Always Been Mine

by Victoria Paige

  “So who is Mr. Hottie?”

  Beatrice collapsed against the passenger seat of Doug’s car. The calm she was feeling left her, and now she was a bundle of anxiety.

  “That—is Gabriel Sullivan.”

  “The Gabriel?”

  “Yup. So stop perving. I don’t want to talk about it either.”

  Doug was silent for a while and then, “He’s the reason you’re so messed up about relationships, honeybee. We need to talk about it, but not tonight. This day has sucked you dry.”

  Understatement.

  They were quiet on the ride home. Doug would have normally dropped her off, but this time, he insisted on accompanying her inside. It was only when Beatrice stepped into her condo that she felt safe enough to let go. It started with tremors in her hands until her whole body started shaking. Years of suppressed emotion, of keeping a facade that she had gotten over Gabe, finally caught up with her.

  She broke down and wept.

  Doug reached for her and clasped her neck, bringing her head to his chest.

  Pain, rooted so deeply, prevented the sounds of her cries from escaping. She opened her mouth, but it was a silent cry. It hurt. The pressure in her chest pushed against her throat. All the inadequacies and insecurities she had held in for years threatened to unhinge her completely.

  “Breathe, sweetie,” Doug whispered in her ear.

  After one mighty indrawn breath, a wail of anguish finally escaped her and she sobbed until she thought she couldn’t stop.

  “Why . . .wh . . . why did he have to . . . come back . . .” she mumbled between sobs. “I was fine. I. Was. Fine.”

  This went on for a while—speaking incoherently between her tears. All through this, Doug held her and didn’t say a word.

  Finally, Beatrice exhaled a shuddering breath. A feeling of cleansing and calm overwhelmed her. “Whoa, that was cathartic.”

  “Feeling better?” her friend asked her quietly. His face was grim.

  Beatrice nodded and pulled away.

  “You should have let me beat the shit out of him.”

  “I can fight my own battles.”

  “I’ve never seen you this way, Beatrice.” Doug’s eyes flashed angrily. “Whatever happened broke you. I don’t like it.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “Maybe tonight was the closure I needed.”

  Doug looked at her dubiously. “He doesn’t seem like a guy who’d give up easy.”

  Her heart pinched. “Wrong, Doug. He gave me up easily once before.”

  When he kinda promised her an eternity.

  She remembered that night, three days before he had left her.

  Beatrice liked clubbing; Gabe did not.

  They had gone out to dinner, and then at her insistence, to a dance club afterward.

  Beatrice had to drag his ass out of the chair more than once to dance with her.

  Even then, he was as stiff as a board and clearly uncomfortable.

  Fed up, she called it a night and decided to go home.

  “You need to loosen up, Gabe,” Beatrice groused on their way back to her row house.

  “I told you when we got together I’m not dancing.”

  “I know, but I thought that was just macho-man speak.”

  Gabe shot her an annoyed look, but didn’t say anything.

  She remained quiet on the way home and heard Gabe exhale a resigned breath.

  When they entered the house, he gripped her hand and led her to the study.

  “What’re you up to, Gabe?”

  He grinned and shushed her. Letting go of her hand, he walked to the antique cabinet that held a vintage turntable and old records.

  “Can’t let your mom’s collection go to waste,” Gabe said, rummaging through the records. He picked one and loaded it on the sound player.

  Strains of Etta James’s “At Last” filled the study.

  Beatrice started shaking her head. A silly grin formed on her lips as her frustration with Gabe melted away. He opened the French doors that led to the patio.

  “Shall we?” He held out his hand.

  “Gabe, you don’t have to.” For some strange reason, a lump formed in her throat.

  Their hands linked, Gabe pulled her close and whispered, “Anything for you, poppy.”

  They slow-danced on the stone patio to the tune of Etta James’s haunting voice, her head on Gabe’s chest, his chin against her temple. When the music ended, she looked up at him and asked, “Why do you call me poppy? Is it because of my hair?”

  Gabe nodded. “Yes. Also, in some cultures, the poppy is a symbol of eternal love.”

