Safe from Harm (3 page)

Gabe blinked at her for a long moment, then finally said, “I'm sure I'd be able to come up with an appropriately sarcastic remark if I wasn't so shitfaced right now. I'll have to owe you one.”

She extended her hand. “Then you should probably take me up on that offer to drive you home. Maybe you'll think of something on the way.”

* * *

Gabe was out cold in the front seat of Elle's Accord, his forehead pressed against the passenger window as he snored softly. She glanced over at him, sympathy at what he must be going through softening the heart she kept trying to harden where he was concerned. He'd looked so forlorn, so lost and alone at the bar when she'd walked in, it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, offering what solace she could.

She sighed and ran her hand through her thick, red curls. She hated to see him this way. It was far easier to pretend she couldn't stand him when he was the usual cocky, swaggering jerk he'd been when she'd met him back in high school. She'd come to town to live with her aunt Charlotte after the death of her parents and sisters, and had been hard-pressed to keep from drooling like an idiot when the handsome teenage boy had shown up on her aunt's doorstep, having been sent by his father to help move Elle in.

But he'd barely noticed
her
that day
.
Or ever, really.

Hardly surprising. With a sexy, dimpled smile that turned girls into giggling puddles of goo, Gabe had dated a different cheerleader every week, leaving a trail of broken hearts a mile long.

And her? Well, she'd been the awkward, too-skinny, freckle-faced, flat-chested brainiac with untamable, frizzy, red hair who'd adored him.

So, yeah…suffice it to say, he hadn't asked
her
to prom.

And yet it was his name more often than not that had appeared in her journal, circled with little hearts. And when she received a bouquet of wildflowers once from a secret admirer after one particularly disappointing day, she liked to imagine a certain boy with dimples was behind it. She'd been at every one of his football games, cheering him on in the one year of school they'd shared. She'd sat beside her aunt at his graduation ceremony, trying to suppress the heat that rose to her cheeks when they called his name or when she'd given him a congratulatory hug at his open house.

She'd replayed that hug in her mind every night that summer before going to sleep, hating the fact that she was stuck in high school for three more years. And although she'd never admit it to anyone, it was the same dimpled smile on her mind more often than not when she drifted off to sleep now. And wildflowers were still her favorite.

But it was common knowledge that Gabe Dawson was a player. He'd never given her a second thought when they were younger, but he certainly noticed her now that she had curves and could fill out a sweater quite nicely, thank you very much.

He'd been coming onto her mercilessly for the last couple of years, trying to use that same old tired act on
her
that had worked on everyone else all his life. And normally she could keep her guard up and ignore the way her stomach fluttered every time she saw him, could ignore how her pulse hammered when she heard his voice. She knew better than to give in to her longings, knew that it could only lead to trouble.

But in moments like this one, when he allowed a rare glimpse of vulnerability, she was undone. And all the defenses she'd built up over the years came crumbling down in an instant.

She sent another glance his way, her heart aching for the pain he had to be feeling at the loss of his best friend, pain she knew she'd be feeling as well once she allowed it in. She'd been so caught up in dealing with all the legal aspects of the case, she hadn't taken a moment to truly grieve for her friend, hadn't let the horrible truth really sink in yet.

But now her heart constricted painfully and tears choked her, making it impossible for her to ignore the pain any longer. She tried to hold back the tears, but they fell anyway, blurring her vision and making it difficult to see the road. Thankfully, Gabe's house wasn't far.

She pulled into the driveway of his modest brick ranch and sat for a moment with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel, letting the sobs overtake her. But after a moment of indulging her sorrow, she abruptly pushed away from the wheel and shook her head.

“No,” she sniffed. “Not now.”

In spite of her declaration, the tears continued to slip to her cheeks as fast as she could swipe them away. Finally, with a sharp curse, she threw open her car door and strode around to open the door for Gabe.

“C'mon,” she murmured, trying to pull him to his feet. He mumbled something incoherent but managed to stand and wrap his arm around her shoulders. When they reached his front door, she asked, “Where are your keys?”

When he didn't answer, she huffed and slipped her hand into his pocket, imagining the smart-ass remarks he'd be throwing at her at that moment had he been aware of what was going on. But then a throaty groan rumbled up from his chest and her eyes snapped up to his face and caught his grin.

Warmth flooded her cheeks as her fingers closed around his keys and she yanked them out. “Let's just get you inside, shall we?”

It only took a moment to find his bedroom, but without the lights on, she stumbled and they fell in a tangle onto his bed, his arms going around her and pulling her into the curve of his body as he rolled onto his back, so that she was half on top of him.

