by Ana Barrons
Gabe ran a hand through his hair. In the days since he’d seen Kate he had barely slept and wasn’t much in the mood to do battle with a mother who had suddenly decided to become the champion for her daughter. “Is she going to be at the house for a while?” he asked.
“Just long enough to clean up the mess.”
“You’re helping her with that?” he asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity.
Valerie was silent for several seconds before answering with a clipped, “Yes.”
“Huh.”
“What do you want, Gabe?” she asked, her tone stern and impatient.
“I want to talk to her.”
“Forget it. You’ve hurt her for the last time.”
He winced. “That’s right, I have. And I need to tell her that.”
Valerie snorted. “Fat chance. Leave her alone.”
“Fat chance.”
The gauntlet had been thrown down. He couldn’t see her, but he imagined that Valerie’s expression was at tight as his own.
“Look,” she said, her voice quieter but no less hostile. “My daughter has been through more than anyone should ever have to go through in their lives. I promised her I would keep you away, and I am not going to let her down.”
“Are you going to keep her safe, too?” he growled.
“The man who attacked her is—”
“The man who attacked her is on the loose,” Gabe said. “Michael Clark is dead, but he isn’t the person who attacked her.”
Valerie was quiet. “Well, we haven’t been in touch with the FBI—”
“The feds are not in charge of the break-in,” Gabe said. “I am. And I’m going to keep Kate safe if it’s the last thing I do.” When she didn’t respond, he muttered, “See ya,” and hung up.
Ten minutes later he pulled into the circular drive and shut off his engine. Kate’s Prius was parked at an odd angle, as though she’d jumped out of the car while it was still running. He expected to hear Bruno barking his head off when he walked up the steps, but heard instead the roar of a vacuum cleaner. He rang the bell, and within seconds the vacuum was turned off and Valerie Callahan pulled the front door open.
She was wearing jeans and a loose T-shirt, and for once she wasn’t perfectly made up. She gave Gabe a once-over, and he most definitely came up lacking. “Kate was right,” she said, frowning. “You don’t take no for an answer.”
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Callahan.”
“She doesn’t want to see you. I told you that on the phone.”
He nodded. “And I told you I’m still investigating the break-in.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Uh-huh. The cops have been all through this place, and so has the FBI. What more do you want from her, Gabe?”
“I need to talk to her,” he said. “I need to explain.”
Hazel eyes, the same color as Kate’s, moved over his face, examining him. After several moments she said quietly, “I never knew how she felt about you until she came home.”
Gabe’s heart swelled with hope and regret. “What kind of shape was she in?”
“Bad.” Mrs. Callahan looked down. “I’ve never seen her like that. Even after Steven died, and that was terrible. But—” her eyes welled up, “—this time it’s like he died all over again and you broke her heart all over again. Only this time you stomped it into the ground. I’m not sure she’ll recover, Gabe, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”
He put out an arm to support himself against the doorframe. Jesus, he had to see her, had to put this right. “I know I hurt her,” he said. “And it was the last thing I wanted to do. I know I put her through hell after Steve died. And again...this time. Please, I have to talk to her.”
Mrs. Callahan shook her head. “I can’t let you in, Gabe, unless you have a warrant or something. She knew you’d try to see her, and she was adamant. Desperate, really.”
“Please—”
“No. She’s hurting too badly. I won’t do it.” She pushed the door but Gabe pushed back.
“If she won’t see me, would you at least give her a message?”
Mrs. Callahan sighed. “What?”
“I’ll write it down.” He pulled out his wallet, stuck his pinky into the tight pocket, way back in the corner and produced the tiny, worn piece of paper that had been folded and unfolded so many times the seams had ripped. He opened it now, slowly so it wouldn’t fall apart, and scrawled the words beneath an old, faded message, then refolded it carefully and handed it to Kate’s mother. “Give this to her. Please. It’s... She has to see it.”
“Fine,” she said, clutching the tiny note in her fist. “Now leave.”
* * *
“Who was at the door?” Kate asked. She was lugging another black plastic bag filled with ruined clothes and furnishings from her bedroom and dumping them in a pile by the railing that overlooked the foyer. She and her mother and Violetta had managed to clean up most of the house already. Her mother didn’t answer. She stood at the bottom of the steps studying something she held in her hand. “Mom?”
Her mother looked up and even from the balcony Kate could see the distress in her face. She let go of the bag and went down the steps, wondering what could possibly have upset her so much. Or who.
She slowed her steps, feeling her gut tighten. “What’s wrong, Mom? Who was at the door?”
Her mother glanced over at the door and swallowed. “It was Gabe,” she said. “I sent him away.”
Kate felt a jolt in her gut that sent a shock wave through her body and blood pounding in her temples. Gabe had been there, right in that space near the door. She could have seen him, touched him.
Yeah, she reminded herself. She could have slapped his handsome, lying face. Grabbed a brass lamp and cracked his big fat head open. So why could she only imagine being held in his arms? Would the mere mention of him torture her forever?
