Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(41)

He was right. She slumped back into the red-velvet banquette in the kitchen’s eating alcove. In her day the alcove had been wallpapered with gruesome full-blown metallic roses on the verge of decay, but they were gone now, replaced with small yellow rosebuds. The wallpaper was so completely out of place that it could only be some kind of private joke on the part of the current owners.

Gabe set the fresh mug of coffee in front of her and brushed her shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture. She wanted to tilt her cheek against the back of his hand, but he removed it before she could give in to the impulse. “Rachel, the odds are the money’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

She shook her head. “Dwayne had to leave the country too fast to handle any kind of complicated transaction. He couldn’t possibly have taken that much money with him on such short notice.”

Gabe sat across from her and set his arms on the table. Her eyes lingered there. His forearms were strong and deeply tanned, sprinkled with dark hair. “Tell me again everything he said that day.”

She repeated the story, leaving out nothing. When she was done, she twisted her hands on the table. “I wanted to believe him when he told me he had to say good-bye to Edward, but I knew something was wrong. I suppose Dwayne loved Edward in an abstract way, but not in any way that counted. He was too self-centered.”

“Then why didn’t he just tell you to bring him the chest? Why did he bother asking you to bring Edward at all?”


“Because we were barely speaking at that point, and he knew that saying good-bye to his son was the one thing I couldn’t refuse him.” She cradled her coffee mug. “During my pregnancy with Edward, I finally came out of denial about what was going on at the Temple, and I made up my mind to leave him. But when I told him, he went ballistic. Not out of sentiment, but because, in those days, I was popular with his electronic congregation.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “He said he’d take Edward away from me if I ever tried to leave. I had to stay where I was, go on television with him for every broadcast, and not give any sign I was unhappy. Otherwise, he told me he knew men who would testify that I’d seduced them, and he’d prove I was an unfit mother.”

“Bastard.”

“Not the way he saw it. He found scripture to justify it.”

“You said he also told you to bring his Bible.”

“It was his mother’s. He was sentimental about—” She straightened, and her gaze locked with his. “Do you think the clue might be in the Bible?”

“I don’t think there is a clue. The money’s in the ocean.”

“You’re wrong! You don’t understand how frantic he sounded on the phone that evening.”

“He was about to be arrested, and he was getting ready to flee the country. That would make anybody frantic.”

“Fine! Don’t believe me.” She sprang to her feet in frustration. She had to find that Bible. Locating the money was the only hope she had for the future, but he didn’t care about that.

Her nose was beginning to run from too much emotion, and she sniffed as she stalked toward the laundry room where her dress was tumbling in the dryer.

He spoke from behind her, his voice as gentle as the soft patter of rain outside. “Rachel. I’m on your side.”

She wasn’t prepared for his support, and she was so tired of fighting that it nearly undid her. She wanted to lean against him, if only for a moment, and let those sturdy shoulders bear some of the burden she carried. The temptation was so strong that it terrified her. The only person she could depend on was herself.

“You’re all heart,” she sneered, determined to put up a barrier between them that was so big he’d never cross it again.

But he didn’t get angry. “I mean it.”

“Thanks for nothing.” She whirled on him. “Who are you kidding? After what happened to your family, you’re so twisted inside that you can’t even help yourself, let alone me.”

The words were barely out before she caught her breath. What was happening to her? She hadn’t meant to sound so cruel, and she felt a wave of dislike for the sharp-tongued woman she’d become.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away without a word.

Not even desperation was an excuse for the kind of nastiness she’d just administered. She stuck her hands in the front pockets of his robe and followed him into the kitchen. “Gabe, I’m sorry. I should never have lashed out at you like that.”

“Forget it.” He snatched his keys from the counter. “Get dressed and I’ll take you home.”

She came closer. “I don’t mean to be a bitch. You were acting like a nice guy for a change, and I shouldn’t have struck out like that. I really am sorry.”

He didn’t respond.

The dryer buzzer went off, and she knew there wasn’t anything more she could say. He would either accept her apology or reject it.

She returned to the laundry room where she pulled out the pink dress. It was a dismal mass of wrinkles, testifying to its pre–permanent press origins, but since she had nothing else to wear, she pushed the door shut, slipped out of Gabe’s robe, and stepped into it, wrinkles and all.

She had just pulled the dress over her arms when the door opened. She drew the bodice together and turned to him.

He looked hostile and unhappy: furrowed brow, tightly set lips, hands driven into the pockets of his jeans. “I just want to get one thing straight. I don’t need anybody’s pity, especially yours.”