Page 5 of Always Been Mine (Always #2)

It had been almost four months since he had shed his Dmitry Yerzov persona.

The first few weeks were a challenge to integrate back into normal society.

Gabe had no close relatives. His parents were dead and he had no siblings.

This made him an ideal CIA operative. The only family he knew were the SEALs, and even then he had to give up his brothers to descend into the twisted world of the Russian mafia.

He had killed all his emotions to take the job.

Once he had ceased to exist as his deadly alter ego, images of every person he had assassinated flooded his dreams. It was hell.

He’d been to see the CIA shrink at the NEST—the agency’s special rehabilitation center.

Screw the stigma. The sooner he fixed his fucked-up self, the sooner he could go after her. Beatrice was his prize.

He exited his all-brick Victorian row house in Old Town Alexandria, Rhino at his heels.

Beatrice had sold her old house in this area and moved into her new condominium a few months after he’d left her.

Guilt clawed at him. She loved that house and this area.

He had thought to buy the same house back for her, but decided maybe it was best to start fresh.

The back patio needed some work, but the front of the house had a small yard with mature landscaping and wrought-iron fencing.

He remembered Beatrice stopping to gaze at this house in particular whenever they went for their walks in the neighborhood.

Confident aren’t you, Sullivan? She kneed you in the junk.

Gabe winced at the memory. His Beatrice was still a spitfire.

He walked a couple of blocks more, Rhino happily marking each tree, when he noticed a black sedan parked a couple of cars up. Rhino must have felt the change in Gabe’s body language and started growling softly.

“Easy, boy,” Gabe said tightly.

When the back door swung open, Gabe knew who was stepping out even before the figure fully emerged.

Admiral Benjamin Porter—top-level recruiter and strategist of CIA black ops and Beatrice’s father.

A reminder of everything Gabe told himself he shouldn’t be, and yet he admired the man.

However, from what little Beatrice had told him during their time together, the admiral was a shitty father and husband.

Rhino’s growl grew louder as the admiral approached.

“Gonna call off your attack dog, Commander?”

“Not sure.”

The admiral sighed. “We have a problem.”

“Not mine.”

“Gabriel—”

“I told you, sir. I’m done with the agency.” Rhino started snarling. Gabe decided to calm down his dog. “Friendlies, Rhino. ”

The dog immediately stopped his aggression.

“My priority is Beatrice.”

“I know that,” the admiral said. “That’s why I procured your admission into the Mayflower Charity Ball. I’ve given you information about her whereabouts for the last two weeks and stood back while you stalked her.”

Gabe snorted but didn’t contradict the admiral, because that was exactly what he did.

Thankfully, he didn’t catch her at a time when she was with Eric Stone.

Judging from the tabloids, the relationship was a hot mess.

He was so proud of how his girl handled herself with so much class against three crazed fans earlier this afternoon.

The admiral had now fallen into step by his side as the three of them continued to walk without missing a beat.

“I don’t want to fuck up again with her. I want to prove to her that I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Is that what the dog is all about? A show of your commitment?”

Gabe didn’t answer, so the admiral continued, “Or is he helping you regain your empathy. Teaching you how to feel?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Ben,” Gabe snapped. “Rhino was a loyal military dog who was about to be classified as equipment and left behind. He may be partially deaf and blind, but he deserves a second chance.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Gabe cursed. “Look, say what you gotta say. Be done with it.”

“Someone might be aware that Dmitry Yerzov is still alive.”

“Impossible. How?” Gabe was used to the admiral’s penchant for drama and constant scheming. Gabe should know. He had let himself be a part of it.

“Philip Crowe aka Leonid Belov must have had a partner that we weren’t aware of,” the admiral said. Crowe/Belov had worked with Gabe in an undercover capacity in the Zorin Bratva—a Russian arms dealer they had brought down almost four months ago.

The admiral had his full attention now. “Go on.”

“The off-shore account that Crowe was going to use to siphon the thirty-five million dollars was shut down before we could get our hands on it. All indications point to the Fuego gang.”

“Shit. The Colombian gang that we sent after Travis and Caitlin?”

“The same.”

The wheels started spinning in Gabe’s head. That would mean Crowe had an “in” with the gang. Nothing would stop Crowe from having insurance just in case something happened to him, which it did. Crowe knew most of the true identities of CIA agents involved in the Zorin Bratva takedown.

“What else?”

“Nothing as of now, but I may have to call in a marker from an old friend.”

