Straight Flushed (Hot Pursuit #1)(84)

“I haven’t any doubts.” He grinned.

I stumbled through the doors with the flash drive tucked safely in my bra. Great masses of gray clouds hung overhead, gently rolling in the sky—a cold front was coming in. The temperature had dropped while I was inside. What’s the saying? In like a lamb, out like a lion? A great beast was gearing up to roar, releasing the faint sound of thunder and blowing with its breath, the minerally smell of rain.

Two EMTs, a man and a woman, were already at Cavanaugh’s side. There was a cuff around Cavanaugh’s arm, and the male EMT listened through a stethoscope to his chest. Cavanaugh looked well. The female glanced up when she saw me come through the door. Gauging by her quick footedness, I must have been a sight. She rushed to my side and walked me over to an awaiting gurney. I was quickly loaded into the ambulance and headed to get a more thorough medical assessment. Vance stayed behind with Avery and Charlie.

Later that night, the doctors confirmed my nose had been broken, as well as my ribs—again. I’d checked myself out against medical advice to finish what I’d set out to do. Vance found me as I held myself upright against the post of a stop sign outside of the hospital while I waited for a cab. He ended up driving me to FBI headquarters to deliver the flash drive.

There was no way I could have imagined what happened next…





Twenty-eight



Three days later…



I stared at his posed body: head up, arms crossed low over his stomach, eyes shut. What a macabre job it must be to do that to a human body. How do you use a little spackle and a touch of rouge to give a soul a face? Or is it a face a soul? It didn’t matter. It was an impossible feat. Whoever had painted his skin had done a good job—he or she was a real artist. But still, it was almost as creepy as the skull painted on the wall back at the monastery. Those two seeing eyes had haunted my dreams since, waking me up in cold sweats. I’d never fully forgive myself for what happened, but I’d figure out a way to move on.

Today was the first time since Vance and I were in our car accident that the sun touched my skin, even though it was much cooler than I preferred. Autumn had unofficially arrived with a thunderous roar. I’d been holed up in my apartment for the last few days obsessing in isolation. I’d shut off my phone and the outside world. I’d dissected everything and would continue to dissect everything. I’d learn from it and keep on truckin’.

I’d thought about so many things locked inside my safe bubble; Stephen of course being at the top of the list. I saw our night on the beach, our first night together, and everything in between that led up to his death. I was still shocked and angry. I hoped in time I would understand why it had happened to me. In that moment, I didn’t understand anything. I was a lost, wandering soul.

While stewing in my disappointment, shame, or whatever other thousands of self-deprecating names I could conjure, my mind always circled back to Gabe. The conversation we’d had in the hotel lobby ran on a loop in my head. I wondered if he still loved me even after seeing me with Stephen. If he still could, knowing what I’d done. I missed him terribly. His dimples, his cupcake-like smell, the way he looked at me in the morning with adoration when my hair was a wreck and my breath was funky. The ache of the loss nearly broke my bones. I needed him now more than ever.

When I turned my phone back on after my pity party, I’d had a few messages but none were from Gabe. I hoped he might show up, wishful thinking probably. There had been plenty of media coverage about the shooting and B&B’s involvement, although nothing about the threat to national security had been leaked. Chances were slim that he would have missed hearing about it. I had to wait and see. Waiting. I hate waiting.

I stood by myself in the beautiful vestibule next to a row of dark wooden benches lining the back wall, away from people, a tissue folded tightly into my palm. I couldn’t look at his face up close—I was as near as I was going to get. The sunshine from outside poured in through the glass ceiling above and down onto the square fountain in the center of the room. A small stone bowl, the upper tier, emptied its water and spilled into the larger pool below. Large ferns stood proudly in the corners trying to breathe some life and happiness into the room overwrought with death and sadness. And an enormous floral wreath greeted all the newcomers as they walked through the door. I wanted to stay hidden.

Funerals are always hard, but this one was unbearable. I couldn’t believe he was gone. People surrounded his body tucked inside layers of puckered cream satin, his face frozen in time with makeup intended to make him look alive, but all that made up the man had long left. He wasn’t lying in that coffin and no amount of blush could fix that. A vice wrapped its steel claw around my heart again and squeezed. I braced myself for the pain to kill me. I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep, shaky breath when a hand touched my shoulder. His leathery scent pulled me into the present and lifted my spirits.

“How you doin’, Di?”

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “You’re late. I wasn’t supposed to have to come in here by myself.”

His lips curved upward. How one simple smile could give such comfort was a mystery, but it was a great smile. He was in a suit deeper than black that made him appear taller, his shoulders broader, and more powerful. But no matter what he did, his stubble remained even though I knew he’d shaved. The Italian genes coursing through his veins were stronger than some measly razor. I bet his beard actually chuckled at him while he raked the blades over his skin.