You Again

by Val Tobin

  He strode from the en suite and through the bedroom, discarding any notion that the voice he’d heard had come from inside his room. His door had been closed and locked, and when he’d left the room this morning, he’d had to unlock and open it.

  Rolling drum. His door had been shut tight, and the sound hadn’t been someone knocking on his bedroom door or even attempting to open it. No, not rolling. Dragging.

  “Loud enough to wake me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The sound.” He walked through his living room, through his dining room, his den, his office, his guest room, the en suite bath off the guest room, the powder room, the kitchen ...

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing that would make that sound.” Frustrated, he retraced his steps to the apartment’s door, opened it, and let it slam closed. It banged shut, reverberating through the apartment. “He wouldn’t have slammed the door behind him,” Gabriel stated. “That would’ve been stupid.”

  “Why are you obsessing about this?” Ellen asked.

  “Because he threw Katrina off the balcony and did something in my home that woke me up. What the hell did he do?” A horrible, creeping sensation up his spine stopped him in his tracks. He stared at the chairs around the dining room table. One sat pushed back three centimetres from the table though all seven of the others snugged up against it. He gazed up at the crystal chandelier dangling above the dark cherry wood table. His eyes widened, and he gripped Ellen’s arm. Holding a finger up to his lips to signal her to silence, he guided her back out into the hallway.

  When the door closed behind them, he said, “I know what woke me, and I know what made the noise I heard.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “What is it?” Ellen whispered, afraid if she spoke too loudly this nightmare would indeed be real.

  “A listening device. In my chandelier.”

  She must’ve looked at him as if he’d lost his mind because he said, “Someone dragged the chair away from the table, which I heard. Why else climb up there except to put something on my light fixture?”

  “The police could’ve moved it.”

  “Sure,” he replied, “but you’re forgetting the sound. I heard someone dragging the chair along the floor. The guy probably had shoes on too.” Gabriel scowled. “Let’s check.”

  “You going to search for the device?”

  “I have to. If I show it to Morris, it’ll show I didn’t kill Katrina.” His expression grew thoughtful, and he said, “I’m not sure I’d want to tell him yet though.”

  “We have to. He should know what’s going on. At least, you need to rule out the police put it there.” She’d grown tired of playing detective. They needed to let the professionals take over. Gabriel seemed to be enjoying this way too much, but she had no desire to play amateur sleuth. “Whatever’s going on, let the police handle it, especially if you’re bugged.”

  “The police only started investigating me this morning, and they’d have to go through legal channels to allow them to do place a bug. Let’s prove first it’s there.” He led her back into the apartment and to the dining chair in question. He covered his hands with his shirtsleeves and dragged the chair away from the table. Bending close to the padded seat, he examined it for a moment before he stood up again. Silently, he pointed to a faint grey scuff on the cushion.

  In his stocking feet, he climbed on the chair and searched the light fixture. After a few minutes, his gaze met Ellen’s, and he signalled her a thumbs-up.

  He’d located the listening device.

  Oh my God. What if the killer heard something to make him think we’re onto him? He’ll come after us. She didn’t say any of that aloud but turned an expression of agony to Gabriel.

  ***

  Two hours later, Ellen and Gabriel sat in the chairs before Detective Morris’s desk in his office. Morris leaned against the desk in front of them, his posture casual, his expression bemused.

  “Say again? You found a what?”

  “A listening device. Hidden in the chandelier above my dining table.”

  “Why? What could anyone possibly want to listen to in your apartment?”

  Not sure if she should be offended on Gabriel’s behalf at Morris’s question, Ellen asked, “Did your people put it there, Detective?” As Gabriel had said before, it wasn’t likely, but she wanted to verify. If Morris had ordered it installed, he’d have to come clean about it, wouldn’t he?

  “Of course not. Would be a drastic move.” He crossed his arms and levelled his gaze on Gabriel. “You colluding in these murders, Duncan?”

  “No,” Gabriel said. “If I was, and if I thought the listening device belonged to you, we wouldn’t be here telling you about it.”

  Morris’s arms dropped to his side, and his shoulders relaxed. “Even so, I don’t get the entire connection to you. You’re hiding something from me.” He first met Gabriel’s gaze and then fixed on Ellen’s. “Both of you.”

  “We have to tell him what we know, Gabe,” Ellen said, wincing at the annoyed expression he threw her way. “I know you don’t want to, but if we don’t, you or I could be next.” If they revealed what they suspected to Morris, he’d find the real killer, and they’d be safe and could get on with their lives.

  Gabriel still looked dubious, and his lips pressed firmly together as though he would refuse to speak.

  “What exactly do you know?” Morris asked.

  Ellen opened her mouth to reply, but Gabriel interjected. “It’s all speculation. We don’t have any proof. That’s why we haven’t said anything to you.”

  Morris gave an audible sigh of frustration. “Any little thing can help this investigation, Mr. Duncan. Tell me what you know, and let me decide what’s a clue. That’s my job.”

