Young Love Murder Part 31

Very quietly, in a contemplative tone, she replies, "Yes, now I'm going to return the favor and train it out of you too." With that, she pulls a small object out of her coat pocket and sets it on my bare stomach.

"What's that?"

"Tape recorder," she says matter-of-factly, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "Remember when I blew your dad's brains out? Don't you hate me for it? And then your poor, pathetic mother went and killed herself because of it. So sad. Guess both of us have parents with sad love stories. Of course, my dad actually loved my mom back. Your father was an unfaithful dog. I put him down like one too. Don't you want to hurt me, Gabriel? I did kill your parents, after all. Isn't that why you shot me?"

"I didn't mean it. I was out of my mind with grief," I say through clenched teeth, not appreciating her hateful words. I'm over the past. Why can't she understand? Nothing matters but her and us being together.

She makes a tsking sound twice. "Is that what you tell yourself? Do you want to know what I tell myself, Gabriel? Well, I'll tell you." Her voice turns pleasant, "I've told myself every day since I've been old enough to understand, that if I knew who had sold out my parents to those criminals in Lisbon, I would blow their brains out. Just like I blew your dad's brains out. Just like your mom blew her own brains out because of it. Just like you tried to blow mine out."

I'm trembling with conflicting emotions. "I don't want you dead, Annabelle, never that."

"I think you do," she says in a sing-song voice and I'd think she was enjoying herself if that same voice wasn't trembling.

"I just want to love you, Annabelle," I say without hesitation. "And I want your love back."

She rears back as if struck, and with her blocking the light I can't see her face clearly, but I think I see the s.h.i.+ne of tears in her eyes. Angrily she says, "I don't believe you. I think you're in denial."

"And I think you are." Smugness is only going to p.i.s.s her off, but I want her rattled. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have felt the need to tie me up."

She stalks over to the window, staring out, and I can hear her ragged breathing. When she turns back around, she's collected, her emotions are masked. "I almost forgot to give you your present, Gabriel." Walking over, she places an index finger on the tape recorder, holding it there. "You can keep this copy, Gabriel. I have one of my own. And in case you're wondering, I'm glad I killed your dad. I'm a freaking hero because of it." Tilting her head to the side, she adds, "Do you suppose you might be just like him someday?" Pressing down her index finger, she walks out my bedroom door, calling out, "Max will cut you loose!"

It almost seems as if, since I first met Annabelle almost three years ago, my life has been a series of bad memories, unhappy revelations and horrible experiences. Ranking at the top is when I thought Anna was dead, that I'd killed her. After that, it'd probably be the phone call telling me my mom had committed suicide. Even though we weren't close, my dad's death ranks up there too. Having to listen to this tape definitely makes the top ten list of worst experiences.

Unmistakably, it's my father's voice telling of his bad deeds and, unmistakably, it's Anna's voice asking him the questions, prompting him. Obviously my dad was trying to buy time by going along with her demands, probably hoping that his outside security men would come. Instead, I came. To watch as Anna executed him for his crimes.

The image of it all turning out differently than it did flashes through my mind. The image involves a bodyguard walking into the office, shooting Anna in the back of the head and her dead body being the one in a puddle of blood on the floor. I shudder, relieved that it turned out as it did. Choosing between my dad and Annabelle, she would always win out.

When the tape has run out, confession over, I think back to what happened next. I walked in on the scene in utter disbelief. Anna seemed confused, as if debating whether or not to follow through with her intentions. The moment she killed him, my heart stopped, for more than one reason. I remember the dark red blood, kneeling over his body, then everything going black as she knocked me out. I remember waking up in the blood and my stunned state-of-mind while going through the motions afterwards.

Finding out that my dad was an even worse person than Anna had hinted at is painful. Even if he was a monster, it still hurts because I loved him. Knowing that my mom's death was one-hundred percent his fault just leaves me angry at him. Love may be a weakness for some people, like my mom, but I think it makes others stronger. And Annabelle and I are stronger together.

Hero? Maybe so.

Killer? Definitely.

The woman I love? Always.

When Max finally comes into my room a long while later, he flips the switch for the overhead lights. I squeeze my eyes shut before slowly opening them to sudden brightness. He uses a pair of scissors off my computer desk to cut through the neckties.

He seems anxious. "I followed her, Gabriel. I don't think she noticed me. I think she was crying. She's staying at The Waldorf."

