Page 56 of The Beast

For the first time in five years, Gabriel let himself ask the question he’d been running from—What if it hadn’t been her?

What if it wasn’t a puzzle he’d been trying to put together? What if he’d really been dismantling a trap?

The thought was so terrifying that he had to sit down. If it wasn’t her—if he’d spent years planning revenge against an innocent woman—then everything he’d done, everything he’d become...

He reached for his phone. His hands were still shaking.

He knew a guy. Former FBI, worked private now, owed no one anything. Expensive as hell and mean as a snake, but good. More importantly, honest. He’d find the truth whether Gabriel wanted to hear it or not.

He pulled up the number. Stared at it.

Then he put his phone down.

An investigator wouldn’t solve this. Gabriel knew that. No one was going to hand him proof on a silver platter. If there was a bug in his apartment that caught them talking about a surprise party, it was long gone. If someone had hired that woman to wear contacts and play a part while she joined the team that killed him, the trail was cold by now.

At some point, he was going to have to decide—was he the man who trusted what he saw? Or the man who trusted what he knew—what he’d known for years, before Aspen, before the bullets and the blood and the word surprise echoing in the frozen air?

He’d loved her. God, he’d loved her so much it had terrified him. She was the only person who’d ever made him feel like he could be more. The only one who looked at the darkness in him and didn’t flinch.

Even now, she looked at him tonight the same way she used to. Like he was worth saving. Like she still believed the man she’d loved was buried somewhere under all this scar tissue and rage.

He’s still in there. I have to believe he’s still in there.

Gabriel pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

He didn’t know if that man existed anymore. Didn’t know if he’d ever really existed, or if he’d just been a performance—a version of himself he’d created because she made him want to be better.

But he knew one thing.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep destroying her while this doubt gnawed at his gut. He’d kept the doubt pushed back behind thick walls, but she’d been chipping away. Weakening them.

Then Travis had gone into full-on demolition mode. And, dammit, the man was right.

He usually was.

Gabriel couldn’t keep pretending he was certain when everything she said, everything she did, made him wonder if he’d gotten it wrong.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t trust. It wasn’t even a decision, not really.

It was just the first step toward finding out if he’d wasted five years hating the wrong person.

And if he had...

Gabriel stared at the painting of the woman he’d loved. The woman he might have destroyed for nothing.

If he had, he didn’t know how he’d ever make it right.

But he was starting to realize he’d have to try.