Gabriel (19 page)

“Guess what, Gabe?” Leah raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t your decision. You have no say.”

The hell I don’t
. Primal possessiveness roared through him. The power of the visceral reaction shocked
him, and he stumbled back before catching himself. Fear pumped in his veins, flooded
his mouth. Desire was one thing—he could justify his arousal with two years of celibacy.
But this overpowering need to claim? To
keep
?

Dangerous
—this woman was dangerous.

As isolated and lonely as his existence was, he clung to the barren void like a miser
clutched a penny. Allowing Leah in meant being responsible for her…it meant loving
her. It meant losing her. Somehow, sometime, he would lose her.

Images of bent metal and twisted limbs flashed in his head. He couldn’t do it again.
He couldn’t survive the pain of losing someone he loved. Not again.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“What exactly are we talking about?” she asked. She tipped her head to the side and
wore a faint, sad smile that tore at his heart. “There are several options to choose
from. You can’t let yourself live again because moving on would mean you’re betraying
Maura and Ian? Or you can’t let me go further with this investigation because if something
happened, it would mean another albatross to bear along with the one you’ve been carrying
for two years?”

“I’m not able to give you what you want, baby,” he murmured.

“And how would you know?” she demanded softly. “You never bothered to ask what I want
or need. Because you’re too afraid of the answer. Too afraid you might desire the
same thing.”

Her accusation struck him hard; she was right. She scared him with her laughter, affection,
and compassion. Scared him with the hunger she stirred within him. Scared him with
the realization he could live—and love—again.

Terrified him with the knowledge that he could fail to protect those he loved…again.

“I’m sorry.” God, the apology sounded weak and lame to his own ears.
He
sounded weak and lame.

“Me, too, Gabe,” she whispered. “You would rather exist in the cold, sterile hole
you’ve carved out for yourself than take a risk and open your heart again. And since
I’m interfering with your determination to remain an emotional amputee, you push me
away first.” She inhaled, straightened her shoulders, and met his gaze…not concealing
the pain haunting her eyes. “Fearing pain doesn’t make you a coward. Running from
it does.”

She turned and left the conference room without a backward glance, leaving him alone
as he’d desired.

Chapter Twenty-two

Gabriel stood at the door shivering in the cold Saturday morning air, a key he hadn’t
used in two years clutched in his hand. The ridges bit into his palm, but he couldn’t
force his grip to relax. He extended his arm, intent on shoving the key in the slot.
But he didn’t move, his arm sticking out like a broken marionette. His mind demanded
he move, but his heart…his heart pleaded,
just one more minute
.

He waited.

And breathed. And waited.

Then he tried it again, and this time he fit the key in the lock and opened the front
door.

Grief strangled him, and for a terrifying instant, he feared passing out on the white-and-green
welcome mat. He sucked in a hard breath. Then another. And another. The dark flecks
in his vision slowly cleared, and he placed one foot in front of the other, stepped
over the threshold, and entered the home he’d shared with Maura and Ian.

Nothing had changed. It seemed as if God had waved a hand and frozen time, preserving
the home for the day its owner would walk back through the door. But when Maura had
been alive, the air hadn’t been stale, hadn’t tasted of emptiness and disuse.

And the silence. There hadn’t been the god-awful silence.

Part of him expected to hear the evening news blaring from the living-room television,
overhear Maura on the kitchen phone extension with her mother, or catch Ian destroying
one of his toys in his room. In the past, he would yell out he was home, and Ian would
tear down the staircase, his ecstatic “Daddy!” ringing in Gabriel’s ears. Maura would
bid her mother a hurried good-bye before emerging from the kitchen with a smile and
warm greeting.

But only silence welcomed him now.

He gritted his teeth, a dull ache taking up along his jaw. Eyes squeezed shut, he
wondered why he hadn’t called Mal, Rafe, or Chay to come with him. Having them here
wouldn’t have made it easier—nothing could ease this task—but maybe it would have
been more bearable. He rubbed his thumb over the cell phone in his pocket. One of
them would make it to the house in minutes—even if they had to break speeding laws
to get there.

With an abrupt shake of his head, he rejected the idea and withdrew his hand, along
with the temptation of a shoulder to lean on. Facing the past was his to do.

I can do this, damn it.
He shored up his resolve, opened his eyes, and headed for the stairs leading to the
upper level of the house. He came to Ian’s room first. His hand hovered over the knob
before opening the door and stepping in. It looked like a time capsule, a moment petrified
in time, never to go backward or forward.

The “big boy” race car bed. The small bookshelf stuffed with coloring books, papers,
and his favorite bedtime and Dr. Seuss stories. A blue sock peeked out from under
the bed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maura had had the hardest
time getting Ian to understand tidying up did not mean shoving everything under the
bed. Gabriel bet if he lifted up the edge of the cover, he would find several more
items hidden under there.

