard’s reputation to justify murder.” She leaned forward, laid her hands on the table, palms up. “And that’s just the argument I intend to make to Catherine when I go see her tomorrow.”

  “What?” Gabriel snapped. She didn’t look at him.

  Malachim’s gaze skipped between her and Gabriel. “Leah…”

  “She started this, and I’ll finish it. I’m going to let her know I discovered the truth about her son,” she said grimly. And look the bitch in the eye as she dared to try and defend the perversion she’d raised and protected under her roof. “I’ll tell her the police already have the tapes proving what Richard was. If she is behind the murders and attacks, it would be foolish to attempt anything else. She wouldn’t dare. It would only cast more guilt and suspicion in her direction.”

  “No,” Gabriel growled. He circled the table and stopped across from her. Leaning forward, he glared into her upturned face, forcing her to meet his furious gaze. “Absolutely not. And if she is the killer? Your plan is to walk right into the lion’s den? She’s desperate and dying. What does she have to lose?” He slammed a fist on the table. “Hell, no.”

  Slowly, Leah stood. The office chair rolled back, the whir of the wheels over the floor the only sound in the room. She planted her palms on the conference table and met him nose to nose.

  “Fortunately, it’s not you
r choice.”

  …

  The conference room emptied so quickly it might have been amusing if Gabriel didn’t want to grab Leah by the shoulders, snatch her across the table, and shake her. The fire lighting her eyes warned him if he attempted to touch her, he’d draw back a stump.

  “Shit.”

  He stalked away from temptation, pacing the length of the room before halting in front of the single window. The view of the brownstone next to Malachim’s didn’t inspire the attention he bestowed on it, but the alternative kept him rooted to the spot. All morning, he’d avoided looking at Leah. Every time he stole a glance at her lovely face or curved body, he relived the night before.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Remorse flayed his heart. An empty hole had taken up residence in his chest, and nothing—not even the knowledge that he was protecting both of them from future pain—could fill it.

  “You can’t go through with this plan, Leah,” he said, opening his gaze to the window. “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do—to discover the truth behind Richard’s disappearance. Let it go now.”

  “How can you say that when the person who killed your family is still out there?” she demanded.

  He turned around, crossed his arms over his chest. “Because they’re gone, and I can’t bring them back. I almost lost you twice, damn it. And now you’re talking about going after the same maniac who broke into your home, hid in your fucking attic for God knows how long, and then came after you with a knife.”

  Dismissing caution, he crossed the room, pushing office chairs and sending them rolling out of his path. He didn’t pause until his chest nearly grazed her breasts. He narrowed his eyes as she backpedaled a step.

  Her lips flattened into a thin, defiant line. “I was there, remember?”

  Like a match to kindling, her flippant comeback sparked a fire in his stomach and spread to his chest.

  “Do you understand Maura and Ian are dead because of me?” he snapped, reclaiming the space she’d put between them.

  He lifted his hands, fingers curled and ready to grab her arms and deliver the hard shake he’d decided against earlier. But he dropped his arms back to his sides. Touching her was a mistake he couldn’t afford. A right he no longer had, after last night. That the pads of his fingers itched to have her skin against his only enflamed the anger.

  “Two innocent lives are gone because of me. This asshole didn’t try to take you out because of a poor performance rating. Think about it, Leah. The hit-and-run followed our visit to Catherine and after we spent the evening together at the pub. The break-in came after I kissed you. I don’t care what anyone says, those aren’t coincidences. I placed you directly in a killer’s path, damn it. I refuse to allow you to walk right into his arms.”

  “Guess what, Gabe?” Leah raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t your decision. You have no say.”

  The hell I don’t. Primal possessiveness roared through him. The power of the visceral reaction shocked him, and he stumbled back before catching himself. Fear pumped in his veins, flooded his mouth. Desire was one thing—he could justify his arousal with two years of celibacy. But this overpowering need to claim? To keep?

  Dangerous—this woman was dangerous.

  As isolated and lonely as his existence was, he clung to the barren void like a miser clutched a penny. Allowing Leah in meant being responsible for her…it meant loving her. It meant losing her. Somehow, sometime, he would lose her.

  Images of bent metal and twisted limbs flashed in his head. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t survive the pain of losing someone he loved. Not again.

  “I can’t do this,” he whispered.

  “What exactly are we talking about?” she asked. She tipped her head to the side and wore a faint, sad smile that tore at his heart. “There are several options to choose from. You can’t let yourself live again because moving on would mean you’re betraying Maura and Ian? Or you can’t let me go further with this investigation because if something happened, it would mean another albatross to bear along with the one you’ve been carrying for two years?”

  “I’m not able to give you what you want, baby,” he murmured.

  “And how would you know?” she demanded softly. “You never bothered to ask what I want or need. Because you’re too afraid of the answer. Too afraid you might desire the same thing.”

