Young Love Murder Part 17

Standing up, I watch him do the same. He grins evilly and stalks towards me, then throws out his arm in a punch that's skilled and would have been damaging had I not been able to dodge it. Okay, now I'm getting p.i.s.sed. That would have actually hurt. Not badly enough to put me down for the count, but still, it's the principle of it.

As he kicks his leg out and I barely manage to dodge him, backing up and around a table. I'm curious to know who taught him his moves. "Where'd you learn your skills?"

He laughs humorlessly. "A very expensive private instructor."

"You're good, but I'm better." Scrunching up my face, I tease, "Would you be terribly offended if I suggested more lessons?"

He gives me a look of mock exasperation. "Not all of us can be as good a killer as you are."

Shaking my head, I patronize him, "You're just not killer material, Gabriel."

He makes a move to get around the table that's between us. "I guess I'll just have to prove it to you."

We circle each other and the toffee-finished dining table. "If you were going to kill me, why didn't you do it the moment you had the gun on me?" Behind me is the open balcony doors, with long, sheer white curtains fluttering in the cool breeze that's wafting over my bare legs.

He scowls and then shrugs one shoulder arrogantly. "It won't happen again."

I walk over to where the gun is laying on the armchair and pick it up, tossing it to him. Confident now that he won't do it, I'm not worried. More than just anger over the death of his father is driving him. He's still upset about me hurting him. That gives me hope that he still loves me. Hope that there's still a chance.

He catches it without it going off, rights it in his hand and walks forward, gun raised. I stand in place, allowing him to come near. He presses the gun to my chest, right over my heart, looking me straight in the eyes. "Is there even a heart in there to shoot?" His voice sounds blase, but his shaking right hand tells another story. Jeez Gabriel, don't shoot me on accident.

Before I can utter a response, he smacks me with his left hand so hard that I land on the ground, barely catching myself with my elbows to keep my face from smacking against the floor. Motherf.u.c.ker hit me! Didn't even see that coming! f.u.c.king kryptonite!

Kicking my leg out, I hit him on the calves, pulling his legs out from under him. He lands on his back with a loud thud that practically shakes the maple hardwood floor. The gun flies through the air, hitting the floor and skidding to a stop under the dining table. I crawl over and grab the weapon, getting to my feet, pointing it down at him. I can both see and feel the anger radiating from him. Too f.u.c.king bad. Now I'm p.i.s.sed.

His dirty look tells me that he'd like to get his hands wrapped around my neck again. The heat in his eyes would burn me, were it tangible. "Why don't you just shoot me, Annabelle? Murder me like you did my father?"

"That was justice, not murder. Stand up!" I shout.

He gets up at a leisurely pace, looking far too arrogant while straightening out his expensive clothing. As if on cue, following a beeping noise someone tries to open the door of the suite, cursing as he's denied entrance by the security latch.

Gabriel As someone tries to open the suite door and the latch catches, I hear a deep male voice curse then call out, "Come unhook the latch, Annabelle!"

Who the f.u.c.k is this dude?

I find out a moment later when Annabelle walks around me, still keeping the gun on me and unlatches the door. Wearing dark blue jeans and a navy b.u.t.ton up s.h.i.+rt rolled at the sleeves, it's the fake Russian guy. His hair is no longer blonde, instead a dark red. Standing there, looking annoyed with Annabelle, he doesn't notice me at first.

Then he does and raises his dark eyebrows over gray eyes. He glances from the gun in Annabelle's hand and back to me. A smile slowly brings up the corners of his mouth. "Interesting, did I miss all the fun?"

Annabelle rolls her eyes, making an exasperated noise. "The fun is still in full swing." Sarcasm noted and not appreciated.

Giving her a dirty look, I spit out, "Who's he, your real boyfriend?" A jealous rage has me trembling. I want to beat this guy's face in, or in the very least, slap that smug smile right off it. Man, it's messed up to be jealous about this girl. I already feel horrible enough about loving my father's murderer.

The guy laughs, looking incredulous. "Oh my G.o.d, he's jealous, Annie! This is too good!" He shuts the door behind him, obviously enjoying himself.

"Shut up," she says, clearly annoyed with his joking demeanor.

The guy's good humor disappears when he eyes her shorts crumpled on the floor. "What the h.e.l.l is going on? Why do you have a gun on him?"

Annabelle keeps her eyes on me as she tells him, "He's here to kill me."

"Shoot him," the guy says casually, glowering at me.

I give Annabelle a look of mock amazement. "Wow, you two are made for each other."

The guy laughs again, but menacingly this time. He reaches for the gun but Annabelle slaps his hand away with her free one. "If you don't shoot him, I will."

"This is none of your concern," she tells him tonelessly.

"Like h.e.l.l it isn't! You are my concern and you know I'll kill anyone who threatens you!" he barks at her.

