DR. RAPHAEL: That is what I’m saying. I do not believe Jonathon Thiroux had the strength to kill Anne Donovan.
From the Court Records of
the State of Florida v. Dr. Rafe Marino
July 26, 2007
PROSECUTOR: So, Detective Manson, what you’re saying is that in your expert opinion, given the lack of forced entry, and the victim’s daughter’s assertion that her mother locked her doors and windows, the victim knew her assailant?
MANSON: That is what I’m saying. I can say there was no evidence anyone came into the house who wasn’t let in by the victim.
ATTORNEY FOR THE DEFENSE: Objection! How can he know that the doors weren’t left unlocked?
JUDGE: Sustained.
PROSECUTOR: Can you explain how you have reached the conclusion the victim knew her assailant?
MANSON: Well, how do you explain that the front and side doors were dead-bolted and chained yet the back door was wide open? What makes sense is that the victim came into the house with her assailant or she let him in, then locked the door behind him. Then after he killed her, he unlocked the back door and left, leaving the door a foot open so he wouldn’t make any more noise than was necessary. That’s the most logical scenario.
Gabriel was climbing the stairs to his apartment, wondering what exactly he should tell Sara—or not tell her—when the door was flung open and she stared down at him.
“Thank God you’re home.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” Concern kicked in and he jogged up the remaining steps. Sara looked pale and shaken.
“Who’s Alex?” she asked.
Great. Just what he needed, Alex sniffing around Sara. There was no telling what the demon would say to her. “I’ve known him a long time. Why? Was he here?”
“Yes. He was sitting on the couch when I got home. He said you gave him a key because you’re old friends. I thought he brought this—”
She reached behind her and pulled a bottle off the table in his entryway. “But he said he didn’t. It was just sitting outside the front door. Who would do that?”
It was a bottle of absinthe. Gabriel’s mouth went dry. Alex was either lying and had in fact brought it as a way to mock him, or it had been another demon. Possibly Raphael. Only demons knew who Gabriel was, and what he had been. There wouldn’t be any reason for anyone else to associate him with absinthe.
Whoever it had been, they were pushing him into a confrontation. He wasn’t going to tolerate anyone interfering in his life, his problems. With his Sara.
But his first priority was reassuring her.
“I don’t know who would do that.” He took her elbow and gently urged her inside. “Come on, let’s go in.”
“Do you think . . .” She swallowed hard. “Do you think someone could have seen me last night? Drinking the absinthe and . . . everything?”
By everything, she meant touching herself. Lifting her skirt and stroking herself to a beautiful, shuddering orgasm. Then leaning against his piano while he tasted between her thighs with his tongue and lips. It was an everything he would love to repeat.
He wouldn’t. Not after Rochelle.
But then again, Sara didn’t seem obsessed with him in the aftermath, and he had poured all of his passion, feeling, intensity into her. It had been a touching with intimacy and emotion, frustration and lust, and yet while she had responded as a woman, she didn’t seem to have altered her attitude toward him. Maybe she was immune to his punishment.
It was a dangerous path of rationalization.
It would happen. She would become obsessed, addicted to him.
It always did.
He couldn’t live with himself if she became Rochelle.
“No, I don’t think anyone saw you. How could they? This is the third floor and the only window in the room faces the courtyard and the roof of the carriage house.”
She bit her fingernails. “You’re right. But why the hell was there a bottle of absinthe sitting outside the door?” Running her fingers across her bottom lip, she paced, Angel darting out of her way and leaping onto the couch. “First the pictures, now absinthe. Someone is toying with me, and it’s starting to really piss me off.”
Gabriel could see that. She had pink cheeks, tousled hair, and an exasperated look on her face. While there was definitely fear in her eyes, there was also anger. She was mad that someone was interfering in her life.
“I want to be left alone.”
“Me, too,” he said with all sincerity. The question was, how much did he tell her about Raphael, who was known to her as Rafe? She liked the guy. Thought he was innocent. And Gabriel had no proof of anything other than the fact that Raphael had known both women, which of course he couldn’t share with her. Nor could he tell Sara that he was concerned about Rafe’s actions because he had in fact known him in the nineteenth century when he had been Jonathon Thiroux. “I can’t explain what is going on here, but I want you to know that you’re safe here with me, Sara. I’ll protect you.”
To the demon death, if necessary.
She didn’t deserve that, had done nothing to bring this kind of fear, suffering, on herself. Gabriel couldn’t undo the past, but he could prevent any more harm from befalling Sara. It felt like his fault, like he had somehow been responsible for introducing Raphael into Sara’s world, which was totally irrational. He hadn’t known that Raphael could have killed Anne, and had never thought of him as a threat to anyone. He had lost track of him years ago and had been perfectly content to not know anything about him.
Back in the nineteenth century, Raphael was actually the one who had introduced him to Anne. She had been Raphael’s mistress first, but Gabriel had bought her away from him, attracted to her auburn hair and sweet smile. Raphael hadn’t cared. He had said he was tired of her, had indicated she had a level of prudery he had no patience for.
But if Gabriel hadn’t killed Anne, then Raphael had, which meant he had very much cared, hated. The relief that it hadn’t been him, the very thing he had longed to believe for so many years, his innocence, didn’t bring the comfort Gabriel had thought it would. It was a relief, yes, but with it came a fresh wave of guilt that if it was Raphael, he should have known. Should have prevented it.
Gabriel reached for Sara, needing to feel her in his arms, wanting her hands likewise on him. She came into his embrace from the side, wrapping one arm around his front, the other around his back, burying her face in his shoulder. Her body was soft, warm, petite alongside his, and he felt it again, that unmistakable swelling of emotion in his chest.