There was no explanation why, but it was obvious that Rafe, who she needed to think of as Raphael, had been involved in the murders, involved with Marguerite far beyond what Sara had understood. It made her angry, because enough was enough, damn it. She didn’t want to feel the sorrow, didn’t want to suffocate yet again under its crushing hopelessness, didn’t want to feel the sting of betrayal. But she surprised herself. The wash of pain when she had discovered the truth had been short and shallow, and as she stood staring into the darkness, at the tomb of a woman who had lost her life to the violence and insanity of a demon, Sara felt intact, whole, safe, strong.

Nothing could destroy her.

Suddenly Gabriel was in front of her, pushing her, his hand over her mouth. In the dark, she couldn’t see his face, just his outline and the beam of the flashlight bouncing around the ground as his hand moved erratically, pushing her up against the fence. Then before she could process, focus in the dark, gain her balance, he had her completely around the side of the tomb.

“Stay still,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t move until I come back for you. I don’t want you getting lost in the cemetery.”

She wanted to ask what the hell was the matter with him, but his hand was so tight over her mouth, she couldn’t speak. So she closed her eyes and concentrated on projecting the words into his head. She had no idea if it worked like that, or if only he could enter her mind, but it was worth a shot. It was dark and she didn’t hear anything other than the sound of their breathing, and she hated not knowing what was going on.

Then she heard Gabriel whispering in her head, like he had before. He’s here, he said. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.

Cool air rushed over her as he disappeared, leaving her feeling bereft without his presence, missing the warmth of his hard body against hers, his towering masculinity hovering over her. Peering around the corner of the tomb, Sara wiped her hands on her jeans and tried to see in the dark. She could see Gabriel’s back and the light from the flashlight cutting through the inky blackness, shining straight down the walkway and hitting Raphael in the face.

Even in the dark and from ten feet away, his expression made her shiver. That didn’t look anything like the man she had known. This man was cruel, amused, manic, flat-out crazy.

“Have you figured it out?” he asked, his voice excited, hands in his pockets.

“That you killed Anne and Jessie?” Gabriel asked, holding the flashlight steady on Raphael’s face. “Yes. Or did you make Marguerite do your dirty work for you?”