Young Love Murder Part 30

This time my laughter is full of nothing but genuine humor. It's that 'oh my G.o.d, I can't believe that' kind of humor. I lean forward and put my face in my palms, still laughing. "Holy c.r.a.p," I say in-between laughs, "that's hilarious." I peek up at him to see his disgruntled expression and then bust up laughing again.

"I'm serious," he grunts out, looking cute in his exasperation, d.a.m.n him.

Not done, I hold up a hand. "Oh, oh, wait. Just let me go get my gun so you can shoot me again. Of course I want to get back together with you, Gabriel." Putting on a serious face, I say earnestly, "He shoots me because he loves me."

Tired from laughing, I sigh and rub my hands slowly over my face, avoiding my eye makeup. When I'm done letting out a big breath, I uncover my face and am startled to find Gabriel in front of me again, crouching on his knees. "Anna, when I . . . shot you, I'd just found out that my mom had committed suicide."

In reaction, I suck in a gasp. "I'm sorry, Gabriel." What other words are there? Why didn't Simon ever tell me?

His jaw twitches and he fixes his eyes over shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. You were just the person I lashed out at."

I don't buy it for a minute and the sympathetic feeling leaves me. "Well, it's a good thing some poor maid didn't walk through that door. Since you were going to lash out at the first person you saw."

Gabriel throws his hands up in the air in vexation. "Dammit, Anna! I was out of my mind with grief!" He leans forward and palms both sides of my face. His hands are warm, familiar. I allow it, for now. His own face is just inches from mine as he solemnly grounds out, "I didn't mean it." His voice becomes tender, "I love you, baby. The grief I had for you totally eclipsed any grief I've had for my parents. When you died, so did I." His proximity is scrambling my emotions like old times, disturbing my resolve.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, shaking off his effect on me, just getting started. "And you don't completely hate me for your mom's suicide? You don't blame me?"

"No," he says resolutely.

"And your dad?"

"It wasn't your fault," he says after a moment's hesitation.

Very sweetly, I smile at him. "So, you didn't shoot me because, if I hadn't killed your father, then your mother wouldn't be dead too?"

Green eyes stare in mine for a long moment before he answers, "At the time, that was my thought process, but in no way do I believe that now." More firmly, he says, "You were misinformed about my father. It's the fault of whoever hired you. It's their fault that my mom killed herself too."

Leaning forward, taking his hands on my face with me, with my lips just an inch away from his, I look him right in the eyes. "And what if I told you that I can prove to you what kind of monster your father was? That really, it all leads back to that fact."

He lets go of my face and leans back on his haunches away from me. "I'd say that you're lying, but I love you anyway."

That sets me off and unleashes the anger that I thought I'd long gotten past. Dammit! I am still mad about him shooting me. And I'll admit it, I'm still hurt that he didn't love me enough not to. Despite his pretty words, I wonder if he ever loved me at all.

Trying to muster an indifferent feeling towards Gabriel, I close my eyes, deeply breathing in and out. Opening them, Gabriel is standing by the bed again, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive position.

"Do you still want to know what happened after you shot me?" I ask and continue on in a detached tone without giving him time to answer, "After Jackson dropped you off at the airport, he rushed to the hospital, not knowing whether he'd find me in an operating room or in the morgue. By the time he got there, I'd been in and out of surgery already. All patched up and still in critical condition, but stabilized. You did kill me, though, Gabriel. My heart stopped both in the ambulance and on the operating table. Several days later, before any doctor would have advised me leaving, Jackson checked me out early in the middle of the night."

The last part is said ruefully because Jackson actually snuck me out of the hospital with the help of a doctor Simon paid a generous sum to. Renting a van, they drove me across the border to a house of Simon's in Norway. He was there waiting, not happy.

I closely watch Gabriel's facial expressions during my explanation, and when he grimaces throughout, I get an odd sense of satisfaction. "Anyways, I had just completed the job the day you shot me and the police were asking questions that Jackson and I didn't want to answer," I pause momentarily, "By the way, you shot me through a lung."

"I'm so sorry," Gabriel whispers remorsefully, looking genuinely contrite.

Feeling even more coldness seep into me, I continue, "You want to know why I didn't know your mother was dead? Why I didn't know you were going to NYU?" Tired of looking up at him, I stand and stalk over until I'm a foot away. "Because when you tried to kill me, you killed us. As I was healing from the bullet wound, I was also healing from you. I have a scar from where you shot me, the skin is tougher there." My voice lowers automatically with the intensity of the subject, "I also have a scar over my heart. And now it's tougher too."

