A Love So Dangerous (To the Bone #1)

by Lili Valente

  Why is he backing out now? Something must have changed…but what?

  It’s not the kids; that smelled like a lie from beginning to end. It’s not because we’re falling in love. We’ve been falling in love for weeks. If he was going to run because he was getting too close, my gut says he would have run the night he found out he was my first. But he didn’t run; he stayed and made love to me again, and slept over, and continued to sleep over almost every night since.

  We’ve had innocent fun on the weekends with the kids, and wicked fun late at night, just the two of us—planning jobs, pulling them off, and coming home to celebrate naked in my bed. The only thing we’ve ever fought about is whether or not to waste money turning on the air conditioning, and that’s no reason to break up, especially not considering I finally turned the fucking thing on last night.

  I pace back and forth in the kitchen, running through every moment of the six weeks we spent together, but out of all the memories we’ve made, the only moment that sets my radar to blipping is last night.

  Last night, when Gabe was acting so strangely. Last night, when he was dizzy, and would have been caught if I hadn’t been there to help him.

  Could that be it? Is he afraid we’re going to get caught? If that’s it, a part of me insists this rift will be easy to fix. We can simply stop pulling jobs and be a normal couple—problem solved.

  But I know it’s not that easy. The jobs are as much a part of me and Gabe as the jokes and the family burger nights and the way we make love like we were made to give each other pleasure. The rush I feel when I’m in my blacks and Gabe and I are whispering through our last minute checklist is as sweet as the kisses after. I love everything that makes us us, and that includes giving the horrible people we’ve robbed a little of what they deserve. Giving up pulling jobs together would be like giving up making love. Our relationship would suffer, wither, and eventually become something less than it was before.

  Maybe Gabe has already figured that out. Maybe he’s realized that the rush is an integral part of who we are as a couple, but that there’s no way to keep doing what we do without eventually getting caught. Maybe he’s finally realized what I’ve known since the beginning—that he might not always be able to protect me, no matter how honest his intentions.

  And maybe that’s why he’s doing this. He’s calling things off before I get caught or hurt, and the kids suffer the consequences. That would make sense with the Gabe I know, the one who’s come to care about my brothers and Emmie, and who realizes I’m the only thing standing between them and a hard life none of them deserve.

  “But it’s my choice,” I say, dampening the edge of a dishtowel, and using it to wipe my sticky, tear-streaked face.

  It is my choice, and my life, and I should be the one who gets to decide whether the risk is worth the reward. And Gabe should know better than to think I’m going to let him make my decisions for me. The only time he calls the shots is in the bedroom, and that’s not even completely accurate. He takes the lead when we’re naked because I allow him to take the lead. I’m still in control, and we’re still a team, even when I’m following his directions and making myself vulnerable to him.

  And if I’m right and Gabe is really sacrificing everything we have because he’s decided this isn’t good for me, then this conversation isn’t over. I’ll fight for him the same way I fight for the kids, because he is precious and irreplaceable and I can’t bear the thought of never seeing his face again.

  The frightened, helpless feeling that turned my stomach to acid when Gabe walked out the door subsides, replaced by resolve to keep fighting until I get through to the pig-headed man I love. With a final sniff, I grab a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and cups from the cupboard and head out into the backyard.

  Outside, the sun is lower in the sky than I expect it to be and the kids are unusually subdued. Sean is still half-heartedly kicking the soccer ball around the perimeter of the fence, but Danny and Ray are lying on a blanket in the shade reading comic books, with Emmie asleep next to them, her flushed cheek resting on Danny’s leg and her thumb popped between her lips.

  I set the lemonade on the picnic table and perch on the edge of the seat, grateful for the shade and the breeze that drifts through the backyard, cooling my flushed skin in a way even the air conditioning in the house couldn’t seem to manage.

  “Hey,” I say softly to Ray and Danny, not wanting to wake Emmie. “How do you guys feel about chicken tonight? We could go into town and hit Charlie’s, get a bucket of chicken and some rolls, and eat it in the park.”

  Ray looks up from his comic book, brows furrowed. “What about burger night?”

  “Burger night’s cancelled,” Danny says bitterly, not lifting his eyes from the page he’s on. “Gabe bailed.”

  “Gabe didn’t bail,” I lie. “He’s just…sorting through some things. I’m going to go talk to him tomorrow before I go into work.”

  “So we can have burger night some other night?” Ray asks.

  “Sure. You guys want some lemonade? It’s nice and cool.”

  Danny grunts. “Screw lemonade. And screw burger night.”

  “Language, Danny,” I say, but I’m too tired to muster up a threatening tone.

  “Gabe isn’t coming back,” Danny says, snapping his comic book closed. “I saw the look on his face. He’s done with us.”

  “If he’s done with anyone, it’s me,” I say. “This has nothing to do with you. Gabe cares about all of you. So much.”

  “If he cares so much, why did he dump you?” Danny asks.

  I frown. “Who says he dumped me?”

  Danny looks up at the leaves swaying overhead, lips tight around the edges. “The phone rang about an hour ago. It keep ringing and ringing, so I went in to answer it. I thought you’d gone out front or something, but you were on the couch crying.”

  “Oh,” I say, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

  “You were so out of it you didn’t even hear the phone,” Danny says flatly, in that voice that I know means something has scared him and he’s trying hard not to show it. “I asked you if you were okay, but you didn’t hear me, either. So I just grabbed the comic books and came back outside.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I was upset.” I take a deep breath. “But I’m better now, and I think Gabe and I can sort this out.”

