Gabriel's Mission

A great wave of love engulfed him. Not so much glory, but something of a different lustre; warm, human affection.

The soul remembers.

CHAPTER ONE

IT was well after nine-thirty when Chloe finally made it back to BTQ8, thinking she mightn’t have a job at the end of the day. In the year since he had become Managing Director of the Brisbane link in the national network, McGuire had been reducing numbers at the drop of a hat. Downsizing, he said, in the quest to achieve better results. Not being a fan of McGuire’s, Chloe chose to ignore the fact the TV station had been staging a remarkable comeback from near disaster under her old mentor, Clive Connor, who had since been moved on with a very generous redundancy package. She had never taken to McGuire, Clive’s successor, but the Big Guys loved him. He was the Golden Boy with a big future in the industry. The man who could do no wrong. This might very well be her day to get the shove. The third monthly meeting she had missed in a row when she always started out with the very best intentions.

Hunching her shoulders against the heavy tropical downpour, Chloe dashed across the station car park and into the main building, struggling with her brolly which, being cheap, was playing up. When she looked up, McGuire was coming towards her. Six foot three of raw animal power. He had shoulders like a front rower which he had been apparently at University. She wouldn’t have cared to be his opposite number. She didn’t like men who were so dark, either. So in-the-face uncompromisingly male. For a man of Irish ancestry he was almost swarthy with thick jet-black hair he wore short to discourage the curl, a bronze skin and, it had to be admitted, rather fine near-black eyes with eyelashes most women would die for.

Chloe raised her hand and before she could help herself gave him a cheeky wave. Where for the love of mike was her sense of survival? Gone with the great wind from Hell that had blown away her entire world.

“Cavanagh, you’re late,” McGuire said with a touch of gravel, amused and irritated by the sort of cockiness she usually exhibited with him. He moved to join her, watching her fiddle with a floral umbrella that looked more like a child’s sunshade, then flip back her trademark mane of red hair. It was pouring outside and her hair curled extravagantly in the humid heat. Corkscrew locks spilled forward onto her forehead and flushed cheeks. She looked ravishing, like a heavenly illumination in a Medieval manuscript where the artist used precious pigments and gold inks. All that was missing was the bright halo and she sure didn’t deserve that. Three missed meetings in as many months. It made him so damned mad. Exaggeration. Exasperated. For some reason that evaded him, he had a soft spot for Cavanagh. Maybe it was the look of her, the finely constructed frame he would like to give a good shake. She appeared so light, so fragile, so feminine, the tender curves of her breasts, the willowy waist and delicate hips, the ballerina legs. Yet there was something strong about her, something supple and resilient that shone through the lightness. Of course he knew her tragic background, and that smote him. Not that she would ever confide in him. He was well aware of her hidden antipathy. Almost a revulsion, he sometimes thought, like a princess under siege with the barbarian at the gate. She had been ready to dislike him before he had ever been given the chance to open his mouth. He had no hand at all in Connor’s sacking. Poor old Clive had brought it all on himself.

Chloe looking up at McGuire towering above her suddenly coughed, making him aware he had been staring. “In my office in ten minutes,” he clipped off.

“Right, Chief.” She just barely refrained from saluting him. What had stopped her? Perhaps because McGuire had swung back on her. Lord, for a big man he was remarkably light on his feel A sudden vision of him in a tutu almost made her laugh aloud. “I’m so sorry I missed the meeting,” she found herself saying hastily, “I do most humbly apologise.”

It was so sweet he damn near lifted a hand to toy with her rain-sequined hair. Instead he asked sarcastically, “Another hot story breaking?”

“Could be a real scoop.” It was a fib. She had made an unscheduled early morning visit to see her mother then got caught up in road works. No use to tell McGuire that. She could see the flint in his all-encompassing dark eyes.

“Sure you’re not getting overly ambitious?” he challenged her, worried it might be the case. She had taken so many risks of late, even if they had managed to come off.

“It was you who persuaded us to lift our game, Chief,” she pointed out innocently.

“Then I’ll have to dissuade you from placing yourself in danger, as well. Get rid of these wet things then we’ll have a nice chat.”

