Never Tell

by Selena Montgomery

  Shifting to steady himself, Gabriel saw that his attacker was the dull-looking professor with the sensuous voice. When she swayed, his quick hands slid beneath rough fabric and grasped smooth silk. The span of waist allowed Gabriel’s fingertips to meet at the small of her back. He set her on her feet and stared down.

  “Hello,” he offered, simply because other, more complicated words stalled in his head as he examined her at close range.

  Skin the color of coffee skimmed with cream shaped a flawless oval tightened in apprehension. White teeth gnawed apprehensively at a curvaceous mouth, making tiny impressions on its heavy bottom lip. Arresting eyes, a rich, vibrant brown, studied him from beneath a dense fringe of lash. Their shape was slightly exotic, tip-tilted at the corners.

  It was the hint of caution mixed with reluctant interest in the clear orbs that nudged his brain into gear. “You have wonderful eyes,” Gabriel murmured, the first thought to scuttle into focus. “Do you have a name?”

  “Erin,” she answered hesitantly, preoccupied by the feel of his fingertips resting at the base of her spine and the currents of heat that rippled there. It had been so long since a man had held her this close, even in rescue from her own clumsiness. Savor it, she told herself hazily. Then walk away. “Erin Abbott.”

  Gabriel couldn’t tell if the tremulous response was from the impact of their collision or a more personal distress. She barely reached the top of his shoulder, and despite the lean muscle, he definitely overwhelmed her diminutive frame. Suddenly the mix of fear and curiosity took on a different meaning.

  He knew he was a tall man, broad across the shoulders and imposing in height, but he didn’t often strike fear into the hearts of women. The thought of scaring the woman in his arms disturbed him at his core. He settled his voice into calm tones and smiled gently. “Hello, Erin. I’m Gabriel.”

  Her muddled wits absorbed that her stranger bore the nom de guerre of the guardian of paradise. Like his namesake, this Gabriel commanded obeisance or, at least, attention. Sable hair curled around an angelic face, though not the cherubic, sweet-tempered kind. No, she imagined, this Gabriel would have stood at the gates, righteous sword in hand. She’d already learned he would go where he chose, with or without invitation. “You were in my classroom.”

  Gabriel noted the wary acknowledgment of their earlier encounter. Erin Abbott obviously did not appreciate unexpected visitors. “Siren’s call. Couldn’t help it.” When she looked at him quizzically, he explained, “Your laugh. Do you often find homicidal maniacs amusing?”

  Erin grimaced. “My class was enthusiastically grateful for a reprieve.”

  “Canceled final?”

  “Extension on their paper. One they will undoubtedly squander.”

  Gabriel chuckled.

  The laugh was a mellow rumble of hypnotic sound. Sensing that she could stand and listen to it for hours, Erin wriggled in his grasp and tried to pull away.

  A bone-deep refusal to release her speared through him, because he knew if he did, she’d run from him and never stop. In instinctive response, Gabriel firmed his grip on the resilient waist with one hand and lifted the other to her enchantingly triangular chin. His thumb sank into the sexy dent in its velvety surface. Tipping the anxious face up to his, he asked, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “I have … an appointment. I’m late.”

  “Will Alice be meeting you there?”

  The slight teasing drew a tentative smile from her. “Not exactly. But it is a very important date.”

  “It or he?”

  Erin’s eyes widened at the unexpected intensity of the question. “I’m not sure.”

  “Good.”

  The sound of male satisfaction in the gritty voice sank into her, and Erin resisted the urge to flee. She wasn’t completely certain her legs would move anyway. Pulses of heat coursed along her body, rippling out from where determined hands held her waist beneath the jacket, caressed her chin in the cleft in its center. Despite their callused edges, Gabriel’s fingers were infinitely careful, as though afraid of bruising with their touch.

  Her earlier assessment of tall and gorgeous was woefully inadequate. Hanging inches beneath the strong line of jaw that seemed to be chiseled from granite, Erin guessed he was at least six-three. Gorgeous scarcely described the body that also had been hewn from solid rock. Black cotton strained against sinewy biceps and a flat waist.

