Gabriel (7 page)

The lines bracketing Gabriel’s mouth deepened as he nodded once again. “Thank you,”
he repeated, voice gruff.

Nathan returned the gesture before glancing at Leah. “I’ll talk to you later. Be careful.”

Gabriel stepped into the hall, allowing Nathan to pass before resuming his position
in Leah’s office doorway. Silence settled between them, the thick quiet so tense it
hummed.

“You’re on your way out?” Gabriel asked, skimming over her jacket, wide-legged slacks,
and boots. Though covered under layers of clothing, her skin tingled as if she’d been
plugged into a high-voltage socket.

“Yes.”

She struggled to school her expression to reveal none of the chaos churning inside
her breast. He always caused a maelstrom of emotion—love, worry, fear, anger, protectiveness—with
just a glance. If she had an ounce of common sense or self-preservation, she would
avoid Gabriel as if frogs, boils, and locusts followed in his path.

Damn
. She sighed, and looked away, crying “uncle” in their visual showdown.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked and immediately could’ve planted her size eights in
her own behind. His lean cheeks, stark cheekbones, and shadowed eyes telegraphed weariness,
but Gabriel wouldn’t appreciate her concern.

“Fine.” A muscle ticked along his clenched jaw.

Of course. You’re always
fine
.
Now it was her turn to grit her teeth.

“Right. Stupid of me to ask.” She didn’t bother to conceal the sarcasm in her voice
and instead coupled it with a tight, you’re-so-full-of-shit smile. “So what’s up?
Like I said, I’m headed out.”

“I’ll walk with you.” He shifted to the side, granting her space to step out into
the hall.

She shrugged, but inside she shivered. Most days she could play the role of “best
friend” convincingly. Today, after a night of holding his trembling body as he sobbed
in her arms, the friendly facade had worn thin. She wanted to grab him, shake him,
demand to know what was brewing inside his head—demand he let her in. Instead, she
shimmied past him into the hall.

He kept stride with her as they passed through the lobby and exited the brownstone.
With a wry smile, she noted the careful distance he maintained between them as they
walked side by side down the cobbled sidewalk.

“Where are you headed?” He paused to let her enter the bottom level of the parking
deck staircase first.

She tossed him a glance over her shoulder before pressing the call button for the
elevator. “You came all the way over here to find out my plans?” she asked, adding
enough sugar to her tone to bring on a cavity. “That’s so sweet. But really, Gabriel,
you didn’t have to waste your gas when a phone call would’ve done just fine.”

He didn’t rise to her bait, and a flash of remorse at her childish behavior shot through
her. Damn if she’d apologize, though. There went that juvenile streak again.

“I’ve been reconsidering what you asked me Friday night.” He shifted closer. “About
offering feedback and assistance with Richard’s case.”

She blinked. From the moment she’d mentioned Richard’s name several days earlier,
he’d been dismissive, annoyed, and sometimes belligerent. She searched his eyes for
a hint of the thoughts behind his solemn gaze. Like trying to crack a safe with hope
and a prayer.

“What brings about this unexpected helpful side?”

If her skepticism irked him, he didn’t reveal his irritation. He lifted a shoulder,
then switched his attention to the dirty-gray steel doors sliding open with a slight
groan. In tandem, they stepped into the elevator. He didn’t respond until after the
doors sealed shut.

“It occurred to me I could use this as hands-on research. When will I ever have the
opportunity to ride along on a missing-person investigation?” A small smile quirked
the corner of his mouth, drawing her focus like a target sighted in a sniper’s rifle
scope. Then, just as suddenly, it vanished. “And because you’ve never asked me for
anything,” he murmured.

She swallowed, glanced away. “Oh, so you’re Richard Castle now?”

Gabriel grunted. “Hardly.” A pause. “But if I ever decide to write a book featuring
a hot detective as my heroine, she’ll have black hair, fairy eyes, and an attitude
that’ll make a man cup his balls.”

She laughed, and the abrupt bark bounced off the elevator walls. Grinning, she exited
onto the second level. She grabbed onto the rare display of humor and ignored the
wild flip of her heart.

It’d been forever since he’d described her eyes in that manner or called her Fairy
Eyes, his special nickname for her. Not since before the accident. As a child, the
affectionate teasing had annoyed her, but as she’d grown older, she had come to cherish
the moniker; it meant he found something lovely about her. As pathetic and small as
it seemed, she held the sentiment close to her heart.
Oh, yeah
. She grimaced.
Pathetic
.

They approached her truck, and as she pressed the unlock button on the key fob, a
disconcerting thought struck her right between the shoulder blades. Slowly, she turned
to face Gabriel.