  His eyes were intense as they stared into hers. Unable to speak, she hid her face on his chest, contemplating what he just revealed. They swayed together in silence.

  Eternal love, Beatrice fumed as she snapped back to the present.

  Fool me once, Gabe. Only once.

  *****

  Gabe walked into his house and dropped the keys on the small table by the foyer. His rescue military dog, Rhino, a nine-year-old German Shepherd, was sitting right by the small table. His tail thumped eagerly, waiting for Gabe to greet him.

  “Hey, buddy.” Gabe crouched and gripped his dog’s head in an affectionate squeeze. “Ready for your walk?”

  The minute Rhino heard “walk”, he started whining excitedly and shuffling his front legs. Chuckling, Gabe reached for the leash and hooked one end to Rhino’s collar. He had long since removed his tuxedo bow and unbuttoned his shirt.

  It had been almost four months since he had shed his Dmitry Yerzov persona. The first few weeks were a challenge to integrate back into normal society. Gabe had no close relatives. His parents were dead and he had no siblings. This made him an ideal CIA operative. The only family he knew were the SEALs, and even then he had to give up his brothers to descend into the twisted world of the Russian mafia. He had killed all his emotions to take the job. Once he had ceased to exist as his deadly alter ego, images of every person he had assassinated flooded his dreams. It was hell. He’d been to see the CIA shrink at the NEST—the agency’s special rehabilitation center. Screw the stigma. The sooner he fixed his fucked-up self, the sooner he could go after her. Beatrice was his prize.

  He exited his all-brick Victorian row house in Old Town Alexandria, Rhino at his heels. Beatrice had sold her old house in this area and moved into her new condominium a few months after he’d left her. Guilt clawed at him. She loved that house and this area. He had thought to buy the same house back for her, but decided maybe it was best to start fresh. The back patio needed some work, but the front of the house had a small yard with mature landscaping and wrought-iron fencing. He remembered Beatrice stopping to gaze at this house in particular whenever they went for their walks in the neighborhood.

  Confident aren’t you, Sullivan? She kneed you in the junk.

  Gabe winced at the memory. His Beatrice was still a spitfire.

  He walked a couple of blocks more, Rhino happily marking each tree, when he noticed a black sedan parked a couple of cars up. Rhino must have felt the change in Gabe’s body language and started growling softly.

  “Easy, boy,” Gabe said tightly.

  When the back door swung open, Gabe knew who was stepping out even before the figure fully emerged.

  Admiral Benjamin Porter—top-level recruiter and strategist of CIA black ops and Beatrice’s father. A reminder of everything Gabe told himself he shouldn’t be, and yet he admired the man. However, from what little Beatrice had told him during their time together, the admiral was a shitty father and husband.

  Rhino’s growl grew louder as the admiral approached.

  “Gonna call off your attack dog, Commander?”

  “Not sure.”

  The admiral sighed. “We have a problem.”

  “Not mine.”

  “Gabriel—”

  “I told you, sir. I’m done with the agency.” Rhino started snarling. Gabe decided to calm down his dog. “Friendlies, Rhino.”
/>   The dog immediately stopped his aggression.

  “My priority is Beatrice.”

  “I know that,” the admiral said. “That’s why I procured your admission into the Mayflower Charity Ball. I’ve given you information about her whereabouts for the last two weeks and stood back while you stalked her.”

  Gabe snorted but didn’t contradict the admiral, because that was exactly what he did. Thankfully, he didn’t catch her at a time when she was with Eric Stone. Judging from the tabloids, the relationship was a hot mess. He was so proud of how his girl handled herself with so much class against three crazed fans earlier this afternoon.

  The admiral had now fallen into step by his side as the three of them continued to walk without missing a beat.

  “I don’t want to fuck up again with her. I want to prove to her that I’m in it for the long haul.”

  “Is that what the dog is all about? A show of your commitment?”

  Gabe didn’t answer, so the admiral continued, “Or is he helping you regain your empathy. Teaching you how to feel?”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Ben,” Gabe snapped. “Rhino was a loyal military dog who was about to be classified as equipment and left behind. He may be partially deaf and blind, but he deserves a second chance.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  Gabe cursed. “Look, say what you gotta say. Be done with it.”