"Go pack our bags," she orders him, as if unfazed by his statement.

He doesn't look like he would normally take orders from her, but stomps off into one of the bedrooms. Annabelle just stares at me in silence, her beautiful face is emotionless. Her black hair is unbound and wild around her face from our earlier activity. A sense of male satisfaction shoots through me knowing that I contributed to her s.e.x hair.

The guy stomps back in a minute later, carrying a large black leather duffel, and says, "Pack your own s.h.i.+t, Annie."

She lets out an amused sound. "Fine, be a b.i.t.c.h." Then she holds out the gun to him. "Keep an eye on him and do not shoot him." Pointing a finger at him, she lowers her voice, "And I won't believe that it was an accident."

He ignores her gun and pulls out one of his own from under his un-tucked dress s.h.i.+rt. "Yeah, yeah, hurry the h.e.l.l up." He waves the gun in an impatient gesture.

What a loving relations.h.i.+p. And she chose him over me?

Instead of going into the same bedroom as he did, she goes into one on the other side of the suite, which may just save his life. So, her stuff isn't in his room? Guess they might not be s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g after all. That shouldn't matter to me, definitely shouldn't make me happy, but it does.

When Annabelle is out of earshot, I can't hold back the question, "Are you f.u.c.king her?"

He makes a strangled sound in his throat. "My tastes don't run that way."

Relief comes from that, but my curiosity is whetted. "Oh, so you're gay?"

"f.u.c.k no!" His look can only be described as a mixture of startled and disgusted. It'd be funny if he wasn't holding that gun on me and if I wasn't still feeling jealous despite his denial.

"So what are you, her partner?" I ask, wanting my questions about the fake Russian guy finally answered. Part of my closure, I a.s.sure myself.

"Annie doesn't need a partner, she's almost as talented as me," he states c.o.c.kily. Then he scowls at me, threatening me with, "I'd shoot you in a heartbeat if she'd let me."

"Why doesn't she?" 'Cause I really don't understand that myself. More games?

He looks at me like I'm an imbecile, saying slowly, "Duh, because she's an idiot who loves you."

"So, you're a liar just like her," I grit out through my clenched jaw, looking away from him towards the doorway she disappeared through.

"Now who's lying? You love her right back." He seems far from ecstatic about that thought, adding, "You two idiots are made for each other."

My gaze darts back to him and I give him a dirty look. "I'm going to kill her."

"See, that's exactly what you shouldn't be saying in this situation," he warns me, shaking the gun in the air. "Hence the gun in your face?" From the look in his eyes, I know he wouldn't hesitate.

Changing the subject, I walk over to a nearby wall to lean casually against it. "So, what's your name?"

He hesitates only a moment before answering, "You can just call me cool."

"I'm not going to call you cool. Unlike you and Annabelle, I don't like lying."

He laughs despite himself. Annabelle walks back in looking from one of us to the other. Setting her suitcase down next to his duffel, I notice her change of apparel and I like. Black jeans, mid-calf black low-heeled boots and a tight, dark purple sweater. Her hair is in a sleek ponytail at the base of her skull. Glaring at their luggage, carnal relations.h.i.+p or not, I can't help being jealous.

Her face is sad, her words decisive, "We'll tie him up and leave him for the maids."

Walking to me, she has a gold braided rope in her hand. I retreat from the wall and back away from her. "What do you do, carry that around with you in case you want to strangle someone?"

She shakes her head, speaking almost tonelessly, "Strangling takes too long. Plus, it's from the canopy curtains. Now, either you cooperate or I'll have to knock you out again."

I definitely don't want another headache like the one I had after she knocked me out twice in the same day back in Miami. Eyeing the gun the guy is holding, knowing that I don't stand a chance of getting out of this situation, I arrogantly hold out my hands in front of me.

Instead, she moves behind me and yanks my hands behind my back. A minute later, I pull against the binding, disappointed that she can tie a knot so well. She then orders me to walk into the bedroom that was hers and lay on the bed. I glance at the dude holding a gun before complying. Lying down on my back with my hands underneath me, I watch Annabelle untie another gold rope from the canopy curtain and use it tie my ankles. This is kind of degrading, definitely frustrating.

She hovers over me and runs her fingers through my hair, murmuring, "You need a haircut." Then she sighs deeply, regretfully. "I'm not going to gag you, Gabriel, because then you'd be here all night until the maids come in the morning. Instead, if you yell long enough someone should come and release you."

Ignoring her look of resigned sadness, I glare at her, filling my words with venom, "Next time I find you, Annabelle, you're dead."

She smiles at me indulgently, softening her tone, "I love you and you love me. You just need time to remember that. How about I make you a deal?"

"I don't make deals with the devil," I spout stubbornly.

