“Sure.” Erin gave him a wide berth as she made her way to the door. He pulled it open for her, brushing against her. Feeling her shy away, Gabriel shoved it wide and stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Go ahead.”

He turned from her, trying to find control. Disgust was eating a hole in him. Did she see Nathan when he pressed her—not out of anger but intrigue? When they disagreed, did she truly believe he would strike her? The despair crested again. How could she not see he was nothing like the monster who’d terrorized her? Perhaps because he hadn’t shown her how many ways they were different.

Then he stopped himself, mortified. He’d learned the story he’d been trying to uncover, and his thoughts circled back to how enraged he was at those who hurt her. How worried he was that she saw a monster in him.

Spinning back to her, he said softly, “I hope to God you know I wouldn’t hurt you, Erin. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are extraordinary, and I am awed by the woman you are. One who is kind and driven and strong. Willing to risk your own life to save others. You create your own destiny, every day, not in spite of what could happen. Because you have lived it, and you are determined to keep living. That takes guts, cher.”

She looked up, her eyes dry and tearless. She shook her head ruefully. “I’m a liar, Gabriel. Like you’ve said.”

“Erin—”

She twisted the ring that seemed to burn into her skin. “And I have left bodies behind me. I was so desperate to save myself, I let him have them.”

“You were scared,” Gabriel reminded her. “Bernard isn’t killing because of you. Didn’t you tell Sylvie that he’d already likely killed before? You showed up in New Orleans, and he suddenly had an audience. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. He knows about Nathan and me. About my murdering him.”

“It was self-defense,” he countered flatly.

“I took a human life. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that I’m guilty, just like Nathan. Just like Kenneth, if he’s the one.”

Chapter 23

They returned to the police station in an icy silence. Sylvie brought them to her office and summoned Captain Sanchez. Without speaking, they took up their positions in the straight-backed chairs.

Seconds later, a golden bear of a man, with massive hands and a shining bald pate, filled the doorway and glowered at them. A thin black mustache ran below a bulbous nose reddened by nature. The sober navy suit strained across shoulders layered with muscle and fat. At his belt, flesh strained against the leather, creeping over the top. Shoes, polished as high as his head, reflected the dim light. “This is the young lady with the neat little theory?”