Gabriel (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The world went totally still—even the muted hum of the refrigerator and the soft
click
of the central air turning on faded and disappeared. Gabriel hovered on the edge of
a precipice. On one side loomed familiar territory—his friends and the past they’d
shared and guarded for twenty years.

On the other side yawned a dark abyss where the murky depths of trust existed. Leah
beckoned him to bridge the chasm, to place his hand in hers and walk across the bridge
built on years of friendship and two years of unselfish care and sacrifice.

“Didn’t he?” she asked.

He stared down at her, studied her lovely face with the bewitching eyes…and stepped
across the abyss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Chay killed Richard.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch from the stark admission. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Realizing he placed not only his own safety but that of his friends into her slender
hands, he moved to the coffee table in front of the couch and lowered himself to its
hard surface. Head bowed, he revealed the secret binding him, Mal, Rafe, and Chay,
thicker than blood ties ever could.

“Friday night I had a football game. We’d planned on going to a party at one of the
player’s houses afterward, and I went home to change clothes. Mom had gone out with
Evelyn, Pam, and Ana for a girls’ night out, so I was home alone. Not long after I
arrived, the phone rang. It was Mal.” Gabriel swallowed hard, and though the call
had come two decades earlier, he could still hear the shrill ring as if the sound
had occurred two minutes ago. He would never forget it. “Chay had called him and asked
that we all come over right away.”

He paused, and his heart thundered in a steady drumbeat. Even now, the confusion and
terror as he’d dropped the phone back on the cradle and ran out of his house gripped
him tight. The bite of the cold October night as he’d stood on the street corner nipped
his skin, despite the central heat in his condo. He could still feel the beads of
sweat that had slid down his spine under his sweatshirt and jacket that terror-filled
night.

“Mal lifted the keys to his father’s car, picked up Rafe, and they came and got me.
When we arrived at Chay’s house, he met us at the back door, staring at us like a
zombie and covered with blood—Richard’s blood. That night when Chay arrived home,
Richard had been waiting for him. He’d threatened Chay. Either have sex with him,
or Richard would hurt Evelyn. And because he was wealthy and connected, he could get
away with it.”

Gabriel heard Leah’s strangled gasp. His fingers fisted at the disbelief, shock, and
pain his story must be causing her. He’d
warned
her—he’d warned her digging in the past would hurt.

“Chay let Richard believe he was giving in, but then broke free, ran to the kitchen,
and grabbed a knife. Richard chased after Chay and lunged for him—impaling himself
on the blade.”

Gabe was transported back to Chay’s kitchen. The four of them had crowded around Richard’s
slumped body, staring at the knife protruding from the man’s chest. Bile had churned
in Gabriel’s stomach, burned a path to his throat until he’d raced out the kitchen
door and vomited in the bushes. Humiliation had singed his face until he’d reentered
the house and spied the same sick complexion on his friends’ faces. While he’d been
outside, Rafe had lost the nachos and popcorn he’d eaten at the game in the sink.

“We knew no one would believe Chay. He and Richard hadn’t gotten along since Evelyn
had started dating him. And as Richard had pointed out at the time—who would believe
this poor, sullen kid from Dorchester over a rich, successful, much-loved businessman
from Weston? Chay would have been thrown in jail and would never see the light of
day again. So we decided to cover it up.”

None of them had been criminal masterminds. They’d gone with the first thing that
had been handy: garbage bags and rope. Terror and desperation had driven them, and
it amazed Gabriel to this day they hadn’t left evidence behind. At least none that
had been found. Thankfully, forensic science hadn’t been advanced enough all those
years ago.

“We put Richard’s body in the trunk of his car, and I drove it while Mal followed
in his father’s car. We drove out to the Cape where Mal’s family has a second home.
Since it was autumn, the house was empty, and the neighboring homes were deserted
as well. We—”

His voice faltered, and he could almost smell the scent of loamy, upturned earth.
Could feel the strain of muscles in his arms and back…the slick glide of sweat down
his face and over his chest and back.

“We dug a hole in the backyard and buried Richard’s body. Then, on the drive home,
we drove his car into one of the marshes and waited until it submerged before leaving.
We made a pact to keep it our secret to the grave, to tell no one. And I’ve honored
that vow. Until now.”

