“This is too much to take in for everyone,” Beatrice said. It certainly was for her. She was reeling, but she could feel the tension in Gabe right now, even some self-loathing. She should be pissed at him for being party to what happened to Travis and Caitlin, but now was not the time. She wanted to tend to his injuries, but this revelation made her wary. Did she really want to know what he did as this Dmitry Yerzov guy? She decided distance was best right now while she sort herself out. “Gabe, go home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Travis balled up his fists at his sides, and Gabe squared up. He meant it when he said he was fighting back this time.
“I agree,” Nate said. “Sullivan, get out of here before we change our minds.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” Gabe scowled at Beatrice.
“Bee is not leaving with you,” Nate snapped.
“Oh, yes, she is,” Gabe muttered, his arm reached out and yanked her against him. His eyes drilled into hers.
“I’m not leaving without you,” he repeated.
The air was charged with testosterone, seeing that the only levelheaded man right now was Ed, who would definitely side with Travis and Nate if the situation deteriorated.
“Okay,” Beatrice looked at a furious Nate. “I got this, Nate.”
“Bee—” Nate reached for her.
“Seriously? Fuck off.” Gabe shoved Nate.
“Jesus! Enough!” Beatrice yelled in exasperation. She yanked on Gabe’s massive arm and dragged him toward the exit. “Stand down, Reece, before you piss me off.”
Men!
*****
Gabe was relieved Beatrice left with him. He didn’t want her to be out of sight. Not right now. Not when he didn’t know how she really felt when he had all but admitted he was the Russian assassin, Dmitry Yerzov. He thought he was ready to tell her everything, but it was harder than he first thought.
“Come home with me, please,” Gabe said quietly, casting a furtive glance at her.
“I can’t, Gabe. Look, come over to my condo and I’ll take care of your cuts. Travis did a number on your face. Is your nose broken?”
Now that she mentioned it, his face felt like one fucking swollen pulsating lump. He moved his jaw; it hurt, but thankfully it wasn’t broken. Most of the blood was from his nose, but he didn’t think it was fractured either. “I’m fine.”
“Now is not the time to act all macho—”
“I’m not. We can swing by your condo and pick up some clothes.”
“You said you’d give me space. I’m still trying to process yesterday’s revelations and now . . . this happens.”
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, fighting to stay quiet and not blurt out his defense. Should he even be saying anything? He couldn’t. Not in good conscience could he volunteer information.
He heard her sigh.
She didn’t want to be here with him.
He felt deflated.
He had been so hopeful last night and today.
Right now, not so much.
Twenty minutes later, Beatrice let them into her condo. She gestured for him to head straight for her bedroom. Gabe wondered if she felt the sizzle and electricity between them, because anywhere he had Beatrice all to himself, he couldn’t help but think of doing wicked things to her.
It was the first time he saw her bedroom. There was a four-poster bed with a prissy canopy. Thankfully, not pink. The whole room was feminine, but not cloyingly so. He entered the bathroom. The scent of Beatrice was all over. Something floral, something citrusy. A flash of her thighs spread out with his head between them came to mind. He had a strong desire to boost her on the sink and go down on her.
“Why don’t you sit over there?” Beatrice pointed to the closed toilet seat. Gabe dutifully obeyed, staring at her ass while she moved around the bedroom. She had kicked off her heels and was in her stocking feet. Was she wearing garters underneath that skirt?
She came back with some soaked cotton balls on a towel.
“So talk.”
“There’s nothing really to say.”
“Are you Dmitry?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“I want to hear you say it.” Beatrice took that moment to dab his face—none too gently—with a soaked cotton ball.
Gabe gritted his teeth. “I did what had to be done.”
“Did you have anything to do with Fuego’s involvement in that shoot-out that nearly got Caitlin killed?”
“She’s alive, isn’t she?” Gabe snapped. Beatrice made a noncommittal sound and picked up another soaked cotton ball and jabbed it on a cut near his eye.
