On Thin Ice (16 page)

“Devlin.” Gabrielle’s voice sliced through the tension vibrating like the knife blade stuck in the floor between the two men. They both looked at her. “This is my house. I’d appreciate you letting me handle this.”

Let her handle it? Sure he would—right after he ground the sucker’s smile into his face and then ripped him apart limb by limb. He still hadn’t recovered from thinking Sabatino intended the knife for Gabrielle.

She either read his mind or the expression on his face, because she stepped between them before he could do anything. “What do you want?” she asked Sabatino.

“A moment with you alone.”

“No,” Devlin said, his jaw clenched. “No way in hell.”

Smiling derisively, Sabatino spoke to Gabrielle. “Quite the jealous lover, isn’t he? Understandable, though, with a woman of your . . .” He looked her over leisurely, obviously taking note of her tousled hair, her robe, her bare feet, and finished, “Your many charms,
signorina. Tanta magnifica—”

Devlin had started forward, intending to rip Sabatino’s slimy tongue out of his mouth, but Gabrielle slapped her hand on his arm and gripped it tightly, restraining him as she interrupted Sabatino herself.

“Say what you want and then get out,” she said flatly. “And don’t contact me at home about your case.”

“Ah, but you see,
cara,”
he said silkily, “I didn’t come about my case.”

“Cut to the chase, Sabatino,” Devlin said, his temper spiking into the stratosphere. “Why are you here?”

“For the usual reasons one goes to see a beautiful woman,” he answered Devlin. Their gazes held for a tight moment, then Sabatino turned to Gabrielle. “I wasn’t aware that you were—” he spread his hands, gesturing at Devlin “—involved with someone.”

“Now you know,” Devlin said, wondering how long he would last before he went for Sabatino’s throat. “So you can leave.”

“My apologies for the . . . intrusion.” Sabatino inclined his head and bent to pick up his knife.

“Leave it.”

“And if I don’t?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting arrogantly.

“Don’t forget I’m a lawyer, Sabatino. I can get as down and dirty as I need to.”

To Devlin’s surprise, Sabatino left the knife without further argument. At the door he gazed at Gabrielle for a long moment. “Always the pretty boy, isn’t it, Gabriela? I would have thought after—”

She interrupted him with a few words, spoken softly in Italian. Devlin had no idea what she said, but obviously Sabatino did. His mouth snapped shut, and he and Gabrielle stared at each other while silence ticked by with the sort of tension that pervaded a courtroom before a murder verdict is read. Without another word, Sabatino turned his back and left.

Gabrielle shut the door, leaning her head against it for a moment. Straightening, she squared her shoulders and turned to look at him, her face wiped clean of emotion.

Oh, no, sweetheart, he thought. That won’t work this time. This time, he intended to get answers. “What in the bloody hell is going on between you and Sabatino, Gabrielle?”

She stared at him, just stood there staring at him in the taut silence. “Nothing,” she said, finally. “Nothing’s going on.”

“That won’t fly, sweetheart.” Devlin grasped her arm with one hand, cupping her chin with his other to force her to look at him. “Tell me.”

No longer expressionless, a series of emotions crossed her face. Anger, confusion, fear. It was the latter that shadowed her eyes as well, Devlin thought, darkening them to a deep jade. Beneath it all, he sensed a torment he didn’t understand.

“He—this isn’t the first time he’s been here.”

“Go on,” Devlin said harshly, dropping his hand to her arm, but still holding her gaze.

She drew herself up, seeming to get hold of herself. “He came over a few days ago. With the same agenda. I told him to forget it, but obviously, he doesn’t listen well.”

His fingers tightened on her arms as he stared at her, trying to hear what she wasn’t saying. “Did he touch you?”

“Devlin—”

“I asked if he touched you.”

“No.” She swore at him and jerked out of his grasp. “No, he didn’t. Don’t go all Neanderthal about this. He hasn’t done anything a lot of men haven’t tried. It’s not a crime to ask a woman out.”

Devlin muttered an obscenity, knowing what she said was reasonable, but he didn’t feel reasonable about Sabatino. He paced away a step and turned back to her. “Sabatino is your client. What’s he doing hitting on you?”

She looked at him like he was nuts, then she laughed in disbelief. “Oh, come on, Devlin. You can’t tell me none of your clients has ever hit on you.”