  From a distance, the planes of his face had seemed handsome. Up close, the sweep of lines and hollows, the straight, prominent nose, irises the color of storms, composed a starkly beautiful man. Scattered impressions coalesced into a singular notion.

  Danger, she thought dimly. Pure, unadulterated, untamed.

  The truth of it seared through her with every breath. Though Gabriel touched her only at her waist and chin, she could feel him. Everywhere.

  It was too much.

  “I have to go,” Erin apologized hastily as she wriggled away. Subtly he chased her and the movement brought her flush against Gabriel’s body. Corded thighs, muscled chest, burned along the length of their bodies and she jolted at the contact. “Please,” she gasped.

  “What?” The heated question demanded a response.

  What she wanted, to stay or to go, was impossible to fathom. Her only lucid thought was of heat and strength. Both alarmed her. Enticed her. “I can’t—”

  “Gabriel?” Genevieve skidded to a halt beside them and grabbed her brother’s arm. “Oh,” she said with some astonishment when she saw whom he was holding. “Gabe, what’s going on here?”

  His eyes still on Erin’s, Gabriel answered quietly, “The professor bumped into me. She’s in a hurry.”

  Genevieve looked at her brother and at his less-thanwilling captive. “Then shouldn’t you let go of her?” she queried lightly. She tugged at his elbow, with no real success. “Let Erin go, Gabe,” she chided.

  Reluctantly, Gabriel drew his hand away, reveling in the glide of silk and flesh along his palm. He felt rather than heard Erin’s quick intake of breath, and a contented grin threatened.

  When his hand fell away from Erin’s waist, Genevieve draped a friendly arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. “The chin, too,” Genevieve reminded him.

  Gabriel released his hold, his fingers sliding along creamy skin with disappointment. At the peak of the caress, he would have sworn that she leaned into him for a brief moment, loath to end the contact. The telltale gesture made him yearn to trace the pert tip of the nose wrinkled in confusion. But he shoved suddenly unsteady hands into the worn pockets of his jeans. “Is Erin a friend of yours, Gennie?”

  Genevieve scowled at the use of her nickname in public but decided to ignore it. “Erin, may I present my boorish brother, Gabriel Moss? Gabriel, this is Dr. Erin Abbott, criminal psychologist extraordinaire. Remember, I told you she took Dr. Fifer’s place when she took maternity leave. We were lucky to find her on such short notice.”

  Gabriel brushed a hand along Erin’s arm and captured her fingers by threading them with his own. Normally, he pretended to respect boundaries until he’d built enough trust to disregard them. But contact with her seemed vital, and he was driven to touch. And question. “Why would such a beautiful woman go to such trouble to hide it?”

  Erin blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The disguise, Dr. Abbott,” Gabriel explained, holding her eyes as captive as her hand. “What are you hiding from?”

  “W-what?” she stammered, prepared to run. Maybe to Sebastian or to London. She hadn’t been to London in years.

  “Stop prying, Gabe. There’s no mystery here,” Genevieve said. Turning to her suddenly paler colleague, she wondered what she’d missed. But she didn’t pry. Unlike her brother, she fervently believed a person’s secrets were her own. Erin wouldn’t tell anyway. After months of trying, she’d gotten no closer to her. “Sorry, Erin. It’s an occupational hazard of his.”

  Erin felt a trill of warning fri
sson along her spine. If he hadn’t held her hand, she would have bolted. “Occupational hazard?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Genevieve proudly beamed at her brother. “Gabe is a reporter. Newly the founder and editor of the Bayou Ledger.”

  Panic roiled in Erin’s stomach, greasily displacing any lingering heat. A reporter. A man paid to ferret out secrets and expose them to light. A man who’d seen beneath her disguise too effortlessly. Erin tugged urgently at her imprisoned fingers. “Please. Let me go.”

  Genevieve noted Erin’s frightened eyes and Gabriel’s unyielding grip. “Gabriel,” she said as she stepped firmly between them. The movement forced him to release Erin.

  Erin hurriedly bent to retrieve the bag sprawled at her feet. Gabriel knelt at the same instant, and they collided, head to chin. He lifted the satchel with one hand and helped to stand with the other. Baffled by the shift from cautious flirtation to utter panic, he murmured for her ears only, “You make quite an impact, Erin.”