“Fuck!” Gabe roared. That fucking stung. “What the hell was that?”
“Alcohol,” Beatrice said calmly. “Are you going to give me answers at all?”
“What do you want to know?”
“You killed people for the mob.”
“I told you I did horrific things. I’m working through it.”
“Are you using me as a crutch, Gabe?”
Beatrice sighed and started affixing butterfly strips on his face. “I take it by your silence, you either don’t know or you are.”
“I don’t think you’re an emotional crutch, poppy,” Gabe said gently. “You do keep me tethered to this reality. I’ve accepted what I had to do. As a hit man, I did it for the greed of an organization. But in doing that, a bigger evil was taken down. Someone had to do the dirty job to clean up shit in this world, babe; it just happened to be me. Everyone I’ve assassinated on that kill roll handed to me was guilty of a crime, I swear.”
Beatrice stared at him dubiously.
“Trust me,” Gabe whispered. He grabbed her waist and buried his face on her belly. “Just trust me, Beatrice.”
She was rigid in her posture; her arms were at her sides. Gabe burrowed his nose further, further down. She inhaled sharply.
Her fingers drove into his hair and tilted his head up forcefully to look up at her. “No distractions, Sullivan. You realize you put me in a difficult position with Travis and with BSI in general.”
Gabe scowled. “Babe, you need to stop pulling my hair unless you want me to fuck you afterward, because right now, I have an overwhelming desire to shove up your skirt and eat that pussy.”
Her fingers disappeared from his hair as she tried to step back, but he held her firmly.
“Be serious.” Her voice was shaky.
“I am being serious,” Gabe gritted through his teeth. “I’m as hard as a brick.”
Without releasing her, he let her pull away a bit so she could see the undeniable ridge pushing against his jeans.
“Umm . . . Well, you’re on your own with that,” Beatrice laughed nervously. “Let me go.”
Gabe grinned despite the ache in his jaw. Blake had a mean right hook. He watched Beatrice dispose of the used cotton balls and other litter from their little first-aid session. She strutted to the corner of the bathroom to return the medical kit, her ass taunting him in that tight skirt. “You need to stop doing that.”
His gaze lifted to hers. “Stop doing what?”
She had a knowing smile on her lips. “Looking at me like you want to eat me up.”
Is she flirting with me?
Gabe stood up cautiously; her eyes left his, lowering to his crotch. Christ! Is she torturing me?
He cleared his throat. “You need to stop staring at my dick.”
Beatrice smirked, turned her back on him, and walked out of the bathroom. “Point made. If you’re hungry”—significant pause—“for food, I can fix you something.”
Gabe followed her to the kitchen. “What if I’m hungry for something else?”
Beatrice was rummaging through the fridge and didn’t answer for a while. After taking out some chopped-up veggies and some chicken cutlets, she said, “Sex is off the table tonight, Sullivan. So if that’s what you’re after, the door is right there, but I’m not above sharing a chicken stir-fry.”
“I’ll stay
for dinner,” Gabe said quickly. Put in place again. Dial down the teenage hormones will you, Sullivan?
“Great.” Beatrice beamed at him.
That killer smile always did funny things to his chest.
Gabe ended up staying for a movie as well. A damned chick flick. It was a romantic comedy, so it was at least bearable. Beatrice didn’t ask him any more questions about his Russian alter ego. He was relieved, and at the same time, unsettled.
He looked over to where she had fallen asleep at the other end of the couch. Her feet were on his lap. She seemed more relaxed tonight and didn’t protest when he started massaging her soles in the middle of the movie. She had changed into flannel pajamas after dinner. If she was trying to look unsexy, she failed. She could wear a flour sack and he’d still think she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.
Gabe leaned over and stole the remote from her slackened grip and turned off the TV. He carefully lowered her feet, stood up, bent over her, and lifted her from the couch.
“What are you doing?” Beatrice murmured sleepily.
