Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  Gabriel sat up straighter in his booth, phone propped on his shoulder, laptop open and fingers ready to type. “Was it a Bible quote?”

  “No. Hang on, let me look it up.” There was a pause, than Dan came back on. “He said to me, ‘My soul can find no staircase to Heaven unless it be through Earth's loveliness.’ It’s a quote by-

  “Michelangelo,” Gabriel said before Dan could finish. He knew the quote. Knew it well because the artist had seen angels in his work. He had found heaven through his painting, sculpting. Through earth’s loveliness…

  “Yeah. Michelangelo. The artist. There was no lead up, no reason for it, he just rips that off in the middle of a conversation where I’m digging at him, trying to get a motive for the crime, trying to ask if they had problems, if he hated women, you know, and he just drops this line on me. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Gabriel was just about certain it meant Rafe Marino was a killer.

  * * *

  Sara was trying to hang tough and not put in a panicked call to Gabriel as she got out of the cab and walked the two steps across the sidewalk, and unlocked the gate to the courtyard. It wasn’t a big deal. It was no big deal. No one was in the courtyard, no one was in the apartment.

  Only there was someone sitting on the steps. It was a young woman in her early twenties, her hair dyed dark black, her bare shoulders and arms tattooed with a swarm of butterflies. She was sitting with her satchel purse in her lap, biting her black fingernails.

  Sara smiled at her, prepared to walk right past her, assuming she was waiting for the guy who lived on the second floor, who Sara had yet to encounter.

  But the girl jumped up when Sara started walking up the stairs. “Hey, wait, is that your apartment?” She pointed up to Gabriel’s front door.

  “Yes.” No point in getting into lengthy descriptions of the truth.

  “What happened to Gabriel? Did he move?” She was nibbling her nails again, even as she spoke, her eyes anxious.

  “No, he still lives here,” she said cautiously, not sure where this was headed.

  “You live with him?” The nail-bitten finger came out and pointed at her.

  The rudeness irritated Sara. “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “I’m Rochelle,” the girl said.

  Okay. That told her a whole lot of nothing. “Would you like me to tell Gabriel you stopped by?”

  Rochelle seemed to think about that for a second. “When will he be home?”

  “Later.”

  “And you really live with him?”

  Sara could have told the truth, that she was just staying with him temporarily, but she didn’t feel inclined to point that out. She just held up her apartment key. “Yes.”

  To which Rochelle burst into tears. “How could he do this to me? I’m… I’m in love with him… and he stopped coming in to the shop, and now you’re here, and I… God, I just want to die!”

  Rochelle turned and ran down the stairs, her sandals pounding on the courtyard bricks.

  “Wait!” Sara called, running down the stairs after her. She needed to be honest and tell Rochelle that she wasn’t really living with Gabriel, not in the truest sense. What if Rochelle really was his girlfriend and she’d just screwed up their relationship? Part of her couldn’t help but think, ‘oh, well’, but the better part of her knew it was wrong to mislead Rochelle.

  But the girl was gone, almost to Royal Street already, running faster than Sara was capable of. Great. Wonderful. How the hell was she supposed to explain to Gabriel that she had potentially ruined his love life? Not that she’d known he had a love life. He had never indicated to her in any way that he was involved with anyone. There had been no phone calls when she’d been around, and he spent the majority of his time with her, so how was she supposed to know he had a Rochelle on the side?

  And why was he inviting her to sleep in his bed if he had a girlfriend? That was just wrong on so many levels.

  Irritated, jealous, and yet somehow fairly certain he didn’t have a girlfriend, Sara was still standing in the doorway five minutes later when she saw Gabriel come around the corner carrying a brown bag.

  “Hey,” he said as he approached her. “What are you doing?”

  “Your girlfriend stopped by,” she said, trying desperately not to grimace at the words.

  “My girlfriend?” He looked legitimately puzzled. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Rochelle.”

  His face was still blank. “Who’s Rochelle?”

