A Murder in Time(109)

Gabriel raked a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. He shot Kendra another dirty look as he paced. “Not a bloody thing! ’Tis a pleasant spot for reflection.”

That pleasant spot was a crime scene a week ago, Kendra thought. She regarded him for a moment, then, coming to a decision, she stood. “What about the previous Sunday night when you said you went to the cockfight. Where did you really go?”

“I went to the cockfight!”

She moved in closer, until she was only a foot away from him, her eyes trained on his. He crossed his arms, an instinctive gesture, Kendra knew, against her invading his space. It was a technique favored by law enforcement during interrogations. It gave the interviewer the upper hand, a position of dominance, and it put the suspect on edge, made him more likely to talk.

She shook her head, and inched in closer. “No. I don’t think so.” She could see the sweat filming his brow. “You may have gone there, but you didn’t stay there. Where did you go?”

He backed up, bumped against a cabinet. His chin jutted out belligerently, and he glared at her. “I didn’t kill that whore!”

“Then tell us where you went.”

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“Gabe—” the Duke tried.

“Tell me where you went that night,” Kendra persisted, crowding Gabriel.

He said nothing, only looked at her with glittery eyes.

“You don’t like women very much, do you, Gabriel?”

He kept silent.

“What’s that about anyway?” she goaded. “Something to do with your mother probably? You have mommy issues, Gabriel?”

His reaction was instantaneous. He turned bright red; his eyes bugged out of his head. “How dare you!”

Hot button, she thought, satisfied. Kendra leaned in, intentionally provocative. “I guess that’s a yes. What, did she not love you enough? Or did she love you too much? Was she too controlling? You said it yourself. Women have their place.”

“You—”

“My dear . . .” the Duke said uncertainly.

She ignored him, pressing, “Your mother controlled your life, didn’t she? That’s it. I’ll bet she had you on a strict schedule. When to wake up—”

“Shut up!”

“—when to eat, when to sleep. I’ll bet she even chose what clothes you wore.”

“Shut up!”

“Gabriel!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kendra saw the Duke rise, but she kept her attention fixed on Gabriel. “You’re looking a little red, Gabriel. You know what I think? I think you don’t want anyone to know the truth—that you actually hated her.”

His breath was coming out in furious puffs. His mouth twisted with rage. His hands, now down at his side, were clenching and unclenching.

“What did she do to you?” Kendra kept up the pressure. “Did she punish you when you didn’t do exactly what she said?”

“Damn you! Shut up! Shut up!”

“Gabriel—” That was from Aldridge, a low warning.

“Was that why you called her a manipulative bitch? Do you hate women, Gabriel? Do you hate women like you hated your mother?”

“No!”

Something seemed to snap inside him. She saw it in his face, in his burning eyes. Belatedly, a warning bell rang inside her head and she took a hasty step back, but it was already too late. He launched himself at her, his hands finding her neck.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Kendra stumbled backward, completely unprepared for the attack. The back of her knees hit the sofa, and she fell down, with Gabriel crashing on top of her, his hands like a vise at her throat, squeezing. She bucked and twisted, her fingers trying to pry his hands away, her nails scoring bloody grooves into his flesh. Through the loud buzzing in her ears, she thought she heard the Duke shout. Above her, Gabriel’s face loomed red and sweaty.

Monstrous.

Lungs burning, she abandoned her attempt to peel away his hands. Instead, she brought her own hands up to his face, positioning her thumbs against his eyes and digging down viciously.

He howled and reared back, releasing her and rolling onto the floor. He pressed his palms to his eyes, momentarily blinded.

“Jesus Christ!” Kendra gasped for air, her chest heaving. She caught sight of the Duke standing, his face pale, his blue eyes pinpricks of shock. He was holding a beautiful old vase like a club. One more second and she suspected Gabriel would’ve been nursing a headache in addition to gouged eyes. Holding a hand to her throat, she got shakily to her feet. Her chest felt as tight as if she’d run a marathon.

“My God!” the Duke whispered, his gaze moving from her throat—which was already showing bruises—to Gabriel. “My God . . .”

Kendra bent over at the waist, hands on her knees, drawing in great gulps of air.

“Miss Donovan, are you—?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just give me a second. A minute. Maybe a year.”

She looked across at Gabriel. He was curled up on the floor, his hands against his eyes. Blood oozed from the scratches she’d inflicted.

As she stared, he slowly began to lower his hands. Sanity, she could see, was returning. His eyes were demonic red, the white cornea obliterated from burst blood vessels.