Reunion (11 page)

“Hell if I know. But I can’t just sit back and let these people keep dying when I may be responsible.”

Laura froze. For a moment, words failed her. She could tell by the look on Gabriel’s face that there was something more. Something he hadn’t told her.

“What are you saying?” she whispered.

He took a deep breath. “The man in the dream…the one I saw die tonight.”

“Yes?”

“He knew his killer.”

Laura’s eyes widened, and she reached for Gabriel’s hand. “That’s wonderful…and you’re right. This
is
something we can take to the police.”

But Gabriel didn’t seem elated.

“What?” Laura asked. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I can tell by the look on your face that you’re not telling me everything.”

Again he started to turn away, but Laura refused to let him go.

“Please, Gabriel, don’t. Talk to me. I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me.”

He stared down at her in the darkness. Her face was little more than a series of shapes and shadows, and yet he could sense the intensity of her stare. He could hear her trying to catch her breath. Her hand was gentle upon his arm, yet he felt as if he were bound by iron chains.

Laura persisted. “Gabriel, what is it you aren’t saying?”

“Before he died, he called the killer by name.”

Moments passed. Laura caught herself holding her breath.

The words tasted bitter on his lips, and he spit them out in haste.

“He called him Gabriel. In my dream, the killer was me.”

Kirby Summers squatted beside Sam Whitehall, the medical examiner, as he went about collecting evidence on the body of the most recent victim.

“So, Sam, what do you think?” he asked.

“I think he’s dead,” Sam said, without looking up from what he was doing.

Kirby snorted beneath his breath. “Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired.”

Whitehall shrugged. “Sorry. When
I
know something,
you’ll
know something.”

“Good enough,” Kirby answered, and then stood and stepped back, staring intently at the crime scene, which, oddly enough, included the carcass of a small dog. Although some things were different about this scene as opposed to the others, he knew the murder had been committed by the same man.

Once again a rose had been left with the body. But in this case, the rose was also one of the differences. The rose was devoid of petals and looked as if it had simply been discarded. There was a trail of petals from a nearby tree. Proof of where the killer had stood, obviously watching the house.

He frowned as he continued to gaze about the area, trying to picture what the killer had seen. What in hell was the killer looking for? He didn’t steal. He didn’t vandalize. He just killed. And not with a gun or a knife. According to the medical examiner, the perp used his fists, and yet not one victim had been beaten to death. Death had come from a single blow to the head.

Sudden.

Instantaneous.

Final.

In an uncharacteristic gesture of frustration, Kirby stuffed his notebook in his pocket and kicked at a small rock with the toe of his shoe.

“Well, hell,” he muttered.

“My sentiments exactly,” Ray Bush said.

Kirby turned, nodding his greeting to the homicide detective.

“Good morning, sir,” Ray said.

One more time, Kirby glanced toward the body on the ground. “Not for him, it isn’t.”

Ray nodded. “Same M.O. as before.”

Kirby shrugged. “Yes and no.”

Ray looked surprised. “How so? Do you think we’ve got ourselves a copycat?”

Kirby shook his head. “No. It’s the same man all right, but something feels different about this one. There’s the dog. Why kill this dog and not the one with the man in the park? And the rose. This one wasn’t lying on the body like the others.”

“Maybe it blew off in the night,” Ray offered.

“I don’t think so,” Kirby said. “Besides, all the petals are missing. This one looks as if it were simply discarded.”

Ray frowned thoughtfully. “I see what you mean.” And then he grinned wryly. “Sort of like the last bunch of flowers I tried to send to my wife when I forgot our anniversary. They wound up in the trash.”

Kirby pivoted, his face alight. “That’s it! That’s what I’ve been feeling but couldn’t put it in words. The killer was angry with this man. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness by leaving behind a rose. In fact, after he broke this man’s neck, he continued to show his disdain by leaving a rose that was no longer of use to him.”

Ray’s eyebrows rose as he looked back at the scene. “Damned if I don’t think you’re right.”

Whitehall suddenly stood, motioning for his assistants. “Bag him,” he ordered as he stripped off his surgical gloves and stuffed them in his pocket.