  That was interesting. “About five foot three, long, black hair–bad dye job, by the way–, fair skin, wearing an ankle length burgundy skirt and an olive green tank top.” Gabriel still didn’t look like he was making a connection, so she added, “Tattoos of butterflies all over her arms. She said you stopped coming into the shop, but she never said what the shop was. Just that she was your girlfriend.”

  Which she obviously wasn’t, which gave Sara no small amount of satisfaction.

  The butterfly tattoos appeared to have jogged his memory. “Oh. I know who you’re talking about. She’s not my girlfriend, she never was. We never even went out. I’m not even sure I knew her name was Rochelle.” Gabriel looked totally perplexed. “She works in the sandwich shop on Decatur. For a while I was going there a couple of times a week. But I got burned out on po boys.”

  That almost made Sara laugh. “You just got burned out on po boys? She acted like you were seriously hot and heavy. Wow. That’s weird.”

  “How did she know where I live? Or hell, my name, for that matter.” Gabriel held out his arm for her to move into the courtyard ahead of him.

  Sara turned back to look at him as she walked. “Do they ask for your name when you order your food?”

  “Yeah.” He made a face. “But just my first name. I wonder if she followed me home or something.”

  “She looked like the stalker type. Though now that I think about it, she didn’t actually say she was your girlfriend, just that she was in love with you.”

  “In love with me?” Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. “I just ordered a few shrimp po boys from her.”

  “She said in love with you, I swear. And she was really upset when I told her that we live together.” In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Sara hadn’t caught up to Rochelle on the street. It was better for the girl to think Gabriel had a girlfriend so she could move on past her oddly delusional crush.

  Gabriel was fighting a grin as he stopped in front of the stairs. “You told her we live together?”

  Sara wrinkled her nose. “Yes. It’s true. I am staying here, for now.”

  “Were you jealous?” he asked in a low, teasing voice.

  She scoffed. “Of course not.”

  “You shouldn’t be, since I obviously don’t have any sort of relationship with her. But I’d like it if you were.”

  God, he was flirting with her. There was no denying the tone of his voice, the way he was leaning towards her. “Oh, yeah? Why?”

  He was so close to her, the only thing that separated them was the bag of take out food in his hand. She smelled spicy oriental chicken as he touched the end of her hair with his free hand, twirling a strand around his finger. “Because that would mean you’re okay with me doing this.”

  “Touching my hair?” she asked stupidly. He was so close she found herself staring at the stubble on his chin. There was no rhyme or reason to his hair growth. It was sporadic and random, the hairs soft, darker than the hair on his head. Yet even though he hadn’t shaved, if you were a foot away from him, you’d never be able to tell there was stubble. He had no imperfections on his face anywhere, no scars or blemishes or discolorations. Up close, he was even lovelier to look at then when she was standing across the room. Up close she could see the strength of his jaw, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the deep, rich desire in his compelling eyes.

  Up close, she had no hope, no intention of resisting him. His fingers in her hair made her shiver with anticipat
ion.

  “Yes. And this.”

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her. She closed her eyes immediately, wanting to enjoy it, savor. He came at her with a short, testing the waters press first, then without hesitation he went for broke, taking her mouth with his, hand buried in her hair, holding her head.

  It was sexy and skilled and Sara felt it everywhere. Gabriel was giving her the kind of kiss that reverberated throughout her entire body, awakening her breasts and inner thighs, stirring up both an appreciation and a restless want for more. He tasted, felt so damn good, and she gave it back, opening up for him, burning with want for him.

  Gabriel was aware with half his brain that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing, but he ignored the voice of reason and continued feeling, touching, tasting Sara’s mouth. She was delicious, warm and soft, and small, yet strong, confident, kissing him back with passion and fervor, and when he slid his tongue inside her, she opened for him without hesitation. Their tongues intertwined and her fingers dug into his forearm, and it was a damn good thing he was holding a bag of Chinese food or he would have pushed her against the wall, ground his aching erection against her, yanked down her t-shirt and sucked her breasts.