She ignores my rude remark. "I'll be gone from Paris before you'll be able to find me. You only have two months left of high school. If you go home and finish school, I promise to contact you by the end of May with my location at that time. Then you can come and pretend that you're going to kill me."

"What about you? Don't you need to finish high school too?" I ask, curious to know more about her real life despite myself.

She smiles ruefully, answering, "I got my GED four years ago in the United States. I had a job to do and school would have gotten in the way."

"Four years ago?" I ask in disbelief. "You started murdering people when you were fourteen?"

She gets an offended expression on her face, narrowing her brown eyes at me. "Killing people who deserve it, is not murder."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Fine, the murder spree ends in two months when we meet again."

The smarta.s.s grin of hers tests a temper already pushed to the limit. "You keep telling yourself that." Hesitantly, she kisses me gently on the lips, but I turn my face away. Undaunted, she whispers, "I love you, Gabriel."

As much as a part of me would like to believe her . . . I don't. In response I tell her, "I hate you, sociopath." A hurt look crosses her face, making her big golden brown eyes s.h.i.+ne, and I remind myself that she's an Oscar-worthy actress. Then she's gone and I immediately begin yelling for help.

Chapter 22.

Annabelle Lima, Peru - May 15th "Dammit, Annie! Quit skipping! I don't know how you can be so happy in this humidity," Jackson grumbles from a few yards behind me. I glance over at him to see him pull the collar of his Alianza Lima t-s.h.i.+rt away from the damp skin at his neck. It's not hot outside, this being the start of winter down here, but still very humid. The sea mist creeping in reminds me of the time I was in Southern Chile. Looking up at the cloudy sky, I'm thankful it isn't raining like last night. But the dirt roads in this dodgy area of the city have been turned into mud.

"Quit being such a baby, Jacks. I don't want you here anyways. You've been tagging along on my contracts for the past two months now. Haven't you told Simon what a totally sane, awesome job I've been doing?" Waiting for him to catch up, I push at his shoulder playfully, but he isn't in a playful mood and just scowls at me. Big overgrown baby.

"You have been," he concedes, "But, you forget that I was in Paris with you two months ago. I know that you've lost all sanity where it concerns your little boy toy."

"Gabriel is not my boy toy! He's my boyfriend, sort of."

Jackson gives me a pointed look. "I think he would consider the two of you broken up. Breaking up usually accompanies murdering the other person's father."

Letting out an aggravated groan, I snap, "How many times do I have to tell you, Jackson? Gabriel doesn't really want to kill me. He's just hurting and wants to hurt me in return."

"I still don't trust him . . . or you, in regards to him. I know you have this idiotic plan that you two will reunite after he graduates high school."

"Two weeks." To annoy Jackson I sigh dreamily, adding a bounce to my step.

Jackson gives me an odd look. "You're turning into such a girl, Annie."

Rolling my eyes, I give him the finger. "I am a girl, dumba.s.s."

"No, like a real girl," he says as if that makes total sense. Dumba.s.s.

"Whatever, try not to interfere with my job." Pointing with a thumb at my chest, I tell him, "Serious a.s.sa.s.sin here trying to work."

"Serious a.s.sa.s.sins don't fall in love," he mutters.

I ignore him.

Before we turn the corner and reach our destination, I hold out my arm to halt Jackson. "Hold up. This is a rare shot of this man outside of the jungles. If I miss this opportunity, then I'm going to have to venture down the Amazon to get at him."

"I know the job, Annie, and how to do it. Try to remember who taught you everything you know." He grins smugly in superiority.

"Yeah, I do remember that Simon, not you, taught me everything I know," I reply. "Jeez, pretty soon you'll be claiming to have given birth to me."

"Ouch," he teases, "With your big head, I can only imagine how painful that was for our mother."

I stomp my foot indignantly. "My head is perfectly proportioned to the size of my body!"

He pats me on the shoulder. "Of course it is. And your ears don't stick out either."

Doing the only thing a sister can do in this situation, I kick him in the s.h.i.+n. At his yelp of pain, I consider my first mission of the day accomplished.

He rubs his s.h.i.+n, glaring at me. "Let's just get this job done so that I can have a break from babysitting you." Then under his breath, he adds, "I need to get laid."

I'm so ignoring that last remark.

"That's what I've been trying to do, get the job done. And it's not babysitting. It's tagging along like the d.a.m.n nuisance you are. Watch me work and maybe you'll learn something."

Turning my attention back to our surroundings, I peer around the corner of the building to see the rundown bar that my target, Arturo Martinez, is supposed to be at this afternoon. It's definitely not in the best area of this city with not a tourist in sight. I look ruefully down at the touristy ensemble that I've donned. Well, at least not any real tourists. I look so freaking gay in this outfit. I'm wearing a flowered ruffle skirt, tank top with a giant tropical flower on it and white espadrille sandals. All I'm missing is a neon f.a.n.n.y pack.