Silence permeated the room. It pressed in from all sides, crushing him under its weight.
Other than the one soft whimper, Leah hadn’t made another sound. He wanted to reach
out, to place his hand on her knee, beg her to look at him. Would he see condemnation
in her eyes? Disillusionment? Hatred? The man she’d loved as an uncle—a surrogate
father—was dead and disposed of at the hands of the men she considered big brothers.
The same men who had lied to her every day for the past two decades. He, Malachim,
Raphael, and Chay had comforted her after Richard disappeared, all the while knowing
his blood smeared their hands.

Would she despise them, not just for the murder, but for their deception?

Fear and self-disgust soured his stomach like curdled milk. But he’d known he and
Leah would eventually come to this. Standing over her hospital bed as the doctor had
bandaged her cuts, he’d realized he couldn’t keep his secret and protect her at the
same time. And now the moment had arrived, and inside, he trembled like a storm-tossed
leaf.

He inhaled. Lifted his head. Straightened his shoulders. And faced his judgment.

Leah stared at him, dry-eyed. He’d expected tears, fury. Not this…nothing. A veil
had dropped over her face, as concealing and effective as a Halloween mask.

Say something,
he silently begged. He curled his fingers into tight fists.
Tell me to go
to hell. Fuck you. Please just say…something
.

“It all makes sense now,” she finally said in a voice devoid of emotion. Her eyes,
always so expressive, remained dark pools reflecting nothing but shadows. “Your dislike
for Richard. Your ambivalence toward discovering the truth behind his death and who
killed him. You knew all along.”

Gabriel couldn’t speak, couldn’t force the “yes” past the panic blocking his throat.
So he nodded.

“Did Richard—” Her voice broke, displaying the first sign of pain since he’d concluded
his confession. “Had Richard…hurt Chay before?”

Jesus, how many times had he asked himself the same question? He’d hoped—
prayed
—Richard’s lethal advance had been the first time he’d approached Chay. But in Gabriel’s
heart, in the place he shoved all his darkest thoughts, he knew it hadn’t been. Too
much shame and hurt resided in his good friend’s eyes. Old shame. Deep hurt.

His friend had started to change weeks before that fateful night.

“I don’t know for sure,” he murmured. “Chay didn’t admit anything beyond why Richard
came after him. And we didn’t ask.” Gabriel hesitated. “You believe me?”

Slowly, so slowly, she inclined her head. She closed her eyes, and the first fissure
cracked the blank façade. Her face crumpled, twisted. But as quickly as the emotion
appeared, it disappeared.

“Yes,” she rasped, opening her eyes. “Why would you lie?”

“Why would you accept what I’m saying so easily, and not trust in the man you revered
and called ‘uncle’?” he whispered in desperation—he heard it in his voice, and it
tasted like ashes on his tongue.

“Easily?” Her brittle bark of humorless laughter scraped his ears like tiny shards
of glass. “Nothing about this is easy. I just discovered my father’s best friend,
who loved and cared for me when my own father wasn’t able to, is dead because he tried
to rape a boy. I want to reject everything you’ve said. The same man who took me to
the playground, who taught me how to ride a bike, who tucked me into bed because my
father was too busy at work to come home, couldn’t possibly be the same one who would
extort sex from a young boy.”

She inhaled sharply. Wrapped her arms around herself. Looked away.

“And then I think of Chay,” she said, the low tone bleak, haunted. “I remember when
I first met him, because it was the first day I met you. His grin had been bigger
than Rafe’s. He teased me, called me ‘Thumbelina’ because I was so puny. I remember
his laughter. Loud. Infectious.” A sad, quiet smile whispered across her lips before
fading. “I can’t remember the last time Chay laughed like that. Something stole his
joy, his light.” Her lashes lowered, and her soft lips trembled. “His innocence.”

“Leah…”

She shook her head, eyes still closed. “No. You, Mal, Rafe—it seemed you three matured
after Richard disappeared. But Chay…he
changed
. And it was because of Richard. It all comes back to Richard, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel frowned. He leaned forward and rested a palm on her knee. “What do you mean?”

