COUNTERPOINT
An original romantic serialFrom Alina Adams the author of "When a Man Loves a Woman" (DELL 4/00), "Annie's Wild Ride" (AVON 8/98), "Inside Figure Skating" (METROBOOKS 11/00 & 9/99), "Thieves at Heart" (AVON 12/95) and "The Fictitious Marquis" (AVON 6/95)
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CHAPTER TEN
Victoria did as he ordered. She looked at Robin. She really looked at him. And yes, she did see the Robin Cooper Gabriel was talking about. At least, the outer trappings of him. She saw the impeccably styled, impeccably sewn, outrageously expensive clothes. The hands with callouses solely from horseback riding and sailing. The perfectly brushed hair. The smirk that never quite thoroughly left his features. The way he moved, as if even the air had better get out of his way if it knew what was good for it. And yet, no matter how true she believed Gabriel's assessment to be, Victoria couldn't shake her conviction that there was more to the man than what could easily be seen by the naked eye. She'd had glimpses -- granted, they were brief ones, but they did exist -- of a different Robin Cooper. Of a man battling demons so dark, he was afraid of letting anyone near them, lest they be unable to find their way back. Of a man much smarter, much deeper, much ... kinder, than he allowed anyone to believe. Of a man aching for someone to figure out the truth. You're not at all who they think you are? Are you?
Victoria said, "You don't know him, Gabriel."
"Oh, and you do?" He sighed. "Douglas Cooper and I had quite an illuminating chat the other evening. You do know that your new friend is married, don't you?"
"Of course, I do," she snapped. Harsher than she'd intended.
"Okay. But, do you also know that he keeps an international harem that would make Ali-Baba's look meager? You've heard of a girl in every port? Robin Cooper's got one in every zip code."
"Area code." The devil they'd been talking about materialized behind Gabriel, tapping him on the shoulder to correct, "Actually, I've got one in each area code. It's how I keep them straight, and insure never phoning the wrong one." Robin asked Victoria, "Tell me, does your brother ever tumble off that high-horse of his?"
His tone was friendly, if sarcastic, but Victoria detected the angry steel running underneath. She sensed the situation was fast running the risk of boiling over, and the last thing she wanted was for either Robin or Gabriel to really lose their tempers. Hoping to keep the atmosphere civil, Victoria forced a lighthearted timbre into her voice, and laughed, "As a matter of fact, Gabriel doesn't like horses. When we lived on the ranch, our foster father, Brian, once tried to get Gabriel on one. He said, "She won't bite, son, she's gentle as a lamb." But, Gabriel looked at him, all serious, and he said, "Lambs bite, too."
Amused, Robin inquired, "Is that a fact?"
"Now, me," she blabbered on, sliding between the two of them. "I've always loved horses and riding and -- "
From outside, a noise that, to Robin, sounded like a car backfiring but, to Gabriel and Victoria, signified something a lot more sinister, cut her off mid-sentence. She and her brother exchanged anxious looks, but Gabriel was already running towards the street, muttering, "Shit," under his breath.
He returned minutes later, carrying an Asian woman dressed in a long dress that might once have been yellow, but was now stained crimson with blood, and followed by a boy of no more than thirteen.
"We weren't doing nothing." The boy, wearing a denim jacket with Chinese symbols stitched in red on the back, tugged Gabriel's sleeve. "We were just standing, waiting for the bus. Ma stepped in front of me and the bastards came by and popped us."
Gabriel laid the woman down on the nearest examining table, ripping open what was left of her dress, while slipping one hand under her back, looking for the bullet's exit wound.
Over the boy's cries, Gabriel calmly ordered him, "Shut your mouth, Dustin. You think I don't know what's going on here? You think I don't know whose fault this is?"
"No, man, you've got it all wrong." Dustin stomped his foot, looking in that instant more like a toddler than a teen-ager. "My ma and me, we're just waiting for the fucking bus. They drove by, pulled out their guns and popped her. Right in the street."
"I said, shut up!" Gabriel feverishly pressed gauze against Dustin's mother's abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding at the same time as he tilted his ear towards her mouth, listening for breath. "You know and I know that this is all your fucking fault. So bite the crocodile tears and get out of my way."
"What the hell is the matter with you, Scott?" Robin stepped forward, his arms on Dustin's shoulders, pulling him away from the table. "How can what happened to his mother be this boy's fault?"
Without turning his head, Gabriel directed Dustin, "Tell the nice millionaire what those colors on the back of your jacket mean. Tell him about that bunch of thugs you hang with, and how you pass your days looking for kids with other colors on their backs so you can splash their brains on the sidewalk. Then ask him if he still thinks what happened to your mom isn't your fault."
Robin blanched, releasing his hold on Dustin as if the boy had heated up one hundred degrees. Victoria approached him, realizing that stepping into a gang war-zone was not what Robin signed up for when he agreed to take this field-trip with her. She was about to ask him if he was all right, when Gabriel, running out of free hands with which to try and stop the bleeding, open a sterile needle kit, and hook up a saline IV, called out, "Do me a favor, Vic. Sheila's taking her lunch break. She's around the corner at that cafe with the Coke sign in front. Run and get her, would you? I need help."
Victoria nodded and took off, flashing one last look at Robin. He hadn't budged, staring at the bleeding woman with a combination horror, fascination, and, Victoria couldn't help noting, something akin to recognition. Victoria promised herself she'd see to him as soon as she got back.
But, by the time she returned with Sheila, Robin was gone.
Three days later, a certified envelope, no return address, no identifiable postmark, appeared on Victoria's desk. Inside was a notarized document, pledging the Elizabeth Fund's continued support for the Mission Street clinic, with Dr. Gabriel Scott as attending physician and managing director. It was signed, Robin Cooper.
It came with no further explanation.