  Her accusation struck him hard; she was right. She scared him with her laughter, affection, and compassion. Scared him with the hunger she stirred within him. Scared him with the realization he could live—and love—again.

  Terrified him with the knowledge that he could fail to protect those he loved…again.

  “I’m sorry.” God, the apology sounded weak and lame to his own ears. He sounded weak and lame.

  “Me, too, Gabe,” she whispered. “You would rather exist in the cold, sterile hole you’ve carved out for yourself than take a risk and open your heart again. And since I’m interfering with your determination to remain an emotional amputee, you push me away first.” She inhaled, straightened her shoulders, and met his gaze…not concealing the pain haunting her eyes. “Fearing pain doesn’t make you a coward. Running from it does.”

  She turned and left the conference room without a backward glance, leaving him alone as he’d desired.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Gabriel stood at the door shivering in the cold Saturday morning air, a key he hadn’t used in two years clutched in his hand. The ridges bit into his palm, but he couldn’t force his grip to relax. He extended his arm, intent on shoving the key in the slot. But he didn’t move, his arm sticking out like a broken marionette. His mind demanded he move, but his heart…his heart pleaded, just one more minute.

  He waited.

  And breathed. And waited.

  Then he tried it again, and this time he fit the key in the lock and opened the front door.

  Grief strangled him, and for a terrifying instant, he feared passing out on the white-and-green welcome mat. He sucked in a hard breath. Then another. And another. The dark flecks in his vision slowly cleared, and he placed one foot in front of the other, stepped over the threshold, and entered the home he’d shared with Maura and Ian.

  Nothing had changed. It seemed as if God had waved a hand and frozen time, preserving the home for the day its owner would walk back through the door. But when Maura had been alive, the air hadn’t been stale, hadn’t tasted of emptiness and disuse.

  And the silence. There hadn’t been the god-awful silence.

  Part of him expected to hear the evening news blaring from the living-room television, overhear Maura on the kitchen phone extension with her mother, or catch Ian destroying one of his toys in his room. In the past, he would yell out he was home, and Ian would tear down the staircase, his ecstatic “Daddy!” ringing in Gabriel’s ears. Maura would bid her mother a hurried good-bye before emerging from the kitchen with a smile and warm greeting.

  But only silence welcomed him now.

  He gritted his teeth, a dull ache taking up along his jaw. Eyes squeezed shut, he wondered why he hadn’t called Mal, Rafe, or Chay to come with him. Having them here wouldn’t have made it easier—nothing could ease this task—but maybe it would have been more bearable. He rubbed his thumb over the cell phone in his pocket. One of them would make it to the house in minutes—even if they had to break speeding laws to get there.

  With an abrupt shake of his head, he rejected the idea and withdrew his hand, along with the temptation of a shoulder to lean on. Facing the past was his to do.

  I can do this, damn it. He shored up his resolve, opened his eyes, and headed for the stairs leading to the upper level of the house. He came to Ian’s room first. His hand hovered over the knob before opening the door and stepping in. It looked like a time capsule, a moment petrified in time, never to go backward or forward.

  The “big boy” race car bed. The small bookshelf stuffed with coloring books, papers, and his favorite bedtime and Dr. Seuss stories. A blue s
ock peeked out from under the bed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maura had had the hardest time getting Ian to understand tidying up did not mean shoving everything under the bed. Gabriel bet if he lifted up the edge of the cover, he would find several more items hidden under there.

  Crossing his arms, he barricaded the grief wanting to plow a hole through his chest. It wasn’t fair. He’d had Ian for such a small amount of time. Even at two, the little boy possessed his own personality. With silky-brown curls, a lopsided grin, and bright blue eyes, he could sell ice to a Yeti. Gabriel chuckled, but it ended on a sob as he imagined childish, phantom arms hugging his knees, and Ian’s beautiful little face tipped back to give him his special smile.

  “If I lost you tomorrow, I’d grieve, but at least I’d have had touched you, held you, loved you. For me, whether it’s one moment or one hundred, you’re worth the risk.”

  Leah’s words from the night before echoed in his head and heart. To have had Ian for only two years only to lose him had broken Gabriel in such a way that he would never be the same. Yet, never to know the pain of his son dying also meant never experiencing the miraculous, beautiful moment of his birth, never knowing what it had been like to open Ian’s Christmas presents because he’d been too impatient to unwrap them himself. Never feeling the sleepy, warm weight of Ian’s body on his shoulder as he carried him to bed.

  “No,” Gabriel rasped. He would have rather had Ian for that wink in time than not have had him in his life. Just as Ian’s death had changed him, so had his son’s short life.

  With one last glance around, he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. If treading the hallway to his son’s room had been difficult, the next door he came to proved almost impossible to open. How long he stood there rooted to that place, he didn’t know. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It felt like an eternity.

  Finally, he stepped over the threshold of the room he’d once shared with Maura. His stomach clenched, but he forced himself to move farther into the bedroom.