Gabriel glanced back at Raphael, who was running at pace with him. Raphael was pasty white and looked like he was capable of throwing up at any given second. Like he was truly sickened by the realization of what Marguerite had done. Gabriel wanted to believe him.

“We can’t change the past, Raphael. We can only change the present.”

He finally understood that.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Sara wasn’t sure if fear or frustration was winning. Gabriel had frightened her with the tone of his voice, the way he’d been so adamant that she needed to stay and wait for him. But she was also completely angry—boiling blood mad—that everyone seemed to know what the hell was going on but her.

She was a self-professed control freak, and not having all the information available to her was maddening. Especially when it appeared to exist, but no one saw fit to share it with her.

As far as she could tell, Gabriel had confessed three things to her. That he knew Rafe and Marguerite. That he thought Marguerite had killed her mother. And that he was in love with her.

She hadn’t expected any of that, and she wasn’t sure which had shocked her the most. She hadn’t seen any of them coming, but his profession of love had sideswiped her, and she hadn’t been able to process it in any way and give him a response before he had said good-bye and hung up. Which was probably for the best, because she didn’t know what she would have said in return. She had thought she loved him. Still did. But it worried her that there were so many apparent secrets, so much he had withheld from her. And nothing about any of the murders, past or present, made sense. She was on emotional and intellectual overload, with no answers in sight.

“Do you love him?” Jocelyn asked, handing Sara a glass of wine.

Sara took it and swirled the liquid around and around in the glass. “Yes.” Whether that was a mistake or not, she didn’t know. But it was what it was and she couldn’t change that. She loved him quietly, passionately, softly, wondrously.

“I’ve never seen you in love before. It was pretty obvious to me from the second you said his name.”

Crossing her legs and pulling her skirt down over them on the sofa, Sara looked at Jocelyn. “I don’t fall in love easily. Or I didn’t think I did. You’ve known me, what, six years? I’m emotionally reserved. I know that. I try not to be, but I can’t help it.”