  She flushed and pulled away. “Mr. Moss. Genevieve.” Then, dropping any pretense of dignity, she ran.

  Gennie followed his watchful stare and considered. Her enigmatic colleague and her curious brother. The match had potential, but she knew better than to interfere. But she could mock. “Gabriel? Hello? Anybody in there?”

  Drawing his eyes away from the metal door that had swung shut behind Erin, Gabriel turned his attention to his sister and away from skittish Dr. Abbott. His fingers still tingled, but the sensation would fade. “If you came after me to talk about the paper, you’re wasting your time, Gennie.”

  “Mirren Enterprises isn’t worth this, Gabe. You’ll go to the offices, they will say something snide, you’ll hit somebody, and they’ll call the police.”

  “One time. I hit Jacoby one time.” Gabriel shifted with defiant embarrassment. “If he hadn’t mentioned Dad—”

  Genevieve curled her arm through Gabriel’s and led him inside an empty classroom. She settled on the teacher’s desktop. “Sit down, Gabriel.” She imperiously pointed to the chair behind the desk, but Gabriel remained standing.

  Alert and ready, he balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, as though expecting attack. Unconsciously he angled himself between Genevieve and the open door, able to monitor both the hallway and the world beyond the window. He caught Genevieve’s disapproving look and shook his head.

  “I can’t let them win. They stole the Chronicle from us, and now they’re coming after the Ledger. I won’t let them have it. It’s all we have left of Mom and Dad.” He shook his head in fierce denial. “They can’t have it.”

  “Of course not.” Genevieve leaned forward, imploring. “Why not drop the Adams story? That’s what they’re angry about. There are other stories out there. This is New Orleans.”

  Familiar temper ripped through him. “Bert Adams’ trial is front-page news because I dug it up. I found out about the prostitutes and the real estate deals. I tracked the money. I wrote the damn copy!”

  “And Mirren Enterprises bought the paper from the stockholders.”

  “He fired me for telling the truth.”

  “He fired you for hounding his old friend, Harmon Turner, after explicitly telling you to lay off,” she reminded him brutally. “Your severance package, as I recall, was paid out on the condition that you leave the Adams story with the Chronicle.” And sell your soul, she added silently.

  “They’ve got that prissy snitch Angela Burris on the trial now. First she turns me in to Mirren, and now she’s sugarcoating the reports and tainting the jury pool.”

  Genevieve knotted her forehead in confusion. “I thought the jury was sequestered, Gabe.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “This trial is a sham. The DA is going to agree to a mistrial. They’ll have a new jury in a few months, and Congressman Adams will be on his way to a fourth term.”

  “How do you know that?” Genevieve asked, then immediately held out her palms in mock apology. “Forget I asked. I forgot you were not only the best investigative reporter in the country; you’re also omniscient.” She bounded off of the desktop and bowed elaborately, genuflecting as she approached him. “Forgive me, O Great One. Do not smite me with thy Pulitzer.”

  Gabriel tried not to smile but failed. Genevieve had always been able to tease him out of the black moods. Even before their parents died, first his mother from cancer, then his father from grief, Genevieve had been the brightest light in their family.

  “I can’t lose the Ledger, Gennie.”

  “I know. But you’ve got to drop the Adams story. You have a staff now, and they rely on you. If Mirren Enterprises crushes the paper beneath a lawsuit, where will they go?”

  Mirren and his hired gun, Nick Jacoby, had tried to steal the Chronicle from Gabriel’s father for years. After his death, protecting the Chronicle had been Gabriel’s responsibility. He’d failed.

  Now sales were falling at the Ledger and the Chronicle was swooping in for the kill.

  Perhaps he’d have to drop the Adams story, but scandal was born in New Orleans every day. He’d find a way to beat the Chronicle and save the Ledger. One way or another.

  A cunning light gleamed in Gabriel’s eyes.

