Part 29 (1/2)

Turning back to Brenda, who's been trying to get my attention, I coldly tell her, ”I'm getting you a cab.” Dropping a fifty on the table, I scoot out of the booth to grip Brenda's arm and pull her to her feet. A minute later, I'm ushering her out of the restaurant and hailing a cab. I place my date in it and hand the driver enough money to get her wherever she wants to go in New York City or even the state of New York. I don't give a c.r.a.p where she goes, as long as it's out of my way. From the curse words Brenda's throwing at me, I'm sure Max isn't going to be happy. He's banging her best friend, but I really don't give a d.a.m.n right now.

My world has just been tilted on its axis. I have a world again. My world is currently in that restaurant, acting as if I don't exist. Walking back inside, I breeze past a confused hostess and plop myself down in an empty chair at Anna and Jackson's table.

”So, what are we having?” I ponder nonchalantly. ”Who are we here to kill? Should I be worried that it's me?” I stare hard at Anna, waiting for her to look at me.

She finally, slowly, pulls her gaze from Jackson and deigns to glance at me. ”h.e.l.lo, Gabriel.” The lack of warmth in her eyes tears me up inside.

Still shaking, I try to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention to Jackson. ”You said she died.”

He doesn't look or sound the least bit remorseful, ”So I did.” Actually, you might even call his look amused.

Staring hard at Anna, I grind out, ”He said you were dead.”

Still showing no emotion, she simply says, ”I know.”

”You're not,” I a.s.sert inanely.

”No, I'm not.”

”It's been two years.” I'm trying to think this through, trying to digest the realization that I've been mourning her, tortured by the loss, for two long years and she's been alive this entire time. When she doesn't say anything, I continue, ”Why?”

She finally loses her composure and I see her hand shake as she reaches for her water. After taking a big gulp, she clumsily sets it down. Some of the water spills onto the table. ”It was for the best, Gabriel.”

”I'd thought you'd died.” I start to choke up and glance around the restaurant to balance myself.

Bitterness flashes through her eyes. ”I almost did.”

Lowering my voice and wis.h.i.+ng we were alone, I say softly, ”I didn't mean it, Anna.”

She pins me with a look full of remembered hurt. ”Didn't you, Gabriel? I mean, it's not like you meant to shoot someone else. You shot me.”

”I loved you,” I try to convince her. ”I still love you.”

She's out of her seat before I realize she means to leave. I go to chase after her as she's moving towards the entrance, but Jackson's hand on my shoulder stops me. ”Leave her alone, Gabriel.” He's not looking so amused now.

”I can't,” I plead with him. Shaking off his grip, I follow her out into the sunlight.

Chapter 37.

Annabelle Running out of the restaurant in a near panic, I hail for a taxi. We drove Jackson's rental car here, but I don't have time to wait for the valet to bring it around. I do keep a car in the parking garage of our Manhattan flat but only drive it while not on a job. Really wish it was parked in front of me right about now.

I'm on the job right now, so my little sports car is still covered and hibernating. Or at least I was on the job, until the last person I thought to ever see again showed up while I was working. c.r.a.p! I so don't need this right now. This job is different than ones in the past, sort of a maybe-kill job. Despite the unusual aspects of the a.s.signment, Simon accepted the contract and, with the help of Jackson, gave me the duty of fulfilling it. I plan to do exactly that. Being outside in this August heat wearing this skirt suit is uncomfortable. I'm ripping off the confining suit jacket the moment I get back to my hotel room.

My target is William Coster, VP of a Wall Street brokerage and kinky son of a b.i.t.c.h. Mr. Coster was dining in that restaurant with his current lover, a social climber who's willing to indulge him in his games in the hopes of snagging him and his bank account permanently. My plan was to subtly get his attention and eventually take that woman's place in his life, at least on the surface. From there, I would get close enough to find out what the client wants to know and wait for further instruction from there.

Instead, here I am, das.h.i.+ng out of there like the place is on fire. Or like a girl trying to avoid an ex. Well, maybe I did get my target's attention, along with everyone else's in the place. Look at that crazy woman go . . . .

So, Plan B it is.

As I reach for the door handle of the taxi that just pulled up to the curb, a large hand closes over mine. ”Stop, Anna.”

Um . . . no.

Gabriel runs his hand over my wrist, up my forearm and grips it in the effort to try and yank me around. Letting my temper loose, I grip his wrist to spin him around instead, slamming him against the side of the yellow taxi. I push my knee into his thigh and my arm against his chest to keep him in place. With my body leaning against his, I'm close enough to smell his spicy cologne. d.a.m.n, he still wears the same scent. Bittersweet memories threaten my sanity. I drown them before they can surface.