“Kate?”
She hadn’t realized she’d stopped on the steps until she noticed her mother standing at the bottom, regarding her with an anxious expression. And then her mother was climbing toward her, stopping a couple of steps down.
“I’m sorry, honey,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t have told you, but... Well, he handed me this paper.” She held out the tiny square and Kate reluctantly took it. “He acted like it was vitally important that you read it. And it’s so old. It looks like he’s been carrying it around forever.”
Kate unfolded the paper with shaking hands, trying hard not to rip it further. Tears sprung instantly to her eyes when she saw what it was. Beneath the message she had left on his kitchen table almost nine years ago he had written his own.
I regretted making love to you the first time, but I’ll never regret the last time.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gabe rang the doorbell of Lindsay’s house at ten o’clock the next morning, but instead of seeing Jeremy’s smiling face, Lindsay opened the door, stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Great. Just what he needed to start the day.
“I want to make something clear—” she began.
“If you’re going to give me shit about taking Jeremy over to see Kate you can save your breath.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t have my son exposed to your sexual escapades.”
“Bullshit. That’s not what you’re pissed off about. You’re pissed off because you’re afraid Kate’s not just a ‘sexual escapade.’”
“Now who’s full of it? What do I care who you sleep with? But I will not have Jeremy exposed—”
“Oh, like he wasn’t exposed to you and Richard sleeping together when you two were shacking up. Give me a break.”
“That was different. We were in a serious, committed relationship.”
“This is a serious, committed relationship.”
Lindsay’s eyes opened wide, and she stumbled back a step. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I’m in love with Kate and if she’ll have me
I’m going to marry her.”
Lindsay’s mouth dropped open. “Are you shitting me? You and...her?”
“Surprised? I guess you haven’t talked to my sisters yet to see how the big three summit went. It was a relief, actually, getting it all off my chest. Thanks for setting it up.”
If she picked up on the sarcasm she didn’t show it. “And they...approve?”
“I was the one who threw shit at her in the first place. They thought they were being supportive by doing the same thing. Figured I knew her better.”
“Well, Jeremy’s not going anywhere today.”
Gabe narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”
“He’s overtired. I haven’t even tried to wake him—”
Gabe pushed past her into the house.
“Hey!”
He called Jeremy from the bottom of the steps. “Come on down.”
Jeremy was in his pajamas rubbing his eyes. “Dad? What time is it?”
Gabe walked right up the steps and nudged Jeremy into his bedroom. “Get dressed. We’re going to go see Aunt Kate.”
“Really?” Jeremy asked, his expression filled with joy. Yeah, she’d be pissed, but he had no pride left. If Jeremy was his ticket in he’d take it. There was no doubt in his mind that Kate loved his son. And even though she was hurt and angry, there was no doubt that Kate loved him as well.
He just had to get her to believe in him again.
As they headed out the front door, Lindsay grabbed Gabe’s arm. “It was her money that won me full custody of Jeremy,” she hissed. “I hired the best lawyer money could buy.”
“I’m sure she had no idea what you were using that money for.”
“Oh, no? It was in her own best interest, Gabe, which is all she’s ever been interested in. You sure as hell weren’t going to let her see Jeremy, so she would’ve done anything to make sure I got him. And I did.”
“Nice try,” Gabe said, and turned his back on her.
* * *
Valerie Callahan was all smiles for Jeremy, even though she hadn’t seen him in years. When she shifted her gaze back up to Gabe her expression was resigned.
“Hello again,” Gabe said. From behind him, across the street, cameras were clicking away and reporters were speaking into their mikes. The hell with them.
“Who is it, Mom?” Kate called from another room.
“It’s Jeremy,” she said, her gaze locking with Gabe’s. “And his father.”
Kate appeared at the door beside her mother and immediately pulled Jeremy into her arms. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’m glad you still live here,” Jeremy said. He had his arms wrapped around her waist and was looking up at her. “My mom said you were probably going to move.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here, so you can at least enjoy the pool before I sell the house. Did you bring your swim trunks?”
“Yeah, they’re in Dad’s car.”
“Go get them.” Jeremy raced out the door.
Gabe hadn’t said a word up to this point. “Kate, can we talk?”
Without looking at him she raised a palm. “No. I’d like to spend some time with Jeremy, if you can spare him for a few hours. I don’t want to cut into your time with him, but—”
“Kate,” her mother interjected. “What should I do?”
“Just go ahead,” Kate said.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll see to it,” Gabe said.
“No. You will not see to it,” Kate said when her mother had gone back upstairs. She hadn’t yet made eye contact with him. “I have a friend coming to spend the night.”
“Who?”
“None of your business.”
An uneasy feeling churned in Gabe’s gut. “Male or female?”
“I repeat, none of your business.”
“Look,” he said. “Whoever was behind the attacks on you is still out there. And there’s new information about the explosion.”
She hesitated. “Like what?”
