“That’s my father’s car.” She tipped her head toward a black Beemer parked just across the street. “He must be up there waiting for me.” She sighed again. “This is going to sound awful, but I don’t think I’m up to seeing him right now.”
“Madison…” He stopped, realizing his reassurances weren’t enough. She needed time to deal with it all on her own. He leaned forward and barked a new order at the driver, who quickly pulled out into traffic again.
“What are you doing?” Equal parts of hope and relief washed across her face.
“Getting you out of here.” He shot her a grin, and received the ghost of a smile in return, the gesture making him feel reckless. Playing knight errant certainly had its benefits. “The great Philip Merrick will just have to wait.”
* * *
Madison stood in the doorway of the hotel suite, torn between gratitude and apprehension. On the one hand, Gabriel had saved her from an unpleasant confrontation with her father. On the other hand, they were now alone together in a hotel room, which, however innocent the reason, didn’t negate the fact that the current running between the two of them was becoming impossible to ignore.
Gabriel was checking the room. Force of habit, no doubt, since no one knew where they were, or as far as she knew was threatening them. Still, it made her feel oddly protected to watch him checking the windows, light fixtures and telephone.
“It’s clear,” he said. “Why don’t you take that shower? And I’ll see about getting us something to eat.”
She wasn’t the slightest bit hungry, and the idea of being naked with him just on the other side of the door seemed, at the very least, a blatant come-on to temptation. But the idea of warm water won out, and she nodded, not certain she could actually find words, and headed for the bathroom.
There wasn’t a lock, but she told herself it didn’t matter. Just because her body was primed and ready didn’t mean his was. He was watching out for his partner. Nothing more, nothing less. And she’d do well to get her mind out of the gutter.
She turned on the taps, and then turned to face the mirror, its candor not exactly welcome. Pale was an understatement; her eyes seemed three times their normal size. She’d been through far more horrific situations, and come out the other side without a scratch. But none of them had been personal.
Jeremy Bosner’s life had been in her hands, and she’d failed him. She swallowed a sob, knowing that if she let the tears come, she’d never be able to stop them. And the one thing she was certain of in this life was the fact that you had to stay strong, no matter the obstacles. Only by focusing on facts and squeezing out emotion could she come out the winner.
She sighed, recognizing that she wasn’t just thinking about her profession, she was thinking about her life. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the bathtub, and sank down into its soothing depth. Her problem was she thought too much. Overanalyzed everything. And just because the men in her life all seemed to think she needed protecting didn’t mean she had to give in to the notion.
Her father meant well, she knew that. But it didn’t excuse his cavalier behavior. In that, he and Gabriel Roarke were cut from the same cloth. Or were they?
She settled back into the water, letting the warmth seep in. He’d been so different in the cab. More open than she’d ever seen him. Vulnerable, even. She laughed at the notion. Nothing about Gabriel Roarke was vulnerable.
He was one hundred percent man. The very definition of alpha male. And she’d had her fill of testosterone. The chest-thumping, hair-dragging, me-Tarzan-you-Jane scenario left her cold. Been there, done that.
So why, the little voice in her head nagged, did she still feel so attracted to him? She closed her eyes, willing the water to wash away her troubled thoughts, but instead it enhanced them, the soft lapping erotic, lover-like, against her skin.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured Gabriel’s body hard against hers as he filled her, the exquisite sensation threatening to shatter her into pieces. Stifling a moan, she pulled herself out of the water, pulling the drain, and started the shower. Cold water was what she needed. Something—anything to banish her current train of thought.
Exhaustion played havoc with the mind, and she’d be wise not to give in. Even in fantasy, Gabriel Roarke was a dangerous man.
* * *
Gabriel replaced the telephone in its cradle, trying hard to ignore the sound of the water running and the torrid pictures it invoked. He’d called Cullen and assured him that they were all right, at the same time refusing to divulge their whereabouts. Madison needed some time, the night at least, to deal with things in her own way. And having seen her father in action, he understood her need to escape—at least for a few hours.
What he didn’t understand was his need to help her. Something about her called to him in a way he couldn’t explain. He’d fought against it, distancing himself from her in every way possible, but somehow despite the anger they always seemed to generate, he still was drawn to her. And if something had happened to her tonight…
But it hadn’t. She’d performed like a pro. And he should be commending her, not wishing she’d change professions. A woman like Madison couldn’t be coddled. That was the mistake her father was making. Sequestering her away from the world and all its dangers wasn’t the answer, despite Gabriel’s desire to join forces with the man and make it so.
Someone knocked on the door and he jumped, reaching automatically for his gun. A glance through the peephole assured him it was room service, and with a rueful shake of his head, he holstered the weapon and opened the door.
The kid behind the trolley looked all of sixteen, his uniform immaculate and about two sizes too big. Handing the kid a five, he closed the door, locked it, and pushed the cart to the center of the room, inhaling the wonderful aromas of the food.
He hadn’t known what she’d want, so he’d ordered across the board. Appetizers, main courses, a salad, and even waffles for good measure. Surely something there would appeal to her. Again he marveled at the realization that he cared what she thought. When exactly had things changed?
