Always Been Mine (8 page)

“Now wait a goddamned minute—”

“From what I’ve gathered from my daughter, you’re nowhere near getting through to her—”

“Yeah? Well, her daddy issues ain’t helping, and I’m really uncomfortable talking to you about your daughter. She’s an adult. Fine time for you to be showing concern—”

“I’m more concerned about you.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear a thing I said?” Porter huffed in irritation. “You’re not the man you used to be, Gabriel. The man three years ago was the man my daughter fell for. You’re not even close. You treat her with kid gloves. Hell, if she takes you back the way you are right now, she’ll eat you alive. Drag you around and spit you out like a chew toy. Don’t make me regret helping you with my daughter.”

“Back the hell up,” Gabe snapped. “I do not treat her with kid gloves. What do you think I should have done to her when she kneed me in the balls?”

Porter froze; then his eyes crinkled at the corners before he burst out laughing.

“Glad you find it amusing,” Gabe grumbled. “I can take it from here, Admiral. I’ve done some soul-searching so to speak. I’d appreciate it if you let me handle Beatrice from here on.”

“Handle?” The admiral quirked a brow.

“The woman needs some wooing and a firm hand. I’m handling her with care this time, Ben.”

The admiral’s brows shot to his hairline. “This should be interesting. You may still be the right man for her after all.”

“What the fuck, Ben? I don’t care what you think, especially since you didn’t give a shit for most of her life.”

“Tread carefully, Gabriel,” Porter warned.

“No. You need to come to terms with a few home truths,” he shot back. “Your fuck-ups as a father are not helping my cause with your daughter at all. I’d prefer it if you stay away from me while I’m trying to get Beatrice to take me back.” Gabe felt pain lance through his chest, thinking of the girl she used to be. “I don’t get it, Admiral. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and larger than life. How can you not cherish and protect someone as precious as her?”

The admiral paled, his face was a mask, but the tension rolling off him was palpable. Gabe knew he’d gone too far, but someone had to say it. Someone had to fight for Beatrice, for the girl she had been who needed the love of a father.

“You think I don’t cherish her?” Porter said softly. “The second biggest mistake of my life was getting in too deep with the CIA and then realizing I’ve made enemies. Having personal attachments had suddenly become more complicated. Protect her? Why do you think I’ve hooked her up with so many security firms? Do you know how many allies she has made, willing to protect her?”

He regarded the admiral skeptically. “No matter how you emotionally detach yourself from Beatrice, the threat will always be there by association. Are you sure this is not a defense mechanism on your part, so if anything does happen to Beatrice, you would be as you are—apathetic?”

“I’m warning you, Commander.” Porter’s face was etched in tense lines.

“I guess I’ve made my point.”

The admiral sighed in resignation. “It’s too late for me, Gabriel, but not for you. Be the man you used to be. Protect her because I can’t do it forever. One of these days, my enemies are going to catch up with me. She will get caught in the crossfire.”

It chilled Gabe that nothing had happened as yet. He knew several missions the admiral had orchestrated that threatened serious blowback.

“I’m sure Beatrice knows this. She’s not obtuse.”

Porter nodded and walked to the door. “She’s at the condo right now—”

“I don’t get it, Admiral, why are you helping me so much?”

“I don’t want you to make the same mistake I made.”

“What?”

“The greatest mistake of my life.” An expression of regret flashed across the admiral’s face. “I didn’t fight for the woman I love. I let her go.”

“You divorced her when you had seventeen years to fix your marriage,” Gabe scoffed, angry and confused at the admiral’s words.

“I’m not talking about Beatrice’s mother.”

And with that bombshell, the admiral left. Gabe stared at the door for a while.

“Well, hell,” he muttered.

CHAPTER FIVE

The intercom buzzed in her kitchen.

Beatrice hurriedly wrapped herself in a robe. It was 11:00 p.m. Travis, Caitlin, and Nate had just left. They didn’t waste time showing their solidarity with her current situation. Before they had arrived, she spent almost an hour on the phone with Doug, who wanted to fly back from Florida tonight. Beatrice convinced him not to change his flight and just return the next day as he originally planned.

“Yes?”

“Hey, babe, buzz me in.”

