She hadn’t seen that coming, hadn’t understood how truly desperate Rochelle had been, and she had actually told Gabriel he shouldn’t follow after the girl. Now she knew that they would have probably found Rochelle dead in the passageway in the morning if Gabriel hadn’t had the compassion to go after her.
His face had been so intense, so rigid, so filled with self-condemnation when he had looked up at her, Rochelle slack against his chest, her blood smeared on his bare chest and forearms, that Sara had actually been frightened. It had made her realize she didn’t know exactly what had happened to Gabriel’s girlfriend, only that he clearly still lived with the damage from the tragedy every day, just like she did.
Interesting, though, that neither of them had chosen the out that Rochelle had. Sara had never wanted to die.
But maybe she and Gabriel had been slowly killing themselves with sleeping pills, alcohol, guilt, anguish.
She didn’t want that for herself or for him. She wanted to live, to breathe in at the start of a new day and look forward to what was ahead.
Finding a spot on Dumaine, which she was starting to realize was a miracle in the French Quarter, she pulled in and then readjusted her car to be aligned better. The day was already hot, even though it was barely eight in the morning. It was quiet, the sound of water dripping down from the recently watered potted plants on the balcony above creating a rhythmic and soothing pattern. Sara stepped out and tipped her head left and right, trying to release the tension in her neck. Eventually when Gabriel got home, they were going to have to talk about Rochelle. Try to process what the hell had happened. And acknowledge what Rochelle had interrupted.
What had seemed so logical and reasonable when she’d been drunk now had her blushing in the daylight. She would have sworn on a stack of Bibles at the time that she wasn’t drunk, and her thoughts had been so clear, her actions so natural, that she hadn’t hesitated to touch herself in front of him. It had been right, good, sexy as hell. Last night.
Today she was feeling a bit like she wanted to run away and never be seen by Gabriel again, clothed or unclothed. God, what had she been thinking? He had told her straight-out he couldn’t get involved with her, couldn’t have sex with her. So her solution was to masturbate in front of him? Nothing about that made sense.
But it had been sexy. And he had liked it. She felt warm just remembering the look in his eye, the sound of his music swelling around her, the way he had grabbed her and tossed her on the piano. His tongue inside her.
Sara pushed open the gate and stepped inside, unable to prevent herself from glancing at the spot where she had found Gabriel with Rochelle. She was expecting to see dried blood splashed on the ground, but it wasn’t there. Which made sense. Most of Rochelle’s blood had been caught by her shirt and Gabriel’s, and it wasn’t the kind of wound that sprayed and dripped all the way down to the ground anyway. But Sara still looked before heading up the stairs.
And stopped in shock when she saw what was sitting in front of Gabriel’s apartment door.
It was an unopened bottle of absinthe.
What the hell was that doing there?
Sara went up and studied the green bottle sitting there. It was the same brand that Gabriel had opened the night before. Maybe he’d had a second bottle. Maybe he’d bought another one to replace the one she had put a serious dent in. But she knew immediately that made no sense because he wouldn’t have had time to do that and he wouldn’t have left it sitting on the landing.
A cold chill raced down her spine. She darted her eyes back down the staircase, then tested the doorknob to the apartment, leaning around the bottle. It was locked. She’d locked it after the ambulance had left with Rochelle, before she and Gabriel had headed to the hospital.
Picking the bottle up, she saw there was a decorative tag attached to the neck with a ribbon. It was a quote.
In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgivenessof sins.
Sara didn’t know what it meant, or what the point was supposed to be, but it kicked the fear up another notch. It didn’t look like something the liquor manufacturer had intended to be there. And someone had intentionally set the bottle out for her. Fumbling with the key and the bottle, she managed to get the door open, herself inside, and the door locked behind her.
Only to scream when she saw a man sitting on the couch typing on his BlackBerry, legs crossed casually.
“Whoa,” he said, glancing over at her. “You have bigger pipes than I would have given you credit for given that you look like you have TB. In person you’re even more waifish than the pictures Gabriel had of you.”
