Fallen (Seven Deadly Sins #2)(25)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Miss Donovan’s trunk contained five dresses, two pairs of shoes, three dollars, and various personal effects, including a diamond necklace that is undoubtedly a fake. Trunk was closed, though not locked. Victim was wearing an under-dress and nothing else. There was a pool of blood on the floor next to the bed, blood on the back wall behind the victim’s head, and splattered on nearly every inch of the mattress. For description of the victim, refer to coroner’s report.

Madame Conti and Mr. Thiroux agree nothing was missing from the room or was out of the ordinary.

The following items were collected from the room:

— One bowie knife, found placed in victim’s left hand. Assumed to be murder weapon, given the size of the six inches in length, one half inch wide straight blade, which matched the approximate size of victim’s wounds.

— Bottle of absinthe and opium pipe (to be disposed of properly).

— Two absinthe spoons, one with blunt edge (on tray on table), the other in the shape of a fleur-de-lis (which was found on floor in blood).

— Personal effects, to be given to deceased’s family, if any family can be located.

— Drawing in pencil of a woman’s arm, found on the floor next to the bed. Blood streaked on it.

Sara shot out of sleep, stiff and disoriented, instinctively sitting halfway up. She didn’t think she’d been dreaming, but something had ripped her out of sleep, and she realized immediately she was still in Gabriel’s apartment on his couch, and the kitten was no longer on her chest. Panic didn’t even have time to take hold before Sara saw that Angel had just scooted down and was sleeping on the couch at her feet.

Rubbing her eyes, her heart racing from the sudden interruption of REM, she wondered how long she had been dozing. The room was dark, and Gabriel was nowhere around. There was a lamp still on in the far corner, but all the other lights had been turned off. A clock ticked somewhere in the silence of the apartment, and she realized it was still the middle of the night, and there was a blanket over her legs. Gabriel must have left her sleeping and gone to bed.

That was sort of embarrassing. She’d been so sleep-deprived it had actually caught up with her and she’d passed out on his couch. That was actually more than embarrassing when she thought about it. That was scary. Or at least it should be. She should be freaked out that she had fallen asleep on a man’s couch and slept like a rock. Instead, it just seemed to her like maybe there was a reason she’d been able to successfully sleep at Gabriel’s when she couldn’t anywhere else.

What that implied was what was truly scary, not that she’d been asleep and vulnerable.

Spotting her purse on the end table, she pulled out her cell phone. 4:46 a.m. She’d slept for almost three hours. That was impressive for her lately. And she felt pretty good, despite a stiff neck and a dry mouth from the wine she’d had. Going back to sleep would be impossible though. She was wide awake and needed to use the bathroom. Making sure she didn’t disturb the cat, she got up.

She picked her way carefully across the living room, went down the hall, and used the bathroom, wincing at the loud flush of the toilet. She had to pass Gabriel’s bedroom on her return trip to the living room, and his door wasn’t shut. It was too much temptation to not at least glance inside. Between the lamp on in the front room and the moonlight from his window, she could see him, a dark shadow lying on his side on the bed, back to her. The sheet came up to his waist, and his hair fell over his bare shoulders.

Sara recognized that feeling in her chest, in her body, when she looked at him. She was interested in him, not just intellectually, but sexually. There was no obvious reason why it was him as opposed to someone else, but he was the first man in well over a year who had coaxed desire from her. And he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t flirt, had never come on to her. Yet the sight of him in bed, his shoulders taut, moonlight on his lean yet muscular body, had her mouth dry, ni**les tingling, inner thighs throbbing.

It wasn’t like her to have such an obvious physical response to a man she barely knew, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d never thought of herself as a highly sexual person, but now she wanted sex. Absolutely wanted it. With Gabriel. Wanted his weight pressing down on her, wanted his lips taking hers, wanted his body filling hers, hard heat thrusting inside her while she spread her legs for him. She could practically feel it, craved that moment when he would push against her and her body would give, accept him, and they would be joined together in the blissful escapism of sexual pleasure.

Disturbed at her thoughts, Sara crossed her arms tightly on her chest and commanded herself to stop.

His room was small, and sparse compared to the rest of his apartment, with only the bed and a dresser in it. He hadn’t bothered to pull down the shade on his window, which she found interesting. He either slept through the sun rising, or he used it as an alarm clock. It also fascinated her that she couldn’t hear him breathing. He made no sound at all, and given his angle, she couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest. It was utterly silent, and he wasn’t moving.

Maybe he was dead. Not that there was cause for death, since he had been alive and well a mere three hours earlier, but once the idea took root, Sara couldn’t shake it. It was possible. Anything was possible. And he wasn’t making any sound at all. What if she moved around the front of him, and found that he had been stabbed? Throat slit. Blood could be all over the bed, and she wouldn’t be able to see it from where she was. He could be dead, cold, his eyes wide open, glassy and empty.

She knew she had to be overreacting, knew he couldn’t possibly have been murdered while she was sleeping on the couch. But then again, he didn’t lock his doors, and she had been down for the count, sleeping hard and deep. If his throat had been slit, he wouldn’t have made any noise.

Bile rising into her mouth, Sara knew she couldn’t leave the room until she saw for herself that Gabriel was alive and well and fast asleep. Heart pounding, she moved forward, her palms sweaty, her sandals outrageously loud in the silence of the dark. She felt like she was going to throw up as she moved around the foot of his bed, not wanting to touch him, or lean over his back. Touch was too intimate, and she needed to see first, to process if the unspeakable had happened. Closing her eyes briefly, she moved between his bed and the window, shuffling so she didn’t trip on anything he had on the floor.

Then bracing herself, she turned and forced herself to look at the front of Gabriel, terrified of finding the worst. Almost sick with relief, she saw that his throat hadn’t been slit. There was no blood anywhere. And he was very much alive, his hand shifting slightly on his pillow.