“He didn’t do it.” Maybe that was just her being stubborn. But damn it, she had seen the way Rafe had looked at her mom. “My mom wasn’t easy to love, and he loved her.”
“People kill those they claim to love.”
“Like Jonathon Thiroux killed Anne Donovan?”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “I don’t believe he ever claimed to love her. Or she him. But he doesn’t seem like a man capable of murder.”
Sara threw up her hands in exasperation. “Neither does Rafe! You’re not using the same argument, the same standard for both cases.”
“Neither are you. You said Jonathon Thiroux was a sociopath, that he charmed everyone and fooled them into thinking he was just a quiet artist. So why can’t Rafe Marino have done the same thing?”
He had a point, which was irritating in the extreme. “Well, why do you think he did it? The prosecutor couldn’t prove it.”
“Did you hear that Bible quote? There’s something off about that.”
“Maybe he was bored in prison and took to reading the Bible. I would think being accused of murder would make you search for a higher power.”
“Or maybe he enjoys that his crime is known only to him and God.”
Sara just stared at Gabriel. “I guess you’re right. Only God and the murderer know irrefutably who killed my mother. The same for Anne Donovan. But I don’t think it was Rafe and I’m going back to Florida to say good-bye to him and run the DNA.” What had just been an idea five minutes earlier now suddenly seemed absolutely essential. “We can fly since it’s faster.”
“We?” Gabriel frowned at her. “I’m not going to Florida.”
“Why not? I need your blood.” And she wanted to be with him. On a consistent and regular basis. She wanted her and he to be a we.
“I’m not giving you my blood.”
“Why not?” Now that just flat-out astonished her. “You just said you’re Thiroux’s descendent and that we could run the DNA. You and I are the key to isolating Anne and Jonathon from someone else.”
“But there’s no way I’m going to put in the book that either of us is a descendent of them, because neither one of us needs or wants that kind of notoriety or scrutiny, so really there’s no point in running the data.”
“But don’t you want to know? Isn’t that the whole point?”
“Maybe we’re not meant to know.”
She could only gape at him. It was like he’d done a complete one-eighty. And he was just staring out at the river, eyes narrowed, fingers tapping, tapping, tapping a restless rhythm on his knees.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” Not really. She wanted to smack some sense into him, but knew that wasn’t the method of reasoning to use with Gabriel. He would only withdraw if she started shouting at him. “You can still come to Florida with me.”
“I don’t like to travel.”
“It’s just to Florida, not China. It’s a two-hour flight.” Maybe he was afraid of flying. That was a common enough fear. “We can drive if you want.”
But he just shook his head. “No, I don’t want to go.”
Gabriel was well aware that Sara was staring at him like he had entirely lost his mind, but he didn’t have a choice. He was bound to New Orleans and couldn’t leave. There was no way around it. And he couldn’t give her his blood because she would discover he wasn’t Jonathon Thiroux’s descendent, but the same man.
But he didn’t like the way she reached for him, hooking her arm around his elbow, her chin resting on his shoulder. It made the ache in his heart all that much deeper.
“Gabriel,” she said, her voice coaxing, close to his ear. “I’d really like you to go with me.”
“No, I really can’t.” It felt terrible to say, and he knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t have any other options. The truth wasn’t possible and he didn’t want to spin a lie.
She made a sound of frustration and pulled back. “You just told me you think Rafe killed my mother.”
He turned, not sure where she was headed with that statement. “Yeah, and you said you don’t believe me.”
“But if you believe Rafe is capable of violence—murder— why would you let me go to Florida to meet with him alone? Aren’t you at all worried that he might hurt me?” She twisted her hair on the side of face and held the coil on her shoulder. “Not that he would, but you seem to think he could. So don’t you care about me at all?”
Her lip had started to quiver and he could see how that angered her. It was slicing him, the burning guilt and regret tearing through him, and he wanted to just pull her into his arms, to tell her that he loved her, that if he had his way, he would never let her leave him. But they were sitting in public, a dozen people around them, the lap of the water on the dock a reminder that this wasn’t the time or the place for revelations. In fact, there would never be an appropriate time to tell her that he was a demon, immortal, bound to the city of his shame for an indefinite period of time.
He didn’t want her to go to Florida because he didn’t want to be without her. But he wasn’t worried about her safety. Because Gabriel was 99 percent sure that Raphael, or Rafe as he called himself now, was back in New Orleans. He was the face in the window of the house on Dauphine that Sara had seen. He had dropped the bottle of absinthe off as a mocking gift.
“Of course I care about you, Sara. I care about you tremendously. But if you want to go to Florida, I can’t stop you.”
And truthfully, there was a benefit to her being gone. Gabriel had to confront Raphael, and that could get ugly. Because Gabriel was going to get a confession from him, for both murders, and maybe all the murders on down the line of Sara’s family, regardless of what it took. Gabriel was no longer an angel, but he could vanquish another fallen one if he had justification, and he did.
Anne hadn’t deserved to die. And she had because of her association with Raphael, with him.
So he was going to punish Raphael, for what he had done to Anne, and to Sara. And possibly to all the other women in Sara’s family who had suffered the same horrific fate.
“You can’t stop me?” she said flatly.
“No. You’re a grown woman. You can do what you want.”
“You could say, ‘I don’t want you to go. It’s dangerous.’ You could say, ‘I’ll go with you to make sure you’re safe.’ You could say, ‘Stay here and just overnight the lab work to your friend.’ But you’re not. You’re just sitting there.” Her voice was getting high and shrill and she was jerking on his arm to emphasize each point she made.