Her breath caught on a gasp when she found herself peering down into his eyes, open now and studying her intently. “You're crying,” he whispered.

She swallowed hard, damning the tenderness in his voice and how it flooded her with warmth. “I'm fine,” she insisted. But when his hand came up to gently caress her cheek and wipe away her tears, her shoulders shook on a sob, proving she was a liar.

Gabe's arms came around her, pulling her closer. She buried her face in his chest and allowed the tears to come as he silently smoothed her hair. When her tears began to subside, she lifted her head from his chest to thank him, but as she peered down at him and her gaze locked with his, the words died on her tongue.

His hand slid into her hair and he slowly drew her in to press his lips firmly against hers. For a moment, she melted into his kiss, electrified by the intimate caress of his tongue as it teased her lips. Then with a jolt, she came to her senses and shoved against his chest, pushing him back enough to break the kiss. But his hand was still at the nape of her neck, and her lips hovered dangerously close to his. Even in his drunken state, the brief kiss had been warm and sensual, and awakened something in her she'd just as soon not recognize.

“Elle,” he whispered, his gaze searching hers. “Unless you want me to kiss you again, you should probably go.”

He was right. She should go. She should. Staying would be a very, very bad idea. They were both grief-stricken, vulnerable. Letting things go any further would be a colossal mistake. And Gabe was a ladies' man. Always had been. God knows who would've ended up in his arms that night had she not shown up when she did. She was just a warm body when he needed someone to hold. That's all this was. She meant nothing to him. She was just another conquest. And for all she knew, he wouldn't even remember her having been there come morning.

“You're drunk, Gabe,” she reminded him. “You don't know what you're doing.”

His gaze was so intense, she had to suppress a shudder. “I know exactly what I'm doing,” he assured her, his voice going deeper. “Do you?”

Every logical thought told her to get up right now and go. But before she quite realized what she was doing, she leaned in, brushing her lips against his…

One year later…

“You are an irredeemable
jackass
!”

Gabe grinned and crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded the deputy prosecutor who was glaring at him with such fury, any other man might've withered under her irate gaze. But not him.
Hell
no. Because Elle McCoy was vibrant and fiery even when he
wasn't
on her shit list—but when she was pissed at him? Well, then she was just goddamned adorable. And he couldn't help acting like a frigging ten-year-old, goading her just to see those almond-shaped emerald eyes of hers flash.

“Irredeemable?” Gabe taunted, giving her the dimpled smile he knew had a way of vanishing the panties of every woman he'd ever wanted—except her. “Don't you mean
irresistible?
”

Elle's eyes narrowed at him, her glare growing more furious, if that was even possible. She snatched up the yellow legal pad from the table and shoved it into her sleek leather briefcase. “No, Dawson, I
don't
,” she hissed in that slightly husky voice that made the criminals she prosecuted know she meant business. “You're damned lucky I was able to convict this asshole without his cousin's testimony.”

Gabe's swagger faltered ever so slightly. Elle was convinced he'd hooked up with the girlfriend of a key witness on the case she'd been working her ass off on. He hadn't known the woman's connection to the case when she'd offered him a ride home from Mulaney's one night. But she sure as hell had known who
he
was. And even though nothing had happened between them, she'd lied to her boyfriend, telling him all about a one-night stand with the deputy investigating his family for the murder of a damned good cop—and Gabe's best friend.

Billy Monroe had gone apeshit—big shocker there. And when he'd finished threatening to relieve Gabe of his manhood and force him to ingest it in spite of Gabe's attempt to explain that nothing had happened, that he'd only gotten a ride home from Chelsea, Billy had clammed up, refusing to cooperate and offer any testimony on his waste-of-space cousin.

Fortunately, Elle had still managed to persuade a jury to convict Derrick Monroe of murder even without his cousin's testimony. But that didn't make Gabe feel like any less of an asshole for screwing things up to begin with. He knew Elle had fought tooth and nail for this conviction, and he owed her. Big time.

He cast a quick glance around the nearly empty courtroom, then took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. He gently took hold of her elbow. “I'm sorry, Elle,” he told her, his voice low. “I really am. I fu—” He caught himself and sent another glance around the room before sighing. “I screwed up. I know that. Let me take you to dinner, make it up to you.”

Her even gaze met and held his, but there was no forgiveness there. Hell, if he was being honest, she'd been even colder and more distant with him in the last year—since Chris's death—than she'd ever been.