I start backing away from him, towards the door. Gabriel is silent, but hasn't lost that dogged look in his eyes, which worries me. It makes me think that I need to protect myself from him. He can no longer touch me or my heart. I refuse to allow it. I stop and shrug nonchalantly. "Sorry if I didn't keep in touch with you, but it was for the best. And now, it really is time for me to go."

I spin around, deciding that this really will be goodbye for me and Gabriel. The further I get away from him, though, the more the calmness leaves me and turbulent emotions begin to surface. Almost to the door, his arms wrap around my chest from behind. I'm holding my breath, wanting to know what he'll do, but wanting him to let me go at the same time. The sudden indecisiveness has me hating this situation all the more. The spell he's had on me since day one is still working its magic on me.

"No," he says in my ear. "You still love me. You're a good actress, so good that you may even be fooling yourself, but I can feel it." He makes a fist and lightly thumps my chest. "In here."

My stiff posture starts to melt when he begins to tenderly kiss my neck. I bite back a moan and weakly beg for him to stop. A weakness, that's what he is. Distracted by his mouth, I don't realize that he's moved us over to the bed until I feel the soft mattress beneath me. He hasn't moved his lips away from my neck the entire time. Will it always be like this? Like we've never been apart?

As he rolls me onto my back and hovers over me, his soft lips move from my neck to my cleavage. And it feels so freaking good. I'm running my hands over his back as he murmurs, "I knew you still loved me, Annabelle."

Feeling an irrational panic, I start to push his shoulders away. The suffocating feeling I have mildly resembles the time I had a hole in one lung and was gasping for breath. "Get off me, Gabriel!" I practically scream.

When he growls and shakes his head, I take more extreme measures. Those measures end in Gabriel's nose bleeding and him on his a.s.s on the floor. As he tries to catch the bleeding with his hand, I rush more quickly to the door this time.

Unlocking and yanking open the door, I vehemently tell him, "I don't love you, Gabriel, and you sure as h.e.l.l don't love me." The fact that I start to cry as I rush past a still surprised Max in the living room doesn't mean a d.a.m.n thing.

Outside the building, Jackson is parked and waiting. Seeking the sanctuary of the rental car, my first words to him are, "You knew he was in New York?"

Jackson speaks carefully, "Simon mentioned it to me a year ago when Gabriel moved here."

"It would have been nice to know. I don't like surprises."

"In a city of eight million people, I didn't think we'd run into the one person I wanted us to avoid. Figures your bad luck with men would have the target dining in the same restaurant as loverboy." Jackson has some nerve to blame it on me after not giving me a heads up.

"Jackson," I say menacingly.

"Well, it's true. Though the stupid f.u.c.k probably thinks it's fate." He shakes his head in amazement.

Fate. Could it be? Maybe it's bad karma, for stupidly falling in love with the betrayer in the first place. d.a.m.n, I can't have Gabriel hunting me down again. Being back from the dead definitely has its drawbacks.

Chapter 38.

Gabriel Nothing compares to being woken up by a punch to the face. Oh, except for waking up to being punched in the face and finding yourself tied to your bed. I'm so getting a sleigh bed next time. Then let's see her try to tie me to that.

As the pain shoots through my cheek, I come awake to hear her voice, "Wake up, Gabriel." Well, duh. Your love tap sort of took care of that, hot devil-woman. The room is still dark, with only the city lights streaming through the open curtains, until she turns on my floor lamp by the recliner that she proceeds to sit in. So cliche. Is this the part where I'm supposed to be shaking in my boxer briefs?

"h.e.l.lo, Beautiful," I mumble out sleepily. Then I get a good look at her. Her outfit is pretty casual compared to what she was wearing earlier. She has on blue jeans, a black tank top and a dark brown leather jacket. Her currently light brown hair is pulled back in a careless ponytail. She's no longer wearing the blue contacts. G.o.d, I've missed her big brown eyes. But that's not what gets my attention most, it's the light splattering of crimson on her cheek.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, tugging at my bindings, which are both neckties I've never worn. Actually, one of them isn't even mine . . . .

She looks confused by my question. "Why would I be hurt?"

Having a feeling where this conversation's going, I say mockingly, "Well either you whisked your red Kool-Aid a little too vigorously or you have blood on your left cheek."

Wiping at her face with her fingers, she pulls her hand back to take a look. "Oh, that." With a shrug, she reaches down to my bedroom floor and picks up a random shirt, a white one, using it to wipe off what I'm a.s.suming is blood. "Jackson and I were in the mood to walk through a bad neighborhood earlier tonight." Looking disgruntled she says harshly, "He could have told me I had blood on my cheek."

With a thud, she brings her boots up to prop on the footboard of my bed. Well, at least someone's comfortable. My arms are starting to ache from being spread out all sacrificial-like. "How'd you get in?"

