Endgame (Last Chance Series) (20 page)

He'd been there. More than once. Second-guessing the past. Wishing for a second chance. And always with the same sense of hopelessness. Knowing that despite the best of intentions he hadn't made a difference. And someone had died.

He pulled her over to a wing chair and sat down, holding her in his lap, whispering nonsensical nothings, wishing he had the power to take the pain away, knowing that he didn't, that the only way she would heal was to face her fears herself.

SHE SWALLOWED A SNIFFLE, and pushed away from him, mortified that she'd let herself go. "I don't—I mean, I—" She stopped, feeling every kind of fool. Gabriel Roarke didn't cry on his partners.

"I ordered food." He smiled at her, the gesture threatening to bring the tears all over again, but she held on to the last shreds of her dignity and took the offered escape.

"Wonderful." She slid off his lap, pulling the robe more tightly around her. "I'll just get changed and then we can eat." She refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at the red paint on her toenails, a foolish bit of vanity she clung to in the light of her often mannish apparel.

"Nonsense." He stood up, too, moving over to the cart. Madison could smell something wonderful, and to her consternation, her stomach rumbled happily in response. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. "The robe is fine. It covers more than an overcoat."

She wasn't completely convinced of the fact, but it was warm and comfortable, and she'd already spent a lot of time crying on his lap wearing the thing. Surely a little bit longer wouldn't hurt anything. And truth be told, she was famished.

She sat down on one of the chairs he'd pulled up, waiting expectantly as he pulled the lids off various dishes. It was as if she'd landed in the middle of a feast. French fries, hamburgers, pasta with some sort of vegetable sauce—and waffles. "You thought of everything." She grinned up at him, their gazes locking, and she immediately looked down again, not willing to accept the invitation she saw in his eyes.

Or thought she saw. As overwrought as she was, it wouldn't be impossible for her to be seeing something where nothing existed at all.

"Hopefully something here will appeal." He waved a hand at the table, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

"It's marvelous," she said, surprised at how very much she meant it. "I'll have the waffles. They're my favorite." She took a bite and sighed. "When I was really
little I lived with my mother. And every Sunday she'd make waffles. It was sort of our special thing. No one else was ever invited. Just the two of us. And ever since, when things have been tough, I have a craving for them. Like they're some sort of panacea, I guess." She regretted sharing the minute she opened her mouth. Gabriel didn't care about her childhood desires.

"French fries always do that for me. Preferably McDonald's." He reached for the plate of French fries, his smile warm and encompassing. "Are you still in touch with your mother?"

Madison shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of waffles. "Only a couple times a year. She and my stepfather live in New Mexico on a ranch. It's just too far away from New York for regular visits." Put that way it sounded silly. Planes did fly both directions. "I was just a kid when I went to live with my father, and I'm not sure that Mother and I really ever reconnected."

"It happens." Gabriel shrugged. "But at least you still have her as a part of your life."

"I didn't even think about your parents. I'm sorry. You must think I'm awful. My mother is a free spirit. And it's always been hard to pin her down for visits and the like. But she loves me. I know that. And I am grateful to have her around." It wasn't absolutely true. If she were honest, she'd have to admit she'd spent a lot of time wishing her mother was more accessible and her father was less demanding. Maybe if she'd spent more time accepting what she did have rather than trying to change what she couldn't...

"Everyone has to look at life from their own perspective, Madison. You of all people should know that. Just because I didn't have parents doesn't mean you can't be angry with yours." As usual he'd read her like an open book, the idea at once infuriating and intriguing.

"When you come right down to it though, for someone like you, my life must seem pretty damn easy."

Gabriel shrugged, reaching for a hamburger. "Everyone makes their own hell."

It was an innocuous statement, almost throwaway, yet she had the feeling it was also very telling. A defining statement that ought to give her insight into the man sitting in front of her. But for once her intuition came up empty.

She wrote it off to exhaustion, but a part of her recognized that maybe she was just too close to be objective.

"I agree with that, I think," she said, leaning back to look at him. "But there's more to it than that, isn't there? The key is what one does next that determines character."

"You mean whether they have the courage to claw their way out?" His crystalline gaze was assessing, and she shivered under the examination.

"Something like that. There are people who can't escape. Who only compound the problem, making it worse." She ate another forkful of waffle, turning her thoughts over in her mind. "And there are others who wallow in it. Taking pleasure from their own pain. So, yes, I guess I think the winners are the ones who find a way out."

"And what if there isn't a way out? What if the homemade hell is so deep and dark that there is no hope?" His gaze was intense now, as if the answer mattered very much.

"There's always hope." The words were out before she could stop them, and she watched his face darken. "No, wait." She held up a hand, stopping his retort. "I really do believe that. I think sometimes you have to search for it. And that it doesn't always present itself in the way you'd like. But I do believe that it's always there."

"Hope springs eternal." Cynicism colored his voice.

"Maybe not eternal, but often." She smiled, the gesture a peace offering. She hadn't meant to debate the fundamentals of life with him. "Maybe it's just a matter of knowing where to look."

He nodded, setting down the hamburger. "And maybe sometimes, it's just too much effort to find it."

They sat in silence then, and Madison wondered how she could feel so intimately connected with him, while at the same time knowing that he had withdrawn completely. It was maddening and compelling all at once.

Gabriel Roarke was a paradox. And though there were parts of him she frankly couldn't stand, there was a lot about the man that appealed to her on the most primitive of levels. Soul-to-soul.

Despite the differences in their backgrounds and personalities, there was a similarity she couldn't deny, and he recognized it just as clearly as she did, both of them simultaneously entertaining thoughts of running for the hills—even though neither of them was going to give an inch.

