Fallen (Seven Deadly Sins #2)(39)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Oh, God, what if the murderer sent these to me?” Skin clammy, she looked around her apartment again. She hadn’t even checked the windows or the other rooms. Angel leaped off the couch, the movement startling her. “He knows where I am.”

“Sara, I’m coming over. What’s your address?”

“Uh . . .” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember her address. Maybe she’d never known it. The blood spatters in the picture she was clutching blurred, her head swimming, and she had the horrific realization that she was going to faint. She fought and clung to reality, forcing her eyes open and air into her lungs, groping for the wall. The black spots and the ringing in her ears retreated and she managed to stay standing.

Cramming the pictures back into the envelope again and closing the metal tabs, she dropped it onto the coffee table and shifted a magazine over top of it. “Sorry, I can’t remember my address. I just moved here.”

Like he didn’t know that. God, she was losing it. Yet she forced herself to pick up the envelope yet again and read off her address from the front to Gabriel. How ironic. The person who had sent her the photos knew where she was more than she did.

Gabriel could actually fly. He could manipulate air and space and the laws of physics with his immortal body and his demonic, bastardized angel powers. He was tempted to use his talents to reach Sara quicker, but he wasn’t sure how he would explain arriving without a car. He could also project his voice, his thoughts, into a mortal’s mind, and he could soothe Sara, offer words or comfort or reassurance, but the risk was that she would think the voices in her head were signs of insanity, and he certainly didn’t want that.

So he would have to be patient, and mortal, and he would have to drive his car on I-10 west like anyone else would under the circumstances.

Which didn’t make him at all happy.

It was twenty minutes before he pulled into Sara’s apartment complex, and if he had used any sort of common sense, he would have called her back on his cell phone. He should have used the drive to talk to her, to calm her down. Though she hadn’t sounded hysterical. She had sounded almost numb, which worried him just as much, if not more so.

But she answered right away when he knocked loudly and impatiently on her door, checking the metal numbers a third time, making sure it was the right unit.

“Hi,” she said, trying to smile, but the effort only resulted in a wobbling lip.

“Hey,” he said, softly. He wasn’t good at comforting anyone, and had very little experience at it. He’d never been social, never chatty or quick to respond. He had always been an observer, a people watcher, an artist, a creator. Yet he knew instinctively that Sara needed physical comfort. He just felt it from her, like he had when he’d woken up and she’d been standing by his bed.

Sara liked, wanted, needed, to be touched.

So he did, knowing it wasn’t wise, but unwilling to pretend he couldn’t see what she was suffering. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.

“Lock it,” she said, voice muffled against his chest.

“Okay.” Gabriel loosened his grip and turned, clicking the dead bolt in place.

“Where’s the cat?” she asked, eyes darted around. “She didn’t run outside, did she?”

“No, she’s lying on the coffee table.”

Only then did Sara sigh and relax into his embrace, snaking her arms around his waist. He held her, rubbing his hands over her back, enjoying the softness, the warmth of her body against his. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured.

“I want to believe that. But I’m scared.” She peeled her head off his chest and looked up at him. The plaintive look in her eyes, laced with fear, jabbed him in the heart. “Who would send me those pictures? Who knows where I am? And you should see them. I almost think . . . I almost think they were actually taken by the killer before the police arrived.”

“Let’s go back to my place and we’ll look at them. We’ll figure this out.” He squeezed her a little tighter to him. “Now pack your stuff and Angel and let’s go.”

“Pack my stuff?” She frowned.

“I don’t think you’re comfortable staying here alone, are you?” If he had to guess, he’d bet she’d spent the past twenty minutes pacing back and forth, biting her fingernails and checking and rechecking her door and window locks.

Sara blanched. “No. I guess I’ll have to break my lease. Or maybe I can just stay in a hotel for a few days and see how I feel.” She shuddered. “But you’re right, I don’t think I can stay here tonight. And I don’t want those pictures anywhere near me.”

“You can stay with me.” There was no way he was depositing her in a hotel and walking away. She was pale and shaky, her skin clammy. He pictured her bolted into a hotel room, chair pushed against the door, awake all night long, worrying. Afraid. The desire for a pill, just a little something to help it go away, ease her mind, let her sleep and rest, growing stronger and stronger.

He didn’t want her to have to fight that, to be afraid. And it was possible that she actually was in danger, though he didn’t really believe that. More likely the photos had been sent by some incredibly insensitive reporter.

Either way, he wanted her safe, with him.

“Gabriel, I don’t know . . . That’s generous of you to offer, but is it really such a good idea?”

She looked worried, but she was still leaning against him. “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” he asked.

“Because . . . I don’t know.”

Because they were attracted to each other. That’s what she was silently saying. He could almost hear it, read it in the plea in her blue eyes as she volleyed the decision over to him.

Hold her or push her away. Irrational or rational. Cruel or compassionate. Both choices were potentially devastating. To both of them.

“There’s no logical reason we can’t go to my place. Where’s the cat food? I’ll get Angel’s stuff together while you pack a bag.” He brushed her hair off of her forehead, just because. Just to feel it, just to touch her. Just to reassure himself that he wasn’t going to regret his decision. To remind himself that casual touching led to caresses which led to kisses which led to sensual pleasure, which led to women clinging to him, begging and pleading and crying for more. Desperate for him, all of him, his mind, his body, his heart, his soul, as they tried to swallow him whole and replace themselves with him.