Safe from Harm (14 page)

She blinked at him for a moment as if trying to figure out a response. Finally, she shrugged. “Uh…yeah. Sure. I guess that's fine.”

Gabe stayed at the table while she escorted Tom to the door but started to get up when she came back into the kitchen.

She motioned for him to sit back down. “I appreciate you guys racing here to check in on me, but as you can see, I'm fine.”

“Why didn't you answer when Tom called you?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee. He offered her a wry grin. “Could've saved you the hassle of us barging in.”

“I'd turned my ringer off,” she said softly, her voice catching a little. “I was going through some pictures and didn't exactly feel like talking to anyone.”

He frowned at her a little. “Not happy memories, I take it?”

She attempted a smile that he supposed was meant to be brave, but her chin trembled a little when she explained, “It's the anniversary of my family's death.”

Gabe cursed under his breath, feeling like a total ass. “I'm sorry, Elle. I didn't know.” He drained the last of his coffee and got to his feet. “I'll take a quick look at the perimeter on my way out.”

“Gabe!” she called after him as he limped toward her front door. “Gabe, wait!” She took a step toward him, her hand reaching out as if she might touch him, but then she let her arm fall back to her side. “Please…don't go.”

Gabe held her gaze for a long moment, trying to determine if her offer was sincere or if she was just being polite. Even though he was still on the fence, he gave her a terse nod and took a step toward her, wincing a little.

“Here,” she said, taking hold of his arm and pulling it around her shoulders. “Is that better?”

He gulped, willing his body not to respond to the nearness of her, to the warmth of her arm wrapped around his waist, and cleared his throat a little before peering down into that enchanting, emerald gaze.

Holy hell.

Having her this close, pressed against his side, lending him her strength, felt a hell of a lot better than he cared to admit. Reflexively, his arm tightened around her shoulders, bringing her in closer.

Elle's heart hammered in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Or maybe the difficulty breathing had something to do with the intensity of a certain aqua gaze boring into hers. Or the hard muscles of his chest beneath her fingertips where her hand lightly rested. Or
maybe
it had something to do with the fact that she could feel
his
heart hammering, too.

Oh God. Not good. Not good at all.

Why, oh why had she bailed on that shopping trip with her aunt?

She'd witnessed Gabe putting the moves on women over the years and had lost track of how many times she'd rolled her eyes in those moments, wondering how the silly, giggling bubbleheads could fall for such a transparent act.

But as their gazes locked, what she saw there wasn't the usual cocky self-assuredness she was used to seeing in his eyes. If she'd had to hazard a guess, she'd say he actually looked…torn. Or tortured. And unlike the tired come-ons she was used to, the uncertainty she saw now that he'd let his guard down was dangerously close to completely disarming her defenses again.

When that gaze flicked down to her lips, her breath caught, and the small shudder of anticipation, of longing, for the kiss that seemed to be just moments away no doubt completely betrayed the sudden and unexpected fantasies of where such a kiss would lead if she gave in. The heat she felt creeping into her cheeks made her drag her gaze away from his mouth before she gave into temptation.

To her immense relief, when she took a step forward, he followed, allowing her to lead him into the living room, where her photo albums and loose photos were scattered across the sofa, coffee table and floor.

She slipped out from under his arm and hastily began to clear a spot for him on the sofa. “Sorry. Let me just get these out of the way.”

“Is this you?”

Her head snapped up to see Gabe holding a picture of a little girl with red pigtails and a lopsided grin standing on a beach on a bright summer day. “No,” she said, looking away so he wouldn't see the tears that sprung to her eyes. “That's my sister Eve. That picture is from our family vacation to Sanibel when she was ten.”

“She was a cutie,” he said, easing down onto the sofa. “You two look a lot alike. Is this your other sister?”

Elle glanced up at the photo he held out for her to see. “Yes. That's Erin at her First Communion. She died a month later.”

“I'm sorry.” Gabe's voice was so gentle, Elle had to swallow past the tears to keep from completely breaking down. “I know what it was like when we almost lost Joe after he was wounded in Afghanistan. I can't imagine what you went through—what you still go through.”

“Thanks.” Elle set the photos she'd gathered on the coffee table and took a seat next to him on the sofa. “I'd like to say it gets easier every year, but it doesn't.”

Gabe leaned forward, sifting through the pictures a little before pulling one from the stack and turning to Elle with a grin. “Now, this one I know is you.”

