Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(96)

“I’m trying really hard, Pop-Tart. But I simply cannot dig up a single shit to give about that.”

She let out a put-upon sigh. “I’m going to give you a Christmas Eve pass on that language and tell you this, Mr. Gabriel. You can’t steal my joy by wallowing in your sour sad. You have to shake off whatever is eating at your soul and move on. You hear me?”

“I hear you.” But I’m not listening.


With a quick peck on her cheek, he made his way across the sand and found Chessie and Mal, by way of the bar.

Chessie immediately latched on to Gabe, but he grabbed her left hand.

“Lemme see the rock.”

She fluttered her finger, bearing a sizable diamond. Gabe looked over at Mal. “So you took the CIA payout and spent it all on my sister?”

“Not all. We still need a honeymoon.”

“In Langley, I hear.” Gabe reached over and put his hand on Mal’s shoulder, letting go of everything except gratitude to his sister and friend who risked their lives for him. “I’m happy for you. Happy for you both.”

“Gabe.” Chessie reached for him. “I want you to be happy, too.”

“Well, it’s never going to happen, Chess, so…” A wave of something strong hit him, the sense of…being watched. Instinctively, he looked up and smacked right into the direct gaze of the blonde.

Her eyes were dark and intense, mysterious, and a shocking contrast to the stick-straight platinum hair that spilled over her shoulders. And there was something about the way she tipped her head in silent acknowledgment. Something challenging. Something tempting. Something that said she defied the odds and mocked her critics.

Not beautiful, maybe not even conventionally pretty, but…

No, damn it. No.

Gabe closed his eyes and put his drink down on the table with enough force to splash some scotch. “Fuck this. I’m not in the mood for Christmas Eve. Give my regards to Nino.”

“Gabe—”

But he marched over the sand, making good time, but not good enough. Mal’s hand landed on his arm.

“I don’t want to—”

“Gabe, I have something from Isadora.”

Something else? That rosary with his son’s name engraved on it wasn’t painful enough? But when he looked down and saw a familiar pale blue slip of paper, his heart slipped sideways.

“I found it in the Country Club when I nabbed that gun. I haven’t read it, but I know it’s from Isadora to you. I didn’t know if I should give it to you or—”

Gabe grabbed it, tore it from Mal’s fingers like it was a bone and he was a starving dog. “It’s mine,” he said.

“I know, I know, but I didn’t want to make things worse until you—”

“Leave me alone. Just…leave me alone.” Gabe started to walk away, then glanced down at the paper, the fake starlight highlighting the words.

Gabriel, my angel.

Every cell in his body ached to devour her words, but he turned to Mal, whose face reflected the pain in Gabe’s chest.

“Hey, man. Thanks,” Gabe said, mustering up a smile. “Thanks for what you did in Cuba. And thanks for loving my sister. And thanks for…knowing how important this is.” He held up the paper and took a few steps in retreat. “Merry Christmas.”

Mal nodded, and Gabe walked slowly away from the party, as far along the beach as he could go but still have ambient light from the fake stars. Sitting on the cool sand, he opened the note with surprisingly steady hands and brought it to his nose first, the familiar peppery scent transporting him to another beach, another time, another life.

Gabriel, my angel.

He closed his eyes for a moment, not at all sure he could take this. But he had to take it. He had to read one last message from the only women he’d ever love.

I don’t know for certain if you’ll ever get this letter, but it is the only way I can communicate with you now.

Now? He stared at the words, then looked up to the moon-washed bay, hearing her distinct voice, always soft and sexy no matter which of the ten or twelve languages she spoke fluently rolled off her lips. She could say I love you so many different ways, but he’d never gotten tired of hearing it. Although, her natural, flat, Midwestern-toned English was his favorite.

He forced himself to look down and continue, not wanting this last shred of a connection with Isadora to be over too soon.

You will be told that I’m dead. I am not.

And in that instant, the world stopped spinning. And he stopped breathing. Blinking and taking a shaky inhale, he continued to read.

You will be told our son died when he was less than two years old. He did not. I am under deep cover and so is he. I promise you will understand when I explain it to you.

Someday, when I can see you again.

What? He forced himself not to howl. She was still alive? And their son? They had proof of her death! And a grave marker of a child. What the hell did this mean?

Vaguely aware that his body was strung as taut as a wire, he shook his arms and cleared his head before reading on.

Gabriel, wait for me. Promise me you will wait for me. It might be years, but the very moment I am free, I will find you, I will come to you, and I will tell you everything. But I give you my word, on our love, that I am not dead. And neither is Rafe, who is a carbon copy of you in every way.