“Hold on,” she said calmly. “This sudden change of heart wouldn’t have anything to
do with yesterday, would it?” Gabriel frowned but not quick enough to mask the flicker
of surprise—and guilt—in his eyes. “Oh, damn. Really, Gabe?”

She frowned, caught between telling him to beat it and thanking God for stirring enough
concern in him that he’d emerged from his dark cave of an apartment. This overprotective
streak poked at the sore spot called her pride, but he loved her…even if it was just
a noogie-and-slap-on-the-back love and not the consuming passion he’d given to only
one woman in his life.

Hell
. She propped her fists on her hips, waiting for his response.

“You asked for my insight, and I want to help. Do I hope you won’t encounter any more
dead bodies? Yes. But does it mean I’m babysitting? No.” He grazed her cheek with
the backs of his fingers, stealing her breath away. “Weren’t you the one who said
you can’t stop worrying about me? Well, don’t ask me not to do the same for you.”

His hand fell away, and she barely controlled the impulse to cover the spot pulsing
with warmth. She yearned to lock the sweet sensation of his touch in a box to remove
later, analyze, and cherish.

“Okay.” She turned and opened the car door.

Who was she kidding? She’d been a goner at “hot detective” and “fairy eyes.”

Chapter Eight

His nose should be the length of the Mass Pike, considering the lies he’d uttered
in the last hour. Gabriel grimaced, drumming his fingers restlessly on his thigh as
he stared out Leah’s passenger window. Earlier that morning, he, Mal, Rafe, and Chay
had discussed the ramifications of their discoveries yesterday. And now the untruths—both
said and unsaid—didn’t sit well with him. Which was ironic, considering the deception
he’d zealously guarded for the last twenty years.

The tempo on his leg increased.

Ride-along. Research for missing-persons plot
. His mouth twisted in disgust. The lies had tasted like ashes on his tongue. Still
did. But the complete truth wasn’t an option. Not with Leah who was like Cujo on the
attack when she scented a lead. If anyone could uncover the mystery surrounding Richard
Pierce, Leah could. Yet the truth would devastate her…and make her hate Gabriel. Both
outcomes terrified him.

So the lies had been necessary in order to get his ass in this truck and into the
middle of her investigation into Richard Pierce’s disappearance.

He closed his eyes briefly. Only for a moment though. Her attention may have been
on the road, but it wouldn’t stop her from noticing his rigid body or clenched jaw.
It seemed nothing about him escaped her sharp scrutiny. As if those ethereal eyes
really did possess some fantastical power allowing her to peer beneath his skin.

With effort, he shoved aside the grief and shame. Upon waking this morning with the
imprint of Leah’s slim body on the blankets next to him, she had become his priority.
Two years ago, his family had been killed in a car accident. And the day before Darion’s
body had been found in his home. Only a coin—that fucking coin—connected the deaths;
if it weren’t for that, the incidents, though tragic, would appear random. The idea
of the deaths being related seemed grandiose, surreal—relegated to his crime novels
or grainy video footage on the six o’clock news. But as tenuous as the link was, it
was enough to have him on guard and vigilant. There could be a killer targeting his
loved ones. And if even the smallest possibility existed that someone else could be
hurt—or worse—he couldn’t afford to give in to the void he’d fallen into for the past
two years.

Part of him wanted to scoff at this whole conspiracy theory. Chalk it up to way too
many late nights spent at his computer, immersed in his stories. To pass it off as
him allowing fiction to bleed over into reality. But…but what if he was wrong? What
if there
was
a twisted son of a bitch out there with his murderous rage directed at him, Mal,
Rafe, and Chay? The cold, undeniable, and irreversible facts remained that Maura,
Ian, and Darion were dead. And the arrival of a letter had dragged Leah into an investigation
that would stir old ghosts, unearth ancient hurts, resurrect secrets better left buried.
God
. He sounded so damn cloak-and-dagger. Still…Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that
they were all fumbling players in a production scripted and directed by a revenge-seeking
troublemaker at best…and a killer, at worst.

Gabriel inhaled, careful to release the deep breath silently, steadily.
Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve
. If this really was a deadly game of cat and mouse, it
should
be centered around the four of them. If Gabriel
could
, he’d strangle the life out of the person who’d devastated his life and hurt so many
others. If he ever got his hands on this fucker, he
would
do just that.

But until then—until he was damn certain an invisible danger wasn’t stalking them—he’d
lie and scheme to protect the woman who would gladly rip him a new one if she discovered
his true agenda. And the agenda included keeping her safe and preventing her from
stumbling onto the truth about Richard’s disappearance.