Rubbing my wrists together, I contemplate my next move. As much of a pain in the a.s.s my baby can be, the chases she leads me on are always thrilling. She's in denial and subconsciously wants me to come after her. Otherwise, why else did she come here tonight? She can pretend it was to scare me off, but deep down, she can't let go any more than I can.

Chapter 39.

Annabelle Tying the belt of my black satin trench coat, I give Jackson an exasperated look. "You act like this is the first job like this, Jackson!"

"This one seems more dangerous, that's all." He's pacing back and forth in front of the door of our stately hotel suite, wearing leather pants and a black s.h.i.+rt. With his hair dyed black and ice blue contacts, he would probably look menacing to anyone else. But he's my brother, and all his panther-like pacing makes me want to do is trip him.

Tilting my head, I give him an 'oh really?' look. "My first kill was a pedophile p.o.r.n king. It doesn't get much worse than that."

"But I was there, Annabelle, and I had it all under control," he tries to argue.

"And you'll be there tonight. Why don't you admit what's really bothering you?" I egg him on, using it as a way to alleviate some of my own anxiety.

He gives me a dirty look. With an agitated gesture, he points to the city outside our windows. "Fine! I don't like him knowing you're here!"

Playing with the belt of my coat, I shrug as if unconcerned. "It's a big city. It's not like he knows where I'm staying at."

"He's rich. He'll hire people to find you just like before." Jackson has a point there, but I plan to be gone before I can be found.

"I took care of him last night." And I'm happier for it, I a.s.sure myself. Never seeing Gabriel again is not a problem for me.

"Are you sorry for what we did?" He looks genuinely concerned. Not the first time he's wondered if his actions two years ago hurt me more than they helped me.

I give him a firm, "No." But when he still looks worried, I go on, "Jackson, you did what was right. I even told you so when I woke up in the hospital. Never have I questioned your decision. At that point, what else could we have done?"

Looking suspicious, he asks, "And at this point? What now?"

Throwing my hands up in the air, I march over to my little black satin purse, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up. "At this point nothing! It's over! Time does not heal all wounds."

As I edge around him to open the hotel door, he puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. "I still don't like this job, Annie. I'll be ten minutes behind you."

Before slamming the door shut in his face, I make sure he hears my snide remark, "And I still don't need a babysitter, Jackson."

Wis.h.i.+ng we were staying at our apartment in the city instead of a hotel, I take the elevator down to the lobby. I get a few looks because of my appearance, especially in this conservative crowd. l.u.s.tful looks from men in business suits and either envious or disapproving looks from women. They probably think I'm some politician's or foreign diplomat's high-priced call girl. Well, I do cost a lot, just not for the job they think.

My black heeled leather boots are tapping along the marble floors. Coming up just over the knee, there are only a few bare inches between the top of them and the bottom of my black coat. I decided to keep my hair down, but curled it for a bouncy, more innocent look. Hopefully my target will be drawn to the conflicting image I'm portraying. My makeup is done up heavily on the eyes to make me look doe-eyed, but my lipstick is light pink and glossy.

There are taxis parked along the curb in front of the hotel. Getting into one, I give the cabbie an address in the Tribeca area of Manhattan. The club is called Rapture and a favorite of my target. We have information that he goes there regularly, every Sat.u.r.day night.

There isn't a line at this sort of place. Either you get in or you don't. The doorman will let you know up front, by shooing you in or shooing you away. Un-belting my trench coat, I smile and walk right past the guy. Living in New York, having seen just about everything, the bouncer's only reaction is to nod and open the heavy black door for me.

After walking down a long dark hallway, lit only by a few wall sconces made to look like candles are burning inside, I come to the main area of the club. Trance music is playing loudly and people are lounging around on leather couches, jewel-colored velvet armchairs, booths or at the bar.

A quick scan lets me know that my target is sitting alone in one of the semi-private booths. An aggressive approach could be a turnoff, so instead of venturing his way, I go over to the bar and order a drink. If all goes well, he'll come to me.

Gabriel When Annabelle came out the lobby doors of the hotel I almost fell off my motorcycle. The combination of the black belted coat and the black boots had me sweating even more than I already was under my helmet.

I discreetly followed her taxi to a club that I'd never heard of, or heard Max mention, even though I've lived in the city for a year now. Parking my bike around the corner from the club, I get off and lock my helmet onto it. Wearing dark blue jeans, a white t-s.h.i.+rt, motorcycle boots and a leather jacket, I wonder if I might be underdressed for the club.