  “Someone might be aware that Dmitry Yerzov is still alive.”

  “Impossible. How?” Gabe was used to the admiral’s penchant for drama and constant scheming. Gabe should know. He had let himself be a part of it.

  “Philip Crowe aka Leonid Belov must have had a partner that we weren’t aware of,” the admiral said. Crowe/Belov had worked with Gabe in an undercover capacity in the Zorin Bratva—a Russian arms dealer they had brought down almost four months ago.

  The admiral had his full attention now. “Go on.”

  “The off-shore account that Crowe was going to use to siphon the thirty-five million dollars was shut down before we could get our hands on it. All indications point to the Fuego gang.”

  “Shit. The Colombian gang that we sent after Travis and Caitlin?”

  “The same.”

  The wheels started spinning in Gabe’s head. That would mean Crowe had an “in” with the gang. Nothing would stop Crowe from having insurance just in case something happened to him, which it did. Crowe knew most of the true identities of CIA agents involved in the Zorin Bratva takedown.

  “What else?”

  “Nothing as of now, but I may have to call in a marker from an old friend.”

  A pained look crossed the admiral’s face.

  “Something tells me this old friend isn’t really a friend.”

  “A buddy from my earlier days in the Navy. We had a falling out. Or rather, his ideals didn’t align with the U.S. government any longer.”

  “Look, I’ll help if I can. I don’t want a crosshair on you or Beatrice,” Gabe said. As much as he despised Porter sometimes, he cared for the crazy bastard.

  “All I wanted was to give you a heads up,” Porter said. “I’m not sure if there’s anything you can do. I’m sure if Crowe gave Fuego all the information from the Zorin takedown, you’re compromised.”

  “I’m adept with disguises, in case you’ve forgotten.” Shit. Did he just volunteer himself? Backtracking, and in a harsh tone, he repeated, “Beatrice is my priority. I’m not officially involved. I’m out of the agency. Don’t ask me to refer someone to help either, because I’m not having another friend’s death on my conscience.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Gabriel.”

  “I know, but for a long time, I felt it was. It’s done. He’s not coming back. He’s dead, and the people responsible are dead as well,” Gabe stated flatly. His skin prickled as his alter ego reared his head. “Are we done?”

  The admiral nodded. Gabe hastened away with Rhino. There was an urgent need to distance himself from Porter.

  *****

  ~ Dmitry, about three years ago

  The twelve-year-old boy stared up at him—bound, gagged, and crying quietly, snot mixing with all the tears. He’d been brave for the most part, defiant even. He would have made a good lieutenant for the Bratva, except his father was a traitor, and Zorin wanted the bloodline ended.

  Starting with the first born son.

  Angel of Death.

  The poor lad peed in his pants.

  For a moment, Dmitry wavered, and then he said, “You won’t feel a thing. I’ll be quick.”

  Present

  “Refill?”

  Gabe looked up to see the diner waitress holding a carafe of coffee.

  “Sure.”

  “You must like our food a lot; you’ve been here for the past two weeks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All you ever order are pancakes and bacon,” his chatty waitress pressed on, leaning against the table suggestively. “You need to try other items on the menu.”

  Gabe was amused. “Are we still talking about this menu, hon?”

  “I don’t know, handsome, you tell me.”

  He looked around the diner. It was after 9:00 a.m. and the crowd had thinned considerably. He leaned back in the booth, taking in the woman’s red-striped uniform, a size too small and five inches too short. Gabe smiled wryly. “I’m taken, sorry.”

  “Shame.” She leaned closer. “Well, if you get untaken, let me know.”

  “I believe you were going to pour me some coffee.”

  The waitress’s eyes flashed angrily as she poured coffee into the cup. Gabe made a mental note to change the location of his stakeout because the waitress would probably spit on his food the next time.