Both reasons were daunting, but damn crucial—crucial to the lives of men he loved
like brothers. Crucial to guarding the light in Leah’s eyes when she looked at him.

He swallowed hard. God. Witnessing the affectionate flame extinguished might push
him right over the tenuous edge he’d been clinging to for the past twenty-four months.

“You and Nathan Whelan,” he said abruptly. “You two fucking?”

The truck jerked sharply to the left, the front end swerving over the centerline.
Swearing, Leah yanked the steering wheel to the right. Once the vehicle returned to
the correct lane, she hurled a glare at him that should’ve left him with a third-degree
burn.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped.

He shrugged, staring at the rigid line of her jaw and the irritated set of her mouth.

“You seem close.” He fought down his own surge of annoyance as he recalled the familiarity
of the pair in Leah’s office. “He was touching you.”

“Touching me?” She scoffed. “He was holding
my elbow
for God’s sake. He was being polite.” Leah shook her head. “I know you’re not very
familiar with the concept.”

He stared out the passenger window. “So, is that a yes or no?” he persisted.

Hell, why didn’t he let this line of questioning go? Pushing it was ludicrous. In
all the years he’d known Leah, she had been the cute little girl who insisted on hanging
out with him, Mal, Rafe, and Chay when they met at her father’s home. Later, she’d
become one of his best friends. He damn sure wasn’t Stevie Wonder, so he’d always
noticed her exotic loveliness, but at first she’d been too young and then…well, she
was
Leah
.

And yet, imagining her pressed against her employer, his hands and mouth on her, had
him itching to go Rambo on something…or someone. Yeah, he should let the subject of
the nature of their relationship drop; it wasn’t his business. But he wanted—needed—to
hear her answer.

“And exactly when would I have time for a sizzling love affair with my boss?” She
sneered. “Would it be before I followed spoiled mama’s boys too afraid of losing their
inheritance to come out of the closet to their mothers? Or maybe it would be after
a late-night surveillance sitting outside a rent-by-the-hour motel snapping photos
of a rat-bastard husband who has a thing for call girls with Adam’s apples and big
hands. Oh, I know”—she smacked a palm to her forehead—“maybe it would be after I scrape
you from that cave you call an office and prove that going outside into the sunlight
really won’t cause you to burst into a ball of flames.”

A beat of silence passed. He snickered. She snorted. They glanced at one another,
then their chuckles grew into hoots of unrestrained laughter. By the time their hilarity
calmed, she swiped a finger under her eye, and Gabriel leaned his head against the
window.
Jesus
. He wheezed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
Maybe
she
should’ve been the writer.

“I’ve missed your laugh,” she said softly.

The warmth drained from him as if a plug had been pulled. Reasons why he’d been laughter-challenged
rolled in like a mist, surrounding him.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I haven’t had much to laugh or smile about lately.” He returned
his attention to the pretty, autumn-painted scenery outside the window. “Nathan’s
changed, hasn’t he? Isn’t at all what I expected.”

Leah didn’t immediately reply. Maybe weighing whether or not to go with his not-so-subtle
subject change. When she sighed, the breath he’d been holding whistled from between
his lips.

“How would you know? You just met him today.”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. Maybe he doesn’t remember me, but we’ve met before this
afternoon.”

She shot him a surprised look. “Where?”

“When,” he corrected. “A couple of times when Chay couldn’t wiggle his way out of
attending some party or dinner with Richard and his mother, he’d drag me, Mal, and
Rafe along. I remember Nathan from those get-togethers. He was a quiet, intense kid,
didn’t socialize much. Mal knew him and explained that Nathan’s father had abandoned
the family, and his mother wasn’t…well.”

“A raging alcoholic” had been Mal’s exact words.

“Yes,” Leah said, her voice subdued. “He and I shared hard-knock stories—losing a
parent and having the other check out mentally. Fortunately, Dad eventually returned
to me, even if it was years later. I don’t think Nathan’s mother ever fully recovered.
When she died a couple of years ago, I felt so horrible for him, but—” She hesitated.
“I hate to admit this, but I was a little relieved on his behalf. He was finally…free.”

Gabriel glanced at her, that particular word choice catching him by surprise. She
didn’t expound any further, though. Instead, she slowed the speed of the truck as
they entered the Weston town limits.

Welcome to the Town of Weston, Massachusetts, Incorporated 1713
.

