Broken Toy [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations) (10 page)

Someone to touch her without recoiling from her physical and emotional scars.

Someone she could trust enough to let go to, to give her a break from her high-pressured life every once in a while without worrying her burdens were too much for them to bear.

Fat chance of
that
happening.

After she got dressed she sat on the bed and picked up Lil Lobo. He went with her when she had to leave home for more than a day. He’d become her security blanket, and she wasn’t too stupid to see that. He was the reminder that no one could take him away from her.

Unlike Bear…

She forced that thought from her mind. Maria’s voice had remained strangely silent that morning. Gabe didn’t want to do anything,
think
anything, that might awaken it.

Yes, she knew her life was of her own making from the first step she set outside Maria’s door after graduation. She was well aware of that. Aware that she’d spent her initial time away from Maria cocooning herself in armor-clad layers of emotional protection, not letting anyone close enough to hurt her again. The army had been a great help in that respect, rewarding tough personas, encouraging her to push herself as hard as she could. She even had plenty of acquaintances and got along fine with people she worked with. She simply chose not to give anyone a chance to disappoint her, hurt her, let her down. She didn’t expect anything from anyone.

Although she expected the world from herself.

She set the stuffed wolf on the bedside table after giving it a final pat on the head. Also a tangible reminder to her that her job was important. Saving lives was important. Saving children, especially. She didn’t want kids of her own, not when she saw what could happen to them.

Not when her own childhood had been so hellish.

The little amigurumis were important, too. Even if Gabe only made a positive impact in Rachel’s life with the little animals, that alone was worth it. Validation of her efforts.

A reason to continue.

She went out to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, fighting the urge to log onto her work laptop. Instead, she focused on the growing army of amigurumis on the coffee table. If she kept it up at this rate, she could return to Miami with several dozens of them, meaning that many potential kids could have their days brightened, at least a little.

That’s important, too.

It helped her make up her mind. She turned the TV on and tuned it to the Weather Channel before settling in on the sofa and picking up her yarn and a crochet hook.

She’d finished twelve more of the animals by the time she called it a day at eleven o’clock that night. Smiling, she arranged them all on the coffee table, which was rapidly running out of room.

A little army of crocheted critters just waiting for their new homes.

With a pleased nod, she turned off the TV and headed for bed.

* * * *

Tuesday morning started much like Monday had. Dreams kept her tossing and turning all night long, so that when she finally gave in and climbed out of bed a few minutes before five that morning, she felt like she’d barely gotten any sleep.

Again she thought briefly about using the vibrator, then decided against it. She wasn’t a fan of masturbating in the morning. The problem with that being she frequently wasn’t feeling like doing it by the time she got to bed that night. Especially if the day had been filled with emotionally difficult work.

Like the Martinez case.

She threw on running clothes and headed out the door. Mentally, she chafed at being temporarily off the case. Tracking down the money man topped her list of priorities upon getting back to work. One way or another, she would figure it out, find the son of a bitch, and haul him in for justice. She suspected he’d been involved in another case she worked on two years before, with similar MOs, but no proof tying the two together. Martinez had apparently never met David Muniz, the defendant in that case who was now serving a life sentence without possibility of parole.

Nothing obvious tied the men together except for the way everything had been handled.

Muniz had refused to hand over the money man in that case, too. But she found it hard to believe a petty crook, who hadn’t even graduated high school and whose worst crime before that had been dealing in stolen property, could suddenly be kidnapping girls from various countries in the region, smuggling them into the US, and setting up an elaborate network to find johns and arrange deals.

It didn’t compute.

Whoever it was, they had a lot of money to buy the guy’s silence. The only differences in the cases were that Muniz hadn’t personally raped any of the girls, and they were all at least sixteen years old.

Not that those facts made the situation any less heinous. Gabe hadn’t successfully convinced Walker or anyone else that the cases were linked by the same backer. She also wondered if two other cases within the past ten years were also linked, but she hadn’t been involved in those. In both cases, the primary suspect had been killed in prison.

Considering that Muniz had endured three attempts on his life already, had been relegated permanently to isolation for his own protection, and yet he still refused to talk, she suspected he would never reveal his backer.

Martinez, however, was squirrelly enough that she might be able to shake a little information from him.

Unfortunately, that would have to wait until she was officially back on the job.

By the time she returned to the condo almost an hour later, she’d pushed herself nearly to the point of exhaustion. The hot water of the shower soothed her muscles and lulled her mind into a temporarily calm state.

Maybe Walker’s right. Maybe I do need the break, to gain a little perspective, if nothing else.

As she stepped out and toweled herself off, Maria’s voice tried to shrilly break through with claims of slacking off, dodging her responsibilities.

She shoved the voice into a mental closet and locked the door. Walker had ordered her to relax, so she would. It would only be a matter of time before Maria’s voice escaped and started chattering at her again, but Gabe would keep repeating to herself that she was following orders.

She headed into the kitchen to start the first pot of coffee of the day and add to the growing amigurumi army.

