Danger in a Red Dress (34 page)

The women followed her more or less willingly. Only Meadow had to be restrained, in a low-voiced discussion with Brandi, from questioning Hannah about her intentions.

The sandwiches had been consumed, the scones exclaimed over, and all the social niceties dragged out, when at last Nessa unhurriedly got to her feet. She stood with the flat of her hand pressed to her back, and spoke to the whole group. “I hate to break up this lovely gathering, but Mac’s here to pick me up. It’s time for my nap.” She walked to Hannah and took her hand. “It has been such a pleasure to meet you. I hope we meet again.”

Hannah stood and accepted another embrace. “It has been a pleasure. Thank you for your kindness.”

“That’s my ride, too,” Brandi said.

“I’ve got a plane to catch.” Pepper grimaced and confided to Hannah, “I live in Idaho, and trying to get there from anywhere is more difficult than you can imagine.”

A general exodus followed, with each lady telling Hannah of her pleasure in meeting her, then taking her leave. When the dust had settled, only Hope remained, sitting beside Hannah.

One look at her expression, and Hannah had the same sick feeling she’d had in third grade when she’d been told to stay behind after class. She sank down in the chair, grabbed the bull by the horns, and said, “I’m not interested in Gabriel’s money. I’m not interested in his businesses. If and when I get involved with a man, I want to know a couple of things right off the bat. I want to know he’s not going to lie to me, and I want to know he’s not going to use me. I want to know he’s going to stick around, and most of all, I want to know he’s not going to sic his family on me to persuade me to marry him.”

Hope fixed Hannah in her level gaze. “He didn’t sic us on you. We came on our own.”

“Oh, come on.” Did Hope really expect Hannah to believe that?

“He doesn’t know we’re here.”

Yes. It did appear Hope expected Hannah to believe this. Hope couldn’t have looked more sincere—or more severe. “Oh,” Hannah said with considerably less heat.

Hope continued. “We came because we love him, and because he’s miserable.”

“He’s miserable?” Hannah reflected for a moment. “Good.”

“We agree. He told us what he did to you, and he deserves to be miserable. Just . . . not forever.” Hope leaned across the table. “I’ve known Gabriel since my mother brought him home, looking like a starving stray dog, and he’s a good man.”

“He told you what he did to me, and you still say he’s a good man?”

“I didn’t say he always gets it right. He is, after all, a man.” Hannah could scarcely argue with that. “But he tries. If he has a failing, it is too much loyalty to his friends and family—and Carrick was his family.”

“I hope he rots,” Hannah muttered.

“Carrick?” Hope asked.

Resentment built in Hannah. Resentment that Hope would imagine she meant anything else, and that she dared to question her. “Yes. Carrick.”

Hope relaxed against the chair. “I suspect Carrick will rot, although in an asylum rather than in prison. His encounter with his father did not come out well.”

Hannah smiled tightly. That had been the best part of watching the news, seeing the replay of Carrick’s rescue from the meat locker, his wild-eyed babbling, and the realization that Mrs. Manly had become a recluse to protect her secret—she hadn’t let her husband leave her, after all. When he tried, she had locked him in the freezer. His body had been in Balfour House all the time.

“Gabriel will do anything for the people he loves. When my family was separated, he used all his resources to search for Pepper and Kate, and we would never have been reunited without his expertise. He helped get Meadow and Dev together, and Ness and Mac, and his greatest happiness is when we’re all together at his ranch for a barbecue.” Hope viewed Hannah sternly. “He’s had a rough life.”

Hannah faced Hope without flinching. “Welcome to the club.”

“Yes, it’s true.” Hope half smiled. “We’ve all had our rough beginnings. In Gabriel’s case, it’s made him both kinder than usual, to us, and more suspicious than normal . . . of you. I’m sorry for that, but like you, he’s seen the worst side of life. The worst side of humanity. His strength is that he’s a man who knows what he wants—a home and a family with the woman he loves.”