  He stared across the street at Beatrice’s condominium. She usually didn’t leave her residence until noon. Doug’s car frequently passed the front of the condo around 8:30 a.m., rounding the building to pull into the underground parking, but he didn’t see him arrive this morning. Gabe was sure Douglas Keller was gay, but he definitely wasn’t the flamboyant or even the effeminate type. Gabe knew Beatrice’s assistant would have had no qualms beating him up last night, not that Gabe would have let him. Balls kicked or not, he would have flipped the guy over before he’d even gotten to throw a punch.

  A flashy car stopping in front of the condominium drew his attention. With recognition came swift fury. Rock dick Eric Stone. Gabriel forced himself to remain in his seat and wait before getting himself involved. The last thing Beatrice needed was an ex-boyfriend getting into the business of another ex-boyfriend.

  It didn’t take long. Eric the dickhead started causing a ruckus. Shaggy brown hair, t-shirt, torn-jeans, and sporting converse sneakers, he was arguing with the guard who apparently had orders not to let him in. Twenty minutes later, his spitfire flew down the steps of the condo to confront him. Beatrice was speaking normally, but Stone was yelling at her and gesturing wildly.

  The escalation of tension was inevitable.

  Gabe stood and threw a couple of bills on the table as he hurried outside. He was just in time to see Stone lay his hands on Beatrice’s shoulders to yell further into her face. Even from the distance, Gabe could see the fire in her green eyes, and for a second, he was feeling sorry for Eric.

  “Take your hands off me, Eric.”

  Wait for it.

  “Stop being so fucking stubborn, Bee—oomph!”

  Rocker boy released his hold on her shoulders and doubled-up on his stomach.

  Punched in the gut.

  Gabe had taught her that move—tip of fingers to fist—not much momentum needed.

  Eric was lucky he didn’t get kicked in the balls.

  Gabe slowed his approach as a smirk formed on his lips. Beatrice spotted him.

  “I don’t believe this,” Beatrice yelled. “What are you doing here?”

  “Watching over you,” Gabe stated simply.

  An undecipherable look passed over her face. Then her eyes shifted between him and Eric.
<
br />   “Who’s this asshole, Beatrice?” Eric wheezed through his mouth, glaring at Gabe.

  “Her man,” he responded levelly, ignoring Beatrice’s gasp of outrage.

  “You fucking replaced me with this gorilla?” Eric snapped.

  Gabe paused. He’d gotten back his muscles after he’d deliberately shed some pounds to fit the mold of a lean assassin who looked good in a suit, but he was far from ape-size right now.

  “I didn’t know Beatrice’s taste had changed to pansy-assed rock dicks,” Gabe drawled in response.

  Eric straightened and balled his fists at his sides. Indecision was written all over his face whether he should take a swing at Gabe or not. As for Gabe, he almost wished he had, so he could have an excuse to thrash him.

  “Hit me. Come on. You know you want to,” Gabe goaded softly.

  “Screw this,” Beatrice snapped. “I don’t care if you two kill each other.”

  She turned and stalked back into the condo.

  Eric started to follow Beatrice, but Gabe blocked him.

  “Be a good boy. Get back into your overpriced car and get out of here.” His hands were itching to squeeze the life out of this little shit.

  “We’ll have to ask both of you to leave the premises or we’re calling the cops,” a building security guard announced firmly.

  Gabe sighed. The last thing he wanted was to get arrested. He raised both his arms in acquiescence. He looked in the direction of the condo and saw Beatrice with her arms folded over her chest, staring at them. He lifted his hand to give her a two-finger salute and walked away.

  *****

  “So, how about some dinner?” Zach Jamison asked Beatrice after they concluded their first meeting of Senator Mendoza’s security detail. The senator was busy with senate committee hearings and couldn’t make the appointment.

  Beatrice had dreaded the question throughout the whole meeting because Zach had hinted at it earlier when he arrived at the BSI office. Doug was frowning at Zach. Nate pretended he didn’t hear the question, and excused himself politely, heading into his office.

  “I’ve got a load of paperwork to do.” Beatrice hoped her smile softened the lame excuse. She’d been tense as violin string ever since Gabe had returned. Two days had passed since that confrontation in front of the condo. Eric continued to hound her with phone calls, but hadn’t shown up at her building again. There was no contact from Gabe, which was adding more to her uneasiness.