Kirby turned. “Well?”

“Best estimate…he died around midnight, and although I’m no vet, I’d guess so did the dog. But we may have gotten lucky on this one. There’s blood and tissue beneath the victim’s fingernails. I’m guessing they don’t belong to him.”

Kirby’s pulse shifted gears, suddenly flushing his neck and face with a quick surge of new blood.

“I want a copy of this report on my desk before morning.”

Whitehall rolled his eyes. “Damn, Summers. That’s the fourth time I’ve heard that request this morning. I’ve got news for you. There was a killing down on Reno. A gang-related shooting over on Twenty-third, and some farmer out feeding his calves found a decomposing body in a road ditch between here and Edmond. You’ll get the report when I can get to it and not before.”

Kirby wanted to argue, but common sense told him not to piss off the M.E.

“Sorry, but you know how it is. The press is playing this for all it’s worth. The mayor is nervous, so he’s breathing down everyone’s neck, which in turn makes everyone else as nervous as hell.”

Whitehall nodded. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and walked away.

At that moment Kirby noticed an old woman a distance away, standing at the corner of the house. Her expression was pale and stricken, her gaze constantly straying to the place where her loved ones had lain.

“Who’s that?” Kirby asked.

“The owner of the property. The man who died was her houseman. The dog was hers, too.”

Kirby checked his notes. “I didn’t get her name.”

Ray sighed as he watched the old woman turn and disappear into the home.

“That’s Sadie Husser,” he said.

Startled, Kirby glanced up. “The first lady of Oklahoma City herself?”

Ray nodded.

Kirby’s eyes narrowed. “How’s she taking this?”

“Just about like you’d expect,” Ray said, then added, “And it’s the damnedest thing. Only yesterday she had contacted a security business to have an alarm system installed.”

Kirby shrugged. “Sometimes it happens that way.”

Ray Bush took a pristine white handkerchief from the hip pocket of his slacks and wiped the sweat from his face, then looked at his watch. “Man. We got the call on this a little after five, and it’s almost nine. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“Me, either,” Kirby said.

“Then let’s make a run on McDonald’s.”

Kirby made a face.

“I’m buying,” Ray added.

A rare grin broke the somberness of Kirby’s expression. “I changed my mind.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

Gabriel hung up the phone just as Matty announced Mike Travers’ arrival.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I didn’t know you were busy.”

Gabriel picked up his glass of iced tea and took a long drink, not trusting himself to answer right away. For him, the tea had no taste, but it was wet. He drained it right down to the cubes.

“I’m not anymore,” he said shortly. “That was Sadie Husser. She just canceled her contract to have a security system installed, and I can’t say as I blame her.”

Mike knew he was missing something, but he couldn’t figure out what.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Gabriel clutched the empty glass until his knuckles turned white, but the expression on his face never changed.

“Last night, while she was sound asleep in an upstairs wing, someone killed her houseman and her dog. She’s so rattled about the incident, she says she’s selling her home and moving to Europe.”

“That’s too bad,” Mike said. “I’ve met her on more than one occasion. She’s a grand old lady.”

An image flashed in Gabriel’s mind—of her slow smile, her obvious tolerance for Stevie’s wit and her pleasure in her little dog. Suddenly it was more than he could take. He turned and flung the glass, ice cubes and all, into the open fireplace. Glass shattered, and ice cubes scattered.

Mike jumped as if he’d been shot. “Gabriel! What on earth did you—”

Gabriel pivoted. “If I had died in that wreck, too, none of this would be happening.”

“You’re wrong!” Mike said. “Just because you claim to be
seeing
these incidents, that doesn’t make you responsible.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Yesterday morning I might have agreed with you, but not now.”

There was so much pain on Gabriel’s face that Mike wanted to cry. He reached for him, wanting to hold him, needing to let him know that there were people in his life who still cared, but Gabriel moved away.

“Please, son. I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What is it today that’s so different from yesterday?”

But Gabriel wouldn’t answer, and Mike didn’t know what to do. At that point Laura entered the room. Mike could tell from the look on her face that she’d heard most, if not all, of what was going on. However, she seemed bent on ignoring Gabriel’s presence.