Sara gripped her purse, trying to dig inside it for her cell phone. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alex, Gabriel’s friend. We go way back. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned me.”
She shook her head, not sure if she should turn and run, or if she should believe him. He must have used a key to get into the apartment, which had to indicate he was Gabriel’s friend, whether Gabriel had ever mentioned him to her or not. She and Gabriel didn’t know each other that well, frankly. He probably had lots of friends she knew nothing about.
“You must be Sara.”
Not sure what to say, she just nodded. “Yes.” The assumption would be then that Gabriel had mentioned her to Alex, which further legitimized his claim of being a friend. But she was still suspicious and a little freaked out.
He stood up, tucking his BlackBerry into the pocket of his dress pants. He was dressed like he was headed into the office, his blue button-up shirt crisp and ironed. Alex had short, dark hair and the kind of smile that, while perfectly charming, almost looked condescending. Walking toward her, he stuck his hand out. “Gabriel told me about you. Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” She shook his hand automatically.
“Where is Gabriel, by the way? I was hoping to talk to him.”
“Uh, he’s at the hospital. There was an incident outside our apartment last night.” Sara suddenly realized she had referred to Gabriel’s apartment as belonging to her as well, and felt heat start to creep up her cheeks. This was Gabriel’s friend and she didn’t want to sound presumptuous. She also didn’t want to explain Rochelle’s weird obsession with Gabriel.
“An incident?”
“A girl tried to kill herself and Gabriel is visiting her.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “He’s at it again, is he?”
“What do you mean?” Sara wanted a drink of water and some aspirin desperately. She felt like she was having a hard time processing information, like her brain had slowed to a snail’s pace, and her head was throbbing.
“Gabriel. He gets too emotionally involved with these girls.”
Sara raised an eyebrow. “Well, she did try to kill herself. He’s just being compassionate.”
Alex gave her a wry look. “I call it being stupid. You don’t know how many times I’ve seen him do this.”
“Do what?”
“Take in a broken woman thinking he’s going to nurse her back to good mental health. Like a bird with a damaged wing.”
Like Sara, maybe? Not a flattering thought.
“It’s a big waste of his time. You can’t fix another person.” That was very true. She could vouch for that with her own mother.
“I don’t think he’s trying to fix this girl. He just felt bad for her. It was a very random thing.” She didn’t know what else to say. She really wanted Alex to leave so she could take off her shoes and curl up on the bed with her kitten. Go to sleep finally.
“Well, I’ll take off then, since he’s not home. I need to go see my daughter. She’s having boy trouble, as usual. But if you could tell Gabriel I stopped by, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure. It was nice meeting you. Sorry, I’m a little out of it from lack of sleep.” Sara wondered how old Alex was that he had a daughter dabbling with dating already. She would have put him at no older than thirty-five, but then again, she herself had been nineteen when her own mother was thirty-five.
“I understand. It was nice meeting you, too.” He smiled.
Sara remembered the bottle of absinthe in her hand. Alex must have brought it as a gift. “Oh, did you want me to give this to Gabriel?”
But Alex just shook his head and studied the bottle. “I didn’t bring that. It was sitting on the doorstep when I got here.”
“Oh.” She wished he had. The alternative was too disturbing.
“And Sara, just a little warning. There will be others.”
“Other what?” Gripping the green bottle and her purse, she just blinked at him, her mouth and face hot, palms sweaty. She really needed to lie down.
“Other girls. Women. They can’t resist Gabriel. They all want to coax a smile from him, and they all want to be the one who is special, who manages to get a reaction from him. None of them can though, and they become obsessed with him.”
There had been others, besides Rochelle? With that kind of intense reaction? That was a disturbing thought. Yet she could understand it. She herself had been drawn to Gabriel from the beginning, intrigued by his solitary life, his lonely eyes, his physical beauty. Didn’t she want to think she was special, that he let her in, and her alone?
Alex added, “Don’t let that happen to you, because it really is pathetic.”
She felt a stab of humiliation. Of course it was. As was what she had done on the couch in front of him the night before.