Or more precisely, when had he accepted the fact that she was different from the others? An equal with whom he could share not only his body, but his thoughts? He frowned, pushing his rambling thoughts aside. He was acting like the kid with the trolley, all elbows, knees and hormones. And it didn’t suit. Not at all. She was a colleague, and he was protecting her. He repeated the words again aloud, just to make sure they sank in.
Hormones were nothing more than a chemical reaction, and that was something he could control. There was nothing between him and Madison Harper. She wasn’t his type, and he wasn’t in the market anyway. Just because they’d been thrown together didn’t mean he had to act on every foolish impulse he had.
For a moment he was tempted to call room service and have them remove the tray. Afraid suddenly of what she’d read into his apparent thoughtfulness. But he didn’t have the chance.
A muffled sob caught his attention. At first he thought he’d imagined it, but then he heard it again, and as he stepped closer to the closed bathroom door, he was certain of what he was hearing.
Madison was crying.
He knocked, softly at first, and then when there was no answer, more firmly. He heard her moving, and what sounded like an answer, followed by more tears. A part of him wanted to move away, to ignore what he’d heard, but another part of him wanted to help, to make it better.
Without giving himself time to retreat, he pushed open the door, the misty steam pouring out around him. She was standing in front of the mirror, clad only in a white terrycloth robe, her hair slicked back to outline the curves of her face, her feet and calves bare, the sight making his heart pound and his mouth run dry.
Both hands gripped the counter, as if by sheer force she could will away all emotion, the tense line of her shoulders an obvious contradiction to the effort. She turned to face him, still fighting for control, her pallor indicative of her torm
ent.
But what touched him, what unmanned him, was the stark vulnerability in her eyes. He knew that look, had been there himself. She was doubting herself and her actions, uncertain suddenly of her ability to cope with a job that she loved.
Lust fled in a wash of empathy, the need to comfort overriding all other thoughts. He took a step, and without realizing it, opened his arms, and with a strangled cry, she threw herself against him, sobs ripping through her as if the world had gone mad. Maybe it had. He pressed his lips against her hair, the sweet smell of soap arousing in its simplicity.
“It’s going to be all right.” He knew that it was a senseless phrase, that it had no real meaning as he hadn’t the power to make it okay. But he said it anyway, repeating it for good measure, holding her close, letting her cry, knowing that in doing so there was healing.
He’d been there. More than once. Second-guessing the past. Wishing for a second chance. And always with the same sense of hopelessness. Knowing that despite the best of intentions he hadn’t made a difference. And someone had died.
He pulled her over to a wing chair and sat down, holding her in his lap, whispering nonsensical nothings, wishing he had the power to take the pain away, knowing that he didn’t, that the only way she would heal was to face her fears herself.
Chapter Nineteen
She swallowed a sniffle, and pushed away from him, mortified that she’d let herself go. “I don’t—I mean, I—” She stopped, feeling every kind of fool. Gabriel Roarke didn’t cry on his partners.
“I ordered food.” He smiled at her, the gesture threatening to bring the tears all over again, but she held on to the last shreds of her dignity and took the offered escape.
“Wonderful.” She slid off his lap, pulling the robe more tightly around her. “I’ll just get changed and then we can eat.” She refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at the red paint on her toenails, a foolish bit of vanity she clung to in the light of her often mannish apparel.
“Nonsense.” He stood up, too, moving over to the cart. Madison could smell something wonderful, and to her consternation, her stomach rumbled happily in response. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. “The robe is fine. It covers more than an overcoat.”
She wasn’t completely convinced of the fact, but it was warm and comfortable, and she’d already spent a lot of time crying on his lap wearing the thing. Surely a little bit longer wouldn’t hurt anything. And truth be told, she was famished.
She sat down on one of the chairs he’d pulled up, waiting expectantly as he pulled the lids off various dishes. It was as if she’d landed in the middle of a feast. French fries, hamburgers, pasta with some sort of vegetable sauce—and waffles. “You thought of everything.” She grinned up at him, their gazes locking, and she immediately looked down again, not willing to accept the invitation she saw in his eyes.
Or thought she saw. As overwrought as she was, it wouldn’t be impossible for her to be seeing something where nothing existed at all.
“Hopefully something here will appeal.” He waved a hand at the table, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
“It’s marvelous,” she said, surprised at how very much she meant it. “I’ll have the waffles. They’re my favorite.” She took a bite and sighed. “When I was really little I lived with my mother. And every Sunday she’d make waffles. It was sort of our special thing. No one else was ever invited. Just the two of us. And ever since, when things have been tough, I have a craving for them. Like they’re some sort of panacea, I guess.” She regretted sharing the minute she opened her mouth. Gabriel didn’t care about her childhood desires.
“French fries always do that for me. Preferably McDonald’s.” He reached for the plate of French fries, his smile warm and encompassing. “Are you still in touch with your mother?”