A pained look crossed the admiral’s face.

“Something tells me this old friend isn’t really a friend.”

“A buddy from my earlier days in the Navy. We had a falling out. Or rather, his ideals didn’t align with the U.S. government any longer.”

“Look, I’ll help if I can. I don’t want a crosshair on you or Beatrice,” Gabe said. As much as he despised Porter sometimes, he cared for the crazy bastard.

“All I wanted was to give you a heads up,” Porter said. “I’m not sure if there’s anything you can do. I’m sure if Crowe gave Fuego all the information from the Zorin takedown, you’re compromised.”

“I’m adept with disguises, in case you’ve forgotten.

” Shit. Did he just volunteer himself? Backtracking, and in a harsh tone, he repeated, “Beatrice is my priority. I’m not officially involved.

I’m out of the agency. Don’t ask me to refer someone to help either, because I’m not having another friend’s death on my conscience. ”

“It wasn’t your fault, Gabriel.”

“I know, but for a long time, I felt it was. It’s done. He’s not coming back. He’s dead, and the people responsible are dead as well,” Gabe stated flatly. His skin prickled as his alter ego reared his head. “Are we done?”

The admiral nodded. Gabe hastened away with Rhino. There was an urgent need to distance himself from Porter.

~ Dmitry, about three years ago

The twelve-year-old boy stared up at him—bound, gagged, and crying quietly, snot mixing with all the tears. He’d been brave for the most part, defiant even. He would have made a good lieutenant for the Bratva, except his father was a traitor, and Zorin wanted the bloodline ended.

Starting with the first born son.

Angel of Death.

The poor lad peed in his pants.

For a moment, Dmitry wavered, and then he said, “You won’t feel a thing. I’ll be quick.”

Present

“Refill?”

Gabe looked up to see the diner waitress holding a carafe of coffee.

“Sure.”

“You must like our food a lot; you’ve been here for the past two weeks.”

“Yeah.”

“All you ever order are pancakes and bacon,” his chatty waitress pressed on, leaning against the table suggestively. “You need to try other items on the menu. ”

Gabe was amused. “Are we still talking about this menu, hon?”

“I don’t know, handsome, you tell me.”

He looked around the diner. It was after 9:00 a.m. and the crowd had thinned considerably. He leaned back in the booth, taking in the woman’s red-striped uniform, a size too small and five inches too short. Gabe smiled wryly. “I’m taken, sorry.”

“Shame.” She leaned closer. “Well, if you get untaken, let me know.”

“I believe you were going to pour me some coffee.”

The waitress’s eyes flashed angrily as she poured coffee into the cup. Gabe made a mental note to change the location of his stakeout because the waitress would probably spit on his food the next time.

He stared across the street at Beatrice’s condominium.

She usually didn’t leave her residence until noon.

Doug’s car frequently passed the front of the condo around 8:30 a.m., rounding the building to pull into the underground parking, but he didn’t see him arrive this morning.

Gabe was sure Douglas Keller was gay, but he definitely wasn’t the flamboyant or even the effeminate type.

Gabe knew Beatrice’s assistant would have had no qualms beating him up last night, not that Gabe would have let him.

Balls kicked or not, he would have flipped the guy over before he’d even gotten to throw a punch.

A flashy car stopping in front of the condominium drew his attention.

With recognition came swift fury. Rock dick Eric Stone.

Gabriel forced himself to remain in his seat and wait before getting himself involved.

The last thing Beatrice needed was an ex-boyfriend getting into the business of another ex-boyfriend.

It didn’t take long. Eric the dickhead started causing a ruckus.

Shaggy brown hair, t-shirt, torn-jeans, and sporting converse sneakers, he was arguing with the guard who apparently had orders not to let him in.

Twenty minutes later, his spitfire flew down the steps of the condo to confront him.

Beatrice was speaking normally, but Stone was yelling at her and gesturing wildly.

The escalation of tension was inevitable.

Gabe stood and threw a couple of bills on the table as he hurried outside. He was just in time to see Stone lay his hands on Beatrice’s shoulders to yell further into her face. Even from the distance, Gabe could see the fire in her green eyes, and for a second, he was feeling sorry for Eric.

“Take your hands off me, Eric.”

Wait for it.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, Bee—oomph!”

Rocker boy released his hold on her shoulders and doubled-up on his stomach.

Punched in the gut.

Gabe had taught her that move—tip of fingers to fist—not much momentum needed.