Elle grimaced before she could catch herself. The picture of a gawky, gangly teenager with unruly red hair was definitely her. She snatched it from his grasp with a little laugh. “Yeah, let's just forget that period of my life ever happened.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said, reclining against the pillows and draping one arm casually over the back of the sofa. “You were adorable.”

“Liar,” she laughed. “Thank God I grew into my legs.”

Gabe gave Elle's legs the once-over slowly, his gaze as soft and sensual as a lover's caress, then grinned. “I thought they were great even back then, but I certainly won't complain now.”

“Uh-huh. Right…” she drawled, trying to ignore the way his gaze sent white-hot heat zipping through her veins. “So what you're saying is dating all those cheerleaders back in high school was just a front, and in actuality, you were secretly into girls who looked like flamingos? Gee, Gabe, who knew?”

Gabe shrugged. “Oh yeah, I'm full of surprises.”

She gave him a wry grin. “So I'm learning.”

He chuckled but quickly sobered, his expression becoming serious as his gaze traveled over her face. “You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

His praise was so obviously sincere that Elle looked away before he could see her blushing. “If you want to see someone really beautiful,” she said, sifting through the pictures to avoid acknowledging his compliment, “take a look at this woman.”

Gabe took the picture she held out and whistled appreciatively. “Damn.”

“That's my mom,” she told him, curling up beside him on the couch and leaning against his shoulder to better see the photo. Her mother's smile was so vibrant, her eyes so full of happiness, it was almost like she was looking back at Elle from the photograph, sharing an inside joke.

“She was gorgeous,” Gabe agreed. “You can tell she and your aunt Charlotte are sisters. And that she's your mom. You have her smile.”

“She was the kind of woman who took over the room when she walked in,” Elle told him wistfully. “Made everything brighter, more beautiful. My dad used to say that the sun shone brighter when his Evelyn smiled.”

“It sounds like she was a pretty incredible person,” Gabe mused. “I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to know her.”

Elle sighed and gently took the photo from his grasp, gazing at it for a long moment before taking a deep, shaky breath as a few more tears escaped. A moment later, she felt Gabe's fingers clasp hers in a comforting squeeze. It was then Elle realized she'd rested her head on his shoulder while gazing at the photo. Embarrassed for quite literally crying on his shoulder, she abruptly sat up and wiped at her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered. “You didn't come here to listen to me cry about my family.”

“No,” he admitted. “I didn't. But I'm glad I'm here.” He reached up and wiped at the tears that stubbornly continued to flow down her cheeks. “And I'll stay as long as you'd like.”

Elle turned her gaze down to where his other hand still tenderly clasped hers. Part of her wanted him to stay, enjoyed the way he caressed the back of her hand, loved the way his deep voice soothed her. But part of her was terrified of what might happen if he did.

She wasn't naive. She fully realized that she was in an emotionally vulnerable place at the moment and that the longer he sat there, being so damnably sensitive and sincere, the more likely it was that she was going to find herself in his arms again—and this time she had a feeling neither of them would be holding back.

And yet…

She settled back against his shoulder and twined her fingers with his. “It was a car accident,” she began after a few moments of companionable silence. “I was supposed to be with them, but I'd been at the library with my friend Stacy doing research for a school project and had lost track of time. When I realized what time it was, I called my mom and told her to go on without me, that I'd just have Stacy's mom drop me off at the restaurant where we were supposed to be having dinner for my dad's birthday.”

Gabe's thumb continued to smooth over her skin, but he didn't say a word.

She paused, remembering every detail about that day down to what she'd been wearing, what kind of car Stacy's mom had been driving when they came upon the traffic jam, the way her stomach had dropped when they finally made it past the wreckage of an automobile that was barely recognizable as the same kind of car her parents drove.

“I saw the wreckage,” she finally continued. “They were working on the car with the jaws of life as the police officer directed us past the scene. I didn't realize it was my parents' car until I saw a shoe on the pavement that looked like the ones Eve always insisted on wearing. They were hot-pink Mary Janes.” Elle laughed a little, but unshed tears distorted the sound. “Nobody wore hot-pink Mary Janes. Especially not a redhead.”

“Jesus,” Gabe breathed.

Elle blew out a long, bracing breath. “I started screaming,” she told him. “It was so loud and frantic, Stacy's mom pulled over and one of the police officers came racing over to see what the hell was going on. They told me they were trying to get my dad out of the car. He lived for a couple of days—long enough for me to say good-bye. They wouldn't let me see my mom or sisters. I never got to say good-bye to them. Not even at the funeral. I'm told it was better that way.”

