Page 57 of Gabriel's Angel

They’d travel light. She’d only pack what was absolutely necessary. Before sundown they could be miles away. Headed north, she thought quickly. Maybe into Canada. There was still enough money left to help them get away, to buy them enough time to disappear. A rattle slipped out of her hand and landed with a clatter. Giving in to despair, she sunk onto the daybed and buried her face in her hands.

They couldn’t run. Even if they had enough funds to keep them for a lifetime, they couldn’t run. It was wrong, wrong for Michael, for Gabe, even for herself. They had a life here, the kind she’d always wanted, the kind she needed to give her son.

But what could she do to protect it?

Take a stand. Ride out the attack. Not cave in. But caving in was what she’d always done best. Lifting her head, she waited until her breathing had calmed. That was the old Laura’s thinking, and that was exactly what Lorraine was counting on. The Eagletons knew how easily manipulated she had been. They expected her to run, and they would use that impulsive, erratic behavior to take her baby. They thought that if she was too tired to run she Would sacrifice her child to protect her position with the Bradleys.

But they didn’t know her. They had never taken the time or effort to really know her. She wouldn’t cave in. She wouldn’t run with her son. She was damn well going to fight for him.

The anger came then, and it felt wonderful. Anger was a hot, animate emotion, so unlike the icy numbness of fear. She’d stay angry, as Amanda had advised, because angry she would not only fight but fight rough and dirty. The Eagletons were in for a surprise.

***

By the time she reached the gallery she was in control again. Michael was safe with Amanda, and Laura was taking the first step of the route she’d already mapped out to see that he stayed safe.

The Trussalt Gallery was in a gracefully refurbished old building. Flowers, neatly trimmed and still wet from the recent rain, were grouped near the main entrance. Laura could smell roses and damp leaves as she pulled the door open.

Inside, skylights offered an open view of the still-cloudy sky, but the gallery itself was brilliant with recessed and track lighting. It was as quiet as a church. Indeed, as Laura paused to look, she could see that this was a place designed for the worship of art. Sculptures in marble and wood, in iron and bronze, were placed lovingly. Rather than competing with each other, they harmonized. As did the paintings aligned stylishly on the walls.

She recognized one of Gabe’s, a particularly solemn view of a garden going to seed. It wasn’t pretty; it certainly wasn’t joyful. Looking at it, she thought of the mural he’d painted for his mother. The same man who believed enough in fantasies to bring them to life also saw reality, perhaps a bit too clearly. They had that in common, as well.

There were only a few patrons here on this rainy weekday afternoon. They had time to browse, Laura reminded herself. She didn’t. Spotting a guard, she moved toward him.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Gabriel Bradley.”

“I’m sorry, miss. He wouldn’t be available. If you have a question about one of his paintings, you may want to see Ms. Trussalt.”

“No. You see, I’m—”

“Laura.” Marion breezed out of an alcove. She was wearing pastels today, a long, slim skirt in baby blue that reached to her ankles, with a hip-skimming sweater in soft pink. The quiet colors only accentuated her exotic looks. “So you decided to pay us a visit after all.”

“I’d like to see Gabe.”

“What a pity.” Without so much as a glance, Marion mentioned the guard aside. “He’s not here at the moment.”

Laura curled her fingers tighter around the clasp of her purse. Intimidation from this quarter meant less than nothing now. “Do you expect him back?”

“As a matter of fact, he should be back before too long. We’re booked for drinks in, oh—” she glanced at her watch “—half an hour.”

Both the glance and the tone were designed to dismiss her, but Laura was far beyond worrying about games. “Then I’ll wait.”

“You’re welcome to, of course, but I’m afraid Gabe and I have business to discuss. So boring for you.”

Weariness was a dull throb at the base of her skull. She had no desire to cross swords now. Her energy had to remain focused for a much more vital fight. “I appreciate your concern, but nothing about Gabe’s art is boring for me.”

“Spoken like a little Trojan.” Marion tilted her head. There was a smile that had nothing to do with friendship in her eyes. “You’re looking a bit pale. Trouble in paradise?”

And she knew. As clearly as if Marion had said it out loud, she knew how Lorraine had found her. “Nothing that can’t be dealt with. Why did you call her, Marion?”

The smile remained in place, cool and confident. “I beg your pardon?”

“She was already paying good money for detectives. I only had a week or two longer at most.”

Marion considered a moment, then turned to fuss with the alignment of a painting. “I’ve always thought time was better saved than wasted. The sooner Lorraine deals with you, the sooner I can get Gabe back on track. Let me show you something.”

Marion moved across the gallery in a separate room, where the walls and floors were white. A sweeping spiral staircase, again in white, rose up in one corner. Above, balconies ran in a circle. A trio of ornamental trees grew under the staircase, fronted by a towering ebony sculpture of a man and a woman in a passionate, yet somehow despairing, embrace.

But it was the portrait that caught her attention, that drew it and demanded it. It was her own face that looked serenely back at Laura, from the portrait Gabe had painted during those long, quiet days in Colorado.

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