A Vampire's Promise (20 page)

At least now I knew the air of danger that surrounded him was more than just my imagination. I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him. Just as deep, just as long, the way he had kissed me. And, although I don't think I had quite the skill to make him forget his name, there was no denying the passion I awakened. When I finally let go of his mouth, my breath was ragged, my hands fisted in his hair. “Promise me that, when the time is right, you will tell me everything that I don't know.”

“When the time is right,” he answered in a low growl, “I will have no choice.”

An ominous chill ran through me. “You think my feelings will change when I know?”

“It would be impossible for them not to,” he said, his mouth settling into a sad smile, “but in what direction I cannot say.”

“Hey, c'mon,” I chided, “have some faith.”

He was so serious about this, whatever it was, that I wanted to reassure him. Tell him he was wrong. But Gabriel decided that the time for talking was over and my mouth could be put to better use.

 

When I went downstairs the next morning, the blouse and bra I'd been wearing the night before, clothes that I'd eagerly stripped off, were now folded in a neat pile on the table. I imagined Gabriel's fingers stroking the satin cups of my bra, and I felt a thrill of pleasure rush through me at the thought of him touching my underwear. Whether I was in it or not.

I made coffee and went to get the Sunday paper from the end of the driveway. It was the only day I had the newspaper delivered, and as I twisted the lever to unlock the dead bolt, my breath caught.

As wonderful as my relationship with Gabriel was, it still rankled that he never stayed the night. No matter how late the hour, he always got dressed and left. I never asked where it was he had to go, and he did not offer to tell me. This was the part of his life that I wasn't ready to hear about. In reality I suspected my ignorance could fill an area the size of Alaska, and I knew if I asked, Gabriel would willingly fill in the blanks, but not until I asked him to. So he always left me with a lingering good-bye at my front door, and I playfully flashed him some skin before returning to snuggle in the warmth he left behind.

But last night that hadn't happened. I'd fallen asleep, and Gabriel had obviously decided not to wake me to tell me he was leaving.

So how come the dead bolt was still locked?

The only way to operate the mechanism was by hand from the inside or with a key from the outside. My purse was sitting on the hall table, and my set of keys clearly visible. I went back to the kitchen and opened the pantry. The spare key was hanging on the hook where I had put it after retrieving it from under the mat.

A frown furrowed my brow as I returned to the front door and stared at the dead bolt.

Snapping my fingers, I told myself I was a total idiot as the answer came to me. Of course! Even though there was no one to witness him coming and going—unless you count wildlife, and there was no way of knowing how many of them would gladly trash my reputation—Gabriel must have left by the back door.

However, a tug confirmed it, too, was locked. Shit! How the hell had he gotten out without unlocking either door? Surely not through a window? A quick check put that theory to rest. All my ground floor windows were secure.

This was going to bug the crap out of me all day, and there was no way I could hold off asking about it until I saw him again. At times I am cursed with the most awful “wait” problem. I got my cell phone and lit up his number.

“Rowan? Is everything okay?”

I was glad I'd caught him while he was still awake. “Yes, everything's fine although . . . I need to ask you a question.”

“Okay, ask away.”

“How did you relock the door after you left this morning?”

Payback is a bitch. It's not often I can stump Gabriel, but this was one of those times. I listened with my own smirk, picturing his face as his brain went into spasms trying to come up with something plausible.

“Look, you might as well tell me,” I said quietly, before hearing him exhale in a long sigh. This was not a good sign, and suddenly I understood the reason for his silence. “Oh shit!” I exclaimed. “This is in Alaska, isn't it?” Gabriel found my descriptive euphemism for the part of his life I knew nothing about highly amusing.

“Yeah, it is,” he confirmed softly.

“Aww, fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.” My apology made him chuckle.

“No, it's okay. It was bound to come up sooner or later.”

I hesitated for all of three seconds before jumping in. “So am I right in thinking you can get in and out of places without needing a key?”

He hesitated a moment more. “Yes, I can.”

“Anywhere?” Even though it was wrong, I was intrigued.

