Gabriel (20 page)

Gabriel’s
, a voice whispered.
You felt safe with Gabriel
.

Shut up
, she ordered the traitorous voice.
Moving on, remember?
And for real this time.

She slapped her tote bag on top of the desk and shoved a couple of folders, her organizer,
and notepad inside. Hurriedly, she flipped through the files littering her desk but
after a few minutes conceded defeat.

“Crap,” she muttered, propping her fists on her hips. “Where is it?” The file from
her last assignment. She couldn’t finish the report or the invoice of services without
the file containing her detailed log and notes from her surveillance.

Nathan’s office. It must be there.

Of course. With her being busy with Richard’s investigation and her banishment from
the office until next Tuesday, Nathan had probably taken some of her work upon himself
to complete.

She rounded the desk, strode out of the office and down the hall toward the last door
on the right. She twisted the knob. Locked.
Damn
. Frustrated, she frowned down at the brass handle as if her stare alone could miraculously
spring the lock.

What now? As an employee, she didn’t have a key to the boss’s office…

But wait. She pivoted and headed in the opposite direction. There was one employee
who may have access. Shelly, the receptionist.

“I’m not a crack detective for nothing,” Leah murmured after a quick search uncovered
a ring of keys, each carefully labeled. The last on the ring had Nathan’s name printed
in neat, small handwriting.

Satisfaction buzzed through her as she retraced her steps to the corner office. She
fitted the key into the lock, turned it, and the door swung open. Before she could
rethink her decision—because really, rummaging through the boss’s desk was wrong on
so many levels—she entered, pocketing the keys.

The large room reflected her employer and friend—conservative, urbane, elegant, yet
strong. The wide cherrywood desk with its broad legs and heavy scrollwork dominated
half of the space. Behind the masculine piece of furniture stood a tall armoire, its
doors thrown open to reveal various awards, plaques, and certificates honoring Whelan
Investigations along with its owner. Assorted works of art such as delicate vases,
intricate sculpture, and vibrant paintings dotted the office, attributing to both
Nathan’s sophisticated taste and his success.

Leah approached the desk, her steps slow, measured, belying the urgency to get in,
get the file, and get out. The inbox-outbox rack, multi-line phone, and calendar were
the only items on the uncluttered surface except for a lone picture frame on the right
corner. The photo seemed to possess a place of honor, and as Leah rounded the desk,
she understood why. She immediately recognized the woman forever caught in time by
a photographer’s camera.

Nathan’s mother.

As if drawn by an invisible cord, Leah moved closer and peered down at the eight-by-ten
frame. It was an older picture. She had seen Mrs. Whelan a couple of years before
her death from heart failure. Her hair had been snow white, there had been deep grooves
bracketing her mouth, and thin lines etched into the skin around her eyes. In this
photo, her elegant chignon was as dark as a raven, her smooth skin free of crow’s
feet, and her lips wore the barest hint of a smile. The woman seemed almost content,
if not happy.
Yes
, Leah thought. She could see why Nathan would choose this picture of his mother to
commemorate her memory.

Leah leaned over the desk and studied the engraving at the bottom of the frame.

Donna Whelan b. 1954—d. 2010.

She frowned, tipped her head to the side, and examined the image more intently. Something
about it… She reached out, but her fingers stopped inches from the intricate iron
whorls surrounding the picture. After a moment, she shook her head, straightened.
Nothing special or extraordinary stood out. But even so, she couldn’t shake the nebulous
warning tingling at the back of her skull, insisting she was missing…something.

The file
, she admonished herself. The purpose behind breaking into Nathan’s office was to
find the case file, not analyze his mother’s picture. Yet as she turned to his inbox
and thumbed through the neatly labeled files there, the urgency humming beneath her
skin kicked into hyperdrive. A knot coiled deep in her stomach, and her heart took
up the call to arms, thumping out a faster tattoo.

Get the file, get out. Get the file, get out. Get the file, get out.
The words repeated in her head like a rap song, her pulse providing the pounding
rhythm.

“Gotcha,” she said triumphantly. Grinning, she plucked a manila folder with the correct
name printed on the tab from the tidy pile. Relief sang through her.
Finally
. She heaved a sigh, and set the file on the desk. Now to leave Nathan a note and
get the hell out of here.

She snatched a sticky-note from the yellow memo pad on his calendar. A pen. Slapping
the note on the desk, she pulled the top drawer open. Several pens of various colors
and sizes waited for her in an organizer that would’ve made a drill sergeant proud.
Damn, the man was neat and—

Oh, God
.

Her heart slammed against her chest. She whimpered, but barely heard it beneath the
deafening roar whirling in her ear.

Trembling, she reached for the gold coin winking up at her in the weak, late-morning
light. The cool metal shook in her hand.

A lion’s head with a laurel wreath above its mane.