Gabe.
 

“It’s almost midnight. I need some sleep, and I’m in no mood for a booty call.”

“I won’t touch you. Well . . . unless you beg me to.”

In your dreams, Sullivan.

“Go home, Gabe.”

“I made hot chocolate,” Gabe cut in abruptly. “Old-fashioned way. Just how you like it.”

Beatrice paused. “Bittersweet?”

“Seventy-percent Belgian chocolate, babe.”

That sneaky bastard. She could feel her mouth drooling.
 

“Poppy?”

Damn Gabriel Sullivan.

Five minutes later, she opened the door to a tousled-hair, scruffy-jaw, hot as hell man holding a thermos of liquid ambrosia. Gabe had learned to make proper hot chocolate—thick and bittersweet—from a friend who lived in Paris. Beatrice had never tasted anything quite like it. But hot cocoa aside, she thought this was the perfect opportunity to give him a logical argument to his idea of getting back together. He needed to stop turning up at her condo, announced or unannounced.

“Hey,” he whispered, tawny eyes, warm and melting like caramel, gazed down on her.
 

She said nothing, just stood aside and waved an arm to let him in. Closing the door behind him, she walked to the kitchen to get some mugs. Beatrice was very aware that Gabe was checking out her condo.
 

“Nice place, great view,” Gabe murmured. “Must have cost a mint.”

“It did.”

Beatrice consciously tugged her robe together as she sat on the couch. Gabe took the armchair adjacent from her. This surprised Beatrice because there was plenty of room on the couch. “The hot chocolate was a sneaky move.”

Gabe chuckled and unscrewed the top of the thermos. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Oh, yes
. The aroma of hot cocoa was intoxicating.

“I didn’t even hold out for a proper dinner date.”

“I can take you out to dinner tomorrow, if you’d let me,” Gabe responded instantly.

“Why are you pushing this? Isn’t what happened Saturday morning enough?”

“That was a mistake.”

Beatrice bristled. “Excuse me, but didn’t you get off three times?”

“So did you. But I should’ve stopped you.” Gabe handed her a cup. “We weren’t ready, emotionally—”

“Where is this all coming from? Have you grown a vagina or something?”

Gabe scowled. “I’ve been to see a shrink.”
 

Beatrice didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut.

“I’ve been back for four months now,” Gabe continued. “Gone for three years, I can’t tell you what I did, but know that”—he paused and inhaled sharply before pushing the air out slowly—“I did things, Beatrice. Horrific things.”

“Gabe—”

“The last thing I want from you is pity,” he said. “I’m dealing with it. I think I can be the man you need, but I can’t prove it to you unless you give me a chance.”

“You can’t waltz back into my life and expect to pick up where we had left off. You’re not the only one who’s changed. The woman you knew three years ago was willing to bend her rules by dating a man like you. That woman now wants something else altogether,” Beatrice said. “It’s not about what you did, Gabe. It’s what you represent. You’re everything I don’t want, and I have to remember that.”

Gabe’s eyes wavered from hers and stared at a spot on her carpet. His jaw was set in a tense line. “I’m not your father, Beatrice.”

She smiled sadly. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

His eyes returned to hers. “Can we at least be friends?”

She didn’t trust him, or maybe she didn’t trust herself. “Gabe, I don’t know.”

“I heard about Eric Stone. I’m sorry.”

She nodded. Tears welled up in her eyes and she didn’t dare respond. Even if she didn’t love Eric, some part of her still cared for him despite how it ended between them.
 

“How’s it going with the investigation?”

“I think they’re going to declare it death by natural causes,” Beatrice said. “I’ve gone to the station with Dad and his lawyer. Given my statement. The lawyer assured me I’m not a suspect.”

“You think any of Stone’s fans are going to blame you?”

“The building’s security is very solid, but Travis and Nate are talking about putting someone on me. I told them they’re overreacting—I’m not exactly helpless you know.”
Nope, she isn’t.
She had good self-defense skills and was a crack shot with a 9mm—kind of important to have on the résumé when you were a security consultant.

“I can protect you, Beatrice,” Gabe declared, his voice so warm and tender, it sent a shiver up her spine.

