Always Been Mine (7 page)

The madam writhed underneath him.

In the throes of her climax, his other hand circled her neck.

And squeezed.

His face came closer. She started struggling, her eyes dilating in fear.

“It may be too late to save those girls,” Dmitry snarled softly, “but you will never, ever harm another innocent again.” His fingers tightened. “Feel their pain, their fear.”

She choked for a while.

Before he snapped her neck.

The whiskey did nothing to drown the pain. Each time Gabe remembered Beatrice’s words was like being stabbed by a dagger to the chest. Repeatedly. It was a physical pain and a constant lump in his throat. He hoped hard liquor would wash it away, but it didn’t.
 

The prospects of rekindling their relationship were bleak.

The situation had turned ugly.

If Gabe were honest with himself, he didn’t think he was ready to be with her, for he had no idea who the fuck he was. The old him wouldn’t have let Beatrice walk out of that room after firing those words. He would have hauled her over his shoulder, dumped her on the bed, and fucked her into submission. As Dmitry Yerzov? He’d probably shackle her to a bed and keep her on the brink of orgasm before he fucked her. In the ass.

He tipped his whiskey back and signaled the bartender for another one and took in the packed establishment on a Saturday night. He had contemplated camping out at Beatrice’s condo, but the sting of rejection was still too fresh and there was only so much a man’s pride could handle. Because if she rejected him so soon again, Gabe didn’t know what he might do. Fuck. Was this how she felt when he had left her?

 
How could they come back from all this ugliness they were inflicting on each other?

His brain was telling him to let her go, but that muscle he called his heart was screaming at him to beg her to take him back. His loins were a different matter. They craved her, as well as wanted him to fuck her out of his system. He looked around at the meat market before him.
 

Maybe if he could bring himself to fuck someone else, he could move on from her. She obviously didn’t want him back. Why the fuck was he trying so hard?

Gabe shook his head.
What the fuck, Sullivan? Tucking tail and running already?

The alcohol not only made him a limp dick, but stupid as well.
 

As if the fates were taunting him further, a redhead squeezed in next to him.

“Buy me a drink, sugar?”

Gabe glanced at the woman briefly before nodding at the bartender to give her a drink on his tab.

“Thanks,” the redhead gushed when her prissy concoction was served. She pressed her breasts against Gabe’s arm. His cock stirred. Not a whiskey dick after all.
 

“I’ve been watching you,” the redhead said. “Looked like you could use some company.”

Gabe didn’t say anything, just simply took a sip of his whiskey. He should just order the whole damn bottle.

“Not much of a talker?” This time her hand went on his thigh and started inching up, destination unmistakable. Gabe didn’t stop her. He glanced at her, taking in her red hair. She was attractive enough, a bit too much makeup for his taste. His eyes rested on her mouth, which tipped up in a knowing smile. “I can show you a good time, sugar.”

Gabe chuckled as he returned his attention to his drink. “Not here for that, hon.”

The woman’s giggle grated on his nerves. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he allowing this woman to fondle him?
 

Her breath fanned his ear. “I think I can change your mind.”

She finished the last of her drink and jerked her head in the direction of the back exit, coyly walking away.

Gabe stared at the remainder of his whiskey for a beat. He slugged it back and pushed away from the bar. He left a couple of bills to cover their drinks and followed the redhead.

*****

Sunday early morning was a relatively quiet drive up the Beltway. Gabe guided his SUV toward Chevy Chase, Maryland. He felt like shit. His head was pounding, and the sunlight was too bright even while wearing his sunglasses. He deserved this hangover from hell.

He nearly wrecked what he had tried for months to accomplish—being the man who Beatrice deserved. In a pathetic attempt to erase her cruel rejection and to soothe his shredded ego, he contemplated letting another woman suck him off.
 

In the back alley of the bar, the redhead pushed him against the wall, reminiscent of how Beatrice came on to him the night before. When the woman tried to kiss him, Gabe buried his fingers in her hair, and that was when it hit him.

Rough, wiry hair.