*****

"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL is my daughter?" Philip Merrick spat at Cullen, pacing the Turkish carpet like an enraged sultan. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his mouth drawn into a tight line, his voice strung tighter than a Stradivarius.

"I've told you, Philip, I don't know." Cullen's voice wasn't exactly tranquil. The events of the night were quickly spiraling out of hand. First the near-miss with the purported hacker, then Jeremy's murder, and now Gabriel disappearing with Madison. "Gabriel just called to say that she needed a little time. He'll watch out for her."

"Like hell he will." Philip's voice had risen to a shriek. "You know as well as I do he's far more likely to use her and then leave her high and dry like that prick she married. You said the bastard called. Where did the call come from?"

"I don't know, he wouldn't tell me." Cullen did not like being put on the defensive, even when it was Philip. Especially when it was Philip. They'd been friends for a long time, but there had always been an air of superiority about the man that had irked Cullen. And there'd been times when Cullen quite cheerfully would have paid good money to see Philip being taken down a peg.

But now wasn't one of those times. Not when Madison was involved. On one thing they absolutely agreed, and that was their shared love of Philip's daughter. "He's not going to hurt her."

"You don't know that." Philip had calmed a little, if only so that he could think. "Did you star sixty-nine him?"

Cullen shook his head. "It didn't occur to me. I trust the man, Philip."

"Do it now." Philip was already looking around the room for the telephone.

"I can't. I've received other calls."

"Well, check the caller ID," he demanded.

"I'm not going to second-guess my command team just because you feel like you've lost control of your daughter." Cullen shook his head regretfully, knowing his friend was about to explode.

"God
damn it." Philip didn't disappoint. "I want to know where my daughter is."

And so they'd come full circle.

"She'll be back in the morning. Gabriel said so. She just needed time to sort through what happened. She was there when Jeremy was murdered. And you know as well as I do that she'll be feeling guilty about it."

"It wasn't her fault," Philip snapped.

"Of course not, but that's not the way she'll see it. Gabriel's been through this kind of thing before." He reached out to pat his friend, an obviously ineffectual way to placate him based on the glare he got in return. "He'll know how to help."

"I don't want him to help her. I don't want him to do anything to her." This last was said through gritted teeth.

"I know that, Philip. But she's a grown woman, and she has to make her own choices."

Philip sank down on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. "I should never have let her get involved in all of this."

"You couldn't have stopped her." Cullen sat in the chair across the way, exhaustion gnawing at him.

"But you could have." Philip lifted his head, his eyes flashing with accusation. "It's your fault she's part of this. You used her."

An unaccustomed wave of guilt crept up the back of Cullen's neck. "Maybe so," he acknowledged on a sigh, "but she came willingly. And she's not the innocent you pretend she is, Philip. She's an FBI agent, along with all that entails. Furthermore, she's good at what she does. Quite possibly the best. And I need her expertise, it's as simple as that."

"It's not that simple and you know it. She's your goddaughter, for God's sake. You're supposed to care about her." His voice was rising again. "But instead, as usual
, you've put your interests ahead of everyone else's. Has it occurred to you, Cullen, that she could have been killed tonight?"

"Of course it occurred to me." He clenched his fists, fighting the emotions rippling through him. "And scared the hell out of me, as well. But again, I remind you, it was her choice to put herself into the line of fire. Not mine."

"And how do you figure that?" Philip asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"She's a professional. How many times do I have to say it? If she wasn't here, she'd be off on some other case, and for all you know it could be even worse."

Philip stood up, crossing over to the chair, towering over Cullen. "If anything happens to my daughter, Cullen, I swear on everything I hold holy that I'll kill you myself. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Cullen said, holding himself together by the most tenuous of tethers.

Philip strode from the room, anger radiating with every step. Cullen could almost smell the rage. Or perhaps it was fear.

His
fear.

Nothing was going as planned. Everything seemed to be falling apart.

Dear God, what had he done?

*****

"I'M SORRY, I didn't mean to sound so philosophical. Guess it's just the morbidity of the evening," Madison apologized, pulling the robe closer about her shoulders.

Gabe pushed away the last of his burger, and tried not to stare at the expanse of skin exposed by the vee of the robe. She'd hit a nerve. Several in fact, but he wasn't about to reveal more than he'd already let slip. If concentrating on her more salacious assets would keep his mind occupied and his mouth shut, then so be it.

"It was just talk." He shrugged, managing to keep his voice light, almost flip, but he could tell she wasn't buying. "You get enough to eat?"

She glanced down at her plate, looking almost surprised to see it empty. "I'm fine."

"There's still dessert." He lifted the lid on a piece of chocolate pie, his mind already picturing her savoring it.

"No thanks." She smiled, her expression suddenly guarded. "I think I've already had enough."

He wondered if there was really subtext to her words, or if he was merely projecting his emotions onto hers. Either way he needed to pull back. This wasn't what he wanted. If he couldn't still see the signs of her exhaustion, the barest hint of pain, he'd be heading for the nearest bar.

But he couldn't leave her on her own.

She needed someone with her. And if her father was out, so was Cullen. And he sure as hell wasn't going to leave her with Nigel or Payton. They were his friends, but he was also more than aware of the fact that they were full-blooded males, and Madison in a terrycloth robe would try the sexual patience of a saint.

And his friends weren't exactly deity material.

Harrison Blake was even worse. Just a friend.
Yeah, right
. Not unless the man was a eunuch. Gabe frowned, emotions swirling inside him with the force of a whirlwind.

"Are you okay?" Her face was creased with concern, the expression sending his heart hammering. If she only knew....