Gabriel (21 page)

He hurtled forward blindly. She groped her pant leg, dragging the denim up. Her fingertips
grazed the butt just as he slammed into her and his hands fumbled, then closed around
her neck again.

“Leah!”

Nathan jerked his head up, his attention shifting toward the door. His grasp loosened
as he focused on the voice.

She seized advantage of his momentary distraction. Quickly, she unsnapped her backup
ankle holster, seized the gun, aimed, and fired. Once. Twice. Three times.

His body jerked with each shot. She stared, unable to tear her eyes from the blood
blooming across Nathan’s chest like a pen had exploded in his shirt pocket. He pressed
one palm to his breast as if he could plug the holes there, the other covering his
shredded eyes. With a final wheeze from his slack lips, he toppled to the floor, and
didn’t move again.

The gun trembled in her unsteady grip. Shaking, she lowered the weapon, never removing
her eyes from Nathan. Though an ever-widening puddle of blood surrounded his body,
she didn’t trust he wouldn’t suddenly rise and attack. In the movies it was always
damn hard to kill crazy.

“Leah.” Strong arms closed around her shoulders. The familiar, adored summer-and-sunshine
scent enveloped her like a warm embrace.
Gabriel
. The gun slid from her numb fingers, and she grabbed him.

And held tight.

Chapter Twenty-four

Bone-tired, Leah dropped onto the couch in her living room. The past twenty-four hours
had been hell. She’d killed a man, was whisked to the hospital, interrogated at the
police station, and finally released. The vivid black-and-purple marks on her neck
had done a bang-up job of convincing the cops she’d shot Nathan in self-defense.

She brushed her fingertips over her throat and flinched at the still-tender skin.
She hadn’t needed the doctor to tell her she’d been moments away from passing out
and death. Hell, she’d been there, and every time she looked in the mirror, there
was a reminder like ring around the collar…except no laundry detergent could clean
the bruises from her skin. Or scrub the memories from her mind.

At least it was over.

Nathan had been pronounced dead at the scene; he couldn’t hurt Gabriel, Malachim,
Chay, Raphael, or those they loved anymore. She lay her head down and studied the
ceiling. Now she could go home. Yes, she would probably have some shaky moments—especially
whenever she passed the attic hatch—but the threat no longer existed.

She closed her eyes, and for the first time since receiving the letter and missing-person
flyer, she was…free. No. That wasn’t exactly true. For the first time in a year—since
resigning from the police department—she was free.

Since leaving the force, she’d struggled with anger, bitterness, and the loss of her
dream—of herself. She’d felt lost, adrift. But at some point during the investigation,
she’d made peace with her new path. Maybe when Detective Connor had offered her his
unsolicited validation. Maybe when she’d stared down at all of Richard’s video tapes
and realized if she’d still been a cop, the silent voices of those boys would have
never been unearthed. Or maybe it had been when she’d faced down Nathan, her hip throbbing
but her determination to survive intact.

Once upon a time she would’ve made a damn fine police detective; now she would be
a damn fine investigator. With Nathan’s death, the future of his agency was uncertain…and
since she’d killed the owner, the probability of continued employment there was somewhere
between no-way and not-a-chance-in-hell.

Anyway. Wherever she went from here, it would be okay.
She
would be okay.

Funny how a near-death experience could put things in perspective.

A knock reverberated at her front door.

Frowning, she rose stiffly from the couch and smothered a moan. God, she needed a
spa day. Her body had taken a beating in the last week…pun totally intended. She covered
the distance to the door and peeked through the peep hole. Her heart gave a hard
thud
, then raced, pumping worry and excitement through her veins. Hurriedly, she twisted
the lock and opened the door.

Gabriel gazed down at her.