Alex reached out and flicked the label of the absinthe bottle. “I didn’t know Gabriel was back on this shit. Interesting.” He pulled the attached card out to read it. “ ‘In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins.’ That’s not a very sexy label for alcohol. It doesn’t make me want to drink a drop. And it’s wrong. Sins are never forgiven, and never forgotten.”
Giving her a smile and a wave, he headed toward the door. “Have a good one, Sara.”
Then he was gone and Sara was left wondering what the hell had just happened.
And with the knowledge that she knew much less about Gabriel than she had thought she did.
Chapter Fourteen
From the Court Records of
the Willful Murder Trial of Anne Donovan,
State of Louisiana v. Jonathon Thiroux
January 14, 1850
ATTORNEY FOR THE DEFENSE, MR. SWIFT: Mr. Thiroux, describe to us what the room surrounding Miss Donovan looked like when you regained consciousness and discovered her dead.
MR. THIROUX: It was hot in the room and there was a sweet, sickly odor. It was dark, except for moonlight. Anne was lying on the sheet. She must have remade the bed with the intention of going to sleep because I had actually taken the sheet off earlier.
MR. SWIFT: Why did you do that?
MR. THIROUX: It was tattered.
MR. SWIFT: Tattered?
MR. THIROUX: Yes. She had hosted a visitor in her room prior to my arrival and I was offended by the evidence of that.
MR. SWIFT: So there was another man specifically in Anne Donovan’s room before you arrived?
MR. THIROUX: Actually, he was still there when I arrived. I informed Madame Conti that he needed to vacate Miss Donovan’s room as I had an understanding with her that Anne would always be available to me.
MR. SWIFT: So you were paying a retainer for her services?
MR. THIROUX: Yes.
MR. SWIFT: So it was unusual to see another man in her room?
MR. THIROUX: Yes, very. In the nine months I had been seeing Anne, I had never encountered another man in her room.
MR. SWIFT: Can you describe this man?
MR. THIROUX: I did not get a very good look at him, as his back was to me, and I left the room immediately. But he was dark-haired, with what appeared to be an olive complexion. I can get no more specific than that.
MR. SWIFT: But Madame Conti saw him in Miss Donovan’s room?
MR. THIROUX: Yes. As stated, I demanded she force him to leave, which she did. I heard her offering him three girls for the price of one as compensation for his inconvenience.
MR. SWIFT: Did she refer to him by name?
MR. THIROUX: No, she did not.
MR. SWIFT: Were you inebriated at that point?
MR. THIROUX: Not in the slightest.
Gabriel was shaking the hand of the young, personable physician in the ER who had treated Rochelle, ready to leave now that her parents had arrived, when he suddenly realized what he had never bothered to investigate. He had read all the online articles in reference to Jessie Michaels’s murder case. But he had never seen any pictures. The articles had all been text.
He wanted to see Dr. Rafe Marino, who Sara seemed to think was attractive and charming, with a heart of gold.
Gabriel had his doubts about the good doctor’s true character, especially after his conversation with the Florida journalist.
It was the biblical and Michelangelo references. They had been rolling around in his head, bothering him, nagging that something was not right.
So instead of going home, he headed straight over to the library, ignoring the fact that he’d been up all night and hadn’t eaten. He did a general search on Dr. Rafe Marino. He got what he wanted immediately. A staff picture from the hospital in Naples where Dr. Marino had worked prior to his arrest.
“Holy shit.” Gabriel sat back in his chair, heart pounding. It couldn’t be.
It was Raphael.
A fallen angel.
Once a healer.
And now, obviously, a killer.
The face smiled back at him, familiar and open. Raphael wasn’t suave yet disdainful like Alex, or quiet and intense like Gabriel. Raphael had always been the one who could put people at ease, could draw out a smile, a laugh, even from the most devastated.
How could he take that trust and destroy mortal lives?
Unbelievable, just insane. Gabriel couldn’t believe that Raphael was capable of such heinous acts. It wasn’t possible to understand how anyone could do what had been done to those women, but Raphael, a man he had known, spoken to, shared meals with. That he had committed such evil, it was incomprehensible.