for either.
“Good luck,” Jack called after him as he headed for the elevator. “If you’re not back in ten I’ll send up a search party. Or start a memorial fund.”
“Make sure you hit up Tim in elder abuse.” The elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped in. “He owes me twenty bucks.”
The doors slid shut, leaving Gabe alone to wonder which fate awaited him upstairs. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant an ass reaming. Although, to be honest, his mind hadn’t totally been on his work since that night with Devin in the park last week. And on her doorstep.
Their kiss had been nothing short of explosive. Way more intense than anything he’d experienced before. He prided himself on his control. His ability to think before acting. All that had gone the way of the cassette tape when Devin surrendered to him, her soft lips parting under his, her full, warm curves molding to him.
A stirring below his belt buckle made him shake his head and silently scold himself. Down, boy. Big meeting coming up. Think clean thoughts. Mom. Apple pie. A busload of nuns on their way to a prayer meeting.
Gabe squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been a selfish, impulsive bastard to kiss her, but at least one good thing had come of it. Now he understood why Kara’s rejection had left him more numb than hurt. He’d been an idiot, proposing to her for all the wrong reasons. Thinking he could choose a life mate based on shared interests and political expediency. Thinking passion would come later and build slowly, like a roller coaster climbing that first hill.
It wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t have been fair to her. Or him.
With a ding, the elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped into the inner sanctum of Manhattan District Attorney Thaddeus Holcomb. Teddy to his friends. Mr. Holcomb to his underlings at One Hogan Place.
“Gabe.” Doris, Mr. Holcomb’s secretary from what seemed like the dawn of time, beckoned him closer with a wrinkled finger. “He’s waiting for you.”
She ushered him into an office three times the size of his own. Instead of a regulation-issue gunmetal gray desk like Gabe’s, the current district attorney sat behind a massive oak table. Matching bookshelves lined the walls, bright blue statute books and thick legal treatises artfully arranged alongside plaques, trophies and the occasional family photo.
“You wanted to see me?” Gabe took a seat in one of the two leather armchairs in front of the table.
Holcomb closed the file he’d been reading. “Nice work on Patterson. Convincing Judge Morrison to let in the defendant’s statement.”
“Thanks.” Gabe relaxed into the soft leather. Looked like it was going to be door number two.
“Any word on sentencing?”
“It’s scheduled for next Thursday.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
Holcomb cleared his throat. Gabe steeled himself. Now came the real reason for their little tête-à-tête. Holcomb pushed the file across the table. “The police made an arrest in the Park Avenue homicide case last night.”
Gabe nodded. It’d been all over the morning news. A handyman was accused of sexually assaulting and murdering an eighty-five-year-old woman and her live-in nurse. A witness saw him leaving their apartment shortly before the bodies were discovered. “He’ll be arraigned tomorrow. Kentfield’s handling it.”
Holcomb shook his head. “I want you on this case. It’s a publicity magnet.”
Gabe folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Jack might be a bit of a prick, but he could handle the press as well as anyone. There had to be more to this than the boss was letting on. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” Holcomb shrugged, his innocent expression making Gabe even more convinced the DA had a secret agenda. “You’re my best prosecutor. You’re taking this one. End of story.”
Gabe picked up the file and stood. He knew when to press his luck and when to walk away. “No problem.”
“I’m not done yet.” Holcomb motioned for Gabe to sit back down, so he did. “There’s another matter we have to discuss.”
“Is there a problem?” Gabe’s frown deepened.
“I understand you’re thinking about running for this position when I retire next year.”
“Yes, sir.” Running for public office was the next logical step in Gabe’s career plan. First district attorney, then the state legislature and maybe even Congress. He figured he’d have to wait a few years before starting down that road. But Holcomb’s announcement that he wouldn’t run for a third term had sped up Gabe’s timeline a bit.
“I expect you’ll want my endorsement.”
“I was hoping.” Holcomb just admitted Gabe was his best prosecutor. That had to count for something.
“You’re an excellent lawyer, Gabe. The youngest man ever to head Special Victims.” Holcomb tilted his chair back, and Gabe’s heart rate kicked up a notch. This was it. Holcomb was going to give him his thumbs up. And with his backing, Gabe would be the front runner for DA.
“But I can’t endorse you.”
Wait, what?
The “thank you” he’d been about to utter stuck in his throat. Gabe barely suppressed a cough. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s more to being district attorney than trying cases.” Holcomb crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re the face of the division. The people’s representative.”
“And you don’t think I’m ready for that?”
Holcomb twisted the gold signet ring he always wore on his right pinkie finger. “I don’t think the people of Manhattan are ready for you.”
“What’s that mean?” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been crusading for justice ever since fourth grade, when he’d begged to be appointed hall monitor so he could help stop the bullying that went on behind the teachers’ backs. Now the feeling of his well-orchestrated future slipping away washed over him like fog. Cold. Damp. Foreboding.
“Let me put it to you this way.” Holcomb tented his fingers under his chin. “Remember the grand opening of the Family Justice Center?”
Gabe shuddered.
As if he could forget it.
The ceremony had been the one and only time Holcomb had asked Gabe to stand in for him. And it was a disaster from beginning to end. All his courtroom skills had deserted him. He’d flubbed the deputy mayor’s name, accidentally insulted the governor’s wife and dropped the cartoonishly large scissors trying to cut the damned ribbon.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst came later, at the reception, where he had to mix and mingle. Make small talk. Be charming.
He’d tried. But the harder he did, the more awkward the conversations became. He was about as charming as
