Young Love Murder (28 page)

“It has an adequate restaurant,” she informs me.

As long as I get more answers during dinner I could care less where we eat. Escorting her inside and through the lobby, there’s a restaurant off to the right. It’s a nice hotel, therefore a nice restaurant. Dimly lit, with votive candles flickering atop white tablecloths and sconces glowing on the walls, the rich aroma of fine cuisine makes me realize that I haven’t eaten since lunch. 

She was right about not needing a reservation and we’re seated immediately by a pretty red-headed hostess wearing a conservative black dress. After she gives us our leather bound menus, I nonchalantly ask Marie, “So, what else are you willing to let slip about Anna?”

She gives me a sly smile, practically purring, “You are a bright boy, Gabriel Sanchez.”

“I like to think so,” I agree immodestly.

She looks thoughtful and her tone changes, “What are your plans once,
if
, you find her? Do you mean to harm the girl?”

Her question throws me mentally off-balance for a moment. How much has Anna,
I mean Annabelle
, told her? Pretending interest in the menu, I deflect her question, “Why would you ask that?”

She looks totally unconcerned as she’s reading her own menu and responds, “Because she killed your father.”

Dumbfounded that she knows about Miami, it takes me a moment to correct her, “Murdered.”

She looks up at me sharply. “Annabelle is
not
a murderer.”

“That’s not the way it looked from where I was standing,” I tell her coldly.

“If Annabelle killed your father then it was for a good reason. She does not kill the innocent.” Before I can get a word in, she continues, “But that is in the past. I repeat my question, why do you want to find Annabelle?”

I take a moment to think over my careful answer. “I need closure.”

She studies me for a moment, gray eyes drilling into mine. “You will not be able to do it.”

Shifting uncomfortably under her attention, I attempt to throw her off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The waiter arrives to bring us water in crystal goblets and ask if we need more time with the menus or would like anything else to drink. We dismiss him for now and he tells us in English that he’ll return in a few minutes. When he leaves, she continues the conversation as if the interruption never occurred. “You think to get revenge, young man. It will not work. You love her too deeply.”

Her words sting and I react impulsively. “I hate her.” I don’t even bother to hide the fact from her any longer, letting the chill enter my eyes and expression.

“You hate what she did. You do not hate the woman inside.
That
woman loves you.”

Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t believe Anna is capable of love. I don’t believe she ever loved me. She’s a professional deceiver.”

“She is a young woman who was taught not to fall in love but did anyways.
With you
.” She says it like she’s proud of Anna, like I should be grateful.

I lean forward in my seat and in a conspiratorial voice ask, “How young? How old is she really?”

She lifts one elegant eyebrow. “How old did she say she was?”

“Seventeen,” I answer automatically.

Marie looks smug. “Well then, I guess she did not lie about everything. Although . . . .”

“Although . . . ,” I prompt her.

She smiles lightly, affection apparent in her voice, “Today is her birthday.”

The news stuns me for a moment. The part of me that still loves her feels a brief flash of tenderness at the thought. Wishing things had been different and we could have been celebrating it together at this very moment. Her eighteenth birthday. Of course, the part of me that hates her, wants her dead, thinks it would be fitting to end her life on her birthday.

Confused by my own thoughts, I mumble, “So, she’s only a few weeks younger than me. Funny, I’d convinced myself that maybe she was several years older.”

Marie has an understanding expression on her face. “Yes, Annabelle has had more experiences than one so young should. Many people will never come close to understanding her world. Not even me.”

The part of me that loves her wishes it
could
understand. I’m hoping that part dies along with her. “How did she become what she is?”

Marie shakes her head gracefully. “That is her story to tell.”

I scowl, disgusted with myself. “You know what? I don’t even need to know the
why
of it.”

“She loves you very much, Gabriel,” Marie says softly, then sips some water from her glass.

“No. She doesn’t.”

“She needs you.” Marie’s tone has softened even more, but I ignore the plea in her eyes.

“She needs a bullet to that black heart of hers,” I mutter under my breath.

“Excuse me?” Marie asks, not hearing my quiet words.

“Nothing.”

The look she gives me is one of disappointment. “You will just have to learn for yourself.”

“Where can I find her?” It doesn’t hurt to ask. Not that I’d tell me if the roles were reversed.

Marie studies her nails for a long moment before saying, “Room 404.”

“Room 404?” I’m wondering if I heard her right. “In this hotel?” Can it be that easy?

She looks at me with a sneaky smile. “That is what I said.”

Jumping out of my chair it falls backwards, landing with a
thud
on the ground. As the other diners look on in reaction to my clumsiness, I reach down to right it with trembling hands. “I have to go.”

“I know.” As I start to walk off, she calls out, “Oh Gabriel?”

I whirl around, taking a few more steps backwards, almost colliding into a waiter who narrowly avoids me. “Yeah?” I answer impatiently.