“Good morning, Dr. Travers.”

Mike sighed. It was everything
but
a good morning.

“Laura.”

“Thank you for coming,” she said softly.

He nodded.

Gabriel spun. “So
you’re
the reason he’s here. I might have known.”

He would have stalked out, but Laura stepped in front of him, almost daring him to push her aside. He stopped, only inches away, and as they stared into each other’s eyes, Laura could feel the heat of his breath upon her face. She tilted her chin at a determined slant and met his gaze with a straightforward glare.

“Someone has to talk some sense into you. You wouldn’t listen to me. I thought maybe you would listen to your uncle Mike.”

Mike was frustrated and feeling every one of his sixty-seven years as he thrust a hand through his gray and thinning hair.

“Will someone please explain what this is all about?” he asked.

She looked Gabriel straight in the eyes. “Will it be me, or do you want to do the honors?”

“You started this,” he said, turning his back on them both. “Feel free.”

Laura’s voice softened. “I didn’t start anything, Gabriel, and you know it. But I came to offer help in any way I know how, yet every time I try, you shut me out.”

The anger went out of him all at once. When he turned, there was a droop to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and the tone of his voice was so quiet that Mike had to strain to hear what he said.

“Can you blame me?” he asked.

There was so much sadness in his eyes, so much defeat in his posture, that Laura wanted to hold him. But she stayed her ground, aware that what had to be said must come from him.

Gabriel shuddered, then wiped a shaky hand across his face as he turned to Mike.

“Last night, something new was added to my dreams.”

Mike didn’t move, but he could tell by the way Gabriel was talking that it wasn’t going to be good.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“The murder victim knew his killer.”

Mike frowned. “Then that would mean you could go to the police, maybe give them a description—at the least a name. Why is this not good news?”

“Because, in my dream, the killer was me.”

I
t was Mike Travers who came up with the plan. All they had to do was just lock Gabriel in his room each night. If and when another incident occurred, Laura would be witness to the fact that Gabriel had not left his room and that in no way could he have committed the crime. It was a crude and drastic move, but Gabriel’s sanity was riding on its success.

Laura was more than a little troubled by what they were about to do. At first she’d been shocked by Mike’s suggestion and had argued vehemently against it, reminding them that the house was wired with a state-of-the-art security system, which Gabriel still managed to bypass. And then Gabriel stated the obvious.

“The lock will be on the outside of my door.”

“That’s dangerous,” she argued. “What if there’s a fire or a—”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Damn it, Laura. People are dying! If I’m responsible, then I hope to God I
do
burn.”

Mike felt obligated to intervene before they could come to blows.

“I think you’re both being a bit overdramatic,” he said quietly. “It’s not like it will be forever. It’s only until Gabriel is confident that he’s innocent, which I firmly believe he is.”

Gabriel glared at Laura while she chewed on the edge of her lip.

“Well?” Mike asked.

Laura shrugged. “Fine.”

Gabriel relaxed. “I’m going to the hardware store to buy a padlock. Anybody want to come with me?”

Laura turned without saying a word and stalked out of the room.

There was a thoughtful expression on Gabriel’s face as he watched her go.

“I’d say that was a no,” he drawled.

Mike scratched at the bald spot on the back of his head and smiled.

“She’s quite a lady, isn’t she, boy?”

Gabriel grabbed his keys from the desk and headed for the door. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings for Laura, even though they occupied a good deal of his conscious mind.

“You coming?” he asked, giving Mike a considering look.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’d better—”

“I’m stopping at Braum’s to get ice cream on the way back.”

“You talked me into it,” Mike said.

Gabriel put his arm around the old man’s shoulder.

“When it comes to fudge ripple, you’re a push-over, and you know it.”

Dinner that night was more like a wake than a meal. Mike had done his best to keep a civil conversation going, but it seemed to be a lost cause. Gabriel had little to say to Laura, and she had even less to say to him. But Mike was beginning to believe that the strain between them had nothing to do with locking Gabriel inside his room. He’d seen the way Laura looked at Gabriel when she thought he wasn’t watching. And he’d caught Gabriel stealing glances at Laura off and on all night. Their lack of conversation had nothing to do with animosity and everything to do with a growing attraction they were trying to ignore.