“That is
so
touching.” Hannah didn’t try to temper her sarcasm. “Do you know what he said before he collapsed in the basement of Balfour House?”

“Oh, no.” Hope put her hand to her forehead. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“He said,
Of course you love me. You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me
.”

“He actually told you you loved him
of course
?”

“That’s right.” Hannah leaned back, sure that at last Hope understood.

And she seemed to. She took a long, exasperated breath. “As I said—he doesn’t always get it right. But it’s funny. With most of his girlfriends, he’s very accomplished, very suave, and there aren’t enough O’s in
smooooth
to describe him. It’s obvious that if he’s putting his foot so wrong with you, you’re different. The one woman that matters to him.” Hope stood and offered her hand. “We, all of us, would like him to have the life he desires. I hope to meet you again someday very soon.”

Hannah took her hand and shook it. “That would be lovely.”

“There’ll be a car waiting for you when you wish to leave.” Hope smiled kindly. “Goodbye, Hannah.”

“Goodbye.” Hannah watched Hope’s exit. Then . . . she couldn’t stand it anymore. She called, “His wound . . . has he had any more trouble with it?”

Hope came back. “He limps a little, but assures me it’s getting better every day.”

“Okay.”

Hope took a step forward. “You know, if you marry Gabriel, you’ll get his whole family as part of the package deal. For someone who has no one, that might make it worth grabbing him.”

“Do you really think that’s a good thing for your brother? That he marry a woman who only wants him for his family?”

“I never said I thought you only wanted him for his family. I just thought it would be a convenient excuse for you.” Hope smiled like a woman who understood face-saving gestures. “Certainly it’s something to think about.”

Hannah waited until Hope left, until the outer door opened and closed, until she knew without a doubt she was alone.

Then she seated herself. She wiped her suddenly sweating palms on the linen napkin. She took a deep, quivering breath. Pulling the photo album toward her, she opened it to the first page . . . and looked into a young Gabriel’s deep green eyes.

THIRTY-NINE

“I think you’ll want to see this.” Gabriel’s secretary placed a letter on his desk under his nose.

He glanced at the header, then looked up at Mrs. Martinez. “Why would I want to read some plea for money from the University of Texas?”

“It’s not a plea for money. It’s a request for a personal recommendation for one of their students.”

He frowned. “A recommendation? For who?”

“Read it and see.” Mrs. Martinez, normally stern and unsmiling, almost danced with glee. “This clever young lady has applied and been accepted to their master’s program to become a physician’s assistant.”

Picking up the letter, he read. The words made sense, but he didn’t dare believe the truth. So he read again. And for the first time in months, he took a full, deep breath. He looked up at his administrative assistant, a woman who had been with him for six years, who was old enough to be his grandmother, who had kept him on the straight and narrow for the last four months. With an intensity he usually reserved for difficult security situations, he said, “If you can tell me where she is right now, I’ll double your salary.”

“As I understand it, Miss Grey is moving into the Archwood Apartments on South Braeswood.”

“Thank you.” Standing, he whirled Mrs. Martinez in a wide circle, kissed her on both cheeks, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, and walked out the door. “Thank you!”

 

Hannah read the scrawl of the black Magic Marker—
kitchen
—took the moving box into the tiny efficiency, placed it on the counter, then headed back toward the truck parked downstairs at the curb. She’d been working for over an hour, wondering if she was doing the right thing, coming back to Houston, wondering whether Gabriel had received the letter from UT, wondering whether he’d even notice or if she’d have to actually screw up her courage, go to his office, and explain that he might be right, she might love him, but that it was unattractive for a man to take a thing like that for granted. . . .

Some guy was coming up the stairs, his face half hidden by the box in his arms.

She stopped. Stepped aside. Let him pass. Watched him climb. And realized that was
her
box, and he looked very familiar.
Very
familiar. Very dear. And very . . . hers.

So he’d received the letter, and this was his response. Thank God.

“Gabriel!” She followed him back up. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping you move in.” He pushed her door open with his foot and headed into her apartment.