His smile was bitter. No, he couldn’t say that. Celine had considered sleeping with him a small price to pay for his getting her off that murder charge. Too bad he’d been too stupid to realize her game. Or her guilt. “Remind me to tell you a story sometime. But right now, we’re talking about you and Sabatino. You can’t deny there’s something between the two of you.”

Cocking her head, she narrowed her eyes and cast a speculative look at him. “You almost sound like you’re jealous. Is that what this is about?”

Damn, she knew all the moves. Why should he be surprised? “Good try, but it’s not working. I’ve seen you shiver when you get near him, Gabrielle.” Devlin stepped closer, his gaze boring into hers. “I think you hate Sabatino. I think he makes your skin crawl. Now tell me, why do you hate a man you just met a few weeks ago?”

“You’re overreacting. I don’t like him, I’ll admit that, but you’re imagining things.”

“Overreacting?” He bracketed her chin with his hand and stared at her. Her pulse beat at her throat, steady, not jumpy. “Maybe, but I don’t think so.” Then he swore and pulled her into his arms. “I thought the knife was for you.” A bloody, sickening image flashed through his mind of that gleaming blade and what it might have done to Gabrielle’s delicate flesh.

She hugged him tightly and buried her face against his shoulder. “No, when he came over before, he—he said he hated dogs.” Her voice was low, hesitant. “I had a dog once. Someone killed him. Cut his throat.” Devlin felt her swallow convulsively before she continued, “So when I saw the knife, I knew it was for Rocky.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he muttered, his lips against her hair. “Or the way he talks to you. I don’t like all those Italian endearments he’s always saying to you. The next time I hear him say
bellisima,
I’m going to break his face.”

Gabrielle gave a muffled laugh. “It just means pretty. It’s not an obscenity.”

“It is the way he says it.” They were silent, holding each other, absorbed in each other as much of the strain faded. After a time, Devlin loosened his hold and dropped a kiss on her lips before leading her to the couch.

“What did you say to him?” he asked her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Her brow furrowed; she looked confused. “When you spoke to him in Italian,” he added, “just before he left.”

For a moment she looked blank, but then she smiled. “I’m not sure of the exact translation, but it’s an extremely idiomatic way of saying get lost.”

“You’re fluent in Italian?” There was nothing in that. Why did it make him uneasy?

“Not fluent. I know—some phrases. A high school boyfriend taught me a chosen few.”

His heart twisted. Literally twisted in his chest. She was lying. It sounded plausible, but she was lying. Devlin didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. Why would she lie about speaking Italian? And what else was she lying about? He wanted her to trust him. He wanted to trust her.

But he didn’t.

The worst thing was, it didn’t matter. Not one damned bit. He was still in love with her.

Devlin caught her staring at him and gave her one of his knee-weakening smiles before returning to the reports. Those smiles of his were lethal, she thought, remembering the previous afternoon. They’d gone to his place, an apartment in a beautiful Highland Park high-rise, so that he could change clothes. The elevator ride had been memorable. They’d barely made it out of the elevator and into his apartment before making love again. The man was definitely dangerous. She had no business thinking of lovemaking when disaster stalked her every move.

“If you don’t stop looking at me that way,” Devlin murmured, “we’re not going to get very far with these reports.”

She managed to toss him a saucy smile. “Hold that thought.” Looking him over, she added, “Until after work.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, and winked.

A few minutes later he spoke again. “I found something.”

“What?” Nerves had her knocking over her cup of coffee. Gabrielle swore as she and Devlin grabbed up papers, barely avoiding the river of brown liquid seeping across the table and dribbling onto the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, giving her a keen glance.

“Fine. Just clumsy,” she said, willing her hands to stop shaking. “What did you find?”

He gazed at her for a few seconds longer, then looked at the paper in his hand. “This one. Looks like a break in the chain of custody of the evidence.”

“Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand. He gave it to her, and she ran her gaze over it, pretending to read. She felt like slime, like gutter refuse, lying to him like she was. But the alternative to lying was . . . impossible. She raised her eyes to meet his. “They never signed the evidence in at the evidence room of the station.”

“Nope.” His eyes gleamed bright with the rush of discovery. Gabrielle recognized the look, knowing she’d worn it herself many times. Devlin was gearing up to spring the trap on the DA’s case.

Leaning over her to point to the paragraph in question, he continued, “Everything’s tidy until the transportation officer left the seized evidence at the evidence room. The officer in charge of the room never signed the form testifying to what time it passed into his hands.”

“Which means . . .” Her voice trailed off.