  It would be very, very easy to lose control with her, to go from kissing to touching to their bodies naked and sweaty as he thrust inside her. He wanted that. Wanted to take it. Knew he could.

  But a kiss would have to be enough, so Gabriel ravaged her mouth, pressed and licked and sucked, plunging his tongue deeper inside her until Sara stumbled backwards, losing her balance under his urgent pursuit and breaking their connection. She blinked up at him, lips shiny and wet, as they both panted. Her fists opened and closed at her sides, and her nipples were clearly visible, taut against her shirt. There was a piece of hair stuck to her bottom lip and she didn’t bother to pull it away. He could read the capitulation on her face, could see that one word and they could be upstairs in his bed, yanking off denim and cotton and enjoying each other’s flesh, and he wanted it. Bad.

  The only thing he wanted more was freedom. Because he couldn’t make love to Sara. Rochelle was a reminder of that. He didn’t want to see Sara grow desperate with the illogical and demon driven urge to be possessed by him, over and over. He couldn’t live with himself if he took Sara, then had to watch her lose herself in a debilitating addiction to him, who wasn’t worthy of any sort of devotion.

  He had only touched Rochelle once, brushing an ant off her arm when she had handed him his change, and look what that had done, had created in Rochelle.

  There was no choice to be made. Gabriel had to stay strong, so he wiped his mouth, regretting his actions. It was going to be harder to resist what he had already tasted. But he would. Especially knowing that he was keeping truths from her. Knowing that she was going to hate him if she ever learned any of those truths, especially if Rafe really was her mother’s killer.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, readjusting the bag of food into both hands.

  “What?” she said, blinking like a baby owl. Then she took a deep breath, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt. “Right. Dinner. Great. Thanks.”

  Chapter Twelve

  From the Court Records of the Willful Murder Trial of Anne Donovan, State of Louisiana vs. Jonathon Thiroux

  January 13, 1850

  Attorney for the defense, Mr. Swift, questioning Dr. Stephens.

  Mr. Swift: Dr. Stephens, can you explain to us what absinthism is?

  Dr. Stephens: Certainly. Absinthism is a syndrome that chronic ingestors of absinthe eventually incur. It is characterized by addiction, seizures, delirium, and hallucinations.

  Mr. Swift: What precisely do you mean by addiction?

  Dr. Stephens: Addiction is a physical dependence on the intoxicant itself. In this case, absinthe.

  Mr. Swift: And you say this absinthism results in seizures, delirium, and hallucinations?

  Dr. Stephens: That is correct.

  Mr. Swift: Could a person suffering from this unfortunate syndrome lose their faculties during one of these seizures, states of delirium, or hallucinations?

  Dr. Stephens: Absolutely. That’s the nature of the beast.

  Mr. Swift: So they could come to after one of these episodes and have no memory of what had occurred in the interim?

  Dr. Stephens: Certainly. They very easily could have memory gaps as a result of these brain traumas.

  Mr. Swift: Would you say that someone who has consumed absinthe every day for a period of at least eighteen months is at risk for absinthism, resulting in these seizures, states of delirium, and hallucinations?

  Dr. Stephens: Absinthe every day for eighteen months? Good God, I would say most assuredly a person ingesting that level of drink would be suffering from absinthism. Without a doubt, in my mind.

  Mr. Swift: Thank you, Dr. Stephens. I have no further questions.

  * * *

  From the Court Records of the Willful Murder Trial of Anne Donovan, State of Louisiana vs. Jonathon Thiroux

  January 14, 1850

  Prosecutor: Dr. Raphael, in your medical opinion, would the wounds inflicted upon Anne Donovan be easy to create using a bowie knife?

  Dr. Raphael: I am not certain what you’re asking.