“Pretty much, as long as I've first been invited.”

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but put it down to my general ignorance of breaking and entering. “Could you get into the White House?”

He laughed. “No, I've never received an invitation to the White House.”

“Oh.” I was disappointed.

“Would Buckingham Palace make up for it?”

I almost dropped my phone. “You've been invited to Buckingham Palace?”

“Not officially.”

I was busy trying to sort through the ramifications of his answer when Gabriel slid the subject away from majestic homes. “By the way, you look gorgeous when you're asleep,” he murmured, totally disrupting my thought pattern, “and I'm sorry I didn't wake you. I won't do it again if it displeases you.”

I sighed. There wasn't anything he could do that would displease me. “Oh, that's okay,” I told him, “at least now I won't have to bother getting an extra key made for you.”

“You have the most unique way of seeing things, Rowan.”

The chuckle that filled my ear this time was flavored with something more than humor, something very sexual. I decided to let him get some rest.

“Good night, Gabriel, sleep well.”

I
drank my coffee and considered all the ramifications of the explanation I'd just been given. It didn't matter how I looked at it, every angle brought me back to the same conclusion and confirmed my initial speculations about my boyfriend.

Gabriel was a criminal.

I think deep down I'd known it would come to this, but a part of me was reluctant to let go of the unrealistic hope that he was a wealthy recluse, the black sheep of a very snobby European aristocratic family whose members rubbed elbows with royalty. Especially after that comment about Buckingham Palace.

You really didn't believe that, did you?

Maybe . . . maybe not. But now I was left with only one reason Gabriel would possess the skill to get through a locked door without a key. It explained a lot and told me nothing at all. And while I might not be ready to openly discuss what else was hidden in that Alaska-sized area of his life, it didn't mean I wasn't above taking little side trips on my own looking for answers.

“My boyfriend is a criminal.”

Saying the words out loud, sharing them with the kitchen appliances, filled me with an odd sense of relief. And it explained a lot. Gabriel's cars, his killer, all-black wardrobe, and the $50,000-plus Rolex he wore. Yeah, I looked that one up online. It also supported Gabriel's reluctance to tell me what he
actually
did for a living, not to mention his odd statement about keeping me safe. Safe from what? He hadn't been specific, but the fact he'd even mentioned my safety in the first place was warning enough.

And, sadly, I also understood why he expected the truth to make a difference in my feelings. Considering all the risks involved, even the possibility of prison, how could it not? The more I thought about it, the more confident I became in my assumptions. And Gabriel didn't work alone. The odd behavior of the good-looking trio we met after the movies that night was a red flag waving. They were all probably part of a sophisticated crime syndicate because, whatever else, they definitely didn't look like your typical neighborhood gangbangers.

I'll admit the only thing I knew about gangs is what I'd seen on TV and read in the papers. Obviously Gabriel wasn't in with some East L.A. posse, but I couldn't say the same about a European connection. I don't know if they have gangs in Norway, but I don't see why not. People are pretty much the same the world over when it comes to what side of the law you choose to stand on. But I got the distinct impression that any gang affiliations he had wouldn't be Scandinavian in origin. For one thing, Gabriel had told me he hadn't lived in Norway since he was a child.

It seemed more likely, in my wild guesswork, that any criminal connection would involve something like the Russian mob. Especially when I thought about Aleksei. I've seen
Eastern Promises,
and Nikolai Luzhin could kick the ever-loving shit out of one of Tony Soprano's boys any day.

But there was always the possibility I was way off base. One thing all gangs, and Russian gangs in particular, had in common was a fondness for tattoos. Tattoos not only told your life history, they were a declaration of loyalty. Gabriel had none. His skin was perfectly smooth and totally unblemished. No tats, no scars, not even a mole or a freckle. If he was involved in any type of gang, then it was one that required no ostentatious artwork as proof of allegiance, or else he was high enough up the food chain that a tattoo was unnecessary.