For a brief moment, I wonder who the woman is that he was with. Then I remind myself that it doesn't matter anymore. It hasn't for a long time. If I wasn't so surprised about running into him in the first place, I wouldn't be losing my cool like this. I would also laugh at the startled look on his face right now. Did you forget who I am, Gabriel?

”Hey!” the taxi driver yells irritably out the window. Ignoring him, I take a moment to glance over my shoulder and see if Jackson followed us out of the restaurant. I shoot him a glare when I spot him leaning against the side of the brick building, looking highly entertained and very unhelpful. The poor valet is looking more along the lines of shocked and uncertain. So don't need the guy calling the cops on me. There's a crazy woman attacking someone on the sidewalk . . . .

The moment I turn my head forward to look at Gabriel, his lips are on mine. For a split second, I'm startled and linger in the familiar feeling, the familiar taste, but then hastily rip my lips away. ”What the h.e.l.l, Gabriel?”

”More like heaven,” his voice is as shaky as the hand that's about to cup my cheek. Leaning my head back to avoid the intimate touch, I change the subject and ease off him. Jackson's car shows up from around the corner with another valet behind the wheel. The young Asian guy gets out and tosses Jackson the keys. I look back to Gabriel as Jackson's tipping the guy.

Taking a couple steps back, but keeping my eyes on Gabriel, I say, ”It was good seeing you, Gabriel. Let's make sure it doesn't happen again.” He reaches out as if to grab my waist and I glance down at his hand, shaking my head. ”Not a good idea.”

Instead he runs the hand through his tousled hair and, staring down at the sidewalk, lets out a big breath. ”I think we should talk, Anna.” I follow the path his hand takes and notice that his hair's longer than it was when I saw him last. It's less styled too, as if he's no longer worried about keeping with the trends. Wonder if it's as soft as I remember.

I let out a sound of disbelief. ”What in the world would you and I have to talk about?” The way I see it, the bullet that went through me spoke louder than words. He couldn't have made his feelings regarding me any clearer.

His mouth drops open then he gathers himself, looking indignant. ”Well, maybe about where the heck you've been the past two years and two months?”

Shrugging negligently, I take on a blase tone, ”Here and there, this country and that.”

”Obviously,” he says sarcastically, but I notice him checking me out again despite his current mood. ”But you know what I'm talking about, Anna. Why'd you let me think you were dead?”

Someone steps around Gabriel and gets into the cab, the one that was supposed to be my getaway car. After watching it roll away, I tell him, ”I dunno, maybe because you shot me!”

He stiffens and says defensively, ”I told you that I didn't mean it.”

Not being able to resist my curiosity any longer, I ask, ”What are you doing in New York, Gabriel?”

”You don't know?” he asks in a tone that sounds more like, 'How can you not know?'

”Nope,” I say, hoping I don't sound eager for the information. Stealthily, I quickly scan him up and down. Besides the hair, he still has a put-together look, but the dressy 80s-inspired outfit he's wearing is different than the stuff he wore a couple years ago. Kinda reminds me of something Max would have worn. But I'll admit that he looks good. The naturally tanned skin from his dad's Hispanic genes has always been a dramatic contrast to his striking green eyes. Not to mention those d.a.m.n long lashes.

A few memories of our time together flash through my head, but I do my best to ignore them. In the end, disaster was always inevitable when it came to our relations.h.i.+p. I'm not even mad at him anymore for shooting me. I've also gotten over the hurt. Now, I see it like this. That's life and it sucked, but you get past it. Have you, Annabelle?

At least that's what I tell myself. That's what I'll tell him too. The fact that my heart's racing has nothing to do with lingering feelings. It's just the shock of unexpectedly seeing him after so long. Anyone would feel this way when confronted by their would-be murderer or first love. He just happens to be both.

Gabriel sighs and his answer to my question pulls me from my thoughts. ”I live here now. I go to NYU.” The sad look on his face confuses me. Does he not like living here?

”Oh,” I say dumbly, wondering what's up the kicked puppy dog look. It slowly dawns on me why he's looking at me like that. Does he think I'd keep tabs on him after we broke up? After he shot me? The only thing I ever planned to do pertaining to him was never visit Miami again. No matter how much money was involved. Putting a sincere smile on my face, whether I'm sincere or not, I say softly, ”See, everything worked out for the best, Gabriel.” I gesture to him, clarifying, ”You have your life and I have . . . mine.”

Even if it took me awhile to accept that my life would be without him. And accept it I have, so this discussion is completely pointless. Unless he still wants me dead, we have nothing to talk about.

”For the best?” he asks in a harsh tone, rubbing his fingers over his face in frustration. Looking at me with a glistening of tears in his eyes, he shouts, ”I thought I'd killed you, Anna!”