Crossing his arms, he barricaded the grief wanting to plow a hole through his chest.
It wasn’t fair. He’d had Ian for such a small amount of time. Even at two, the little
boy possessed his own personality. With silky-brown curls, a lopsided grin, and bright
blue eyes, he could sell ice to a Yeti. Gabriel chuckled, but it ended on a sob as
he imagined childish, phantom arms hugging his knees, and Ian’s beautiful little face
tipped back to give him his special smile.

“If I lost you tomorrow, I’d grieve, but at least I’d have had touched you, held you,
loved you. For me, whether it’s one moment or one hundred, you’re worth the risk
.”

Leah’s words from the night before echoed in his head and heart. To have had Ian for
only two years only to lose him had broken Gabriel in such a way that he would never
be the same. Yet, never to know the pain of his son dying also meant never experiencing
the miraculous, beautiful moment of his birth, never knowing what it had been like
to open Ian’s Christmas presents because he’d been too impatient to unwrap them himself.
Never feeling the sleepy, warm weight of Ian’s body on his shoulder as he carried
him to bed.

“No,” Gabriel rasped. He would have rather had Ian for that wink in time than not
have had him in his life. Just as Ian’s death had changed him, so had his son’s short
life.

With one last glance around, he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. If
treading the hallway to his son’s room had been difficult, the next door he came to
proved almost impossible to open. How long he stood there rooted to that place, he
didn’t know. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It felt like an
eternity.

Finally, he stepped over the threshold of the room he’d once shared with Maura. His
stomach clenched, but he forced himself to move farther into the bedroom.

Oh, God.
Was it his imagination, or did her perfume still linger in the air? Common sense
assured him the bit of fancy was impossible after so long, but… He inhaled, straining
to catch the familiar, but elusive scent.

He sank to the floor, silent tears slowly trickling down his face. He leaned against
the footboard of the bed, his back propped against it, legs bent, and wrists resting
on his raised knees. He listened to the quiet. For once, the absence of noise wasn’t
the enemy but a friend, allowing his mind to fill with the joyous times he, Maura,
and Ian had enjoyed as a family.

For the first time, those memories didn’t carry debilitating pain. Yes, he still felt
a dull ache, but mostly the thoughts invoked a warmth that comforted instead of cut.

He sighed. “I couldn’t have imagined a life without you, Maura. And yet here I am,
trying to make heads and tails of it. I haven’t done…well,” he confessed, rueful.
“Hell, sweetheart, I’ve screwed it up royally. I think the only people able to put
up with me are Mal, Rafe, and Chay. And then there’s Leah… Oh, Leah.” Gabriel studied
the floor. “You always said it saddened you that someone so lovely seemed so alone.
That she needed someone to care for her.” He lifted his head, his gaze centered on
the far wall. “She does, Maura. She needs me. And, sweetheart, I need her. I…love
her.”

He whispered the admission and tensed, expecting shame to crush him. But it didn’t.
Instead a weight disappeared from his shoulders, from his soul.

“Maura, I’ve carried so much guilt over you and Ian, especially after realizing someone
hurt you because of me. I didn’t feel worthy of love again because I failed you so
badly. But somehow—for some reason—I’ve been offered another chance, and I want to
be happy again. And Leah, she brings me joy. In a different but very real way, she
completes me as you did.” He laughed, the sound sharp and abrupt. “She called me a
coward, you know. Well, she’s right. I was afraid of letting go of you because then
I’d have to admit I was okay with surviving when you and Ian didn’t. I can’t say at
this moment I’m fine, but I am ready to live and love again.” With a small groan,
he pushed himself to his feet and took another survey of the room. “I’ll miss you
forever, sweetheart.”

He rose and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

He descended the steps and walked into the living room. The seven-foot-tall, artificial
Christmas tree still stood in the corner, decorated with various bulbs, balls, and
white lights. Two years ago, he hadn’t allowed his friends to remove one ornament
from its dark green branches because stripping the tree would have been tantamount
to admitting the life he’d known had ended. And it had, he reasoned, moving across
the room to stop in front of the tree.

But now another was beginning.

Slowly, he reached for a crystal angel hanging from a high tree limb. He removed the
ornament and placed it on the coffee table behind him.

Then removed another.

And another.

…

Leah stared at her computer, but the report could have been a Rorschach inkblot for
all the sense it made. She’d been at the office trying to type the summary of her
latest assignment for the last two hours. Nathan had ordered her to stay away from
work until next week, but after waking up in a hotel room on a chilly Saturday morning
with the entire lonely day stretched out before her, she had made the executive decision
to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, and driven to the office after all.
Thankfully, no one else was there on the weekend.At the time, work had seemed the
antidote and refuge from her loneliness.
And the memories.