Madison shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of waffles. “Only a couple times a year. She and my stepfather live in New Mexico on a ranch. It’s just too far away from New York for regular visits.” Put that way it sounded silly. Planes did fly both directions. “I was just a kid when I went to live with my father, and I’m not sure that Mother and I really ever reconnected.”
“It happens.” Gabriel shrugged. “But at least you still have her as a part of your life.”
“I didn’t even think about your parents. I’m sorry. You must think I’m awful. My mother is a free spirit. And it’s always been hard to pin her down for visits and the like. But she loves me. I know that. And I am grateful to have her around.” It wasn’t absolutely true. If she were honest, she’d have to admit she’d spent a lot of time wishing her mother was more accessible and her father was less demanding. Maybe if she’d spent more time accepting what she did have rather than trying to change what she couldn’t…
“Everyone has to look at life from their own perspective, Madison. You of all people should know that. Just because I didn’t have parents doesn’t mean you can’t be angry with yours.” As usual he’d read her like an open book, the idea at once infuriating and intriguing.
“When you come right down to it though, for someone like you, my life must seem pretty damn easy.”
Gabriel shrugged, reaching for a hamburger. “Everyone makes their own hell.”
It was an innocuous statement, almost throwaway, yet she had the feeling it was also very telling. A defining statement that ought to give her insight into the man sitting in front of her. But for once her intuition came up empty.
She wrote it off to exhaustion, but a part of her recognized that maybe she was just too close to be objective.
“I agree with that, I think,” she said, leaning back to look at him. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? The key is what one does next that determines character.”
“You mean whether they have the courage to claw their way out?” His crystalline gaze was assessing, and she shivered under the examination.
“Something like that. There are people who can’t escape. Who only compound the problem, making it worse.” She ate another forkful of waffle, turning her thoughts over in her mind. “And there are others who wallow in it. Taking pleasure from their own pain. So, yes, I guess I think the winners are the ones who find a way out.”
“And what if there isn’t a way out? What if the homemade hell is so deep and dark that there is no hope?” His gaze was intense now, as if the answer mattered very much.
“There’s always hope.” The words were out before she could stop them, and she watched his face darken. “No, wait.” She held up a hand, stopping his retort. “I really do believe that. I think sometimes you have to search for it. And that it doesn’t always present itself in the way you’d like. But I do believe that it’s always there.”
“Hope springs eternal.” Cynicism colored his voice.
“Maybe not eternal, but often.” She smiled, the gesture a peace offering. She hadn’t meant to debate the fundamentals of life with him. “Maybe it’s just a matter of knowing where to look.”
He nodded, setting down the hamburger. “And maybe sometimes, it’s just too much effort to find it.”
They sat in silence then, and Madison wondered how she could feel so intimately connected with him, while at the same time knowing that he had withdrawn completely. It was maddening and compelling all at once.
Gabriel Roarke was a paradox. And though there were parts of him she frankly couldn’t stand, there was a lot about the man that appealed to her on the most primitive of levels. Soul-to-soul.
Despite the differences in their backgrounds and personalities, there was a similarity she couldn’t deny, and he recognized it just as clearly as she did, both of them simultaneously entertaining thoughts of running for the hills—even though neither of them was going to give an inch.
* * *
“Where the bloody hell is my daughter?” Philip Merrick spat at Cullen, pacing the Turkish carpet like an enraged sultan. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his mouth drawn into a tight line, his voice strung t
ighter than a Stradivarius.
“I’ve told you, Philip, I don’t know.” Cullen’s voice wasn’t exactly tranquil. The events of the night were quickly spiraling out of hand. First the near-miss with the purported hacker, then Jeremy’s murder, and now Gabriel disappearing with Madison. “Gabriel just called to say that she needed a little time. He’ll watch out for her.”
“Like hell he will.” Philip’s voice had risen to a shriek. “You know as well as I do he’s far more likely to use her and then leave her high and dry like that prick she married. You said the bastard called. Where did the call come from?”
“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me.” Cullen did not like being put on the defensive, even when it was Philip. Especially when it was Philip. They’d been friends for a long time, but there had always been an air of superiority about the man that had irked Cullen. And there’d been times when Cullen quite cheerfully would have paid good money to see Philip being taken down a peg.
But now wasn’t one of those times. Not when Madison was involved. On one thing they absolutely agreed, and that was their shared love of Philip’s daughter. “He’s not going to hurt her.”
“You don’t know that.” Philip had calmed a little, if only so that he could think. “Did you star sixty-nine him?”
Cullen shook his head. “It didn’t occur to me. I trust the man, Philip.”
“Do it now.” Philip was already looking around the room for the telephone.
“I can’t. I’ve received other calls.”
“Well, check the caller ID,” he demanded.
“I’m not going to second-guess my command team just because you feel like you’ve lost control of your daughter.” Cullen shook his head regretfully, knowing his friend was about to explode.
“Goddamn it.” Philip didn’t disappoint. “I want to know where my daughter is.”
And so they’d come full circle.
“She’ll be back in the morning. Gabriel said so. She just needed time to sort through what happened. She was there when Jeremy was murdered. And you know as well as I do that she’ll be feeling guilty about it.”
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