Richard’s token for his “special boys.”

And Nathan owned one…

A terrible suspicion developed like a gray and indistinct Polaroid gradually focusing
and sharpening into full detail and color, forming a clear and frightening picture.

Her gaze darted back to the frame and the engraving at the bottom, even as snippets
of various conversations from the past week whispered through her head.

“After my father left, he was a good friend to our family.”

“I’d had hopes for the relationship he’d been in after his divorce—at least Donna
was from a good family, even if she was a single mother. But he broke it off with
Donna after meeting Evelyn Gray.”

“Where are you staying?”

Comprehension doused her like a bucket of ice water.
Donna Whelan
. The “woman from a good family” whom Catherine mentioned Richard had dated after
his relationship with Renee—the woman he’d broken up with to date Evelyn.

Donna had been Nathan’s mother
.

Donna had fit his pattern: a divorced or single woman with a teenage son—
a son he’d preyed on
.

Nathan knew the significance of the gold coin, the same coins found with Ian and Darion.
The same coin her attacker had placed beside her head.

Nathan was the one person she’d told about her plan to stay the night with her father.
The same night an intruder had attempted to break in James Bannon’s home.

Horror slithered through her. It coated her mouth, clogged her throat, and churned
in her stomach. Yet, underneath the burgeoning fear, a sliver of disbelief lingered.
She clung to the strand of hope.
It can’t be true. Not Nathan
.

A whisper of sound jerked her gaze to the office door.

“Hello, Leah,” Nathan said. And smiled.

Chapter Twenty-three

“Video tapes,” Malachim murmured. “What a sick POS.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, adjusting the Bluetooth volume on the steering wheel controls.
He flicked the car’s turn signal, telegraphing his intention to switch lanes, then
continued his cell-phone conversation with Mal. “Richard’s ex-wife hid the tapes all
these years.”

“Shit,” Mal growled. “You said Richard molested his ex-wife’s son, too?”

Gabriel clenched his jaw, fury rising once more. Death was too fucking good for the
pain so many boys, including Chay, had suffered at the hands of Richard Pierce.

“Yes. It’s why his wife divorced him. And from the size of the collection Leah described,
his stepson hadn’t been his first victim.”

“Or most likely his last,” Mal added.

“No,” Gabriel said, thinking of Chay. “Most likely not.

Mal swore softly. “Is Leah okay? I can only imagine the pain and shock of discovering
not only is the uncle you adored and revered dead, but he was a depraved bastard.”

“She was crushed.” And Gabriel had heaped more hurt on top like a screwed-up sundae
of shit. “But she’s also determined to help Chay and us. Did you call your friend
yet? The defense attorney?”

“Yeah,” Mal said. “He’s agreed to represent us when we take our case to the cops and
the DA.”

After all these years, the secret they’d guarded so zealously was coming to light.
So many emotions roiled in Gabriel’s gut—trepidation, fear, relief. They couldn’t
go back now. Part of him wanted to shed the heavy burden.

“I had another reason for calling,” Gabriel said, his grip on the wheel tightening.
“I need the name of a good real-estate agent.”

A long pause followed his request. “You’re moving from the condo?” Mal asked, his
tone halting.

“No.” Gabriel inhaled. Exhaled. And plunged over the precipice. “I want to put my
house on the market.”

“Gabe,” Mal breathed. Gabriel waited, and at length his friend cleared his throat.
“I’ll find one for you,” Mal promised, voice thick. “Can I ask what made you come
to this decision?”

“Who,” Gabriel correctly quietly. “Leah.”

Another silence filled the connection. Then, “So it’s like that, huh?” Mal asked rhetorically,
then chuckled. “We figured after the meeting.” A pause. “She’s good for you—she loves
you.”

“Yeah.” A memory of Leah laying her heart down on the bed between them wavered, faded.
“Hopefully I’m good enough for her.”

Malachim grunted. “You’re not. But go after her anyway.”

Gabriel smiled. “Thanks. I’ll hit you back for the name.”

He disconnected the call and immediately dialed her number. He listened as the phone
rang, but Leah didn’t answer. Her voice mail clicked on, requesting he leave a message,
but he hung up. She probably didn’t want to hear from him, and he couldn’t blame her.
Didn’t mean he would accept it though.

He redialed, but again, voice mail. He frowned. She always answered her phone when
he called—always. Okay, yeah, they were in a tough, awkward spot right now, but she
didn’t play the games other women might employ. Leah Bannon was too straightforward
for that. She’d pick up just to tell him to give her space, or to go to hell.

So where the hell was she?

