On Thin Ice (18 page)

“Devlin, we hashed this out last night. It’s a minor point. What difference does it make who presents it?”

“Theoretically, none. But you and I both know that Sid’s watching this case with extra attention.”

Sid. The partnership. In the wake of everything else, she’d all but forgotten that aspect of the case. “Just do it, Devlin.” He searched her face, seemed about to speak, then shrugged and continued down the hall.

Walking beside him, Gabrielle felt more like herself, more in control than she had in a long time. Maybe because her crisis was finally going to end, one way or the other. And she took heart from the fact that she’d beaten back the panic attack that had started outside the courthouse.

As they neared the courtroom she saw him. Franco Sabatino stood motionless at the end of the hallway, watching them. Dark, so dark, she thought. Black suit, black hair, black soul. Waiting for her, her own particular hell on earth. She looked into the dark eyes of his soul and knew she’d never be free of him.

Her heart started to pound. The tingling began again at the base of her neck, spreading tentacles from the top of her head all the way to her toes. Furiously, she fought it back, but it advanced, insidious, persistent, nibbling at the edges of her mind. She broke into a light sweat, and her heart slammed against her chest.

“Gabrielle, what’s—Oh, crap,” she heard Devlin say, as though from a long distance.

Mumbling an excuse, she bolted for the ladies’ room, thanking God it was just down the hall. Devlin would know, of course, what had happened. Now that he’d actually witnessed her having one attack, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize the warning signs of another.

Hiding in a stall, fumbling with her paper bag, the routine came back to her quickly because of the recent attacks. Just as though she’d never had a break of several years. Funny how quickly she’d become reaccustomed to them. Closing her eyes, she bent her head and breathed into the bag.

Eventually, she dragged herself to the sink and splashed water on her face. Taking a paper towel to wipe away the excess moisture, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stared.
This
was Gabrielle Rousseau, Queen of Sharks? This pitiful excuse for a woman? With her haunted eyes, her shoulders slumped in defeat, her resigned, hopeless expression, she bore more resemblance to a minnow than to any self-respecting shark.

No, by God,
she thought.
I’m not going to let fear rule me. I won’t be Franco’s victim any longer.

When she emerged a few minutes later, Devlin was waiting for her. He took her arm, and his grip wasn’t gentle. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” She met his gaze defiantly, daring him to argue.

He didn’t argue, but kept hold of her arm as he led her toward Franco. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, and his tone brooked no argument.

“Ah, my esteemed attorneys,” Franco said when they reached him. “It seems I owe you my thanks.”

“Save it for later,” Devlin said. “Let’s go.” He held the courtroom door open, waiting for Gabrielle to pass through it.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped inside the courtroom. Her nerve endings sizzled, this time with the familiar rush of excitement that facing a legal battle always brought with it. They took their seats, and she spoke to Devlin.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to present the motion for dismissal.” It wasn’t fair of her to ask him, considering he had almost as much to gain from presenting the case as she did. And considering that she knew if she asked, he wouldn’t deny her. Yet, unfair or not, she did ask him. If she didn’t face the fear now and conquer it, she would never believe in herself again.

He studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “It’s yours,” he said.

The case went like a dream. Gabrielle presented the motion for dismissal, with the police report entered as proof regarding a break in the chain of custody of the evidence. The signature of the evidence room officer was clearly missing, and Gabrielle was able to cast considerable doubt that the prosecution’s primary evidence had been properly safeguarded.

The DA fought the motion, maintaining that since the evidence resided in the police station, the lack of signature was a mere technicality, but he knew as well as Gabrielle that that particular evidence was now worthless. He was also unable to present any further evidence to prove the defendant’s guilt.

While clearly displeased to free a known Mafia gangster, the judge agreed with the defense’s logic. Half an hour after he entered the courtroom, the judge dismissed the case of the
United States
v.
Franco Sabatino.
Franco Sabatino was cleared of all charges.

“Congratulations,” Devlin said to Gabrielle as they gathered their papers. “You were impressive.”

Oddly enough, Gabrielle felt a quiver of pleasure at the victory. “Thanks.”

“My deepest appreciation,” Franco said, offering Devlin his hand. Devlin took it, though Gabrielle had the feeling he’d rather have punched him.

Franco turned to her. “And to you,
mi bellisima avvocatessa,
my eternal gratitude.” Before she could stop him, he’d carried her hand to his lips. “And devotion,” he murmured, turning her hand over and pressing a kiss into her palm.

Gabrielle jerked out of his grasp, glancing at Devlin for fear of his reaction. His eyes had narrowed, and she saw his hands curl into fists. She grabbed his arm and in its tautness felt his anger about to explode. “Don’t. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

She didn’t
think
Devlin would punch out his client in a court of law, but she couldn’t be positive. After a tense moment, the three of them left the room.

No one said a word as they walked down the hallway. Then a woman called out Devlin’s name. Gabrielle saw Marcie Field waving at him.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I’ve got to go see her a minute. Wait for me. I won’t be long.” He gave Franco a warning glare and stalked off.