“I taught her everything she knows.” Her smile is naughty, proud once again.

I think back to the remark Anna made about the French Madam who taught her the many ways of pleasing a man. The memories hit me, causing my blood to rush.

“She told me . . . and thank you.” If my cheeks weren’t already flushed from excitement, I’m sure I’d have a blush coming on right about now. 

Spinning back around to run through the lobby, dress shoes tapping along the marble, I’m anxious to get on an elevator to the fourth floor. I tell myself that my heart isn’t beating fast at the thought of seeing her. I tell myself that I’m not feeling happiness at finally finding her.

I tell myself that, despite my traitorous heart, I have no choice but to kill her.

Chapter 21

Annabelle

After the heartbreaking almost-encounter with Gabriel in front of his hotel, I go back to my own to be alone. Thank god Jackson isn’t here. I don’t want to deal with any more lectures from him while in my current mood. Mood isn’t quite the right word for it. Devastation would be more fitting a description. The look of hatred on Gabriel’s face, those beautiful green eyes that mesmerized me from the start filled with so much coldness now.

And
I
did it to him. Whether we ended up together in the end or not, he should have never known that the girl he loved was a killer. Especially not that I was his father’s executioner. I should have smoothly slipped right back out of his life the same way that I’d slipped in. Was it ridiculous to think there would ever be a future for us where we could be together?

I am what I am, there’s no changing that.

But for a moment there, hope was alive. I’d ridiculously thought that Gabriel was searching for me for romantic reasons. That he’d forgiven me for killing his father and wanted us to be together. If only . . .
ugh, stop being a girl, Annabelle!

Why
is
he searching for me? That’s what Simon sent Jackson and me here to find out. Simon ordered us not to confront him until we had more information. I have a feeling, though, that a confrontation is inevitable. How else am I to find out what he wants from me? I could bug his hotel room and the private investigator’s room. Jackson always gets a kick out of doing that and it wouldn’t take long for Porky to express the equipment to us.

Going into my plush hotel bedroom, I decide I’ve done enough thinking for today and change out of my dress and G-string and into an oversized band t-shirt I’d stolen from Jackson, more comfortable underwear and cotton sleep shorts. Time for a nap, something I’ve been indulging in often since my breakup with Gabriel. Depressed people sleep a lot. When I wake up I’ll figure out my next step. Throwing a few of the excessive pillows off the bed, I plop down on my back and stare above me at the cream canopy shot with gold threading.

Despite my determination not to cry anymore, the tears fall as I drift off into much-needed oblivion.

Only to be awoken minutes later, before I can even enter into a deep sleep, by a knock on the door. Feeling groggy and irritated, I pull myself out of bed and walk to the door to look through the peephole. There’s no one there. Well hell, that wakes me up. Rushing to my bag and pulling out a gun, I move back over to the white paneled door, standing off to the side. “Who’s there?” I shout through the thick door.

No answer.

Unlatching the door to swing it open, I bring my gun up at the same time, aiming it right at Gabriel’s face. A myriad of expressions pass over the face that I cherish so much. Surprise, confusion, longing, anger and finally determination. Then he speaks with his tone devoid of all those emotions, “Hello, Annabelle Claire Blanc.”

That startles me. “How’d you find out?”
Shit! Stupid Annabelle, don’t acknowledge it!

He looks coldly amused. “A mutual friend.” Gabriel has an innocent expression on his face as he asks, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

I stare at him suspiciously, pretending that my heart isn’t racing, that his presence hasn’t scrambled my emotions. “Why would I do that?”

He doesn’t answer, but instead hooks his foot behind my ankle, causing me to almost fall on my ass. I’m trained for something like that, however. I throw my arms back and do a back somersault, ending in a crouching position facing him.

Unfortunately, my little maneuver caused me to drop my gun, which he now has in his hand. Wow, I am
seriously
off my game. But who can blame me while I’m in the presence of my kryptonite? He aims the gun on me while stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind him, swinging security bar and all. If Jackson comes back he won’t be able to enter, not without a security latch opener. Which it would take him a whole minute to charm a maid out of.

Gabriel takes a step forward and I slowly stand up from my crouched position. He smiles, but not in a pleasant way, then cheerfully says, “I just saw your panties, Annabelle.”

His strange mood swings are throwing me off, not that I show it. I shrug in an unconcerned manner. “I’m not gonna blush about it.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He takes another step closer. “Whores usually don’t.” Despite his obvious contempt for me and my attempt to not let it get to me, his words still sting, but I manage not to flinch.

Tilting my head to the side, I paste a defiant look on my face. “Whores usually sleep with more than one guy.” Not as childish as ‘takes one to know one’, which was the first retort to cross my mind.

He scowls, obviously not liking the reminder that I was a virgin before I met him. The malicious gleam returns in his eyes. “It’s been four months, Annabelle, I’m sure you’ve managed to fuck and kill lots of guys since then.”