“Putting you to bed and then heading home,” Gabe whispered. “I don’t think Rhino will be too happy with me if I stay much longer.”
“Okay.”
He lowered her on the mattress and did some maneuvering to get her under the covers. Gabe couldn’t help himself and pressed a kiss on her lips. “See you tomorrow, poppy.”
Beatrice was already lightly snoring away.
*****
Dressed in black, her red hair in a severe bun, Beatrice stood at the back of the gathering for the funeral of Eric Stone. Security was tight, and a larger crowd stood outside the cemetery gates. Though not a national sensation, Titanium Rose had an avid following in Northern Virginia and Washington DC.
Gabe stood beside her. She was surprised when he showed up at her condo this morning dressed in a suit. He was one of those men who could be comfortable in whatever setting was required of him. He would look good in all-commando gear as well as an expensive suit, and judging with her experienced eyes, the one he was wearing today cost at least three grand. It was a sunny day despite the chill; he wore sunglasses, which shielded some of the bruises he had sustained last night.
Her icy walls were thawing. In a weird twist of fate, the revelation last night seemed to have released all doubts that what Gabe had done was crucial to National Security. Taking down an organization intent on selling black market nukes to terrorists who could unleash them on U.S. soil was a strategic accomplishment. Prevention rather than reaction. How could she diminish the success of a brilliant plan? It did not completely dispel her reservations of being with someone like him, like her father, but she couldn’t seem to stop him from worming himself back into her life. He was just there, allowing himself to be used. She had not promised him anything; she would see how this played out.
The gathering in front of her started moving. The funeral was over.
“Ready?” Gabe whispered by her ear.
She nodded.
They almost made it to their car when they got ambushed by Kelly Winters.
The reporter eyed Gabe appreciatively. “Beatrice.”
“What do you want, Ms. Winters?”
“Hostile.” The reporter’s lips curved in a derisive smile. “Feeling guilty?”
“Look, it’s Eric’s funeral. Show some respect.”
“There were rumors he overdosed and he had pictures of you scattered in his bedroom.”
Beatrice felt her temper rise but strived to remain calm. “I’m sure they’re just that. Rumors.”
“Are you sure?”
Gabe stepped in front of Beatrice and glared at Kelly. “You’re done.”
“Who’s this? A bodyguard or a new lover?”
“Goodbye, Ms. Winters. I’m not doing this here.” Beatrice’s tone was somber as she pushed past the reporter. Gabe enveloped her protectively in his arms as he led her to the car and deposited her into the passenger seat.
Heavy gloom descended upon her. She hadn’t really mourned Eric’s death. Their relationship was so short, so full of drama, and always in the tabloids, it didn’t feel real. But death was as real as it got.
Gabe got in beside her. He cursed softly when he saw her face. “Don’t let the reporter get to you.”
She sighed in resignation. “It just suddenly hit me. He was a real part of my life, however short. Now he’s gone. He had so much going for him.”
Gabe didn’t respond. He just started the car and pulled away.
*****
Kelly Winters put the finishing touches on her article and sent it to her editor. She had a couple of high-profile stories that had put her firmly on her boss’s favorite list. One was the sex scandal involving a Russian diplomat. But it was her coverage of the drama involving Titanium Rose’s lead guitarist, Eric Stone’s relationship to DC “it” girl Beatrice Porter and his untimely death that had caught public interest. It was a shame the snooty Ms. Porter didn’t want to play the grieving ex-girlfriend. She seemed to have moved on pretty quickly.
Kelly wondered what that stuck-up redhead had going for her. Sure she was beautiful, but so were hundreds of other DC socialites, but she always seemed to have the handsomest men at her beck and call. What the hell was up with that? That man she was with today looked like more than just a bodyguard. The protectiveness was more personal than professional, and damn if he didn’t look smoking hot in a suit. The bruises on his face only added to his mystery and dangerous attractiveness.