* * * *

Wednesday morning, Gabe had to go out to buy more yarn in a few colors she’d run out of. Especially the green she used for the alligators. They were always one of the most popular amigurumis, their cheerful, goofy smiles making kids happy. She also thought about taking a drive over to Siesta Key, to the famous beach there, and decided against it.

I’ve got plenty to do.

Walker called her that afternoon on her personal cell phone.

“So, how are you doing?”

“You tell me,” she said, propping the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she made the beginning loop for a new animal, a dog this time. “Aren’t you checking the alarm logs?”

He let out one of
those
sighs. “Gabe, I’m not checking up on you.”

“I thought you said you were.”

“I was busting your balls, geez. That’s why I’m calling you. To see how you’re doing.”

“You’ll be happy to know I did try Ballentine’s on Sunday night.”

“Oh? Good. How was it?”

“I had…a very good meal.”

“That’s it?”

“You want a written report on your desk about it?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

She mentally swore as she goofed up the starting stitches and had to rip them out and begin again. “Then what do you mean?”

“I’m concerned about you, all right?”

The tone in his voice caught her attention. She set down the hook and yarn and grabbed the phone again. “Why?”

“Because I consider you a friend in addition to a damn good employee, that’s why.”

He could have dropped his pants and mooned her and she wouldn’t have been more surprised. “Really?”

“Uh, yeah. I know you aren’t much into having friends, but that doesn’t mean people can’t consider
you
their friend, you know?”

She hadn’t really thought about it like that. “Oh.”

“Why do you think I keep inviting you over to our house, even though you turn me down every time? Why do you think I sent you to my personal condo? Get your head out of your ass and look around you for a change. Maybe people like you. Maybe people respect you. Sometimes you have to give a little in return to get more than you currently have.”

He hung up on her.

She stared at her phone, his words pounding through her brain. She didn’t have friends. Not really. Although, yeah, Walker would be someone, if pressed, she could label a “friend” and not just a coworker or acquaintance.

Am I really that much of a dumbass I can’t recognize when I have friends? Or am I just truly that broken?

She tended toward the second.

Setting her phone on the table, she picked up her yarn and hook, consulted the pattern, and started over again.

* * * *

Walker hadn’t checked in with her again by Saturday morning. Gabe changed her mind countless times about going to the class until his words rang through her brain again.

Sometimes you have to give a little.

No one knew her here. What would it hurt? It would get her out of the condo for a few hours. She could stop somewhere to have dinner.

She would broaden her horizons, as they said.

If nothing else, it would allow her to picture some things more clearly when she got back to reading her Kindle. Which she’d done precious little of due to the amigurumis.

She pulled up the website again and studied the class description. Something she’d done several times over the space of the last few days.

What if Bill doesn’t show up?

He doesn’t owe me anything. We just met.

I would deserve it if he ditched the class.

Shut. Up.

She sat back and scrubbed at her face with her hands. She’d eschewed her morning run since she’d hit it hard every other morning. Her body was starting to feel the effects of the flat-out runs in a bad way.

And I
am
going to be forty in a couple of months.

Not that it bothered her. No midlife crisis for her. It was a pointless waste of time and energy. She would get older every year regardless of her feelings on the matter, and to wring her hands about it was useless.

After making a sandwich for lunch, she finally set her mind and went to get a shower.

What
does
one wear to a rope class?

There were already a couple of cars parked outside the club when Gabe pulled in thirty minutes before the class was scheduled to start.

Finally, after debating the issue back and forth for a while, she decided to lock her weapon in the small gun safe bolted to the floor of her trunk. Depending on how the class went, it might be difficult to conceal it. From the description provided on the website, it looked like students would be encouraged to try the techniques they would be taught.

If she was partnered with Bill, she didn’t want to have to make dumb excuses as to why he couldn’t tie her up.

Besides that, the club’s rules on their website specifically prohibited firearms.

Although as active law enforcement, technically she could circumvent that. Except for the fact that she was there for personal reasons, not undercover, not officially in the slightest. Meaning she was supposed to adhere to the club’s rules.

She locked the .380 in the trunk and headed inside. When she had to provide an ID and fill out paperwork, she had to stop herself from presenting her official credentials and offered up her driver’s license instead.

I need to be careful.

Maria’s voice tried to sound off in the back of her brain and Gabe shoved it away. She wanted to do something for herself for a change. Maybe it was an unusual choice over, say, something like sightseeing, or taking up a hobby, but the pictures she’d seen of intricate and artistic ropework fascinated her.

Not to mention, if she ended up gaining any official knowledge she could use in future investigations to help weed out predators from innocent people, that would be a bonus.

She certainly wasn’t looking for a man out of it. The last relationship she’d tried nearly eight years ago had lasted all of three months. When he couldn’t handle her independence, combined with what she did for a living and the sometimes unpredictable nature of her hours if she was involved in an investigation, it had almost been a relief to end things when he told her he didn’t think it was working out.

It meant she no longer had to pretend or make excuses for what or who she was. Or try to change herself to fit into the relationship.

It also meant no more trying to dodge him in the bathroom, or insisting the lights be off when they made love so he couldn’t see the scars on her back.