“Did they ever figure out what had caused the accident?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she told him, not bothering to check her bitterness. “A guy hopped up on cocaine had plowed into them with his pickup truck. He walked away without a scratch. He was convicted, of course, but got out in a year. He killed my entire family and only served one
fucking
year. Where's the justice in that?”

“I don't know, honey,” Gabe admitted. “Sounds shitty to me.”

“That's why I became a prosecutor,” she told him. “I wanted to do everything I could to put bastards like him behind bars.”

“I'm sure your family would be proud of you,” he told her. “You do one hell of a job—even in spite of irredeemable jackasses who nearly ruined one of your cases.”

Elle laughed, glad for a little levity, but her laughter died on a sob. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the additional tears that threatened to break forth now that she was actually talking about that horrific time in her life. She'd refused to talk about any of it after coming to live with Charlotte, had sat with the grief counselor for hours of therapy, willing to talk about anything and everything except that time. But not today. For some reason, she
wanted
to tell Gabe her story, to make him understand why she was the way she was. Why it even mattered that he understand she couldn't say. But it did.

And when he shifted, putting an arm around her and pulling her close against him, she didn't resist. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his torso, buried her face in his chest, and let the tears come.

She had no idea how long she cried, how long he silently held her, smoothing a hand up and down her back, soothing her. At one point, his arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Unfortunately, his kindness caused her to cry harder.

Sometime later, when her tears had finally subsided, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was only then that she realized the room had grown darker, cast in shadow now that the morning sunlight was no longer streaming through her bay window.

“What time is it?” she asked, abruptly sitting up.

Gabe checked his watch. “About two.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Gabe—I'm so sorry. I've kept you here way too long. I can't imagine sitting here with me for a couple of hours while I sniffled all over your shirt was quite what you had in mind for your day.” She brushed at a damp spot on his shoulder where her tears still hadn't dried.

He lifted her chin with the edge of his hand. “I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.” But as if to contradict his words, his stomach grumbled, making them both chuckle. “Okay, so maybe I could've used some lunch. But you needed somebody to listen, and, hey, I have ears.”

Elle laughed, wiping away the last of her tears, and got to her feet. “Thanks, Gabe. For being here.”

“Ah,” he said, pushing up from the sofa with a knowing grin. “I guess this is where you say, ‘And by that, I mean, get the hell out now.'”

Elle's shoulders sagged when she realized how ungrateful she sounded. “Oh God—I'm sorry. That's not what I meant—”

He held up a hand, halting her words. “How about you let me take you to lunch and we call it even?”

She glanced down at her clothes. “I'm a mess, Gabe. I can't go anywhere looking like this.”

“Sure you can,” he said, giving her that dimpled smile that made her insides flutter no matter how hard she fought it. “I know just the place.”

* * *

Gabe chanced a glance at Elle in the seat beside him, the air from the open windows of the Charger whipping loose curls about and freeing more of their comrades from the confines of her ponytail holder, giving her a reckless, wild look he found damned alluring.

Elle was a beautiful woman whose appearance was impeccable every single day when she was working, giving her a very intense, powerful presence. So seeing her a little disheveled and windblown got his blood pumping to all the
wrong
places.

She'd been worried about not being dressed appropriately to go anywhere for lunch, but in a white T-shirt that hugged her curves and cut-offs that showed off her long, shapely legs, she was gorgeous, in his opinion. As much as he was aching to feel her in his arms again, the last thing he wanted to do was come onto her like a total asshole when she was dealing with some seriously heavy emotional shit.

“So, where are we going?” she asked, frowning as she glanced around.

“Just be patient,” he insisted, sending a grin her way. “It's okay to let someone else take the lead now and then, Elle.”

“I'm not a control freak,” she informed him. “I let other people take the lead all the time.”

He glanced over at her, giving her a disbelieving look that made her laugh.

“Okay, okay. Fine! I'm a control freak. Happy now?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He was more than a little astonished to find that he actually
was
happy. For the first time since Chris's death, really. He'd had some moments of happiness, he guessed—and almost every one of them involved the incredible woman at his side.

But even those moments, as amazing as they'd been, and as often as he'd relived them in his mind, were nothing to what he felt just then with Elle at his side, grinning as she smoothed her curls back and closed her eyes, then turned her face into the wind. Knowing he'd been able to relieve her sorrow and suffering, even if for just a little while, made him feel like he could take on the whole goddamned world and come out on top.