The sound of the cleaning cart rattled by in the hallway. It was almost 10:00 p.m. and the office was mostly deserted. Time to go home. She turned off her laptop. She wasn’t taking it home tonight. She deserved a break. Maybe she should go to a bar and meet a guy like Beatrice’s man.
Where does she find men like him?
Kelly waved goodbye to the cleaning lady and stepped into the elevator. It was a straight descent to the underground parking garage. The elevator doors opened to the cold concrete and flickering lights of the parking level. Her heels clattered noisily. There was a distant sound of a car’s squealing tires turning a corner, and the faint fumes of burnt fuel reached her nose. A man in a trench coat appeared a few steps ahead, walking toward her. He was extremely attractive. A business suit peeked from under his coat, and he was carrying a briefcase. The man’s eyes fell upon her, dark and intense. Her reporter’s instincts trilled a warning in her head.
“Good evening,” Kelly said in greeting.
The man jerked his chin in response as he passed her.
A gut reaction made her turn, but she was suddenly held immobile in a tight embrace. Objects landed on the floor, hers or her attacker’s she didn’t know. She felt a prick on her neck. She faded steadily into oblivion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gabe pulled his SUV into the parking lot of a dive bar near the Cloverleaf District. It was late afternoon and the place was quiet, save for a couple of cars and motorcycles in the near deserted gravel parking lot.
Ashe and Duke were waiting for him, lounging languidly against their bikes. He stopped his vehicle beside them and exited. Rounding the front of the car, Gabe put on his sunglasses and walked up to them.
“You have anything for me?”
“Before we give you this information, Crane wants you and Porter to know that this is it. Marker is paid,” Ashe said.
“That’s not for me to decide.”
“Well, maybe it should be Porter meeting us,” Ashe shot back. “Our Prez is pissed because he can’t get ahold of your boss—”
“Porter is not my boss—”
“Well, why the fuck are we talking to you then?”
“Don’t waste my time,” Gabe replied coldly. “Either you give me the information or I walk.”
Duke, who had been quiet for the most part, stepped into Gabe’s space. The young blond biker was a bit shorter than Gabe, but they were mostly nose to nose.
“Listen, I don’t like you,” Duke said. �
��Ashe and I don’t trust you, but that lady friend of yours seems to trust you enough and we like her.”
Duke nodded to Ashe who held out the manila envelope. “If it was all Fuego, we would have gone deeper, but there seems to be some Russian involvement. We stay clear of them. We need to keep the peace.”
Russian. Gabe’s blood turned to ice. “Do you have names?”
“It goes all the way up to the Fuego gang leader who everyone knows is Domingo Ventura, but we don’t have the name of the Russian dude.”
“What kinda fucking intel is that?”
“You have his picture.” Ashe nodded at the envelope before getting on his bike. “We’re outta here.”
Duke swaggered back to his Harley and got on as well. “Later, man.”
Gabe returned to his vehicle and just sat there for a while. Finally, he reached into the brown pouch and pulled out a set of photographs. They were grainy, taken from a distance by a low-resolution camera, but the identity of the man in the picture could not be denied. Along with the past returning to haunt him came a myriad of emotions.
The joy was short-lived, ephemeral in its manifestation because what followed was white hot rage. It was Steve Ryker—his brother-in-arms who was supposed to have died in that plane crash. He was the reason Gabe had given up his happiness with Beatrice to carry through the mission that supposedly should have been Ryker’s. Why the fuck was he alive, and what the fuck was his role in all this bullshit, and why did the Skulls think he was Russian?
His phone buzzed.
“Sullivan.”
“Gabe! It’s Doug,” Keller’s voice came over in such a rush, all his senses went on alert.
“Is Beatrice all right?”
“Those two asshole detectives from the MPD are harassing her again.”
“What? Why? I thought Stone’s case was closed.”
“It is, but Kelly Winters was found murdered this morning and her story depicting Beatrice in a negative light regarding her relationship with Eric Stone hit the tabloids today.”
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