She opened her eyes, and though they remained nearly black with pain and shock, her
voice, as cold as a midnight breeze off Boston Harbor, sent a shiver skating down
his spine.

“He devastated lives twenty years ago, and he’s still causing pain. Like tonight.”

Gabe’s heart pummeled the wall of his chest like a wild animal struggling to break
free of its cage. He seized hold of her wrists, cuffing them.

“Like tonight?” he repeated hoarsely. “What are you talking about?”

“The break-in. The attack. It was a message from Richard.”

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, Leah sat in her car outside Renee Pierce’s home while a tsunami
of emotions swirled, twisted, and took her apart like a village caught up in its destructive
winds. During the forty-minute drive from Boston to the coastal town of Rockport where
Richard’s ex-wife lived, Leah’d had plenty of time to replay that devastating conversation
with Gabriel.

Chay killed Richard.

Pain. Rage. Disgust. They all curdled low in her belly.
God
. She closed her eyes and curled her fingers around the steering wheel, squeezing
until the knuckles blanched. How could she have been so wrong about Richard? How could
she not have detected the pure evil skulking beneath his perfect smile?

Head spinning, she shoved open the car door and stepped out into the quiet residential
street. As she took a step toward the drive, her cell phone rang. She removed the
phone from her jacket pocket, expecting to see Gabriel’s name scrolled across the
top. This morning had been strained. He’d been distant, coldly polite. But when she’d
informed him of her plans to visit Richard’s ex-wife, the cool aloofness had melted
under his anger. Oh, he’d
strongly
disagreed. In his words, she was determined to paint an even bigger bull’s-eye on
her back by continuing to dig into Richard’s past when she now knew the truth about
his murder.

Maybe he was right. But there was more; since last night, she’d been tumbling her
conversations with Chay and Catherine over and over in her head. When Richard’s mother
had mentioned Renee Pierce’s name, venom had coated her voice. There had to be a reason
Catherine despised the woman who’d once been married to her “special boy.” And Leah
wanted to know why.

A glance at the screen revealed Nathan’s name.
Damn,
Leah grimaced. She’d meant to call her boss this morning. But between discovering
she was next on a killer’s hit list, finding out her uncle had been killed by a boy
he’d tried to rape, and experiencing the customary awkward first morning after with
Gabriel, it’d been a busy twenty-four hours.

She tapped the answer button. “Hi, Nathan.”

“Leah,” Nathan said. “Care to explain to me why I had to hear from a third party about
my investigator being attacked in her home last night?”

Oh, shit.
She swiped a hand over her head. How had Nathan—?

No.
He wouldn’t.
“Would that third party happen to be a writer who doesn’t know how to mind his business?”

“You are my business,” Nathan snapped, then sighed. “I should’ve heard from you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I intended to call you this morning but
got sidetracked.”

“You’re not still working the investigation, are you?” he asked sharply. “Leah, while
I understand your reasons, this case has become too dangerous. You were almost killed
for God’s sake! For the
second
time, may I remind you? You should be resting, not working.”

“Nathan, I—”

“No, Leah.” His tone hardened, and she realized she was now talking to her employer,
not her family friend. “I agreed you could look into Richard’s disappearance because
of your connection. But not at the risk of your life. Wednesday I’m reassigning you,”
he said flatly. “And I say Wednesday, because you’re not allowed back in this office
until then.”

“Are you kidding me?” It was just Thursday. Five days? He
had
to be kidding.

“Not even a little bit,” Nathan stated. “Where are you staying?”

She rubbed her forehead, impotent anger momentarily robbing her of speech. Yeah, where
was
she staying? For damn sure Gabriel’s place was out. If she went back there, Boston’s
murder rate would surely climb. Yet going home was out of the question. Her options
had dwindled to one. “My father’s house.”

“Good,” Nathan said matter-of-factly. “Go home, Leah. Rest. Take care of yourself.”

“Nathan.” Leah again tried to make him listen, but an unyielding silence met her attempt.
“Fine,” she bit out.

“Leah.” Nathan sighed. “I know you’re upset, but this is your life we’re talking about.”

“I understand, Nathan.”

“Okay. I’ll call later to check in on you.”

She nodded, though he couldn’t see the gesture. “I’ll talk to you then.”