One corner of her mouth rises. "I've got mad breaking-and-entering skills."

"Max let you in?"

She laughs. "Yeah, he let me borrow one of his ties too. We had a nice little chat." She makes a clucking sound, ruefully shaking her head. "You really need to get over me, Gabriel." After a pause, she adds, "But I can kinda understand why you haven't. Because I got mad bed skills too."

That has me tugging at my bindings again. "Practice much lately?"

The question gets me a full-on smile. "A lady never tells." Yeah, well a guy can get really p.i.s.sed off when she doesn't.

I glance at my alarm clock and see that it's past two in the morning. Ignoring her non-answer for now, I ask, "How'd you get away from me so easily earlier today? And give me an answer other than you have mad getaway skills."

She playfully pouts. d.a.m.n, I missed her. "Well, it's true. But I guess it won't hurt to let you know. After I laid you out on your a.s.s," she stops to smile smugly at me. I grunt in response then she continues, "I ran out of your apartment."

"And I chased you, taking the stairs pretty d.a.m.n fast, dripping blood all over the place, so I don't understand how I didn't beat the elevator."

"Yes, well, you a.s.sumed I would go down. I went up." With another thud, her black boots. .h.i.t the wood floor and she stands up. "Went up to the roof, watched you spin around down on the street looking for me, then took the fire escape down the back of the building. Sucked doing it in heels." She throws me an irritated glare like it's all my fault.

"I went to hotels all over Manhattan looking for you," I tell her slowly, hoping she'll unthinkingly give up information.

"I figured," is her only response.

"I love you," I use a soft, soothing tone.

Three seconds later, she's standing on the right side of my bed, holding a knife to my throat. "And that misconception is what I'm here to clear up."

Deciding I have no reason to fear the blade, I raise my eyebrows. "Kill or cure? Are you going to bleed it out of me? At times it has felt like an illness, but will you at least put on a hooker nurse costume for me first, Annabelle?"

She rolls her eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "You're impossible."

With a flick of her wrist, the blade is closed and she moves away from the bed with her back to me. I don't mind her turning away. I missed that cute a.s.s of hers. Is it my imagination, or is it even more squeezable?

She pulls me out of my leering thoughts when she begins speaking. "I thought about just getting on a plane tonight, maybe letting Jackson finish the contract and taking a vacation down south somewhere, maybe Rio. But I don't like leaving unfinished business." She relaxes back into the recliner. "Personal business included."

It never ceases to amaze me that the whole world is Anna's playground. Down South to the average person in the United States is Texas or Georgia. Down south for someone like Annabelle is Brazil.

"Is that what you're here to do, finish it? Finish us?" I ask warily, thinking of a way to get the upper hand and coming up with nothing. The whole being tied up thing can be a hindrance.

"Yes, but first I want to tell you a little story." She waves her hand in a gesture of introduction. "A love story."

"Is it about us?"

"No." She looks at me sharply, as if annoyed by the interruption, or maybe the question made her uncomfortable. Touchy, touchy.

"I love you, Annabelle."

Ignoring me, she starts her tale, "This story begins with Jacque Blanc, who rose from being a member of a minor street gang as a teenage boy, to being the right-hand man of a Paris mob boss by the time he was thirty. In came Isabelle Lane, CIA agent by way of the FBI, whose job it was to get close to the mob boss's right hand man, Jacque Blanc, in the hopes of learning any information that may have been useful to the United States government."

"They were your parents," I say more as an observation than a question. The dead parents that she's never talked about.

She doesn't answer, but continues with the story, "Things didn't turn out so well for the CIA, but they turned out very well for Jacque and Isabelle. So well, that they fell in love." Then she quietly adds, "For a while, at least." I stay silent while she pauses. Her eyes meet mine again. "Isabelle Lane became Isabelle Blanc and said 'adios' to the CIA. Jacque also cut ties with the crime world of Paris." I wonder what the wistful smile on Anna's lips means, but don't want to interrupt her again.

"Isabelle had an old CIA contact, Simon, who was connected with a network of a.s.sa.s.sins. And so a new career began for both of them. Some may say it was irresponsible of them, but over the following years, the couple decided to start a family. Jackson was born, then Annabelle two years later. Their good friend, Simon, was named G.o.dfather to both of them. With the help of a very dedicated and loyal Syrian nanny named Adala, the proud parents were able to continue with their work. Never did they take a job where they killed an innocent. 'Saving Lives by Taking Lives' was their personal motto."