Neither thought gave me the warm-fuzzies, and as I reflected on that, another wrinkle came to light. My boyfriend walking on the wrong side of the law was going to put a definite strain on my friendship with Laycee. Especially now that her relationship with Jake was no longer a secret. Suddenly I was very thankful I had kept my silence about being back with Gabriel.

As for myself, I was a lost cause. No matter what truth lay buried in Alaska, nothing was going to take me away from him. Nothing could. I didn't care if he was a half step away from an arrest warrant, I would not leave him. Some unfathomable, irresistible force told me, as sure as the sun was going to rise in the morning, my future was linked with his. And that odd feeling of déjà vu was getting stronger.

Part of me said I should ask Gabriel what it meant, especially as the voice in my head was becoming a royal pain. It wouldn't be so bad if it threw me something different to chew on every now and then, but apparently its entire vocabulary was limited to five words. And I still had no idea what they meant. How could I possibly know who Gabriel was?

Still, there was
something . . .
if I could only put my finger on it. Perhaps it was all in the wording. Just because you hadn't met someone before didn't necessarily equate to not knowing them.

 

The weeks that followed were like a honeymoon, with very few nights that Gabriel and I were not together. I did suffer some anxiety wondering how I was going to pull off spending Thanksgiving with Laycee and her family. Canceling due to a sudden, unexpected illness was not an option. If I was too sick to come to them, they would simply load up the car and bring Turkey Day to me.

I'd come to the conclusion that perhaps my best bet was to simply show up with Gabriel in tow. Laycee's mom would welcome him with open arms, tickled pink that I finally had a man of my own. And I knew an extra mouth to feed at Thanksgiving was never a problem. But Laycee would be hurt, and trying to come up with a believable excuse for my silence was going to be difficult. And then there was Jake to consider. Would experience give him some sort of cop ESP that would just
tell
him Gabriel and he were on opposite sides of the law? I was saved when Gabriel informed me he had to go out of town for most of the day. A long-standing appointment that couldn't be changed. It was quite shameful how relieved I felt being able to keep “us” a secret for a little longer.

Thanksgiving Day with Laycee and her family went off without a hitch, but it became even better when I rolled over in the middle of the night into Gabriel's arms. Of course, the argument could be made that our relationship was based on sex, but it wasn't. Not entirely. While it was true we did spend a lot of time exchanging bodily fluids in the most imaginative ways, we still did
other
things.

We went to the late-night Saturday movies, stopping for coffee afterward at the diner where the waitress still flirted shamelessly with Gabriel, only now I didn't mind so much. We also went to dinner at least once a week at the Hungarian restaurant, where the lovely Anasztaizia was forever gracious. And sometimes we just went on long midnight drives or sat in the living room or outside on the porch swing and talked.

A world traveler, Gabriel had either visited almost every country in the world or known someone who had. He could tell stories about places I'd only read about or seen on the National Geographic channel, and his attention to detail was phenomenal. He observed using all of his senses. When he described a marketplace he had visited somewhere in the Middle East, I could almost smell the aromatic spices and fragrant, heady perfumes, while listening to merchants barter in a language I didn't understand. In my mind's eye I could see the bright plumage of caged songbirds competing to be heard over the panicked bleating of goats and the disdainful braying that only camels produce. And don't even get me started on the different foods he had tasted.

All I had to share was my childhood and the devastating effect of my mother's leaving. I was certain there wasn't a day that went by that my father didn't hold himself responsible for her desertion, and I had no doubt she was the last thing on his mind as he lay dying in the twisted wreckage of his car.

But I also made sure Gabriel knew how much my father had loved me, never failing to tell me so every day of my life, even when I made it difficult for him. Like most teenagers I struggled with adolescence, trying to find my place in the world even if it meant rebelling against the things he stood for. I was glad he'd been able to see me come through that period of my life none the worse for wear. I'd always be grateful for the values he had instilled in me before a random spin on the Life Lottery took him away.

Hearing the catch in my voice as I talked about my father, Gabriel took my hands and kissed the inside of each wrist. I remembered him doing the same thing the night he left me, and, both then and now, it felt very intimate.

“Why do you do that?” I asked.

“You don't like it?”