He'd thought maybe things were improving. Elle had been so concerned for him the day Chris died, dragging his sloppy-drunk ass home before he'd done something colossally stupid. But the rest of the night after that was kind of a haze. He thought
maybe
he'd kissed her, but hell, he'd been dreaming of her for so long, longing to taste her soft lips, that kiss and the resulting unbelievable make-out session could've just been a figment of his imagination. And she sure as shit wasn't giving him any vibes to the contrary…

“Dinner?” she scoffed. “Are you
kidding
me? You think dinner is going to make up for nearly losing this case?”

He closed his eyes for a moment on a sigh. “No, Elle. I don't. I know nothing I can do or say is going to make a difference, but it won't stop me from trying. I'm sorry as hell. I don't know how many times I have to say it before you believe me.”

Elle's chin trembled a little as she said, “That son of a bitch Monroe ambushed one of my friends—one of
your
friends, Gabe. He walked into the diner where you and Chris were eating lunch and shot him three times—just because he was a cop. And Monroe nearly got away with it because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “
Sorry
doesn't cut it.”

Before Gabe could stop her, Elle had taken a few angry strides away, her heels clicking purposefully on the floor in a very clear message that echoed the ramrod straight line of her back and dismissive angle of her chin. But he jogged to catch up and cut in front of her, blocking her path. “Then what will?”

She huffed and gave him an exasperated look. “
What?
”

“What do I have to do to make it up to you?” he pressed. “We have to work together, Elle. You can't be mad at me forever.”

“Bet me.” She shouldered her way past him, storming out of the courtroom.

Gabe heaved another sigh and ran a hand over the blond spikes of his high-and-tight before following, determined to win her over and insinuate himself back into her good graces. He just didn't have any frigging clue how to go about it…

* * *

Damn Gabe Dawson and his arrogance!

Nothing ever changed.

Well, she had news for Fairfield County's golden boy. She wasn't buying what he was selling. And she'd be damned if she was going to be just another notch on Gabe Dawson's belt. She'd leave that role to the badge bunnies who threw themselves constantly at the handsome deputy.

Fortunately, he didn't seem to recall the night of Chris's death, when she'd taken him home and had been stupid enough to find herself in his arms in the best make-out session of her life. She could only imagine what it'd be like when he was completely sober. And she
had
imagined ever since. Often. Which seriously pissed her off.

Elle huffed in disgust as she stormed away from Gabe, not sure if she was angrier with him or with herself. To think she'd ever found him even
remotely
attractive! Clearly, she'd been just like every other girl who'd been taken in by that sexy smile and those aqua eyes that sparkled with mischief. Thank God she'd come to her senses before things had gone too far.

She'd had a lapse in judgment that night, that was all. And the way he'd been since then just confirmed she'd been right to put the brakes on. So no matter how many dimpled smiles he threw her way, she wasn't about to let him off the hook for jeopardizing her case because he couldn't keep it in his pants.

“Elle! Wait up!”

She increased her pace, lifting her chin higher, determined to make it very clear what he could do with his apologies and dinner invitations.

But her pace faltered when she reached the courthouse doors that led out to the steps where reporters were waiting. She hated dealing with the media, hated having to give a statement about her success or failure. Her stomach twisted into knots, and for a brief moment, she entertained the idea of waiting for Gabe to catch up and join her as she addressed the press. He had a way with the public, could charm them all with that confident, commanding air of his that had them all eating out of his hand.

But then she set her jaw and shoved open the doors, determined to meet them all head-on. She'd worked too damned hard to get where she was to hand over the reins because of her distaste for dealing with reporters. She'd never once backed down from a challenge—she sure as hell wasn't about to start now.

The moment she reached the courthouse steps, the reporters moved in en masse, shouting their questions all at once, trying to be heard over the others in their throng. She held up her hand in a request for silence and opened her mouth to give the statement she'd rehearsed in her head when she suddenly caught sight of a face in the crowd that sent a shiver down her spine.

Mark Monroe, the brother of the man they'd just convicted, stood a few feet behind the reporters, his face twisted into a furious mask of hatred. He'd been implicated in the murder with his brother as an accessory after the fact, but they'd had insufficient evidence to charge him. He'd been popping up periodically ever since, glaring daggers at her, his demeanor vaguely threatening but never crossing a line that could give her a reason to go to the police. He wasn't the first angry family member she'd ever had to deal with, and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

Still, there was something in the man's expression this time that made her glad of the crowd of reporters surrounding her. The fact that he was wearing an old jacket in spite of the oppressive summer heat momentarily set off alarms in her head until she remembered it was the same jacket he'd worn every day in court. Nothing to be worried about. It was over. The trial was over. And finally she could sleep well, knowing she'd put Chris's killer behind bars.