She stood in the doorway and lifted her chin at him, although he couldn’t see her.

He looked good. Healthy.
Really
good.

He put the box down on the coffee table and started to turn toward her.

And she realized she was not ready for this confrontation yet. Not that she was a coward, but she needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts.

She turned and hurried back down to the truck. True, she had had months to gather her thoughts, but now that he was here, she was . . . not scared, exactly, but jumpy. Excited. Filled with hope when for so long, hope had been an expense she didn’t dare purchase. Carrying boxes filled with her stuff had to be a better idea than racing up the stairs and kissing him until all she knew was his scent, his touch, the feel of his skin under her fingertips, the thrust of his body on hers. . . .

No. Don’t think of that. Bad idea.
Because they needed to talk first.

Gabriel had some explaining to do.

A massively built black guy was inside the moving van, carrying boxes and furniture toward the front.

“Daniel. I see Gabriel brought the whole crew.” Hannah stood with her hands on her hips and viewed him with fake severity.

He wasn’t impressed. “Hi, Miss Hannah. Welcome to Houston.” He pointed at the box in front. “Take that one. It’s linens. Unpack that and make the bed so you’ve got something to fall into tonight when you’re done.”

She glared at him.

“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll thank me.”

Lifting the box, she headed back up. She passed Gabriel coming down.

He’d lost weight, probably fifteen pounds, in the hips and thighs, yet his shoulders looked bulkier. He looked as if he’d spent the time waiting for his leg to heal by lifting weights.

Made sense. She’d spent her time healing the break in her breastbone by walking five miles a day and eating her weight in burgers and fries. Consequently, she was both heavier and more muscular. Gabriel didn’t know it, but she could crush a man between her thighs.

He probably would be fine with that.

She made the bed, not because she wanted to roll on the mattress with Gabriel, but because, like it or not, Daniel was right. When the moving day was over, she would be exhausted and in need of a place to sleep.

Before she could go down again, she had to wait while Daniel and Gabriel maneuvered her new Ikea table around the bend and over the railing on the stairway.

Gabriel was limping. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly. But still limping.

Stupid guy. He was such a stupid guy. Because if he was showing
any
sign of weakness, she knew he was in a lot of pain.

So she stopped in the kitchen, searched out her teakettle, and put it on to boil.

He stopped, too, in the doorway, and watched her. His sculpted face was familiar, more dear than she wanted to admit, and the hunger in his green eyes made her breath catch. But he sounded prosaic when he asked, “Are you making iced tea? Because I could kill for a good glass of iced tea.”

She looked at the stove. She’d been planning on making a pot of hot tea, but . . . “I could make iced tea.” She hadn’t thought of it, but iced tea made more sense on this warm, muggy day in January.

Wearily, he sank down on the chair set against the cupboards. “Next time you make iced tea for me, you should use Luzianne. It’s the best.”

“Next time?”

“Next time,” he repeated.

“I’ll make sure I remember that.”

“Thank you.” If he noticed the sarcasm, he gave no indication.

She found the tea bags with no problem. A pitcher proved more elusive, and she finally dumped the bags into a quart glass measuring cup.

As she stared down at the tea, she realized the only sounds in the kitchen were the water as it started to heat and her own breathing.

Gabriel was watching her, and she felt his gaze as distinctly as those days at Balfour House when he’d spied on her with his video cameras. Intruded on her privacy. Learned her a little too well.

He was waiting and watching, and she was waiting, too. There was too much to say, and it was all so difficult, and they had to get it right. If they didn’t, the penalty was too great to bear.

This was it. This was their chance.

“Listen—” she began.

“Here we are—” he said at the same time.

Their eyes met.

And she felt the magic sparkle like champagne in her blood. “You start,” she said.

He inclined his head, and his voice was warm and deep. Earnest. And slightly hesitant. “Here we are at last. We’ve got nothing to do but talk. So . . . would you talk to me?”

“Only if you would please explain something to me.” She hadn’t meant to sound belligerent. But she had.