Young Love Murder (51 page)

“And I think you are.” Smugness is only going to piss 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 ass 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 shirt. 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 porn 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 assure 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, snatching 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.”

Wishing 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. Lustful 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 Saturday 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-shirt, 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 sex club!
What the hell 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. Wishing 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 arsenal? 

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 passing 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 smartass smirk and matching remark, “Pimping out your sister now?”

The twitch of his jaw lets me know that I’ve pissed 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.”