But so far, her great idea had been a bust. She’d turned on the radio, but the noise
had only served to emphasize the deafening quiet. Now the report was proving impossible
to write. Of course, maybe completing the document wouldn’t be so difficult if she
could keep her mind focused on the job, and off Gabriel. If she could stop picturing
how he’d looked the last time she saw him: standing in front of the conference room
window, sunlight haloing his rigid figure and sorrow twisting his handsome features.

“Damn,” she muttered, turning from the computer monitor and propping her elbows on
the desktop. She dropped her head into her palms and allowed the tide of humiliation,
hurt, and sadness she’d stemmed by sheer force of will to crash over her.

She’d told Gabriel she loved him. For fifteen years, she’d guarded her secret, maintained
and protected their friendship. And in one reckless second, she’d blown all her efforts
to hell and back. What had she been thinking? She rolled her forehead against her
palms. Had she really expected him to declare his love in return? To stop her from
walking out the door and beg her to stay?

“God, I’m such a fool,” she whispered. He had never made promises, while she had naively
hoped for an ending that only happened in Disney movies. Now she had to figure out
a way to mend what may have been irrevocably broken.

If it should even be mended.

She gritted her teeth against the pain and, after a long moment, leaned against the
back of her office chair. She’d planned to go see Catherine this afternoon, but after
a sleepless night had decided against it. The decision to storm the battlements of
the older woman’s Weston home had been made in the heat of anger, and after hitting
rewind/replay on her memories all night, Leah had decided Gabriel had stated a valid
point. Charging in there with no idea of what awaited her was foolish. Not that she’d
call him and admit as much. Her lips twisted into a slight smile. She had some pride
left—a scrap, maybe, but some. So here she sat, holed up in the office, hiding.

I have to move on.

The admission caused the bottom to plummet from her stomach as if she’d whipped down
a dizzying roller-coaster loop. She’d spent years loving Gabriel and denying herself
a future that included a husband, children, a full home. Could she love another man
as she’d loved Gabriel? Maybe…maybe not. But she owed herself the opportunity to find
out. She deserved it.

Yes, she decided. Once she turned over the tapes to the authorities and aided Malachim,
Chay, Raphael, and Gabriel in whatever capacity they required, she would get on with
the life she’d voluntarily relegated to a dusty shelf. If her heart rebelled at the
idea, too damn bad. The stubborn organ would just have to get on board.

Sighing, she turned back to the computer and the report. Determined to finish, she
forced herself to concentrate, shoving thoughts of Gabriel aside. For the next fifteen
minutes, she was successful, but then her cell phone jangled. Her fingers hovered
above the keyboard. She flicked a glance at the phone and debated answering it.

“Forget it,” she mumbled, and reached for the phone. But as her fingers brushed the
casing, the generic ring tone stopped. The caller’s number appeared under the missed-call
message, and she frowned, not recognizing the seven numbers following the Boston area
code. As if responding to her silent question, the voice mail notification dinged.
Curious, she entered her password and pressed the phone to her ear.

“This message is for Ms. Leah Bannon. Good morning, Ms. Bannon, this is Dillon Truitt
from Howard Security. We are the home protection provider for your father, James Bannon.
We have been unable to contact Mr. Bannon regarding a monitored security alarm that
was tripped at 1:00 a.m. this morning at the Beacon Hill residence. You were his secondary
contact number. We sent a patrol car to his home to investigate the alarm, and after
a careful search of the premises, verified the rear door had been opened, but the
officers did not locate any sign of an intruder. If you could give us a call at”—Dillon
Truitt recited the number that had flashed across her screen along with a double-digit
extension—“to let us know you received this message, we would appreciate it. Thank
you, and have a good afternoon.”

Leah lowered the phone. Panic, hot and bright, flared in her chest. Terrifying memories
from her break-in flooded her mind, and she envisioned her father lying on the foyer
floor, bloody and torn… God, she could’ve been there—she
should’ve
been there. What if she hadn’t decided to check into a hotel but instead had gone
to her father’s home?

Stop it!
She sucked in a deep lungful of air and deliberately released it on a slow, measured
breath. The suffocating choke hold eased the tiniest bit, but it was enough to allow
a sliver of rational thought in.

She was okay, and so was her father. The conference in New York he was attending concluded
tomorrow morning, and her dad most likely wouldn’t return until Monday.

Still…

The office chair skidded across the floor as she shot to her feet. Several taps to
the keyboard later, she’d saved her incomplete report to a thumb drive and shut the
computer down. She couldn’t explain the compulsion to visit her childhood home and
confirm for herself that no harm had come to it. First, the Victorian she’d made her
home had been violated, and now the house she’d grown up in. Damn, was there a place
she would ever feel safe in again?