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her.
    He clearly remembered the middle-of-the-night call that had brought him to the hospital
     four months after Maura’s and Ian’s deaths. Terror had pierced his grief as he faced
     a grim Malachim who’d informed him Leah had been shot during a robbery at a convenience
     store. But even after her recovery, months of therapy, and eventual resignation, she’d
     appeared so pragmatic and accepting that he’d bowed to her insistence that she was
     “fine.”
    He smiled wryly. Apparently, he wasn’t the only person fond of that particular lie.
    Still, if the tables had been turned, she would have questioned, nagged, and browbeat
     him until she’d uncovered the truth. He’d failed her, hadn’t been there when she’d
     needed him. What kind of friend did his negligence make him? A really shitty one.
    He dragged his fingers through his hair. It was either that or haul her over his thighs
     and cradle her against his chest.
    “Listen to me,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I don’t know about divine intervention
     or how the universe works. Which, by the way, does sound like a shitload of woo-woo,”
     he drawled, eliciting the smile he’d hoped to receive. It was small, but there. “But
     don’t you doubt for one second the reason they sought you out. Cop or PI, you’re a
     damn fine investigator. You’re determined, thorough, scary-intelligent, and stubborn
     enough to frustrate a bull.” She snickered, and he smiled. Unable to fight the urge
     any longer, he allowed himself a small brush of his knuckles over her cheek. So soft. He dropped his arm but the silken texture of her skin remained, a sensory echo that
     wouldn’t fade. “They also know your love for Richard makes you the most logical person
     to take this on,” he finished roughly.
    The truth of his words resonated in his soul. For the qualities he quoted were the
     same traits sending unease swimming through his veins.
    She gaped at him, eyes wide. “Wow. I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say at one
     time since I’ve known you,” she teased. He scowled, and she chuckled softly. “Thank
     you, Gabe,” she said, cupping his jaw. She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his cheek.
    Several sensations hit him at once—the puff of her breath against his skin; the caress
     of her full, pretty mouth; the clean, vanilla scent of her .
    Fear, desire, and resentment tangled together in a snarled knot he had no hope of
     unraveling. He didn’t want to notice the feel of her lips or smell what her kiss would
     taste like.
    He didn’t want to want her .
    Covering her hand with his, he lowered it from his face and stood. He paced to the
     window, crossed his arms, and focused on a white cruise ship cutting through the river
     waters below.
    “So I assume you’re going to investigate Richard’s disappearance,” he said.
    “I’ve okayed it with Nathan and, yes, he already gave me the speech about the likelihood
     of this ending up nowhere. But I still have to try.”
    Gabriel recognized the tenacious tone; he’d bounced against it often enough. No words
     or arguments would change her mind. Not any wisdom about how sometimes the past needed
     to remain just that—the past. No cautionary advice about how following this path might
     wreak more harm than good. No warning of the truth possibly being uglier than the
     lie.
    Unease slithered into dread.
    Another moment passed before he tore his gaze away from the placid, dark waters of
     the Charles River to study the woman perched on the edge of the couch cushion.
    She scares me.
    The silent admission sucker punched him in the gut, and he braced his feet farther
     apart, steadying himself against the blow. So strong, so independent, so fearless.
     Even as a child she’d appointed herself defender of the bullied, the protector ready
     to rush into the fray at just a whiff of injustice. And as an adult, nothing had changed.
    But he’d changed.
    “I don’t know what I can do or what