Not Beatrice.

The madness stopped instantly. He was jolted out of his drunken stupor, his erection deflated, and he walked away with no small amount of self-recrimination. He was spiraling between his past and present. He couldn’t find his purpose. He quit his job to be with the only person who could anchor him, who could prevent the darkness from sweeping him away, but she didn’t want him. Hated him in fact.

Angel of Death.

“You won’t feel a thing. I’ll be quick.”

Gabe shook the images away and spotted the exit for Chevy Chase. He really shouldn’t be doing this, but he needed a reminder that even when he was at his vilest, he had a shred of humanity left. He pulled into a relatively affluent neighborhood and parked a couple of cars up from a Tudor-framed house. He waited, sipping from a thermos of hot coffee he had brought with him.
 

Two hours later, a boy of about fifteen emerged. He was bundled up in a hoodie and an overlay jacket, wearing jeans and sneakers. He was dribbling a basketball on his way to the side of the house. There was a ring fixed at the center of a two-car garage.

The boy started playing hoops.
 

Gabe watched.

*****

“Here’s your coffee, hon.”

The barista handed Beatrice her order. It was good to leave the condo this morning because she had remained holed up in her unit all day Saturday after her disastrous encounter with Gabe. Something wasn’t sitting right with her. She should be feeling the sweet triumph of revenge, not this unsettling guilt for what she had done.
 

She ran a couple of miles this morning to clear her head, trying to remove the unsavory taste of how she left Gabe so callously. He did the same to her, why couldn’t she pay him back in kind? Damn it, why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? He was forcing her to become the biggest bitch in history. The stricken look on his face right before she turned away almost made her reconsider. If he wasn’t all hard-ass male perfection, that would have been a kicked-puppy look. Why did he have to remind her of how good he was with his cock? He filled her perfectly, stretching her between the point of pleasure and pain, and hammering out her orgasms effortlessly.
 

Nowhere near serene and still as conflicted as ever, Beatrice walked into the lobby of her condominium. An anxious concierge rushed toward her.

“Ms. Porter!”

“What’s going on?” she asked, baffled.

“There are two detectives here to see you.”

Detectives? That was when Beatrice noticed the two trench-coat clad guys rise from the lobby couches. Not missing a beat, she nonchalantly walked to the concierge desk to pick up a newspaper and tucked it under her arm before she faced the approaching detectives.

“Detectives Moore and Smithers of the Metropolitan Police Department.” Both detectives flashed their badges.

“To what do I owe this visit?”

“Can we talk somewhere private, Ms. Porter?”

The penetrating look on Detective Moore’s face indicated that the matter was grave. She tried to wrack her brain on what could be wrong?
 

A knot of anxiety formed in her gut.
 

She nodded to the elevators to take them to her condo.

Beatrice set her keycard and coffee on the foyer table, turned and folded her arms in front of her. “What’s this all about?”

“Where were you between three and seven a.m. yesterday morning?”

Oh, my God, did something happen to Gabe?

“Did something happen to Gabriel Sullivan?” she blurted out, panic in her voice.
 

Both detectives frowned; one of them started writing on his notepad.

“Well?” When she heard herself shriek, Beatrice forced herself to calm down. But the silence of the two detectives was making it extremely difficult.

“Were you with this Gabriel Sullivan?”

Warning bells and self-preservation trilled in Beatrice’s consciousness. “Do I need a lawyer? If you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’m not saying anything else.”

“Eric Stone was found dead last night. Time of death initially puts it around the early hours of Saturday morning.”

Beatrice felt the room spin. Shocked at Eric’s death, relieved that Gabe was okay, it was too much. She forced her unsteady legs to walk across the foyer toward her living room and sat on the couch. The detectives followed but remained standing.

“How?”
 

“We can’t disclose the circumstances for now,” Detective Smithers said. “So, were you with this Gabriel Sullivan?”

“I was drunk; I’m not sure of the time frame.”

“Do you have his contact information?”

“No.”