As soon as it was decent, he made his excuses and bade them good-night. Laura followed the men into the hallway, escaping up the stairs before either one could object. Gabriel watched her go without comment, but Mike could tell by the look on Gabriel’s face that his mind was not on the business at hand. In his own opinion, this day was long overdue. It was about time Gabriel Connor invested something of himself into a personal life.

The thought made Mike smile all the way home.

The clock in the upstairs hallway was striking eleven when Gabriel knocked on Laura’s door.

“Come in,” she called, then watched the door swing inward, her eyes widening with apprehension.

It was Gabriel. Right on time. He dangled a key and a lock in the air.

“I’m heading to bed. Come do your duty.”

The skin crawled on the back of Laura’s neck, but she did as he asked.

They walked side by side toward his bedroom without speaking. Each locked into their own thoughts. Each struggling to come to terms with a growing attraction to the other that neither could afford.

Laura’s hair was still damp from her shower. Wisps of short curls stuck fast to her forehead and the sides of her cheeks. Gabriel wanted to touch them, to see if they were as soft as they looked. Her bathrobe was belted loosely, revealing far too much of the dainty pink gown beneath for his peace of mind. His fascination with this woman was increasing on a daily basis. He alternated between admiration for her gutsy attitude and a growing desire to explore the woman she was.

She walked with her head held high and a slight swagger to her steps, like a woman who was sure of her place in the world. Once Gabriel had been the same way. He wanted that life back and was willing to do anything it took to reclaim it. Even to the point of being locked up each night like a criminal, which he feared himself to be.

But Laura was still ambivalent about the whole idea and felt compelled to speak her mind one more time. She paused in the middle of the hallway near a recessed light, unaware that the glow had cast a halo around her head, or that Gabriel seemed stunned by her sudden angelic appearance.

“Gabriel, please reconsider. What if the house catches on fire? You would be locked inside your room with no way of getting out.”

He knew she was upset, but it was all he could do to tear his gaze away from the light in which she stood. It was only after he felt the touch of her hand on his arm that he was able to answer.

“You would call the fire department and then come let me out,” he said.

She persisted. “What if something happens and I can’t get to you? What if—”

The halo seemed to be spreading, like a white-hot fire, enveloping her head and shoulders. He needed to touch her, wondered if it would burn him if he did. But he didn’t move.

“And what if nothing happens? Or what if it does and you
do
get to me?” he countered.

She took a step forward, and as she did, the halo seemed to engulf her whole body, leaving her framed from head to foot in the light.

“But what if—”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. Suddenly the urge to fall into her fire and let himself be consumed was too strong to deny. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her close, then closer still, until their lips were separated by little more than a breath.

“What if I kiss you—right now—before you have time to slap my face?”

Someone gasped. Laura thought it was herself that she heard. But after his mouth had descended and their breaths, then their lips, had merged, she wasn’t so sure. After that, the thought of answering him had been impossible…and unnecessary. It could have been his swift intake of breath that she’d heard, or the groan that had ripped up his throat as she willingly returned the kiss.

Finally one of them had taken a slow step back. She didn’t remember who had made the first move, but it must have been her. Surely she had better sense than to get mixed up with this man and his problems.

Surely.

Gabriel was torn between what he wanted and what he knew he should do. The last thing he wanted was to let her go, but right now, he had no choice.

“Laura, I—”

“Don’t say a word,” she muttered, then opened the door to his room and almost pushed him inside. “Don’t you dare ruin what just happened with some pissant apology that will make me sorry I ever set foot in this house. Right now, I don’t want to hear anything out of your mouth but good night.”

Gabriel stood without moving, watching the expression on her face as she closed the door between them. Only after he heard the padlock snapping in place did he punctuate her last remark.

“Laura…”

She paused in the hallway. His voice was soft, just above a whisper, but she heard it all the same. “What?”

“Good night,” he said.

She splayed her hand on the door, as if by wish alone she could still touch him.

“Yes, good night.” Then, loath to break the tenuous tie between them, she added. “Sleep well.”