Now he was sorry he’d brought Jeremy with him. He had no idea how she would react to the knowledge that her husband had planned to kill her. The FBI was keeping the information under wraps for now, but it was only a matter of time before the press got wind of it.
“That’s a conversation I want to have when we’re alone,” he said.
“That won’t be happening. I have no intention of being alone with you.”
“Goddamn it, Kate, I love you.”
She turned away from him. “Don’t.”
“You said you loved me.”
“I was in the throes of passion.”
“You meant it.”
This time she looked him in the eye. “It didn’t keep you from betraying me to the FBI.”
Gabe swallowed. Fuck, this was going to be hard. “I can explain all that.”
She nodded in a way that said uh-huh, tell me another one. “Spare me. And if you don’t mind, I have to get the house ready to sell, so...”
Gabe took a deep breath and let it out. “I need to know who’s going to spend the night with you. And I can stand here all day if that’s what it takes.”
She huffed. “Fine. It’s Archer.”
Alarm bells went off in Gabe’s head. “Archer? The masseur? You’re going to let some guy you hardly know spend the night in your house? Have you lost your mind?”
“I know him well enough.”
“What’s his last name?”
“I... uh, I forget,” she said.
“Are you kidding me? You don’t know his name? Everything he’s saying could be a lie for all you know.”
“Well, it’s true that I’m gullible when it comes to men,” she said. “At least the ones that want to sleep with me.”
Gabe ignored the taunt. “How do you know this guy, anyway?”
“He was a friend of Michael’s, okay? Are you done with the third degree?”
“I don’t like this guy showing up here, insinuating himself into your life. He’s a stranger, for God’s sake.”
“No more than you turned out to be.”
Jeremy whizzed through the door and ran for the steps. “I’m going to go change upstairs.”
“Sure, Jer. Look,” she said to Gabe, rubbing the line between her brows. “You can pick up Jeremy before he arrives if that will make you feel better.”
“What will make me feel better is if I stay with you.”
“Forget it.”
Fat chance. “I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch and guard the door. I won’t come anywhere near your bedroom.”
“I said forget it. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“The part where you’d rather have some other guy spend the night in your house when you know damn well that I’m the one who should be here protecting you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Drop it, Gabe. I mean it.”
“Okay, fine,” he lied. “For now I’ll leave you alone. What time does Archer get here?”
“He said around six or seven.”
Gabe sighed. “I’ll pick up Jeremy around four.”
* * *
Gabe had planned to call Agent Parker from the driveway, but he didn’t feel like having his picture taken fifty times so he drove back to the station and then placed the call. “What do you guys have on Michael Clark’s close friends? Anything on a guy named Archer?”
“Archer, first name or last?”
“First, I guess. Kate says he was a close friend of Michael’s. And he seems to have become a close friend of hers.”
“Archer,” Parker said. “Could it be a nickname?”
“Sure,” Gabe said.
“Well, hang on.” Gabe could hear him flipping pages or rustling papers for a few minutes, and then he said, “Well, the man of the hour is Pierre D’Archambault.”
“It was a F
rench name,” Ben had said. Holy fuck. “D’Archambault. Archer. That could be him. Who is he?”
“Clark’s roommate,” Parker said. “Found the name on a piece of mail. We haven’t made contact yet. Hasn’t been home since we found Clark dead.”
The hairs on Gabe’s neck stood up. “Description?”
“That’s the problem,” Parker said. “Nobody seems to know what he looks like. The neighbors there don’t pay attention. We’ve got men posted, waiting for him to turn up.”
“Have you run the name through NCIC?”
“Yeah, I’m waiting for results.”
“I have a bad feeling about this guy.”
“Sure you’re not just jealous?” Parker asked in a low voice.
“Do I need to answer that?”
“No. I’ll let you know what we come up with.”
Gabe thanked him and hung up, then sorted through messages and spotted a group of detectives around a screen and went to see what was going on. On the screen were gruesome photos of an elderly woman sliced up in what appeared to be an attic. Scott Bailey turned and gestured to Gabe to join him.
“Practically in Kate’s backyard,” he said. “Her balcony overlooks Kate’s pool.”
“Goddamn it,” Gabe said. He had to get back over there and keep her safe. Her and Jeremy. He radioed the patrol car that had been assigned to her street, only to learn it had been pulled. Every available car was around the corner at the crime scene.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Hurry the hell up, Parker.”
Fifteen minutes later, Parker called back. “Turns out D’Archambault was an army munitions specialist. Degree in chemistry and physics. Since his discharge he’s had no known source of income.”
Bingo. “Why’d he leave the army?” Gabe asked.
“Discharged for homosexual activity.”
“That all?”
“And he was an unofficial suspect in the beating death of his bunkmate.”
Holy shit, this was worse than he’d thought. “What happened?”
“The guy was his partner, if you know what I mean. D’Archambault was never indicted, but the army was very happy to see his back.”
“Do you have a photo you can send me?”