As she coasted past the white sign with the elegant scroll top that greeted visitors
as they entered the affluent town of Weston, he straightened in the seat. The towering
trees with their burnt orange, red, and gold leaves painted a beauty that no artist
could translate to canvas. Driving past the old brick town hall with its towering
white columns and soaring spire, he could easily imagine a rider flying past on his
steed, tricorne hat perched on his head, brown coat tails flapping in the wind.

The wealthy paid dearly in taxes to maintain the stately affluence and prosperity
displayed by manicured estates and illusions of community and privacy. But nothing
was ever as perfect as it appeared on the surface. Maybe his distrust explained why
the seedy underbelly of deceit and murder in his books often took place in towns like
Weston.

Or maybe, he concluded with a smirk, he was just a jealous, resentful asshole.

Funny. He slanted a glance at the woman behind the wheel. That resentment had never
colored his opinion of Leah.

“Thank you.” The words rumbled out of him.

She shot him a surprised look across her shoulder. “For what?” she asked, returning
her gaze to the road. With admirable ease, she’d navigated the winding, picturesque
streets that offered flashes of homes nestled among the autumn foliage.

“Last night.” His throat closed around the lump of emotion squatting in his air passage.
“Thank you for…staying.” Staying. Holding him. Comforting him. Not leaving him alone
to the darkness that seemed to wait for him on all sides, ready to shred him to fleshy
ribbons with its razor-sharp teeth.
Fuck
. So many things. And he could say none of them except “staying.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but her full, sensual lips flattened for an instant
before twisting into a rueful smile.

“Wow,” she murmured. “A thank-you from Gabriel Devlin? Did Jesus come back and nobody
told me? I need to start praying right now.”

He called her a smart-ass, and her laughter sprinkled over him like a light, cleansing
rain. Yet as she drew the truck to a halt in front of an elegant, two-story, colonial-style
house, he wondered at the flash of sadness he’d detected in her expression seconds
before her flippant response.

Maybe someone else was guarding untruths she wasn’t ready to reveal.

…

Leah climbed down out of her truck and regarded the white home with its black shutters,
and time seemed to roll back like flipping pages. From one moment to the next she
was once again eight years old, sitting in the backseat of her father’s Lincoln, excited
about visiting her Uncle Richard. It had been ages since she’d been here, walking
up the paved sidewalk and pressing the white doorbell next to the tall, wide, midnight-dark
front door. Those had been happier times, unsullied by loss, murder, and sorrow.

And she hadn’t been standing shoulder to shoulder with Gabriel Devlin.

Even in the crisp autumn air redolent with the tangy aroma from the surrounding oak
and maple trees, his clean, no-frills soap scent tantalized her more than Mother Nature’s
offerings. Last night she’d wrapped herself in it. When he’d finally fallen into an
exhausted sleep, she’d pressed her nose to the back of his neck and inhaled his unique
fragrance until her every breath carried him on it.

Madness. You’re letting loose the madness
.

The door swung open to reveal a conservatively dressed woman, her graying hair scraped
back from her face into a bun that displayed austere, yet surprisingly lovely, features.

“May I help you?” she asked in a modulated tone.

“Yes, thank you.” Leah smiled, realizing if she intended to see Catherine, she must
first get past the dragon at the door. “We’re here to speak with Catherine Pierce.
Could you let her know Leah Bannon would like to see her?”

A flash of recognition sparked in the woman’s eyes. She nodded and stepped aside,
silently allowing them entrance. “I’ll let her know.”

They waited quietly while the housekeeper disappeared down a hall. Moments later,
she returned and, with a nod of her head, led them through a hushed corridor toward
the rear of the house.

“Mrs. Pierce is in the study.” The woman paused before oak double doors and grasped
the ornate, gold handle of the left panel. With a slight push, it swung noiselessly
open and Leah, followed closely by Gabriel, entered the brightly lit room.

Several lamps around the study were aglow, but most of the illumination could be attributed
to the sunlight spilling into the room from the large bay windows nearly encompassing
one wall. The light odor of lemon-scented Pledge teased her nose, and for a whimsical
instant, she imagined she’d walked into the Beast’s drawing room in
Beauty and the Beast
, complete with a crystal chandelier, heavy antique furniture, and two delicate chairs
in front of the wide desk from which Catherine Pierce ruled.

Richard’s mother rose from her chair, and with a graceful wave, beckoned Leah closer.
Her handsome, stern face softened into a welcoming smile. Gabriel lingered near the
study entrance as she moved forward. The other woman clasped Leah’s hands and brushed
her cheek with her own—one of the few women of Leah’s acquaintance tall enough to
accomplish the gesture without perching on their tiptoes. The delicate scent of Catherine’s
perfume roused wonderful childhood memories like dust motes dancing in a sunbeam.