"So, how'd they die?" I ask, anxious for the conclusion to the story, anxious to be untied and given access to Annabelle. If I could just make her see how much I love her, how sorry I am. Her parents' story is similar to ours, starting out as enemies, and we can overcome the obstacles between us like they did.

Looking completely serious, she tells me, "Love killed them."

I hold back from scoffing at that, which is thankful, because I don't think Anna would appreciate it. Love didn't kill them. I've been dying without her, but now that she's back, I'm ready to live again. I was dead and love has brought me back to life. She really needs to untie me.

Anna gives me a stern look. "I can tell you don't believe me, but it's true. After Jackson and I came along, they only took a few jobs a year, enough to live a comfortable life and hide from their enemies. They were working on a job in Lisbon, taking out the head of an organization shipping out arms illegally to rebels of some African country. My mom-," as her voice cracks, I realize that Anna and I have more in common than I'd thought. Even if she doesn't remember them, she mourns her parents too.

She clears her throat. "My mom was taken when the organization was tipped off. Simon still doesn't know who it was, maybe someone in the CIA with a grudge against a rogue agent. Maybe someone from my dad's past. They had so many enemies, we'll probably never know." From the look on her face, I can tell that Annabelle would really like to know. If I could give her that information, would she love me again?

"Even knowing it was suicide to go in after her alone, my dad did it anyways. Simon was in South America at the time and begged my dad to wait until he could get to Portugal and help him. But my dad was too afraid of what waiting would mean for my mom. Jackson was four, and he says he remembers my dad kissing us both goodbye, saying 'Je t'aime', and leaving us with Adala at a hotel."

Anna is quiet for a long while, with her head down. The blade is open once again as she expertly twirls it in her fingers. I wonder what other weapons she has on her and whether she plans to use any of them on me. Giving her time to quietly reflect, I sense her sadness, wishing she'd let me hold her. How hard it must be to not remember your parents.

"Neither one of my parents came back by the time Simon arrived at the hotel in Lisbon. Adala told me when I was a little older that Simon cried that night. Something I've never witnessed myself. He had become very close to them over the years, like a brother, and an uncle to us. Of course, being Simon, he also raged about my father not waiting for him. I guess he figured with him there, one of my parents would have lived. He blamed Jacque for getting himself killed and Isabelle for getting caught in the first place."

She isn't looking at me anymore, but out the large windows and onto the city lights. I've stared out those same windows, at the cars below, the skysc.r.a.pers around me, thinking of her. I clear my throat, feeling a knot in it from her sad story. "Do you blame them?"

Anna looks startled out of her thoughts and swings her head back towards me with an intense look. "I don't blame him or her, Gabriel."

Not knowing if I want to know the answer, I ask anyways, "Would you do the same for me?"

Laughing bitterly, her expression is hard. "At one time, yes." She snaps closed the knife, tucking it into her jacket.

Ouch. I mentally shake off my hurt, wanting to know more. "Then what happened?"

There's a moment of silence, almost as if she's debating whether or not to continue. "Afraid that my parents' enemies had found out about me and Jackson, Simon secreted us out of Lisbon the same night he arrived. He was afraid that any vendettas against our parents would encompa.s.s us, with their deaths. He kept Adala on as our nanny for about seven more years, then retired her somewhere tropical. She never really approved of his parenting methods. Jackson and I still visit her from time to time."

"I don't approve either," I state emphatically.

"Yeah well, it's kept us alive. He taught us how to take care of ourselves in the case that any of our parents' old enemies decided we should be put down. I mean, even though we were toddlers at the time, who knows what kind of information Jacque and Isabelle had hidden with us. Stuff that the CIA, United States government, and multiple other governments and criminal organizations wouldn't want to get out. We were our parents' legacy, Jackson and I."

"Did they?" I ask, more than a little curious now.

"Confidential." Her eyes are shuttered, no more secrets forthcoming.

"Why'd you tell me this?" I know there has to be a point, and I have a few theories as to why. To me, we're our own love story. Not tragedy repeating itself. Her parents' tragedy is separate. Our ending will be a happy one.

She stands up again, spanning both hands over the top of the footboard, leaning into it. "You want the moral of the story, Gabriel? Well, here you go, when someone like me loves, it gets them or the other person killed. In my case, it was the person I loved that killed me, at least until the paddles restarted my heart. Simon always said that romantic love was a weakness, to ignore it at all costs." She strolls around the bed towards me. "Simon was disappointed to learn that he hadn't trained the ability out of me." Trailing a finger along my jaw, she leans her face close. "You succeeded where he failed."

"I don't believe you," I spit out in frustration, really hating now that I'm not free. "Untie me, Annabelle."

"Not. Yet." Her words are succinct, her face is determined.

"Is there more?" I angrily half-yell.