…

“I thought you would be here.” Nathan casually strode into his office. In a white
button-down shirt and black slacks, he appeared to be the same man who, until minutes
ago, had been Leah’s employer and friend. Now, staring at his perfectly groomed dark
blond hair and steady green eyes, she didn’t know who she faced. The man who had given
her a job when her police career had ended, or the intruder who’d violated her home
and tried to kill her. She searched his calm features for some inkling, some clue,
and zeroed in on the small cut bisecting his bottom lip. Numbly, she recalled head-butting
her attacker. Considering the height difference, she wouldn’t have cracked his nose
open, but his mouth… Panic rippled across her soul.

Nathan halted in front of his desk, his arms clasped behind his back. The pose was
nonthreatening, but she noted the position strategically blocked the office door.

“Oh, hi, Nathan,” she said, her fingers curling around the gold coin. “I’m sorry for
intruding on your privacy. I was looking for the file for my last assignment.” She
picked up the manila folder. “To work on the report at home.”

His gaze dipped, and it skimmed over the file folder under her arm and the open drawer
before rising to rest on her face once more.

“Why don’t you ask me, Leah?” he asked softly. Reasonably.

She wanted to—God, the words hovered on her tongue ready to leap off and scramble
between her lips. But she couldn’t utter the question. Fear of the answer kept the
words captive.

“Okay then,” he said, and they could have been speaking about a case, not whether
or not he’d tried to kill her, or had murdered three innocent people. “We’ll start
at the beginning. Yes, I knew Richard—and more intimately than I allowed you to believe.
The coin you have,” he nodded in the direction of her fist, “was Richard’s little
‘graduation gift.’”

His lips twisted into a bitter half smile, the first sign of emotion Nathan displayed.

“After the first time,” Nathan paused, and his slender nostrils flared slightly, “he
gave it to me. The lion symbolizes Richard. How’s that for a bit of hubris? And the
laurel represents our excellence in becoming one of his ‘special boys.’ Special.”
He snorted. “I was special to him until he used me up and tossed me aside like a fucking
dirty rag.” Rage seethed and trickled from the fissures in his sophisticated facade.

Moisture fled Leah’s mouth. She tried to swallow, but her throat rebelled, squeezing
tight.

“For a year, he romanced my mother and raped me. I hated it, hated myself, but even
more I hated losing the person who made my mother smile…and the one person who seemed
to give a damn I existed. My father certainly didn’t— he abandoned us and didn’t look
back once. Richard may have killed a piece of my soul every time he touched me, but
he also made me feel wanted, as if I really was special.”

“I don’t think it’s unusual to have experienced conflicted emotions toward your abuser,
Nathan,” she whispered, aching for the hurt, confused boy he’d been. But still not
foolish enough to remove her attention from the angry, homicidal man he’d become.

“Conflicted?” His bark of laughter resounded in the room like a crack of thunder.
“That sounds much better than deranged. Because when Richard dumped my mother to take
up with another woman, I went a little crazy. I felt rejected, disillusioned, and
lost, unable to comprehend how he could desert us when he knew my father had done
the same. But then I understood why, once I saw Chayot.”

Nathan sneered Chay’s name as if it were a vile curse. More chinks appeared in his
composure, revealing the two-decade-old hate and fury Nathan had carefully preserved,
tended, and harbored. His lips pulled back from his teeth, and his brows snapped down
over his blazing green eyes.

A shiver skated down her spine. This man was treading a fine ledge.

“Richard not only tossed my mother aside, but he dumped me for someone else, too.
I stalked Richard—I followed him, needing to find out what this new boy had that I
didn’t. I wanted to find out what I could do differently to win him back for my mother
and myself. I trailed him to Chay’s home the Friday night he disappeared. I was at
the kitchen window when Chay stabbed Richard. I hid in the bushes when Gabriel, Malachim,
and Raphael arrived and helped clean up and move the body.”

“You saw it all?” Shock vibrated through her.
Jesus
.

“Yes,” he said, eyes glinting.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Go to the police?”

“Because Richard had drummed into me that what we did was our secret. No one could
ever know—they wouldn’t understand.” A spasm of pain twisted Nathan’s face. “And because…a
part of me was glad he’d gotten what he deserved. I loved him, but God, I hated him,”
he rasped. “I
hated
him.”

“You weren’t the first boy he hurt, Nathan,” Leah said, her voice low, soothing, like
calming a quivering beast on the verge of leaping on prey or turning and stalking
away. “There were many before you. Richard was a pedophile, a serial rapist, and you
weren’t responsible for his actions, nor are you responsible for how you felt.”

“No. I am to blame,” Nathan objected. He cocked his head to the side, and his gaze
slid to the picture frame on his desk. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it, Mother?” he asked
softly. “It was my fault you drank yourself to an early grave. My fault Father left,
leaving you alone. And the one time I could’ve been a ‘good boy’ and given Richard
what he needed, I ruined that, too. I failed you, failed to hold Richard’s attention,
and so he left, too, just like Father.”