  He knew just where to start.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Conti and Royal,” Erin instructed quietly as she settled into the rumbling taxi. The taciturn driver merely nodded, too tired to make perfunctory conversation or to inquire about why a nice young woman would need to go to the police headquarters. He’d learned to mind his own business, especially when the temperature rose, seeing as how tempers usually flared to match. Spring hadn’t bothered to make an appearance this year. Indeed, a blanket of wet heat had settled snugly over the city and aggravated everyone who ventured outside. The blast of frigid air from his trusty unit was a welcome respite, and the cabbie leaned in close for another pass.

  Minutes later, the cab pulled up to 334 Royal Street, in the heart of the Quarter. Erin handed the driver his fare. She opened the door, careful to not scrape the curb, alighted from the car, closed the door, and turned.

  Marble columns and old-world charm, framed by dogwoods and willows, failed to prepare Erin for her first visit to the Eighth District Police Station. Climbing the shallow curved steps, she eased open the French doors, waiting for the assault of noise and stale coffee she’d read so much about in hard-boiled crime novels. Instead, soft hues of mauve and cream adorned the walls and the carpet. Blue steel doors lay to one side, secured by a keypad. Obviously a waiting area, the circular room boasted a coffeemaker, a water station, and a raised platform that sported a series of flyers and placards. A young man in police blues who staffed the information desk welcomed her with a polite smile.

  “Can I help you, miss?” the officer asked in a liquid Southern drawl.

  Tentatively Erin approached the high kiosk with its WELCOME TO NEW ORLEANS banner. “I’m here to see Captain Sanchez.”

  The officer’s smile dimmed a bit. “Captain Sanchez is out in the field. Perhaps I can help?”

  Erin shook her head, clutching her bag close. She would tell her story only once. To one person. The tidy gold badge identified this officer as Calvin Rochon. “Thank you, Mr. Rochon. I had an appointment yesterday, but I had to cancel.”

  The polite smile gracefully transitioned to an expression of remorse. “I’m sorry, Ms … .?”

  “Abbott. Erin Abbott,” she quickly supplied. “I called again this morning, and the receptionist told me I could try to meet with the captain at noon.” Unconsciously, nervous fingers twisted the leather strap again and again. Officer Rochon caught the motion and brightened his smile.

  “Well, Ms. Erin Abbott, the captain is out, but we’ll just have to find someone who can talk with you.” He lifted a black handset and depressed a button. “Sylvie? … Yeah. I’ve got a Ms. Abbott here to see the captain.” He flicked a look down her body, then back up to her face. “She looks harmless enough,” he added in a low, sympathetic whisper.
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  Erin caught the description and fought the urge to tug at her starched collar. A warm flush crept up her neck, and she stared determinedly at her shoes. At the sight of the dated pumps, she closed her eyes in dismay.

  “Ms. Abbott?”

  Her gaze darted up to meet his. “Yes?”

  “Detective Iberville will escort you back in a minute. Please have a seat.” He pointed to a row of folding chairs lined against the far wall. Their teal paint was chipped in places, and the beige plastic cushions had seen better days.

  “Thank you.” Erin hurried to the bank of seats, empty but for a few occupants. An older man with a grizzled gray beard snored gently into his chin. At the edge of the row, a middle-aged woman flipped through a magazine, one of several provided on a low, round coffee table in front of the chairs. Erin leaned forward to snag a dog-eared copy of an haute couture magazine. The buxom, sculpted cover model stared up haughtily, secure in her superiority. Erin drew back her hand and instead rummaged through her satchel.

  A handful of exams lay at the bottom, and somewhere in the satchel’s depths she was certain hid a red pen. Corralling the pen and the tests, Erin started grading. Swiftly she marked tests, speeding through the stack with ease. As she graded, Erin marveled at the ability of some students to answer everything but the question asked. Or the probability of duplicate answers on an essay.

  Contrary to the odds, when asked to recount the characteristics of a serial killer, Harmony Turner had recited the exact answers offered by Reggie Clark seven papers before. Likely neither had crafted the responses themselves, given the clichéd intellect of the sorority girl and the student athlete. More the pity, both answers were uniformly inaccurate.

  “If you plan to cheat,” Erin muttered with annoyance, “at least cheat off someone smart.” The red D at the top of Harmony’s exam probably torpedoed her summer in Greece. Luckily for Mr. Clark, he had completed the multiple-choice section on his own, so he squeaked by with a C−.