  Gabriel talked then and gave Morris everything they knew or suspected: the link between Katrina and Francesca; the possibility one or both women had been bilking BRI; the suspicion that someone else was involved; and the fear that whoever their accomplice was, he wasn’t done with his crimes. Ellen lent supporting statements whenever she spotted the opportunity to clarify or corroborate what Gabriel said.

  “If either woman was about to expose him or cause him to be exposed, it would give him motive to kill them,” Gabriel concluded.

  “Going into your apartment with you in it was rather a bold step, don’t you think?” Morris asked. Before Gabriel could respond, he added, “I’m not saying he didn’t. Or she. I’m not ruling out it’s a woman. But whoever went into your apartment to plant the bug and kill Miss Weever took a huge risk to do it.”

  “Maybe he didn’t intend to do it that way,” Ellen said. “No one expected Katrina to be there that night. As Gabe said, I could’ve been there with him had I accepted his invitation to return to his apartment. I suppose I could’ve escorted her home then, but I’m not sure that’s what we’d have decided to do.”

  “What didn’t happen isn’t my concern here. We need to examine what did happen,” Morris replied. “But I get your point. The killer might’ve feared Katrina had already revealed everything, and he planted the bug to find out. It’s possible she let him into the apartment herself. We saw no evidence of a break-in at the unit.”

  “What do we do now?” Ellen asked. “If we remove the bug, whoever planted it will know we’ve discovered it. If we keep it, he can listen in to everything that goes on in Gabe’s unit. No one wants to restrict everything they do and say in their own home.”

  “We’ll remove it,” Morris replied. “Try to trace it to the owner. We’ll examine the dining room chair for prints as well. I’ll set that up right now.”

  Gabe agreed to meet the team at his apartment, and he and Ellen left the police station. They walked the short distance to where Gabriel had parked his car and got in.

  “I’m dropping you at the office,” Gabriel said. “Keep digging in those files. We need to, now more than ever. I’ll meet with the cops at my apartment and then catch up to you before you leave the office.”
>
  “All right.” She waited, suspecting he wanted to say more.

  “Can we have dinner again tonight?”

  She hesitated but reconsidered when she remembered Katrina had gained entry to Gabriel’s apartment because Ellen had refused to return there with him. Will I have to spend every waking moment with him in case someone else ambushes him?

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go to your apartment by yourself.”

  “I have to. We’ve both got work to do. It’ll be fine. The police will meet me there. What could happen?”

  “You ask me? Anything,” she replied, worry dripping from every word.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Why don’t you come to my place after work?” She almost retracted the invitation as soon as it was out. Her parents, especially her mother, would grill him more than Detective Morris ever could. But they’d be safe at her place. Four adults in the house would deter any intrusion.

  He agreed, and though Ellen didn’t approve, he drove her to the office and then continued on to his apartment.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As Ellen expected, her parents descended on her and Gabriel the moment the two stepped in the door. Joanne invited them to come upstairs to have dinner, but Ellen declined the invitation, suggesting they do it another time. Gabriel offered to take them all out for dinner on Sunday, to Joanne’s delight and Ellen’s chagrin. They hung their coats up on hooks at the top of the stairs, and Ellen ushered Gabriel down to her lair. When she’d led him to safety in her basement apartment, she started to apologize for her parents’ intrusiveness, but he brushed it off.

  “They seem like nice people. Down to earth.”

  “Down to earth? No. Anything but. My mother is more out of this world than down to earth.”

  “Cute. I look forward to getting to know them better.”

  “All right. But remember, you asked for it.”

  He waved an arm around the living room where they stood, encompassing the padded sectional sofa, gas fireplace, and big-screen television. “Looks comfortable.”

  “It is. But I want to make it as temporary as possible.” The reason for her need to live here intruded into her mind then, almost making her regret the decision to invite him in. Best she make dinner quickly and send him on his way.

  She offered him a drink, and he accepted a glass of red wine. She poured them both a glass, and they toasted and sipped. When she set her glass down on the kitchen island and told him to make himself comfortable, he removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and asked her what she wanted him to do to help.

  Ellen raised her brows. “You cook?”

  “Yes, ma’am. When I was a boy, I hung out in the kitchen with the cook all the time.”

  “You had a cook?”

  In all the time she’d known him, he’d never talked about his family. His father was always in the news since he owned a billion-dollar software company, but she’d heard nothing about his mother. At least, she didn’t recall hearing anything about his mother.

  “Yes. My mother died when I was young—ten. Even before my mother died, I spent most of my time hanging out in the kitchen and considered becoming a chef at one time. I took some courses and tried to pursue it. Somehow, I ended up working in my father’s company instead. It’s what he always wanted for me.”

  “What about what you wanted?” Ellen pulled some vegetables from the crisper and set them on the counter beside the sink. “The cutting board is underneath on the left. Knives are in a wooden block in the cupboard, top right. You wash and chop. I’ll get some pasta going.”

  “I don’t know what happened to what I wanted. Somehow, it became less important even to me. Working for my father was always interesting, and it kept me busy. It’s not like I had an aversion to business, and the degree I got in it is useful. Makes me a lot of money.”

  The word “money” hung in the air between them, making Ellen think about the money Francesca, and, perhaps, Katrina, had stolen. Was it just for themselves, or had they stuck their necks out for someone else? This mysterious killer-slash-partner who pulled their strings? Surely, it couldn’t be someone still at BRI.