She was almost out of earshot when she heard him call out to her again.

“Laura.”

She sighed. He wasn’t making this easy for either one of them, and she suspected that he knew it. She turned and walked a few feet back to his door.

“What?”

The taste of her was still on his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door.

“We’re not finished with that.”

“Not finished with what?”

“With that kiss,” he whispered.

Her cheeks flamed, and her knees went weak, but Gabriel couldn’t see her reaction. All he could hear was a surprising acceptance in her voice.

“I know.”

It wasn’t until later that it dawned on him to wonder what else she might know, but it was too late to ask. She was already gone.

Three days later, the peculiarity of their lives had become routine. She was now his jailer. And for a while the dreams were absent and the recurring voice he’d heard was blessedly silent. Gabriel was starting to believe the past few weeks had been nothing more than an aberration caused by his injuries. He went to work each day and came home with a smile. He was beginning to relax. He was beginning to believe that what had been happening had been nothing more than his mind playing games.

On the night of the fourth day, someone changed all the rules…again.

He glanced at the sky with apprehension. The sun was going down. It would soon be dark. He was afraid of the dark.

His stomach grumbled, and he frowned. He was hungry again. He had never been hungry before. At least, not before he got lost. He was so tired of being lost.

He scratched his face, uncomfortable with the days’ old growth of whiskers. They were sharp and prickly. He should find a razor. Mother didn’t like prickly things. He looked down at the roses in his hands and nodded to himself with satisfaction. They wouldn’t hurt her. The thorns were already removed.

He stepped out of the alley in which he’d been hiding and started walking down the street. Even though it was all but deserted now, he was still uncomfortable. Yet in spite of his fears, he kept on walking. The inner magnet guiding him toward home was getting stronger, but his patience was growing thin. The desire to feel his mother’s kiss upon his brow and to see her gentle smile was almost more than he could bear. Added to that, the roses he’d taken days ago were falling apart in his hands. He didn’t know what to do. Mother loved roses. He needed his mother.

He glanced down at the flowers, his frown deepening. These flowers were no good anymore. He had to find some new ones. Maybe he would find some tonight.

The faint glow of a security light shone through the curtains at Gabriel’s window, casting a dim slice of white on the pale blue carpet. The jeans he’d been wearing earlier were hanging over the back of a chair. One tennis shoe was under the chair, the other one upside down beside a nearby table. The book he’d been reading was on the floor next to his bed. He’d used a sock to mark his place before casting it aside.

He slept on his belly with one arm over his head and the other pillowing his face, still dressed in the gym shorts he’d pulled on after his shower. It was a calm, unremarkable scene.

Four doors down the hall on the right, the glow of the security light wasn’t visible. Except for a butterfly night-light in the adjoining bath, the room was in darkness. Everything was in its proper place, including the woman asleep in the bed.

Laura lay curled on her side, hugging a pillow. She hadn’t moved in hours. Her robe was folded neatly and hanging over the back of a chair. The soulful sound of a country music station was playing softly in the background from a radio she’d been listening to when she’d fallen asleep. Her body was at rest, her mind at peace.

In spite of the distance between them, the crash that came echoing down the hall was as startling and abrupt as if it had sounded right next to Laura’s bed.

She was awake within seconds and running for the door. Even before it happened again, she knew what she’d heard.

It was Gabriel.

He was trying to get out.

The shriek of the train whistle coincided with the fat woman’s scream. Backed into the alley near the Dumpster where she had been rummaging for cans, there was nowhere left for Bella Cruz to run.

It was a terrible thing to look into the eyes of a killer and see nothing but your own reflection, but that was what she saw. Moments later, there was little to mark his passing but a handful of dead roses that he’d left in the crook of Bella’s arm.

There in the darkness, with nothing but a single burning lightbulb above the back door of a closed bar to light the way, the old woman’s body seemed serene in repose.

She lay on her back, cradling the limp and shedding roses as she might have a child. The felt hat she’d been wearing now pillowed her head. In the daylight, her stained and tattered dress would have been looked upon with disdain, but here in the shadows, the damage to the woman and her clothes was subdued.