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Gabriel leans in, tucks a lock of hair away from my face, and kisses my cheek. Then he brushes his lips toward my ear. “Give me the gun. It’s okay, Elise.”
“I—” Hot tears spill out of my eyes. I had no idea they were coming. Disappointment sticks in my throat. If I’d been more committed, I would have shot my dad already. Now, with Gabriel in the room, I can’t pretend to be a cold-hearted murderer.
No! Iama cold-hearted murderer. I just can’t show that to Gabriel. I didn’t want him to see me do this. He’s already seen enough.
“Okay.” I click the safety on and hand over the gun.
A weight lifts off my shoulders, but my entire body feels out of control. Racing heart. Hot face. Gabriel puts an arm around my shoulders and gathers me in, holding me lightly to his chest. He has to be careful of the cracked ribs.
“Weak.” My dad shakes his head, like he’s giving me a failing grade. “So weak.”
Gabriel sighs, so exasperated that I can feel his eye-roll in it. “No. She’s strong, motherfucker. She’s nothing like you.”
12
GABRIEL
It’sa who’s-who of New York law enforcement at the Bettencourt estate before sunset has even begun. County cops. State cops. Detectives from the NYPD. They’re all here to assist the feds, who showed up half an hour after everyone else and took over the scene.
I’ll give these guys one thing—they know how to look busy. The majority of the local cops are just supervising, hands to pistols in case anyone gets jumpy, but the feds have a coordinated operation to get evidence out of the house.
Elise and I stand in Bettencourt’s office, watching men and women open every drawer, transferring file folders into cardboard boxes. They’re efficient about it, but…respectful. Nobody pulls on the drawers too hard. Theyplacethe folders in the boxes instead of dropping them.
There’s a near-constant hum of conversation and planning and Bettencourt’s voice. He’s not yelling, but he projects so that his denials fill the house.
Somewhere out in the hall, he laughs. “Absolutely not. My wife has been known to overindulge. I was caring for her.”
It was basically only adrenaline keeping me on my feet for long enough to stop her from shooting her father in cold blood. Now the room tips gently from side to side unless I lean against the desk, so I do.
I made her come on this desk.
There’s enough chatter in the office that nobody except Elise notices when I start humming the birthday song.
The laugh she lets out is more of a sigh. I turn my throbbing, concussed head and look down at her. For some reason, she’s keeping herself a few inches away from me.
That simply won’t do.
I put an arm around her.
Another sigh, and she melts, leaning into me.
God, she’s sweet. I don’t think she’s been to the bakery since the initiation, but it’s on her skin regardless. She’s warm and soft and…
Frowning.
“We did it.” I speak softly, so as not to interrupt the feds with collecting their evidence. Elise leans her head against my chest. Without painkillers, the cracked ribs hurt like hell. I’m not going to mention it. “They’re going to get everything they need.”
Mason’s voice approaches in the hall, and then he’s standing in the doorway, his back to us. “Yes. I’ll be your main point of contact for anything—I’m not sure on the layout.”
The agent he’s with asks a question I don’t catch, then the two of them move down the hall.
“See?” I move my hand up and down Elise’s arm. When I was in that room, choking on black smoke, I was desperate to see her again. Touch her again. Tell her what she meant to me. This is everything I wanted. “Mason’s handling the feds. Your father’s going away for good.” Her eyes come to mine, then slide away again. “Why aren’t you happier about this?
Elise looks at the cane on the rack between the sword and the rifle. It’s not the one I broke. The bastard either bought a replacement or had another one for backup. “I am happy.”
I put my fingers under her chin and tip her face to mine. “You’re not.”
“I am. I just feel…” Her chin rests on my hand. “Like I’ll never be free of him. Not really.”