They stood in the entrance, the silence deafening with so many unspoken questions.
She drank him in. Against the late Sunday afternoon sunshine, his tousled, brown curls
framed a lean face etched with weariness. His full lips formed a solemn line, and
faint smudges darkened the skin beneath his eyes… God, his eyes. She inhaled, and
the breath caught in her throat. The arctic blue gleamed, belying the exhaustion creasing
his features.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, swiftly shifting back a step. He entered, and she
shut the door before following him into the living room. He remained standing, studying
her with an intense gaze she couldn’t decipher.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Fine, except for the bruises and aches. Those will fade.”

He nodded, fell into another silence. She crossed her arms. The need to close the
space separating them and walk into his arms was nearly overwhelming. She wanted his
unyielding body pressed to hers, wanted his reassuring touch. But she stayed where
she was.

“The attorney Malachim hired received the video tapes you delivered to the police.
He believes they will go a long way toward persuading the district attorney to reduce
Chay’s charges from murder to manslaughter. And with the extenuating circumstances,
he may be sentenced to probation instead of jail time.”

Relief weakened her muscles. “Thank God,” she whispered. “What about you, Mal, and
Rafe? Will you be charged?”

He nodded again. “As accessories after the fact. We’re all being tried as minors,
including Chay, and so will face the appropriate penalties. Our attorney is confident
Mal, Rafe, and I will receive probation. I’m not too sure what that means for Mal’s
law license since he was a minor at the time, but,” he shrugged, “he said he’ll cross
that bridge when he comes to it.”

The announcement proved too much. The ground shifted beneath her feet, falling away…or
maybe it was Gabriel’s strong arms lifting her in the air and holding her against
him in a bone-crushing embrace. She clung to him, delighted finally to be where she’d
desired ever since opening her front door to stare into his beautiful, loved face.

“You don’t faint after you shoot a man, but you do now?” he teased, pressing a kiss
to the top of her head.

“I didn’t faint,” she objected, her voice husky with the unshed tears prickling her
eyes. “I just needed to sit down.”

“Right.” He brushed soft kisses over her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and mouth.
“I almost collapsed when I walked into the office to find you with a gun pointed at
Nathan.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around Gabriel’s waist, inhaled the wonderful scent of
his skin. “Why were you at the office, anyway? How did you know I would be there?”

He didn’t immediately reply. Instead he grazed a thumb over her bottom lip and swept
a hand down her hair before tangling his fingers into the heavy length. He brought
the black strands to his nose, then lips. His eyes burned with a fire that seared
her to the soul.

“I guessed. I tried calling your phone, and when you didn’t answer, I got worried.
And since you’re like me, finding comfort and forgetfulness in work, I headed to your
office. My hunch paid off.” He released her hair, cupped her face. “I needed to find
you and ask for your forgiveness.”

She blinked. She hadn’t been expecting the admission…or the request. “Forgiveness?”

“Yes. For being everything you accused me of—a coward, weak, a martyr.”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember saying all of those things.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “In so many words you did. I just summarized them.”
The whisper of humor disappeared. “I was afraid to love you, because it meant letting
go of Maura and allowing you inside. It meant trusting another person with my heart
again and taking the chance of losing them, along with my soul. And with you”—he stroked
her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb—“I knew it would destroy me. The risk scared
the hell out of me—it still does. But I can’t imagine not touching you, waking up
to you, being loved by you. That scares me more than a possible loss.”

Hope—that damn hope—reared its stubbornly optimistic head. Her fingers shook so badly,
she clenched them in the material of his shirt and dropped her chin. Her heart did
a wild quickstep in her chest. She was afraid; she’d been in this place of trembling
anticipation before. And his rejection had crushed her.

Hell
. She shook her head. Who was the coward now?

“I don’t want to be your antidote,” she whispered, and couldn’t contain the note of
desperation that crept into her voice. “I’m not some experiment to see if you can
be with a woman again.”

“Leah,” he murmured, “look at me.”

Until he issued the soft command, she hadn’t been aware her eyes were closed. But
now she complied with the order and met the light in his hooded gaze. Trembling, she
lifted her hands, cuffed his wrists, holding on as if he were her anchor in a suddenly
unfamiliar, terrifying world.

Which he was.

