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“I grew up in drug circles.” He bends down and lowers his voice so no one else will hear him, although it’s only the two of us here. “Not here in Jersey, but in New York City. I didn’t know my father. Some drug addict. Mom worked tirelessly to put food on the table, and when I saw those smugglers and all the power and the money that comes along with the trade…I wanted it.” His lips twitch. “Promise me you’re not going to take me in for this confession, Detective. All of this has to be off the record.”
I lean into him harder. “You know it is.”
Seconds later his massive hand covers mine and our fingers link. I should take my hand away. I should move to the opposite side of the room away from this killer.
I really don’t want to.
It’s asinine for us to trust each other. Yet he sits there letting me cling to him, while we both pry off the scar tissue and expose the rawness of our wounds. Those kinds of wounds that never really heal.
His hand feels so fucking good against mine.
“I got more involved in the drug scene,” Gabriel admits. “Started out small-time, selling marijuana and cocaine on the streets, but I hated it. Despite my connections at that point, my mother was cornered and robbed. She gave the thug her wedding ring and he shot her in the shoulder anyway.” Disdain drips from every syllable. “She did what she was told and was hurt anyway. I learned right then that charm and street smarts can build a reputation where you get to pay people back for the harm they do to others.”
“When did you—”
“Start killing?” He finally looks me in the eye. “A hit was ordered, a competitor who started out small and then began poaching on territory where he didn’t belong. I carried out the order even though it started off as a dare. No one thought I’d do it, but I was hungry to prove myself. I’m good at it. Death. I learned to harness my temper into skill which made me a valuable commodity.”
“To someone like Stevens,” I fill in the blank faintly.
Gabriel turns his body to face me and the weight of those green eyes causes my chest to tighten. I don’t miss the heat building in his expression. “Exactly. I’m also a fairly good judge of character. He’s a piece of shit but he’s got drive. He’s stubborn. I knew he’d go far.”
It’s ridiculous to indulge in any kind of connection with this man. A contract killer who just admitted he delights in murder. Or if not delights, then at least he acknowledges and appreciates that he’s skilled at it.
Where does it leave us?
“Detective Sinclair?”
The arrival of the surgeon breaks me out of my thoughts.
I clear my throat, rubbing at my eyes, struggling to focus. “Yes.”
Gabriel doesn’t rise to his feet but I do and the movement breaks our hands apart. The surgeon is here sooner than I expected. But the way he’s shaking his head…
My stomach plummets through the floor.
“I’m so sorry. This isn’t the type of news I like to give to people who are already grieving—”
“What?” I bark out. “What happened? What are you saying?”
“We couldn’t—”
My own shaking returns. “No. Where is she? I want to see her.”
“We couldn’t save her. There was too much blood loss,” the surgeon continues.
“The bullet caused severe damage to her organs, and the internal bleeding—”
No. The thunder of my pulse drowns out the rest of his words. I’m frozen in place, blinking rapidly.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Gabriel says for me. “I’ll take it from here.”
The room closes in around me because I knew. Iknewthat Taney wasn’t coming back. I knew that her friendship with me would take her to some place where I’m not able to follow. I can’t breathe.
The claustrophobic feeling is exacerbated when Gabriel closes his arms around me and drags me out of the waiting room toward the elevator. Back to the first floor and the parking lot. I’m dwarfed by his arms, fighting for every breath, and my reflection isn’t one I recognize.
Too pale, too wild-eyed, too shaky.
“If you’re going to throw up, then wait until we’re out of here.”