She took a sip of her hot chocolate. It was thick and creamy with just the right amount of bitter and sweet. “Still the master of hot chocolate.”

“Thank you. Don’t change the subject. What time do I need to be here tomorrow?”

“All right. Stop. Right there.” She could feel tendrils of smoke rise from her ears. “I’m covered.”

“Sure you are. By me.” Gabe stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“You just got here.”
 

Gabe grinned at her. “Are you asking me to spend the night?”

“Absolutely not!”

His face sobered. “I’m serious about making this work, babe. I can be patient.”

He tipped back the mug and finished his beverage.

“But—”

“I have to get home. Rhino won’t be happy being cooped up in the house again.”

“Who the hell is Rhino?”

“My dog—”

“You have a dog?”

Gabe took the mug from her and set it on the table. He pulled her to her feet and gently pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight thirty.”

He strode to the door, pulled it open, and said, “Lock up behind me.”

What the hell just happened?

*****

After tossing and turning for most of the night, Beatrice gave up on sleep and decided to go for another brisk run early that morning. An hour later, she was back at the condo, all showered and dressed for the day. She sipped her coffee as she pored over the morning newspaper.

The escalating tensions in the Middle East and Ukraine topped the headlines. Below that was the death of Eric Stone. There was a statement from the lead singer of Titanium Rose asking the press to give the band some privacy as they grieved the passing of one of their own. Beatrice winced when she saw a picture of herself and Eric exiting a Georgetown bar holding hands. They had some good times. She quickly noted where and when the wake and funeral was. When she turned the page to follow the story in another section, that was when she saw it.

A small article with the title: “Gang violence escalates in Cloverleaf District.” A familiar picture of a dark-haired woman stared back at her, except Beatrice knew her when she was blonde. It was Blondie who attacked her with red paint a week ago. She quickly scanned the article. The bodies of five people, three women and two men, were found in an alley in the worst area of Northern Virginia. The Cloverleaf District was home to abandoned warehouses and dilapidated buildings. Street gangs basically ruled the vicinity. It was a constant battle of dominance and alliances, cooperation and competition. Russian, German, Latino, and even Asian gangs vied for control.

Beatrice pondered whether to call the detectives with this information, but something held her back. Besides, Cloverleaf wasn’t their jurisdiction.
 

Her intercom buzzed.

“Yes?”

“A Gabriel Sullivan is here to see you, Ms. Porter.”

Her eyes drifted to the clock, 8:15 a.m. “Send him up.” She could probably use Gabe for some sleuthing and muscle. Hah! She didn’t even feel guilty.
 

There was a light knock on her door. Her heart rate skittered the same time she berated herself for feeling as though she was going on a first date. She stopped her knees from wobbling and opened the door, trying not to gape.

A leather-jacket clad Gabe stood there, holding a bag of what might be baked goods and a tray of fresh coffee. But what made her jaw almost hit the floor was how he was smiling at her. A grin that reached his eyes and transformed his face from hard planes to pure masculine hotness. Gabe was the guy who could make her panties drop with a smile.
 

“Uh, are you going to invite me in?” Gabe asked. Beatrice wanted to smack him on the head when his smile morphed into a semi-smirk. The asshole knew his effect on her and was turning on the charm.
 

“Sorry, caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet. Doug has a key and I don’t have to bother with opening doors in the morning.” She was babbling while she inhaled his scent as he walked past her—leather and soap. Hmm . . . what if sweat was added to the mix?
 

Sex-induced sweat.

Oh, Lord, this man could turn her brains to mush. She finally noticed him frowning at the open periodical she had on her table.

“What were you reading?” Gabe asked.

“I was attacked a couple of days ago by random, red-paint throwing, Titanium Rose fans,” Beatrice said. “I’m not sure it’s so random now.”

Something flashed across Gabe’s face. It was a look Beatrice knew her father used when he was masking his reaction. She would play along for a while.

“I’m not following,” Gabe said finally when Beatrice didn’t elaborate.

She pointed to the picture of Blondie. “She’s one of them.”

“Okay, let me play devil’s advocate here,” Gabe said steadily, looking her in the eyes. “Why would someone kill Eric Stone and some fans? Are we talking about a stalker?”