Donning a genuine smile, she dragged her gaze away from his and back to the dozen or so faces eagerly awaiting her statement. But even as she began talking, she could feel the weight of Mark Monroe's gaze on her, felt the heat of his anger that prickled her skin in vague but persistent warning.

* * *

Gabe didn't know why in the hell it bothered him so much that Elle thought he was a first-class loser. But it did. It rankled him like nothing else ever had. He normally didn't give a shit what anyone thought. If someone had a problem with him, he was more than happy to offer a cordial invitation to kiss his ass.

But when Elle had given him that pointed look of disdain that could turn even the most hardened criminal into a quivering mass of
fucked-up
, the foundation of his normally unshakable confidence was left a little cracked. The woman had a way of bringing him to his knees without even trying. She always had—although she didn't know it.

He'd been completely knocked on his ass the first day he'd seen her. She'd been just an awkward teenage girl who still hadn't even come into her full beauty, but he could see it there, could sense the strength and intelligence in her intense gaze. He'd felt like she was the only one who could see right through him, past all the bullshit. And it'd scared the hell out of him. At eighteen, he hadn't known how to handle someone getting past his cocky teenage facade. So he'd avoided her, all but ignored her—at least, publicly.

But that wasn't an option now. Their careers threw them together on a regular basis, whether they liked it or not. And her effect on him had turned out to be exactly what he'd anticipated. But instead of being afraid of Elle getting too close to the person he truly was, Gabe had been surprised to discover he craved it. He
wanted
her to see that side of him no one else had access to, that vulnerable part of him he kept safely locked away.

What the hell was
that
all about?

“Where's the fire?”

Gabe's head snapped toward the direction of his older brother's voice. Tom was leaning against the railing of the mezzanine that overlooked the courthouse's massive marble foyer. The courthouse was one of only two buildings in Fairfield County that could boast being mentioned in architectural magazines for the beauty of its design. While it all seemed a little over the top to Gabe and made him afraid to even frigging sneeze for fear of knocking over an overpriced bust of some long-dead president, Tom seemed right at home among all the stateliness.

But then nothing ever seemed to rattle his brother. The guy was annoyingly levelheaded, which made him pretty much the last person Gabe wanted to see just then. If he said a word about his frustrations, Tom would offer some kind of sage advice that Gabe knew he'd be better off taking but wouldn't because it came from his brother.

“Hey,” Gabe muttered, jerking his chin at Tom in greeting. “Need to catch up with Elle.”

Tom nodded, falling into step beside him. “Ah.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Gabe snapped as they jogged down the steps to the main floor.

Tom shrugged. “Nothing. Should it?”

And here we go…

Gabe groaned before he could catch himself. “I'm not in the mood to be analyzed, Tommy.” He pushed through the revolving door, rolling his eyes when Tom ambled into the next open slot as the door came around. “Seriously, Bro. Not a good time.”

“What's your problem?” Tom demanded. “I just came by to talk to Judge Pettigrew and heard about the verdict on the Monroe case. Thought I'd see how you were doing.”

Gabe caught sight of Elle standing just a few feet away on the courthouse steps, giving a statement to reporters, and headed in that direction. “I'm fine, Tom,” he called over his shoulder. “Everything's just fine.”

He heard his brother calling after him but continued forward, not interested in a lecture just then. When the reporters saw him approaching, their attention suddenly shifted to him and they rushed forward, shoving microphones into his face.

“Deputy Dawson!” they called over the top of each other, competing for a sound bite.

He paused long enough to mutter the appropriate statement that he'd written the night before, explaining how happy he was that justice had been served. He'd intended to say more, but when he saw Elle slipping away, he wrapped it up with a hasty “thank you” and squeezed through the crush of press to get to her.

“Now, about dinner,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “Should I pick you up at seven?”

She halted abruptly and turned toward him, her cheeks flushed with anger, but then her eyes suddenly went wide. “Gun!”

Gabe reflexively went for the weapon at his hip as he turned, simultaneously shoving Elle behind him to shield her with his body as he drew. But he wasn't fast enough. He heard the repeated crack of the assailant's gun at the same moment as pain exploded in his chest, the sound of the gunfire reaching him a split-second behind the actual impact.