“Convenient,” Franco said, watching him go. “I find him very much in the way.”

“You and I have nothing further to discuss,” Gabrielle said, confronting him. “I took your case, we got you off, and now you can go. And leave me the hell alone.”

“Ah, but Gabriela,” he said, his smile patronizing, “that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Let’s get this over with.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What is it you want?”

“You, of course. Come back with me. Marry me and come home. Reconcile with your father.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared. “You’re insane.”

“If insane means being in love—”

“Love?” Thinking of Franco and love in the same sentence nauseated her. “This isn’t about love . . .” Her voice trailed off as she thought over his words. Reconcile with her father, he’d said. Of course.
Vito
was the key. “What have you done? You’ve fallen out of his favor, haven’t you? Has Vito finally figured out what you’re really like?”

Franco’s expression darkened, and for a moment he lost the suave mask he wore. But only for a moment. “Come home with me, Gabriela. I want you. Vito wants you. You have no choice, not really.”

“Why is this so important to you? Tell me why you want me. The truth, not this drivel about love.”

His eyes narrowed, and he almost snarled at her. “You were always too smart for a woman. It would have been better to keep your illusions. Vito is—” He hesitated, and irritation washed over his face. “Shall we say Vito is displeased with me? If I can bring you back to him, and as my wife . . .” Franco raised his shoulders and spread his hands. “Why then he’ll have to name me as heir. The Donati empire isn’t what it once was, but when I am in control it will be powerful again.”

So simple. She should have recognized his motives immediately. “Your machinations are of no interest to me, Franco. That life hasn’t been mine for fourteen years. How can you think I’d even consider going back with you?”

He glanced toward Devlin, who was still talking to Marcie Field. Then he faced her and smiled. She’d never seen a smile personify evil until she saw Franco’s face at that moment.

“It would give me great pleasure,” he said, his voice deep and silky smooth, “to kill your lover myself. To gut him like the cur he is. Remember what happened when you defied me before?”

Suddenly she was there again, in her darkened bedroom shouting curses at Franco, refusing to marry him. And then the fight, the desperate struggle against hands that ripped her clothes and rained blows on her face and body. Her dog Samson, barking madly, hurling himself at the intruder, trying to defend her. In her mind’s eye she saw Franco’s exhilaration, the near sexual thrill he gained as he slit Samson’s throat and watched the blood drain from the dog’s body. And the stamp of arousal on his face as he came for her, blood dripping from the knife in his hand.

She turned away, toward Devlin, and memories of him flicked through her mind. How he looked in the courtroom or when arguing a point with her. His expression when Marcie Field had thrown her arms around him. The way he’d looked the first time he told her he loved her. Images of him comforting her in the police station stairwell. The two of them making love. Devlin smiling, laughing, teasing, comforting, loving. Loving. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and willed herself to breathe.

“Yes, I see you do remember,” Franco said, his voice replete with malice. “I would enjoy that very much, Gabriela. The choice is yours.”

He left her there, with her heart beating a slow drumroll of despair and Devlin walking toward her.

The next few hours passed
in a blur for Gabrielle. She met briefly with Sid, setting up a meeting for the next day, checked over her caseload for the next few weeks, and talked to Devlin as if she had never heard Franco threaten to kill him. Inside she cursed herself for her stupidity, her weakness. Because of her criminal negligence in ignoring what she knew about Franco, she’d put Devlin at risk.

How could she stop Franco? Before, her only solution had been to flee. But running would solve nothing now. And it would leave Devlin in danger. Only one person had the power to stop Franco.

Vito Donati.

And only one person had the power to convince Vito to do it. Gabriela Donati, Vito’s daughter.

Gabrielle left the office early and went home, still with no idea of what she would say when she talked to her father. She didn’t plan a speech; she decided to simply ask him for help, as she had one other time. Memories washed over her again, and she heard the voices. Hers, Franco’s, and Vito’s.

“Gabriela, you’re being absurd,” Franco had said. “It’s what your father wants. What I want. Marry me and forget Ben. He left you easily enough.”

Ignoring him, she had turned to her father. “I’ll never forgive you. Never. And I’ll never marry Franco. The only thing you can do for me is let me go. Give me a new identity and let me walk out. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

He hadn’t believed her. Hadn’t imagined that she would view his act of paying off the man she loved as the betrayal it was. Hadn’t believed that her refusal to marry Franco was anything more than a willful child’s defiance.

It had taken her near-death in the fall from her bedroom window the night Franco came to her to convince her father she meant what she said. Vito had thought her dive out the window a suicide attempt, rather than what it was—her only means of escaping Franco. Gabrielle hadn’t considered the danger when she’d taken the only way out of her bedroom, and to this day she couldn’t remember exactly how she’d come to fall. Since Franco’s face was the last thing she remembered, she suspected he had played a large part in it. She had never corrected her father’s mistaken conclusion, because she’d known what Vito would do had he known the truth. Had he known what Franco had tried to do to her, he would have killed him.