She pressed “end call” and stared at the blank screen. Then she held the power button
down, reopened the car door, and tossed the phone inside. Turning on her heel, she
strode up the drive toward the white clapboard house.

Renee Pierce—now Mercer, as she’d reverted back to her maiden name after the divorce—had
reluctantly agreed to speak with her when she’d called the previous afternoon to request
an interview. Her uncle’s ex-wife had insisted she didn’t have information that could
help, but after Leah’s patient persistence, Renee had capitulated. As Leah climbed
the one step to the small porch, the house’s front door opened, and Renee stood in
the doorway.

The petite woman stirred hazy memories Leah hadn’t realized she’d retained. Richard
and Renee had divorced when Leah was seven years old. But the vague image of a small,
slim blonde with brown eyes and a tight smile superimposed itself over the older version
before her. The spray of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth were new, as were
the delicate, paper-thin wrinkles across her brow, but Leah immediately recognized
her.

Renee pushed open the storm door and with one hand beckoned Leah inside the house.
Obviously, she remembered Leah, as well. Murmuring her thanks, she stepped into the
entryway. Renee closed the door behind her, and led her into the sitting room. The
warm, airy room of dark woods and floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t reflect the chilly
reception she’d received. Overstuffed leather couches and chairs littered the space,
along with magazines and books. It was comfortable, inviting, and in spite of the
cold gaze its owner settled on her, she brushed her hand over the soft leather with
a smile as she sat on one of the sofas.

“As I told you over the phone,” Renee said, settling into a wide armchair across from
the couch and jumping right into the topic without any niceties, “I don’t have anything
that can assist you with your investigation. I told the police what I knew a long
time ago, which was nothing of importance as Richard and I had divorced four years
before he went missing. We’d had little-to-no contact in a long time.”

“I understand,” Leah said, folding her hands on her knees. “And I want to thank you
for agreeing to meet me.” The other woman didn’t respond, and the temperature in the
room dropped several more degrees.
This isn’t going to be easy.
Leah bit back a sigh. “One of the things nagging me was why the police interviewed
you? As you said, you and Richard had been apart for several years. What did they
want to find out from you?”

The aloof mask dropped from Renee’s face, replaced by a soul-deep bitterness. “Catherine
pointed them in my direction. Apparently, since I’d had the audacity to divorce her
perfect son, I was still on her short list of people to detest.” Renee smiled, but
the sharp edges of the gesture could have sliced through stone. “I heard she’s dying.
Did she ask you to reopen the investigation?” She made a sound of derision. “This
smells like something she would request. God forbid whoever took her precious son
would continue to walk the earth when she can’t.”

Shock rippled through Leah. “You believe Richard is dead?”

Renee made a face. “What do you think?”

“I’m asking
you
.”

The woman regarded Leah, her stare hot with fury. The acrimony Renee was spewing sounded
nothing like the woman that Detective Connor had described. He’d said he was surprised
Renee had voiced positive things about her ex-husband. Strange. What had happened
between then and now?

“You’re the detective, Leah. After so many years without a word or sighting of Richard,
what other explanation could there be?”

Now there was a nice, safe answer.

“Why are you so angry?” Leah inquired softly.

Another emotion besides rage entered Renee’s expression. Weariness and sorrow etched
new lines on her brow and cheeks. She closed her eyes and muttered a curse incongruous
with her elegant, urbane appearance. When she lifted her lashes, Leah blanched. Pain
darkened her brown eyes to a bottomless, inky black. The agony reached out to Leah
and squeezed her heart in its icy grip.

“Catherine should have left it alone,” Renee whispered. “She never could accept what
her son was. Even when I told her.”

A horrible anticipation yawned wide in Leah’s gut.
Oh, sweet God.
She knew what was coming. Though part of her needed to hear Renee’s confession, the
other piece of her soul wanted to slap hands over her ears and block the words confirming
the new, twisted image of Richard that had started to replace her memories of the
warm, caring man she’d loved so much.

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” Leah asked and rose from the couch. She circled
the coffee table separating them and lowered to a chair next to Renee’s. “Please,
Renee, tell me. I’m listening.”