“Too late,” he warned, his voice a loving stroke over her senses. “Because of you,
I feel again. My desire for you wouldn’t let me forget I’m alive, that I want to live.
You already are my antidote.” He brushed a caress over her cheekbone. “Before I came
to your office yesterday, I went by my old house. I said good-bye—to the memories,
to Ian…to Maura. As wonderful as my life was, it—Maura—is my past. You, Leah,” he
whispered. “You are my future. My scary, bright, beautiful future. And I want to live
with you, build a home, a family with you. I just want…you.”

“Gabriel,” she breathed, her grip tightening. She dipped her head, her cheek rubbing
against his palm, and purred like a kitten. “God, I love you.”

Slowly, a beatific smile claimed his face. Years fell away from his handsome features,
and in that instant, he became once again the Gabriel Devlin who had captured her
heart so long ago. Tragedy had marked him, changed him, yes. But that smile reflected
the loving, warm core of him, the man.

He squeezed his eyes shut, lowered his arms, and crushed her to his large, lean frame.
She circled his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’ve humbled me, Leah.” He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. “You’ve given
me a gift I’m not certain I deserve.”

“Oh, you don’t,” she softly teased, but swept her lips over his jaw, erasing the sting
from the admonishment. “But then, I don’t deserve you either.” He opened his mouth
to object but she placed a finger over his sensual lips. “You’re selfless, passionate,
and so gifted. You’ve been my best friend, my confidante. You thanked me for taking
care of you after Maura died. It was the other way around—you were my reason for getting
up in the morning and not giving up after I left the department. You saved me.” She
removed her finger and traced his sensual mouth. “I’ve loved one man in my life, Gabe,
and you’re him.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “I love you, too.” He cradled her face between his palms,
holding her steady as he gently kissed her.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you say that,” she whispered. “Never.”

“Then I’ll have to keep telling you. I love you, Leah. And always will.”

Any lingering remnants of fear and doubt were burned away as his lips claimed her
as his own, promising forever.

About the Author

Naima Simone’s love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey, Sandra Brown,
and Linda Howard many years ago. Well, not that many. She is only eighteen…ish. Though
her first attempt at a romance novel starring Ralph Tresvant from New Edition never
saw the light of day, her love of romance, reading, and writing has endured. Published
since 2009, she spends her days—and nights— creating stories of unique men and women
who experience the first bites of desire, the dizzying heights of passion, and the
tender, healing heat of love.

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet-proof equivalent, and
mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically
challenged bliss in the southern United States.

Come visit Naima at
www.naimasimone.com

Acknowledgments

First—and yes, I know I’m about to sound as if I’m accepting a Grammy or just won
the Super Bowl—I need to thank God, who never fails to give me the words or inspiration.
I also thank God for the people He’s brought into my life. Without my husband and
children, I couldn’t do any of this. Gary, Kevin, and Autumn, you support me tirelessly…or
at least you never let me see or hear you grumble! Thank you so much, and I love you
beyond measure!

Jessica Lee, I remember the time we were hanging up, and I said, “I love you!” LOL!
We laughed, but it’s true. Even if it’s eleven o’clock at night, you just sip on your
peppermint mocha and settle down to talk, brainstorm, critique, or vent. Sometimes
you’re my sanity, sometimes my comic relief. But you’re always my friend.

Debra Glass, thank you for being…you. Not once have you ever said, “I don’t have time.”
Or “I can’t.” You are the very best this industry has to offer. Giving. Knowledgeable.
Gifted. And plain awesome. With you in my corner, I always believe I’m Nora-Roberts-esque!
LOL! Maybe that’s part of your magic!

Tracy Montoya. I wrote your name and had to sigh. Like an I’m-unmanning-myself-by-tearing-up
sigh. You took a chance because you believed in me, my voice, and my writing. To hear
an author I admire say those words and then proceed to take me under her wing and
drag the very best out of me…I’ll never forget it, and thank you is inadequate. But
it’s also all that I have. So thank you.

Okay, leaving to go cry like a little girl now…