When I get to the door, I slip a fifty into the hand of the big bouncer standing out front. He doesn't say anything, but opens the door for me. So I guess I'm in. After going down a dimly lit hallway, I get to the club part. At first glance, I see the back of Anna's head at the bar. Slipping into an empty spot near the entrance, I slide back into the darkest corner of the black and burgundy booth.

Once I feel hidden well enough, I take another look around the club and barely register that my jaw has dropped open. This is a freaking s.e.x club! What the h.e.l.l is Anna doing here? Taking it all in, the half-naked people, the collars, the whips currently being used, people disappearing into back rooms in twos and threes, even fours, I stare hard at Anna. Wis.h.i.+ng I could drag her out by her curly hair, I reign in the possessive instinct. This had better be for a job. First sign that it isn't and I'm outta here, taking her with me. Right at this moment, I'd be more than happy to spank her if that's what she wants.

I see Anna stand up and slip the coat off her shoulders. Even having only a side view, her outfit has me clenching my fists. Along with the over-the-knee boots, she's wearing tiny black satin shorts, practically underwear, and a black and pink corset. And she showed up at my place last night in jeans and a tank top with that outfit in her wardrobe a.r.s.enal?

When Jackson walks in a few minutes later it confirms that this spectacle is for a job. But still . . . .

Jackson sits down in a deep purple velvet armchair near the bar, ordering a drink from a pa.s.sing waitress. The server is wearing a studded collar for Christ's sake! And her dress looks like it's made of transparent black plastic. When a couple near me starts doing it for everyone to see, I look at Anna to see her reaction. She looks at them with wide eyes and blushes, but something about her reaction seems off, almost fake.

I know she's seen worse than a little exhibitionism, but I don't like that she's here anyways. I have to wonder how her brother can stand it. My eyes switch back to Jackson to see him staring right back at me. He casually stands up, taking his newly delivered drink with him, and starts sauntering my way. I'm not about to back down or apologize for being here, no matter how hard he tries to intimidate me.

Sliding in across from me, he calls out to a server, "He'll have a Smith & Wesson." As if ordering me a drink named after a gun company is going to scare me. Try again, Jackson.

I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. "Just because you buy me a drink doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with you, Jackson."

He lifts one eyebrow condescendingly. "I'm surprised you're not still licking your wounds." I don't appreciate his reference to last night, to the tape recording. What happens between me and Anna is none of his business.

Instead of giving in to my anger, like he wants, I give him the same smarta.s.s smirk and matching remark, "Pimping out your sister now?"

The twitch of his jaw lets me know that I've p.i.s.sed him off. "It's none of your concern."

"And what if I make it my concern?"

Giving me the coldest look I've ever received, he reminds me of why I'm lucky to be alive, "She stopped being your concern the day you tried to kill her."

"I didn't really want her dead," I defend myself once again. I know how stupid it sounds, but it's true. Temporary insanity is what I call it. Pure stupidity is what it was.

Jackson ignores my defensive comment and leans forward. "Don't mess this up for her tonight. She has a job to do. You showing up at the restaurant yesterday already screwed it up once."

I flick my gaze back over to Anna to see her watching us. Yeah, she looks kind of mad. My view of her is cut off as the waitress brings my drink. When I see her again, she's no longer looking our way, but instead talking to some smooth-looking guy in a suit who's approached her. When the douche fingers a strand of Anna's hair, I start to slide out of the booth. Jackson's foot coming up between me and the end of the burgundy leather seat stops me. "I'm warning you, Gabriel. Leave her be. That's the target."

His threat doesn't stop me, but Anna's potential anger does. Plus, causing a scene could be dangerous to her. I can't risk her getting hurt. I have no idea who this guy is, but he could be carrying a weapon.

Sliding back against the wall, I pick up my drink and take a big gulp, watching the candle on the table flicker. When Jackson says, "Good boy," I contemplate whether or not to throw the rest of the drink in his face. I decide not to when, for just a brief moment, I can see in his eyes how much this is bothering him too. However, I refuse to feel any sort of sympathy for him. This is much harder for me than it is for him. He may love Annabelle, but his brotherly concern doesn't compare to my agony.

"Why can't you just kill him?" I ask Jackson.

