ass.”
He strode to his office and slammed the door shut, wishing he could lock his obsession
with Leah out of his mind and his life as easily.
Chapter Four
Leah twisted the knob on the dashboard, kicking the heat up a notch as she inched
along I-93S. Four-fifteen on a Monday afternoon and five o’clock traffic had started
early. She grimaced and flicked her signal up, notifying the parade of cars on her
ass she intended to take the Columbia Road exit. Two car lengths, jerks . They taught that rule in driver’s ed.
She sighed. God, she was bitchy. If anyone had been riding with her, they would have
resorted to strangling her by now. She wished she could blame her mood on traffic
and drivers who’d received their licenses at the nearest bodega. But the honors belonged
squarely on the wide, burdened shoulders of Gabriel Devlin.
Also known as her best friend and the man she loved with an unrequited passion that
made Cyrano de Bergerac seem like a lightweight.
She loved him—had been helplessly in love with him since she’d turned fifteen and
realized his blue eyes contained the power to make her feel as if she’d eaten too
much cotton candy and discovered the perfect shade of nail polish at the same time—fluttery
and delighted.
As a teen she’d adored him with the awe and happily-ever-after dreams of a teenager.
At thirty-one, the awe remained, but the woman’s heart understood heartache and disappointment.
The woman realized and accepted that love did not conquer all. Sometimes the heart
just settled for what it could get. Barely out of college, she’d witnessed Gabriel
marry another woman, and six years later, she’d seen him plummet into the bowels of
grief and eventually start to claw his way back to life…and she’d been there, quietly
loving him through it all.
She didn’t know if the devotion made her brave, stubborn, or just plain pathetic.
Probably a Prozac prescription away from all three.
Because Gabriel was not an easy man to love. He had the dark, brooding writer stereotype
down—even before he’d attained fame and success as a New York Times bestselling author. Still, it hadn’t been until after the deaths of Maura and Ian
that he’d become bitter, angry, and a recluse. And there were times—like Friday—when
she despaired of ever seeing the man he’d once been. She missed the Gabriel who quietly
teased her, the Gabriel who gifted her with a beautiful St. Michael’s pendant after
she’d graduated from the police academy seven years earlier. The Gabriel who laughed…who
lived.
She refused to give up until he returned.
But, damn, when he snapped and snarled before retreating into the cave he called his
office, she wanted to cry and rage while slamming his head repeatedly against a wall.
She’d loved Ian—the boy had been a part of the man who owned her heart. And though
she’d envied Maura, Leah had genuinely cared for Gabriel’s wife as well. Watching
the large white casket with Maura’s and Ian’s bodies locked inside lower into the
hollowed-out ground had been one of the most heartbreaking days of her life. But God
forgive her, as she’d stared at the terrible, muddy scar in the earth, her main thought
had been, Thank you, God, that Gabriel was not in the car or in this casket .
Shame stung her. She was selfish. Especially when Gabriel’s devout wish had been to
follow his family into the grave. But as she’d thanked God for Gabriel’s life that
day, she would help him fight for it now. With or without his agreement.
She turned onto the quiet street in the Dorchester district where Evelyn Gray Sheldon
had lived for over twenty years, bringing her thoughts to the task at hand.
She eased her car to a stop in the alley bordering Chayot Gray’s childhood home, and
parked next to a dark blue, early model Chevy sedan. She’d known Chayot—or Chay as
they called him—almost as long as she’d been
He strode to his office and slammed the door shut, wishing he could lock his obsession
with Leah out of his mind and his life as easily.
Chapter Four
Leah twisted the knob on the dashboard, kicking the heat up a notch as she inched
along I-93S. Four-fifteen on a Monday afternoon and five o’clock traffic had started
early. She grimaced and flicked her signal up, notifying the parade of cars on her
ass she intended to take the Columbia Road exit. Two car lengths, jerks . They taught that rule in driver’s ed.
She sighed. God, she was bitchy. If anyone had been riding with her, they would have
resorted to strangling her by now. She wished she could blame her mood on traffic
and drivers who’d received their licenses at the nearest bodega. But the honors belonged
squarely on the wide, burdened shoulders of Gabriel Devlin.
Also known as her best friend and the man she loved with an unrequited passion that
made Cyrano de Bergerac seem like a lightweight.
She loved him—had been helplessly in love with him since she’d turned fifteen and
realized his blue eyes contained the power to make her feel as if she’d eaten too
much cotton candy and discovered the perfect shade of nail polish at the same time—fluttery
and delighted.
As a teen she’d adored him with the awe and happily-ever-after dreams of a teenager.
At thirty-one, the awe remained, but the woman’s heart understood heartache and disappointment.
The woman realized and accepted that love did not conquer all. Sometimes the heart
just settled for what it could get. Barely out of college, she’d witnessed Gabriel
marry another woman, and six years later, she’d seen him plummet into the bowels of
grief and eventually start to claw his way back to life…and she’d been there, quietly
loving him through it all.
She didn’t know if the devotion made her brave, stubborn, or just plain pathetic.
Probably a Prozac prescription away from all three.
Because Gabriel was not an easy man to love. He had the dark, brooding writer stereotype
down—even before he’d attained fame and success as a New York Times bestselling author. Still, it hadn’t been until after the deaths of Maura and Ian
that he’d become bitter, angry, and a recluse. And there were times—like Friday—when
she despaired of ever seeing the man he’d once been. She missed the Gabriel who quietly
teased her, the Gabriel who gifted her with a beautiful St. Michael’s pendant after
she’d graduated from the police academy seven years earlier. The Gabriel who laughed…who
lived.
She refused to give up until he returned.
But, damn, when he snapped and snarled before retreating into the cave he called his
office, she wanted to cry and rage while slamming his head repeatedly against a wall.
She’d loved Ian—the boy had been a part of the man who owned her heart. And though
she’d envied Maura, Leah had genuinely cared for Gabriel’s wife as well. Watching
the large white casket with Maura’s and Ian’s bodies locked inside lower into the
hollowed-out ground had been one of the most heartbreaking days of her life. But God
forgive her, as she’d stared at the terrible, muddy scar in the earth, her main thought
had been, Thank you, God, that Gabriel was not in the car or in this casket .
Shame stung her. She was selfish. Especially when Gabriel’s devout wish had been to
follow his family into the grave. But as she’d thanked God for Gabriel’s life that
day, she would help him fight for it now. With or without his agreement.
She turned onto the quiet street in the Dorchester district where Evelyn Gray Sheldon
had lived for over twenty years, bringing her thoughts to the task at hand.
She eased her car to a stop in the alley bordering Chayot Gray’s childhood home, and
parked next to a dark blue, early model Chevy sedan. She’d known Chayot—or Chay as
they called him—almost as long as she’d been
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