“Really? That’s—”

“He was a one-night stand.” She had the resources to track him down, but linking Gabe to Eric was not a good idea given the two had an altercation a few days ago. The detectives might eventually find out. She didn’t even want to dwell on her reasons for wanting to protect Gabe.
 

“Oh.” Detective Smithers smirked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have more information to help you,” Beatrice said. She wasn’t even going to volunteer information about Eric’s drug use. “Eric and I broke up a few weeks ago.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Beatrice clenched her jaw.

“I understand he was harassing you two days ago,” Detective Moore pressed immediately after Smithers’s question. “Even after you’d threatened him in a voicemail to leave you alone or else.”

Shit.
 

“You’ve got connections with private security groups—”

“Gentlemen, either charge me with something or this meeting is over. I will not entertain any more questions without my lawyer. Got it?” Beatrice snapped.

“Very well, Ms. Porter,” Detective Smithers said, still sporting an annoying smirk. “Don’t leave town.”

With that parting shot, the two detectives left.

Beatrice called her father.
 

*****

It was early evening when Gabe let himself into his house. Poor Rhino must be ready to explode. If he had been thinking straight, Gabe would have thought to bring his dog along. After his stop in Chevy Chase, Maryland, he just drove around until his gas tank was almost empty.
 

After walking Rhino for half an hour, he returned to the house. Admiral Porter was waiting for him. The admiral was sitting on the top steps with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

“Admiral?”

The older man looked up and rose from the steps. “Where were you, Gabriel?”

“I’m not accountable to you,” Gabe answered coldly as he moved past the admiral to unlock the door. Porter followed him in without waiting for an invitation.

“Is it true you were with Beatrice Saturday morning?”

Gabe stilled, suddenly unsure where this was going. “She told you?”

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” Gabe bit out. “If this is some form of belated fatherly outrage, you can turn around and walk out that door. It’s between me and her, and I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking telling you.” His nostrils flared. “Unless you had one of us followed.”

“Fatherly outrage is the least of your concerns right now,” Porter shot back. “Eric Stone is dead. Beatrice is a person of interest. She left a damning voicemail on that man’s phone, threatening him.”

All the anger leached out of Gabe as concern for Beatrice took over. “They think she killed him?”

“Or hired someone to do the job. Woman scorned and all that,” the admiral said dismissively. “I know Beatrice had nothing to do with it. Besides, autopsy and tox screen show death by natural causes.”

“Which is?”

“He died in his sleep.”

“Fuck!” Gabe muttered.
 

“Exactly.”

The degree of separation from Eric Stone to the admiral and even to Gabe was too close, and death by natural causes, too suspicious in the world of covert ops and assassins. “You’re thinking it’s a professional hit?”

“I’m pulling some strings to have our own techs run some tests to check for lesser known toxins.”

“Hybernabis,” Gabe said softly. “It’s untraceable, makes the victim look like he died in his sleep, or if he has an existing heart condition, a heart attack. There’s a chemical you can add to flush it out so it’d show up on the report.”

“Are you breaking the assassin’s code, Gabriel?” Porter asked.

“No. That compound is on the CIA watch list. One of the elements is hard to procure, which is why it’s a very unpopular popular drug if you know what I mean.”

“Did you use it?”

“You know I did, Admiral.”

“Beatrice doesn’t want to use you as an alibi.”

“Why ever not?” Gabe growled.

“She said you had a confrontation with Stone last week and it might shift the investigation to you.”

Gabe inhaled sharply, not sure whether to feel elated that she cared for him enough to protect him, or annoyed that she would think he’d let her go through this alone.

“It’s time for you to get your head out of your ass, Commander.”

His eyes narrowed at the older man, pretty sure he knew what the admiral meant, but he was feeling masochistic right now. He needed a push.

The admiral snorted. “I’ve left you well enough alone these past few months, Gabriel. I know coming back from being Dmitry Yerzov is tough. But, son, you’ve gone all the way to the other end of the spectrum, a level above being a pussy. You should be ashamed to be called a Navy SEAL.”