Renee stared at her for several long seconds, her eyes searching, digging deep. “You’re
listening, but you really don’t want to know, Leah.”

“I
have
to know,” she insisted. “Please.”

A pause and then the awful twist of her lips that masqueraded as a smile curved Renee’s
mouth. “Richard was not the man you and his mother believe him to be. I divorced him
to protect my son—I had no other choice. And when I went to Catherine for help, she
threw me out of her house, calling me a liar and a gold digger.”

The same ice filling Renee’s voice slid through Leah’s veins, freezing everything
in its path in an avalanche of rage and sorrow.
Protect her son
, not protect her
and
her son.

“All I wanted from Catherine was help to get away from Richard, for her to keep him
away from Brandon.” Her voice lowered to a hoarse plea, as if once again she sat in
front of Catherine as she’d done years ago. “But she refused. She didn’t want to hear
me besmirch her son’s name for my own perfidious gain.” From the snarled tone, Leah
surmised the words had been a direct quote.

“If Catherine hated you, why would she send the police to your door? Especially when
it was possible you would tell the police about Richard?”

“Because I sold my soul to the devil,” Renee confessed. “Meaning her. I sold my silence
for a quick divorce and a hefty settlement. She knew if I dared say anything to the
police, I would violate the terms of our agreement and lose everything. I didn’t believe
I had a choice at the time.” Renee hung her head, and Leah stared at the blond and
light gray crown of her head. “I was a single mother from a low-income family working
as a secretary when I met Richard. I had no money except the funds he gave me. I couldn’t
fight the powerful Pierce family and hope to win.” When she lifted her head, Renee’s
dark eyes begged for Leah’s understanding, her sympathy. “Brandon was fifteen at the
time Richard and I divorced. I couldn’t drag him through the humiliation and horror
of a court battle—he’d suffered enough. At the time of Richard’s disappearance, my
son had just turned nineteen, had entered college. He was doing so well, starting
a new phase of his life, I couldn’t bring the past up again. I just…couldn’t.” A sob
escaped her, and a shudder racked her body.

“What—” Leah swallowed, her mouth dry. “What did Richard do to your son?”

Silence met her question, and foreboding crept across her soul like a malevolent shadow.
A part of her had maintained a small shard of hope that maybe Richard’s crime against
Chay had been an aberration, that maybe a tiny bit of the man she remembered still
existed. But as Renee’s piercing brown eyes examined Leah’s face with the precision
of the sharpest scalpel, the dregs of that wish faded.

Renee rose to her feet with a slow nod. “Follow me.”

Without waiting for her agreement, Renee turned and left the room. Leah followed—the
entire Boston police force couldn’t have prevented her from shadowing Renee down the
hall and into the kitchen. Renee passed through the sunny room and opened a side door.
Stepping over the threshold, Leah skimmed her gaze over the small garage that was
obviously maintained as a storage space. Several pieces of furniture, a lawn mower,
and boxes filled the contained area. At some point central air must have been installed,
because the room didn’t contain the musty, stale air of an unused space.

She watched as Renee navigated the crowded floor to the farthest corner. Glancing
over her shoulder, Renee beckoned her forward. When she reached the other side, her
eyes widened. In front of her were stacked several containers with the word “Richard”
penned on the sides in black marker.

She directed a questioning look at Renee, who returned an impassive stare. “He left
these here after our divorce.”

“Why didn’t you give them back to him?”

Renee’s expression darkened, the severe line of her mouth straightening into a grim
line. “Because he wanted them too much,” she said in a flat monotone. “He begged me—even
tried to break into our old home when I wasn’t there. Fortunately, I had changed the
locks and the security code. The alarm scared him away before he could retrieve these
things.” Her attention switched back to the boxes. “Eventually I told him I’d burned
everything he’d left behind. It angered him, but I also heard a note of relief in
his voice.” She paused, remained quiet. When next she spoke, a chill skated down Leah’s
spine. “At that moment, my suspicions were confirmed, though it was weeks before I
gathered the courage to verify my hunch.”

“And?” Leah whispered the question around the fist in her throat.

“And,” Renee said, her expression harsh, bitter, “they’re yours now to do with what
you want. I’m tired of bearing this secret by myself.”