  Prosecutor: I apologize. Let me rephrase the question. We have heard testimony as to the severe damage a bowie knife can do to an individual. It is inarguably a most vicious weapon. Would you say that anyone, whether they are of great strength or not, could have inflicted these wounds upon Anne Donovan?

  Dr. Raphael: I wouldn’t say that. The depth of the wounds, the violence of the attack, and the damage to both organs and bone indicate to me that the killer was a man of size and strength.

  Prosecutor: Even though the bowie knife is used by sportsman to easily gut fish and skin animals?

  Dr. Raphael: I am not an expert in knives. I can merely tell you that bone was penetrated in a multitude of places, and as a medical expert, I do not believe that a person who was intoxicated to the point of unconsciousness could have inflicted wounds with this type of severity. I don’t believe a woman could have done this. I believe only a very strong man, in full command of his faculties, could have done this kind of damage.

  Prosecutor: Have you ever acted as coroner in a prior murder case where a bowie knife was used?

  Dr. Raphael: No. I have only taken the position six months past.

  Prosecutor: Is it true, Dr. Raphael, that you are prior acquaintances with the defendant?

  Dr. Raphael: Yes. I had met the defendant on several occasions, always in a large social setting.

  Prosecutor: Were you friends?

  Dr. Raphael: I wouldn’t say that, no. We barely exchanged a dozen words.

  Prosecutor: Yet you were seen dining alone in the company of the defendant twice last year by at least seven witnesses. No further questions.

  * * *

  Gabriel had kissed her and pulled back immediately. Then fed her Chinese food. What did that mean? She had no idea, and she wasn’t in the mood to guess.

  There was no energy left for prevaricating. She had used it up on grief, sleep deprivation, and fear. So as they ate, she swallowed a noodle, then just said, “You didn’t have to stop, you know.”

  “Stop what?” he asked, but she could tell he knew what she was referring to, because he got a wary look in his eyes.

  “Kissing me. I was enjoying it.” Immensely. And she wanted to enjoy it again, all over her body. She wanted him to take her to his bed, peel off her clothes and kiss her between her thighs, stroking his tongue over her until she came, then push his hard body inside hers. The idea thrilled, just from thinking about it, and she found that intriguing. It wasn’t like her to respond so sexually to a man, and while she didn’t entirely understand it, she was too aroused to even consider waiting to decipher what it meant. She just wanted him, wanted to feel alive, whole again.

  “I know. I was too.” He fiddled with his chopsticks.

  It amazed her that he cou
ld actually use the utensils. She always wound up flinging chicken chunks onto the carpet when she tried to use them.

  “But?”

  “But… Sara, I can’t. I’m not capable of giving you what you need.” He shot her a beseeching look.

  She wasn’t having any of that, because she wasn’t asking for anything. “Why, are you impotent?”

  Gabriel let out a startled laugh. “No.” He gave a small smile. “I’m pretty certain of that.”

  “Then we don’t have a problem, because I’m not looking for promises or forever or anything other than sex. We’re attracted to each other, so what’s the big deal?” Even as she spoke, she knew she was simplifying things, but she suddenly felt there was a really important reason she needed to win the argument. That she needed to have sex, with Gabriel. That she needed to know.

  “It’s not that easy. When is sex ever really just sex? Emotion always creeps in.” He dropped down his chopsticks onto his plate. “I have all this guilt over my girlfriend, and sex, it’s like the ultimate let down of all your guards, you know? I think it’s dangerous for me to lose control.”

  “Why? Because if you lose control, you might have to admit that it’s okay to live, to have a good time, without your girlfriend?”

  He looked defiantly at her. “Yes. You should recognize me in yourself.”

  That was why she understood him so well. That was why she was certain they were both damaging themselves further by letting the guilt eat at them. “So if I push it, and you eventually give in, I’m the bad guy, aren’t I?”

  He shook his head. “No. I won’t give in. And eventually we’ll both lose interest.”

  “Oh, really?” She had to admit, that infuriated her. “You have it all figured out, don’t you?”