  She turned her attention back to the work at hand, tabling for the time being her ponderings about the killer. They worked amicably together on a pasta primavera. Ellen sliced up a loaf of Italian bread and made garlic bread while Gabriel tossed together a quick Caesar salad. She poured them each a second glass of wine when they sat side by side on barstools at the island to eat.

  “To better days,” Ellen said, raising her glass.

  “Cheers,” Gabriel replied.

  ***

  After dinner, Gabriel helped Ellen clean up the dishes, and the mood lightened further as they laughed and chatted about anything other than work. With the kitchen cleaned up, Ellen asked Gabriel if he’d like coffee and dessert.

  “Dessert? What did you have in mind?” He wiggled his brows at her as she closed the dishwasher and turned to face him, almost bumping into him as she did.

  He gripped her upper arms to steady her, and she laughed nervously. Her mind instantly set to wondering if she’d allow the evening to turn into something more than a friendly dinner. Her body flashed back to their one night together, and electric heat raced to her core.

  Without thinking, she threw her arms around him and pulled his head down so their lips met. As before, her lips grew demanding, telling him in no uncertain terms where she wanted this to go.

  He exhaled a soft breath, parted her lips with his tongue, and explored her with his hands. When she tried to break away, he yanked her in tighter, but she pressed on his shoulders, and he gave her the space she requested.

  On a gasp of air, she said, “The bedroom. That way.” She pointed in its general direction, trusting he’d take the not-so-subtle hint, and he did.

  Ever the efficiency expert, he removed his tie, his shirt, and his pants as he rushed for the bedroom door. Laughingly, she followed his example, and they left a trail of discarded clothing in their wake. By the time they reached the bed, both were naked, and, as before, Ellen appreciated what he offered her.

  His body, lean and defined, reminded her of a perfectly sculpted statue. The sight of it made her crave to run her hands all over it, to explore every inch. She had to have him or she’d lose her mind. She darted past him and ripped the covers back, but before the insanity of lust took over completely, she pulled open the drawer in her nightstand and handed him a condom.

  “You’re gonna need this.”

  He accepted it, ripping it frantically from her hand, tearing it open, and rolling it on. Practical matters out of the way, he grabbed her, and together, they dropped onto the bed. Instantly, their bodies pressed together though he had yet to penetrate her. His kisses covered her face, her throat. She tilted her head back so her neck arched into his lips. His hands fluttered over her hips, her abdomen, and higher until one hand palmed her breast. Once he’d captured it, she gasped, writhing under him as her loins caught the fire of need.

  “I can’t wait,” she cried out. “Please.” The ache inside her became unbearable.

  He raised his head to meet her gaze, and she recognized the same impassioned torture in his expression that spurred her own desperate need for him to fill her.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please.” She whispered it over and over, each time growing hungrier with desire. To encourage him, to draw him into her, she opened her thighs, ready to receive him, and gripped his cock with her hand to guide him.

  He slid in easily, and she cried out in triumph as he moved inside her. She met him thrust for thrust, both of them racing toward a peak only the other could provide. When release finally came, Ellen cried out from the unbearable pleasure.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It took Gabriel a while to catch his breath after their initial exertion, but when he did, he made love to Ellen more slowly, savouring every touch, every taste, every caress—both the ones he received and the ones he gave.
They didn’t discuss if he should stay; they both knew he would, and both wanted him to.

  He peeked at her clock radio after she’d drifted off, nestled in the crook of his arm, and, to his amazement, it was only eleven o’clock. Though she probably thought he’d expected their night to end this way, he hadn’t. He’d assumed she’d want to wait indefinitely before allowing their relationship to get physical again. That she trusted him enough to get this close so quickly gave him hope that, this time, things would work out for them.

  From the hallway came the sound of a text message arriving. At first, he was tempted to ignore it but reconsidered. It was likely his phone—Ellen’s was probably still in her purse. His phone was in his pants’ pocket, and the pants lay on the floor; he should probably pick them up so the phone didn’t get stepped on.

  He slipped out of bed and left the bedroom. He picked his way through the trail of discarded clothing, slipping on his briefs the moment he found them. When he located his pants, he fished in the pocket for his phone and checked the display. A text from Carl.

  That night from a year ago came flooding back, and rage bubbled up inside. He forced it down with a deep breath and a reminder that, this time, Carl had no idea Gabriel was with Ellen. He needn’t assume this was bad news. He logged into his phone and opened the message: Fran’s husband called me. He wants to meet with us. May I set it up?

  Gabriel replied: He called you now?

  The response took only a moment: Yes. He’s upset.

  The conversation was getting frustrating, so Gabriel texted: Can I call you now?

  When Carl responded in the affirmative, Gabriel phoned his friend.

  “Why are you up?” Carl said the moment he answered the call.

  “I just am.” No reason to divulge where he was. Gabriel closed Ellen’s bedroom door so he wouldn’t disturb her and went into the kitchen, the room farthest from the bedroom.

  “So, are you available to meet with Zach Newton tomorrow night?”