Young Love Murder

  Two years ago, after killing Anna, I never saw a future for myself, never saw myself here. I’m twenty years old and about to start my sophomore year of college. Definitely never saw myself on a blind date. God, I used to think Max had excellent taste in women. Her teeth are whitened so much that they’re blinding against her overly tanned skin.

  The hostess seats us in a round, black leather booth in the middle of the restaurant and hands us long, narrow menus. After browsing through it for a couple minutes, I realize that Brenda has stopped speaking. Obviously out-of-character for her, so I look up to see her not even paying attention to me and staring over my shoulder, looking sort of . . . aroused. Is she checking someone out? I almost laugh out loud.

  Amused and a little disturbed, I turn around in my chair to see who’s caught her attention. I mean, he must be pretty special to turn her head away from me. Maybe I’m not the Don Juan I once was, but in the looks department, I’ve only improved with age and exercise. I twist slightly on the seat and look over the back of the booth to lock eyes with the last person I expected to see here. Jackson.

  Jackson’s brown eyes lock on mine then flick past me, filling with worry. An indecipherable look comes over his face and a feeling of premonition rushes through me. I whip my head around to see a shadowy feminine figure walking down the dim restroom hallway at the back of the restaurant.

  Holding my breath, I wait the few seconds for her to enter the better lit dining room area. When she does, the breath whooshes out of my body and I wonder if she’s a hallucination. As she nears, I don’t have to pinch myself to know that I’m not dreaming. But hallucination is still an option. She doesn’t see me yet, but I sure as hell see her. Hair now light brown and upswept, wearing a fitted white suit that accentuates her small waist and killer curves, she’s walking confidently in black and white heels, looking nothing like the twenty-year-old that she is. Annabelle. Long lost, not so dead after all, love of my life.

  My hands start shaking where they’re tightly gripping the menu. My entire body is shaking actually. I close my eyes in a long blink, wondering again if I’m hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe seeing Jackson is making me fantasize about seeing her. This is too good to be true. Maybe Jackson isn’t real either. Maybe I’ve really gone crazy and am living in a fantasy world of my own making. The pain of living without Annabelle is intense enough for me to have a mental breakdown.

  I close my eyes in another long blink. Please still be there. Opening my eyes, she still is. If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to ever wake up. This is bliss. Maybe Jackson was real and he killed me. Maybe I’m in heaven with Anna now. If I’m crazy, I don’t want to ever be sane again. I can feel myself start to sweat and my breathing speeds up.

  She nears my table, but still hasn’t spotted me. As she passes, she finally glances down and meets my stare. Her blue eyes go wide long enough for me to know that I was the last person she expected to see, then the look is gone and she continues walking past. I turn my head to follow her progress as she seats herself across from Jackson at a chrome and glass table, with her back to me.

  He looks at me and says something to Anna. Their waiter shows and, as they’re placing their order, I think, that’s it?

  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 crap 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 damn 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. “Hello, 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 assert 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 wishing 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. Crap! 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 assignment, 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 bitch. 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, dashing 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. Damn, 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 hell, 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 blasé 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 damn 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 relationship. 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!”

  His emotional outburst is the catalyst for one of my own, “You did kill me! You killed us!” Instantly, I regret my words. I’m not upset about it anymore. Not angry, I tell myself. I need to just calm down. Why does a spark of hope enter his eyes at my words? It makes me uncomfortable, this disturbingly emotional encounter. I don’t feel these things anymore. I haven’t since I finally got over him.

  The honk of a horn forces me to drag my eyes away from his. Jackson is behind the wheel of his rented black Lincoln, giving me an impatient look. He’s right. This isn’t the time or place to have it out with Gabriel. My target could walk out those doors at any moment. There will never be a right time for me and Gabriel. I should have realized before I even killed his dad, before I gave him my heart. The choice was made for me from the moment I first received the pictures and information on his family. Did you ever really have a choice in loving him, Annabelle?

  Keeping my eyes on Jackson’s car, I coolly say, “I have to go now.” As I’m walking towards the passenger side of the car, I turn my head to the side and add over my shoulder, “I really wish the best for you, Gabriel. Good luck with school.”

  He sounds stunned, “But I shot you.”

  “And I forgive you.”

  Gabriel

  She forgives me. Annabelle must still love me, or she wouldn’t be able to forgive me, right? Love forgives all sins, or whatever the saying is. My love for her has always been unconditional, despite me going off the deep end a time or two.

  But she’s leaving me again and I can’t let her go. For all I know, she’ll be across the world by tomorrow. With no real plan, I rush forward before Anna can climb into Jackson’s car, grab onto her arm again and begin dragging her towards my car. A valet who just fetched it is nervously standing there, gripping my keys and shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Gabriel, what are you doing? Let go!” In her heels, she has trouble getting her footing after my forcefulness, so I’m half-carrying, half-dragging her along with an arm around her waist. Damn, touching her feels good.

  Stopping, I open the passenger door and urge her physically to get inside. “Please?” I ask in an entreating tone. “Just to talk. I’ll drop you off wherever you want afterwards.”

  ??
?Even the airport?” she asks in a sarcastic tone with a disbelieving expression.

  “If that’s what you want,” I lie, not feeling a bit guilty. Just determined. I need to get her alone. After that, well I don’t know. One step at a time. As I walk around the car, the image of her tied to my bed, where I would never let her go, flashes through my mind. The image of Jackson then breaking into my place and giving me a beat-down has me grimacing. Better think of another plan. My heart’s racing and my body still hasn’t stopped shaking from shock by the time I settle into my seat.

  “Jesus,” she murmurs, “Jackson didn’t even try to help me.”

  My laugh is almost genuine. “Because he knows that you could have gotten away if you’d really wanted to.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just gazes away from me and out the window. “If you need closure, Gabriel, this is your chance. Say what you have to say.”

  I want to touch her again so badly, run my hands up and down her body in amazement. This feels so surreal that a part of me still thinks I’m hallucinating. Maybe it really is a dream and I should ask her to pinch me. Anything to get her hands on me. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have the most important conversation of my life in a car while driving through traffic. We’ll go to my place.”

  Even though her face is averted, I can see the corner of her mouth and the small smile that she’s trying to hide. That smile only tempts me to put my lips on hers again. “Really? The most important conversation of your life? A little dramatic, don’t you think? Sure puts the pressure on me to converse well.”

  “Shut up,” I say playfully, smiling myself. I can’t believe this is really happening. Later, I’ll probably be pissed at her, but at this moment, I’m so freaking happy that I feel like doing back flips through Times Square. Not that I’ve ever done a back flip before. But with the emotional high I’m feeling, anything’s possible.

  I try to keep my eyes on the road instead of her and am relieved when we finally pull into my parking garage without me rear-ending another car. As soon as I turn off the ignition, I’m practically sprinting around the vehicle to open her door for her. She hesitates before taking my hand, but I feel a small victory when she finally does. With a thoughtful look, she comments, “You still have the same car.”