“No—I mean yes, I like it just fine.” He looked up at me, his eyes so dark I thought for a moment his pupils had expanded, swallowing up the irises. “It's just no one has ever kissed me on my wrists before. Is it something you do in Norway?”

He smiled, a brilliant, dazzling effect that lightened his eyes and left me breathless. Still holding my hands, Gabriel rubbed his thumbs across the pale blue veins below the skin.

“I don't know if it's Norwegian in origin,” he said, “but it's a custom I learned long ago. Pressing my lips to your pulse point is a sign of affection.”

“I see.”

My throat felt dry, and as with most answers Gabriel gave me, I felt there was a whole lot more I wasn't being told. I don't think he was being deliberately evasive; he was waiting to see if I would ask for further clarification, but I didn't. Instead I turned the conversation toward his own childhood. I was disappointed when he became reticent, and he asked my forgiveness.

“It was a long time ago, and something I'd rather forget,” he said, as he twisted his mouth into an uncharacteristically severe line.

I didn't want to poke my nose in where it wasn't wanted, but I was concerned. “It can't
all
have been bad,” I told him. “You must have a least one happy memory from your childhood.”

He shook his head, the blond mane catching the light, reflecting it back into his face and casting shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. “No, unlike you, the few memories I do have of my past are not pleasant ones.”

I pulled my hands out of his grasp and used them to sweep the hair out of his eyes and back over his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I won't ask again,” I promised.

His smile was not so dazzling, but it was heartfelt. “As I said, it was a very long time ago.”

I laughed. “I doubt it—you're not
that
old!”

“You'd be surprised,” he murmured, and something in his voice told me the subject was no longer open for discussion.

My thoughts about Gabriel's involvement in a gang suddenly did not seem quite so farfetched. A common thread that drew many to such a way of life was the need to belong somewhere. If Gabriel had suffered a traumatic childhood, I could see how the allure of a gang would be appealing. The offer of a new “family” to replace one that had been lost or abandoned would be comforting. Humans in general are not solitary creatures. I wanted to explore this further, to see if my theory was anywhere near correct, but intuition told me we had a long way to go before either of us would be comfortable handling such a revelation.

It was definitely time to lighten the mood. At the risk of my own humiliation, I brought out my baby book. Gabriel was, by turns, enchanted and fascinated. He pored over every memory in the form of snapshots tucked behind the cellophane-covered pages: a newborn cocooned inside a blanket, taking my first steps while wearing a most determined expression, the Christmas when my fascination with wrapping paper was all-consuming. And then—it was almost embarrassing—kindergarten through graduation, my life arranged and kept in chronological order for the world to see.

Sitting with my baby shoes balanced on one knee and brushing a finger over my senior class picture, Gabriel listened as I told him how trashed Laycee and I had gotten at the prom party we went to.

“It was the only time I saw my dad lose his temper,” I recalled solemnly. “I mean
really
lose it.”

He could barely keep the grin off his face. “Now that does surprise me.”

I slapped him lightly on the arm. “Yeah, the cops had to bring us home . . .” My voice trailed off as the memory surfaced with a clarity that was picture perfect.

I could remember holding on to the porch handrail for dear life and trying not to fall over as I waved sympathetically at Laycee, who peered at me through the back window of Jake's cruiser. He was only a deputy at the time, but I suddenly wondered just when the attraction between the two of them had first sparked. Could it possibly have begun that night, slowly simmering all these years? It was certainly worth the asking, and I slotted the question away until I'd see her again.

“You never wanted to go to college?” Gabriel asked, bringing me back to the present.

I shook my head. “Not really, although I'm sure I would have if my dad hadn't died. I lost interest in a lot of things after that.”

“It's not too late. You have a good brain.”

I thanked him for the compliment. “But Gabriel, just think, if I
had
gone to college, I might be shacked up right now with some guy who has a PhD.”

Closing the photo album, he put it, along with my baby shoes, on the end table before pulling me into his arms.

“But, Rowan, you already are.” He pressed my palm against the front of his jeans. “Feels like a PHD to me.”