arrived a few minutes ago,
and the detectives are still going through the house. They have Chay around back and
are interviewing him. It’s probably going to be a while before we find out anything.”
She fished in her jacket pocket, pulled out a peppermint.
“Want one?” When Gabriel shook his head, she unwrapped the candy and slipped it between
her lips in an unconsciously sexy gesture. He clenched his jaw. Shit .
“How’s Chay?” he asked, disgust at his unruly hormones sharpening his tone.
“He’s”—she twirled her hand in the air as if attempting to conjure the correct term
to describe their friend—“Chay.” She sighed, tucked the wrapper into her jacket pocket.
“Calm, quiet, keeping it together.”
Yeah. Keeping it together…while inside he was probably screaming. But damn if Chay
would show it. The four of them—Gabe, Mal, Rafe, and Chay—all had their issues, their
inner demons. Gabriel had lost Maura and Ian in a senseless, tragic accident; Malachim
had daddy issues that made Hamlet and his father look like drinking buddies; Raphael
had an eternal case of black-sheep-itis. And Chay— Gabriel often wondered what event
would ultimately bring his friend’s emotional house of cards tumbling down.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
Leah grasped the meaning behind his question, and slowly nodded. “It isn’t pretty.
I’ve seen a few murder scenes in my day, and this one…” She glanced over her shoulder
toward the house. The front and side of the structure had been roped off with several
officers standing guard, and one uniform posted at the front door with a notebook.
As they watched, the cop stopped a man in a Tyvek suit, gloves, and booties, scribbled
something on the pad, and then allowed the crime scene tech inside the house. “This
one’s up there in brutality. I’m not an expert or psychologist, but the stab wounds—they
were vicious, savage. Whoever did this was angry, filled with hate. This was very
personal.”
Good God . Gabriel closed his eyes, shuddered. Instead of Darion, his mind reflected Leah lying
on the floor, bloody, battered, torn apart. Terror clawed at his chest, spilled a
bitter tang on his tongue. His lashes lifted as though his soul needed reminding she
stood before him, whole, unspoiled.
“I want to pull you into my arms and hold you right now.” The confession was ragged,
hoarse, dragged from the part of him he’d buried with his wife and son—the part of
him he denied existed any longer.
She blinked. Stared. Then a hesitant, tentative smile wavered on her lips. As if uncertain
of his words’ meaning—or her reaction to them. The expression, so jarring on the confident,
stubborn woman he knew, pierced the atrophied muscle he called a heart.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “It’s enough that you want to. I—”
“Hey, Bannon,” Jamison shouted from behind him. “These two here. Do you know ’em?”
Leah sidestepped and peered around Gabriel. “Yes. They’re with the family, too. Let
them through.”
Gabriel turned in time to watch Malachim and Raphael rush forward. In spite of the
circumstances, the corner of his mouth twitched as Jamison eyed Rafe as if he belonged
in the back of a squad car handcuffed, not crossing a police barricade. Clothed entirely
in black from his hoodie and jeans to his combat boots, with long, black hair falling
around his face and small silver hoops piercing his brow and ears, Rafe presented
an intimidating figure. Malachim, in his perfectly tailored black suit and long wool
coat, cut an equally striking figure. His cool, refined elegance was the antithesis
of Rafe’s roughness, yet they both shared the same take-no-prisoners demeanor that
made Rafe an excellent security specialist and Mal a formidable litigator in the Boston
area.
Rafe reached him and Leah ahead of Mal. Gabriel stepped forward and they embraced,
the hug brief and tight. He repeated
and the detectives are still going through the house. They have Chay around back and
are interviewing him. It’s probably going to be a while before we find out anything.”
She fished in her jacket pocket, pulled out a peppermint.
“Want one?” When Gabriel shook his head, she unwrapped the candy and slipped it between
her lips in an unconsciously sexy gesture. He clenched his jaw. Shit .
“How’s Chay?” he asked, disgust at his unruly hormones sharpening his tone.
“He’s”—she twirled her hand in the air as if attempting to conjure the correct term
to describe their friend—“Chay.” She sighed, tucked the wrapper into her jacket pocket.
“Calm, quiet, keeping it together.”
Yeah. Keeping it together…while inside he was probably screaming. But damn if Chay
would show it. The four of them—Gabe, Mal, Rafe, and Chay—all had their issues, their
inner demons. Gabriel had lost Maura and Ian in a senseless, tragic accident; Malachim
had daddy issues that made Hamlet and his father look like drinking buddies; Raphael
had an eternal case of black-sheep-itis. And Chay— Gabriel often wondered what event
would ultimately bring his friend’s emotional house of cards tumbling down.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
Leah grasped the meaning behind his question, and slowly nodded. “It isn’t pretty.
I’ve seen a few murder scenes in my day, and this one…” She glanced over her shoulder
toward the house. The front and side of the structure had been roped off with several
officers standing guard, and one uniform posted at the front door with a notebook.
As they watched, the cop stopped a man in a Tyvek suit, gloves, and booties, scribbled
something on the pad, and then allowed the crime scene tech inside the house. “This
one’s up there in brutality. I’m not an expert or psychologist, but the stab wounds—they
were vicious, savage. Whoever did this was angry, filled with hate. This was very
personal.”
Good God . Gabriel closed his eyes, shuddered. Instead of Darion, his mind reflected Leah lying
on the floor, bloody, battered, torn apart. Terror clawed at his chest, spilled a
bitter tang on his tongue. His lashes lifted as though his soul needed reminding she
stood before him, whole, unspoiled.
“I want to pull you into my arms and hold you right now.” The confession was ragged,
hoarse, dragged from the part of him he’d buried with his wife and son—the part of
him he denied existed any longer.
She blinked. Stared. Then a hesitant, tentative smile wavered on her lips. As if uncertain
of his words’ meaning—or her reaction to them. The expression, so jarring on the confident,
stubborn woman he knew, pierced the atrophied muscle he called a heart.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “It’s enough that you want to. I—”
“Hey, Bannon,” Jamison shouted from behind him. “These two here. Do you know ’em?”
Leah sidestepped and peered around Gabriel. “Yes. They’re with the family, too. Let
them through.”
Gabriel turned in time to watch Malachim and Raphael rush forward. In spite of the
circumstances, the corner of his mouth twitched as Jamison eyed Rafe as if he belonged
in the back of a squad car handcuffed, not crossing a police barricade. Clothed entirely
in black from his hoodie and jeans to his combat boots, with long, black hair falling
around his face and small silver hoops piercing his brow and ears, Rafe presented
an intimidating figure. Malachim, in his perfectly tailored black suit and long wool
coat, cut an equally striking figure. His cool, refined elegance was the antithesis
of Rafe’s roughness, yet they both shared the same take-no-prisoners demeanor that
made Rafe an excellent security specialist and Mal a formidable litigator in the Boston
area.
Rafe reached him and Leah ahead of Mal. Gabriel stepped forward and they embraced,
the hug brief and tight. He repeated
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