"It's not that simple this time," he says cryptically.

"If he's so bad, I'll do it," I offer, totally meaning it.

His eyes narrow. "Of that, I have no doubt."

I flash him a dirty look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs one shoulder, leaning back into the cus.h.i.+on. "Well, you try to act all high and mighty, but underneath that false sense of conservative morality, you're just as capable of killing as me or Annabelle. I was a witness to it in Australia and again in Sweden." Then he adds, "Like father like son." As if the same couldn't be said of him. His dad wasn't exactly a saint before meeting his mom.

The urge to punch him is strong, but I brush off his insult by saying, "Okay, it's settled. I'll do it."

Almost indifferently, he responds with, "We need information from him first."

Seeing the yuppie pervert now kissing her neck, I spit out, "Then why don't you torture him for it?"

Jackson isn't looking at me, but instead at the bar, when he answers, "Already thought of that, but if the guy's innocent, it'd suck if he went running to the police with crazy stories about me torturing him." He finally turns back to me, spreading his arms wide. "This is who we are, Gabriel. This is who Annabelle is."

"And I accept her the way she is," I say decisively.

His laugh has a hard edge to it. "I would say that you're about two years and two months too late for that."

"It's not too late if she still loves me." With a patronizing expression, I tell him, "You know, Jackson, someday you'll fall in love too. What then? What if you fall in love with someone who's not from your world?"

Shaking his head, he laughs. "Never gonna happen, buddy. I don't have that kind of idiocy in me."

With mock pity, I say, "Even the biggest cynic has the ability to fall in love. And you know what? They're the ones who fall hardest."

With a skeptical look, Jackson drawls out, "Yeah, 'cause you're such an expert in love."

Watching Anna play another guy right in front of me, I'm soon becoming one. Today's lesson of love is Restraint: Holding back from kicking another guy's a.s.s when he's pawing your woman.

Annabelle This guy smells like expensive cologne and cigarettes. He slowly draws his right thumb along the line of bare skin on my stomach between my corset and shorts. I pretend that my s.h.i.+ver is one of desire. He finally moves his lips from my neck to ask, "Are you looking for a master?" Figures I get a job where the guy is a wannabe Dom. Why are most murderers also s.e.xual perverts?

Biting my lip, I blush, which isn't hard considering the fact that my brother and my ex-boyfriend are watching this play out. I'd really like to know how Gabriel found me. Then, I'd really like to get rid of him. At first, I was royally p.i.s.sed that he was here, but seeing that Jackson has him under control, I'm ready to get on with the a.s.signment.

William runs his fingers over my cheek in an affectionate gesture. "How adorable, you're blus.h.i.+ng. Are you new at this sweetheart?"

Making sure my facial expression conveys embarra.s.sment, I look down at the ground while saying, "Is it that easy to tell?" As he runs his fingers through my hair, palming my scalp, I think creep, but I say, "Do you think you could teach me?"

His excitement at my ignorant question is palpable. "Hmmm, I'm going to have so much fun breaking you in."

Freaking creep!

I glance around the club nervously, biting my bottom lip. "Do you think we could maybe go someplace more private? I don't know if I'm ready for all this yet." Gesturing around the club, he follows my eyes to where people are engaging in all sorts of depravity.

William looks thoughtful for a moment. "We could use a backroom, but I think I'd rather take you someplace special."

Putting a whole lot of naivete into my fake blue eyes, I smile shyly. "Do you think I'm special?"

The hand against the back of my head moves down my spine to settle over my b.u.t.t. He pulls me forward so that our hips meet. "Very special, sweetheart." He proceeds to so romantically grind his hips against mine and I can feel the hardness of him. "Come on, honey, we're leaving now."

Grabbing my coat to cover myself back up, we pa.s.s Jackson and Gabriel on our way out. I can practically feel the tension emanating off of Gabriel. Jackson doesn't look happy, but I know he trusts me to be able to handle myself. How the h.e.l.l did Gabriel find me here? Is this a favorite place of his? That thought makes me very unhappy. It can't be a coincidence. The odds of accidentally running into Gabriel two days in a row couldn't be that high. He had to have come here knowing I would be here.

After walking a block down the street, William ushers me into the back of a Bentley and tells his driver, "The East Village place." Yeah, I'm oh-so-special. Don't take me to your nice home in the Upper East Side, but instead take me to whatever place you have in a less flashy part of the city.