Clinton Priest

Chapter Twenty Three

I make my way out of the room a few minutes after they've left and make my way through the house searching for Clinton. I could have asked Albert but I don't want Diana to know. Every door I open leads to an empty room. There are a total of six bedrooms in this part of the mansion and at the last door, I wonder if I will be willing to search the other part of the house.

I push open the door slowly and peer in before switching on the light. It's empty as well but I walk in. There's only a couch and a stool in the middle of the huge room. Beside them is a covered canvas. My palms itch with the desire to tear of the white cloth and see what's hidden underneath it.

"It's blank," a voice says behind me. I turn so fast I am almost certain I'll suffer a whiplash. I recognize those violet eyes anywhere and the glinting rings on those slender yet masculine fingers. It's Gabriel Prince.

"He hasn't painted in years." He closes the door behind him and takes a seat on the couch.

"What are you doing here, Gabriel?" I ask.

"Visiting a friend," he answers.

"Clinton?"

"Who else?" He leans forward with his hands joined together and his index fingers touching his chin. "I'm curious," he continues, "why are you here?"

I lick my lips before responding. "I'm spending the night here."

"Why?"

"Because he asked me to," I answer.

"Clinton?"

"Who else," I say and he smiles. I'm struck by how handsome he looks in his simple shirt and jeans. It's impossible how one man can look that good.

"I assume you are searching for him then," he says relaxing into the couch.

"Yes."

"And I assume you know as well that this little sleepover of yours could very well be the beginning of the end."

My eyes snap to his and I know that he's seen the shock in them and the lingering fear that has refused to let go of me since my talk with Clinton.

"What end?"

He stares at me intently in silence before finally speaking. "Nothing," he says as he lifts his legs from the floor and places them on the couch.

"A word of advice however, leave while you can," he adds as the doors opens and Clinton walks in.

"Gabriel," he says coolly, "you should have called."

"I would have but I didn't," he says carelessly. "I assumed you would be busy with your little pest problem."

Clinton nods calmly. "I've taken care of it."

"We received your invitation. A party? Really? Right after the funeral. You have no sense of sympathy for others. Anabelle's just lost her father and you decide to throw a party. How heartless can you be?"

"Do not lecture me, Gabriel," he says as he places his hand on my waist. "You might like her, Gabriel, but I have no such attachment to fleeting illusions."

Gabriel's eyes snap to mine. "Is he dead?"

"I promised him life." He eyes Gabriel strangely. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he snaps at him. Gabriel turns to him with a smirk. "I promised him life," Clinton repeats, "I intend to keep that promise."

Whatever it is they are speaking of, it causes Gabriel's brows to furrow and his fists to clench.

"You promised me his death," Gabriel says.

"And I did," Clinton responds. "You never asked me to keep him dead."

"You are my friend. I am your friend. After all this time, I would think it means something to you." Gabriel is heartbroken. His fists are unclenched and his shoulders are slumped. He stands from his couch and fans his fingers through his thick dark hair.

"Are you really?" Clinton says.

Gabriel sighs incredulously, shakes his head and walks out of the room with the door slamming shut behind him.