  Danny finally looks away from the leaves. “It’s just weird,” he says, the hurt in his eyes making my stomach ache. “I mean…everything seemed fine.”

  “I know,” I agree, mouth pulling to one side as I fight a wave of emotion. “I know it did.”

  “I hate surprises,” Ray says in a soft voice. “That’s why I like books. Even if things are bad for a long time, the good guys always win in the end.”

  “Not in all books,” I say. “Literary fiction usually ends pretty badly.”

  Ray shrugs. “That’s why I’m not going to read those. I like books I can trust.”

  I smile. “I like those, too.”

  Danny sighs. “I’d rather play video games. Is it cool if I go in?”

  “Yeah. Let me help you with Emmie.” I slip off the bench onto the blanket, gently holding Emmie while Danny shifts his leg free, before easing her back onto the blanket. She whimpers in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up, so I settle down beside her, knowing nothing will help ease the ache in my chest like watching Emmie sleep.

  “Don’t get in too deep with anything,” I warn Danny as he stands. “I’m going to bring everyone in to get cleaned up to go out to dinner in thirty minutes. I’ll call the house phone from my cell and let it ring once so you’ll know to turn off the blood and guts.”

  Danny nods, and starts to go before stopping and turning back. “That reminds me, the phone call earlier was weird.”

  “How so?” I swipe a stray curl from Emmie’s forehead.

  “It was some guy. He asked if you were home, and I said yeah, did he want to talk to you, but then he just hung up.”


  I look back at him, brows drawing together. “He didn’t give his name?”

  Danny shakes his head. “No, he just hung up.”

  I hum, wondering who in the world would be calling for me. Gabe and Isaac are the only boys who ever call and Isaac is mad at me, and Gabe told me he was never going to contact me again.

  “But it sounded like somebody I know,” Danny adds. “The voice was familiar.”

  “One of Dad’s friends, maybe?” I ask. “The ones that used to come over before he moved in with Veronica?”

  Danny shrugs. “I don’t know. But it was weird. I’m not answering the phone anymore. I’m going to let it fucking ring until someone else gets it.”

  “Language,” I say automatically, but as Danny rolls his eyes and heads inside, my mind is still on the phone call.

  I guess it could be someone from work, but Harry and Carlos are the only men at the diner and neither of them would call and not leave their names. Some of the guys at the movie theater, however, are perpetually stoned, even when they’re running the popcorn machine. They might have called to see if I could cover a shift, forgetting that I quit my job at the theater until after they had Danny on the phone.

  But what if it’s someone else…maybe even a mark who has figured out I was on their property? It’s a long shot—Gabe and I were always so careful—but even a chance one of the monsters we’ve targeted called my house is enough.

  I decide to invest in a security system tomorrow morning, and put the phone call momentarily out of mind.

  I take the kids out to eat and play at the park, then herd everyone home and get them bathed and in P.J.s and in bed by ten. Then, I spend two hours on our ancient computer researching sociopaths, and decide the term doesn’t apply to either Gabe or me. Gabe never tried to manipulate me or turn me into a victim. Gabe never took pleasure in hurting me. Even today, when he was trying to be so hard, I could tell it was killing him to say the things he did.

  I decide that, whatever Gabe and I are, it’s something gentler than a sociopath. Or that sociopathic tendencies must cover a wide spectrum. Maybe being a sociopath is less like a skyscraper hotel with cookie-cutter rooms, and more like a lake surrounded by individual cabins, each one with its own unique characteristics, but very similar views.

  I’m not sure what to think, but I feel more informed, and less alone. The fact that I’m comforted that there are thousands of people in the world like me and Gabe—high functioning, intelligent people who enjoy breaking society’s rules, and rarely feel guilty about it—is probably confirmation that I’m somewhere on the sociopath spectrum, but by the time I snap the laptop closed, I’m too sleepy to care.

  I trudge upstairs to the bathroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I change into the sleep shirt I hung on the back of the door this morning—the pink one Gabe hates—and head toward bed, exhaustion tugging at the backs of my eyes. I’m still torn up about what happened today, but I’m also hopeful that I’ll be able to get through to Gabe tomorrow. As far as I’m concerned, morning can’t come soon enough.

  I open my door, so focused on getting my head on the pillow that I don’t see the shadow standing in the corner of the darkened room until he’s almost on top of me.

  I freeze, lifting my hands to defend myself even as I open my mouth to scream, but then there is an explosion of pain and a flash of light behind my left eye. The world goes fuzzy around the edges, my knees turn to jelly, and I slide to the ground with a whimper, holding on to consciousness just long enough to hear Ned Pitt’s nasal voice whisper—

  “You’ve been a bad girl, Miss Cooney.”

  And then I black out, terror following me into the dark.

  Gabe and Caitlin’s story continues in

  A Love So Deadly.

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  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, thank you to my readers. Every email and post on my Facebook page have meant so much. I can’t express how deeply grateful I am for the chance to entertain you.

  More big thanks to my Street Team, who I am convinced are the sweetest, funniest, kindest group of people around. You inspire me and keep me going and I’m not sure I’d be one-third as productive without you. Big tackle hugs to all.

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  About the Author

  Lili Valente has slept under the stars in Greece, eaten dinner at midnight with French men who couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths on their food, and walked alone through Munich’s red light district after dark and lived to tell the tale.

  These days you can find her writing in a tent beside the sea, drinking coconut water and thinking delightfully dirty thoughts.

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