Nathan surged forward, slapped his palms down on the desk, and pinned Leah with a
stare that gleamed with what she could only call madness. Her breath stuttered, then
stalled in her chest. Oh, yes, this man with the glassy, wild eyes could break into
her home and attack her.

“But it
wasn’t
my fault,” he hissed. “It was Chayot Gray’s. He lured Richard from me and my mother
and then took him away for good. Do you know the life I led, Leah? Do you? I was a
prisoner shackled to an alcoholic mother who resented every breath I inhaled. Even
after I moved out of her home, she found ways to punish and humiliate me. I couldn’t
have a normal relationship. She ran off every woman I became close to, so all I had
was her. She made my life a living hell.”

“Nathan…”

“And all those years I suffered, your four bastard friends went about their lives,
never considering the pain and misery they’d inflicted. They moved on, had successful
careers, married, one had a family. I had nothing, and they had everything…so I decided
to take it from them. Make them suffer like I did. Only after I ripped everything—and
everyone—they cared about from their lives would I put them down like dogs.”

“You killed Maura and Ian,” Leah whispered.

“It was easy,” he admitted with a grim smile. “I followed them from their home to
the mall and just sliced a hole in the brake line while the car was in the parking
lot. I was surprised it worked—the idea was spur of the moment. But the outcome was
better than I could’ve imagined.”

Nathan’s mission had been accomplished. Gabriel had lost the two people he loved most
in the world. His pain should’ve sated Nathan’s thirst for revenge. Yet it hadn’t.
The murders had only whetted his appetite for more destruction.

“Why Gabriel first? Why not Chay? He was the one who killed Richard.”

“I want him to suffer the worst. I can’t think of a more fitting punishment than for
him to watch, helpless, as the people he loves endure pain, loss, and death. Then—after
he loses everyone and everything—I’ll kill him.”

The depth of his hatred stunned her. His evil seemed to permeate her skin, clog her
nose and throat.

“I planned my next steps. It required allowing time to pass, so no one would catch
on to the connection. And that’s where you came in.” Slowly, he straightened, satisfaction
stamped on his face. “You were perfect—a trusted friend to all of them. Seeing the
disgust on your face when you uncovered their deception and your inevitable abandonment
of their friendship, would have struck another blow. But then your true role soon
became apparent. Your death would destroy Gabriel.”

She swallowed a gasp of dismay. “No, you’re wrong.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “On second thought, I might let him live.” He reached behind
his back and withdrew a gun. Leah’s stomach plunged to her feet before somersaulting
and soaring for her throat. Nathan aimed the barrel at her chest, his hand steady,
his green eyes unblinking. “For him, living would be worse than dying.”

She didn’t pause to think. Even as his finger tightened on the trigger to kill her,
she snatched up the desk phone and hurled it in at him. The loud
bang
of the gun firing crashed into her eardrums as she lunged to the side.

Fiery pain lashed at her hip. Her knee buckled.
Damn!
The hard edge of the desk bit into her skin.
No,
she silently howled.
Not now!
A hard, bright gleam glinted in Nathan’s gaze. He believed he had her. She spotted
it in his eyes—triumph.

She inhaled, forcibly pushing the throbbing in her hip aside, Slowly, she shifted
away from the desk as he leveled his gun on her once more.

I can’t die.
Her breath was a harsh wind in her head.
I
won’t
die.

With a growl, she dived forward and plowed into his midsection, a linebacker fighting
the game of her life. Satisfaction, fierce and hot, pulsed inside her when the gun
clattered to the floor and skidded past her foot. A loud gust of air exploded from
him as they tumbled down in a tangle of legs and arms. The impact jarred her arms
and knees, and she inhaled sharply. Nathan’s head cracked against the floor, but it
didn’t stun him, and her split second’s hesitation handed him the edge in their battle.

With a shout, he bucked his hips, flipped, and pounced. Long, hard fingers gripped
her neck and squeezed. Panic shot through her veins. She grabbed his thick wrists,
then his fingers, trying in vain to pry them away from her throat. She flailed, kicked,
smacked his arms. But he only leaned forward, pressing harder. His face wavered—the
grim line of his mouth, the harsh lines of his face, the bright gleam in his narrowed
eyes.

No!
The primitive scream rebounded in her head.
No!

Tapping into a last vestige of strength, she surged up, grasped his head, and dug
her thumbs in his eyes. Her stomach roiled with nausea at the spongy give, but she
clutched and thrust deeper.

Nathan screamed. He reared back, slapped his palms over his bloody sockets. Gasping
past her bruised and burning throat, she hoisted to her hands and feet and scrambled
backward. Her spine struck the wall, her head hitting the windowsill. Nathan’s hands
dropped from his face with a roar. His eyes, streaming and red, promised pain as terrible
as his.