Chat? Ha! As if she needed a chat with McGuire. Communications between the two of them were becoming increasingly edgy. She didn’t know why she disliked him so much. Every other woman in the building fell in a swoon as he passed. Hers was a feline reaction, much like her marmalade cat confronted by a very large Doberman. Chloe raced on, greeting fellow workers to her left and right in her bright, friendly fashion, beaming at Mike Cole, senior sports writer, as he held the door of the outer office for her.

“Chloe, damned if I’ve ever seen anyone look so pretty in the rain,” Mike exclaimed. “You’ve got messages, kid. They’re on your desk. Better warn ya, Gabe was browned off when you didn’t show up for the meeting.”

Chloe looked up at Mike with a little grimace. “Don’t I know. I saw the dear boy in the lobby. I started out so early, too, but I got caught up a traffic jam. Road works at Lang Park. Hopeless. They do everything right before an election. Fact is I called in on Mum. I had the weirdest dream last night. Mum was trying to tell me someone was coming. Pathetic isn’t it?”

Mike shook his head in sympathy. He had been on his way out but decided to walk back with her. He and his wife, Teri, were very fond of Chloe. A frequent visitor to their home, she was the godmother to their newest baby, Samantha. Chloe had been given a very rough deal in life. But she was such a fighter. “What about a coffee?” he suggested.

“Love one. A rushed one,” Chloe said. “I didn’t have time for breakfast. McGuire gave me a drop-dead invitation. In his office in ten minutes.” She glanced at her watch. “Correction, eight. He was looking at me so queerly as if he couldn’t figure me out.”

Mike snorted. “For such a tough guy, he’s mighty easy on you.” He walked to the coffee machine, came back with two steaming cups of black coffee. “And how is Mum?” he asked. He and Teri had accompanied Chloe to her mother’s nursing home on several occasions. Delia Cavanagh was still a beautiful woman but the life switch had been turned off. Probably for good, Mike thought sadly.

“She looks so serene, Mike,” Chloe said, a bright glitter of helpless tears in her dark blue eyes. “For all that has happened to her she doesn’t seem to have aged a minute. It’s like she’s locked in time.”

Mike shook his sandy head, receding rapidly at the hairline to his distress. “It’s been hard on you, Chloe, but you’re a daughter in a million.” Chloe visited her mother on almost a daily basis when Mike knew her packed schedule. No wonder she looked like a breeze could blow her out of town.

Chloe gulped her coffee, too hot. “Why did it have to happen, Mike? Isn’t it enough to lose your husband and child? I try, but I don’t know that I believe in God anymore.”

“Well, he sure isn’t selling this world,” Mike observed with a wry expression. “Maybe it’s the next we should be aimin’ for, kid.”

“I think McGuire is of the opinion I’m trying to get myself killed.”

Mike took a while to answer. “It makes sense, Chloe. Goodness knows Teri and I think you’re the bravest girl in the world but you haven’t quite come to terms with all the blows fate has dealt you. That’s what worries Gabe.”

Blue fire flashed from Chloe’s beautiful eyes. “What would McGuire know about it? He knows nothing about me.”

“Of course he does, Chloe. Don’t take it so hard.” Mike leaned back against Chloe’s desk, a gangling attractive figure. “Your father was a well-known physician. It was in all the papers. Gabe has access to anything he wants to know.”

“I wouldn’t put a great deal of faith in McGuire’s kind heart.” Chloe started to push her coffee away. “I don’t want him to know anything about me. I certainly don’t want his pity.”

“Chloe, love, settle down.” Mike’s voice carried a fatherly note. “I know you can’t see this, but Gabe’s a great guy.”

“Who gave our good friend, Clive, the push and laid off Ralph and Lindsey,” Chloe retorted.

“Connor had it coming. Be fair, in fact they all did. You have to admit Clive had lost his drive. I know we all liked him. You saw him as some sort of a father figure, but he totally lacked Gabe’s skills, let alone brilliance.”

“Gabriel McGuire, the one-man razor gang?” Chloe mocked, twiddling her fingers at a junior staffer.

“Everyone is cost conscious these days, Chloe. The shareholders want an adequate return and Gabe has to satisfy our national bosses. He’s single-handedly pulled us from disastrous near-bottom ratings to giving Channel Nine a run for their money.”

“All right, all right,” Chloe sighed, wishing she had a croissant. She was hungry. “He’s a dynamo but there’s something kind of ruthless about him. I don’t like men who look like that. So dark and overpowering.”

“You just cut your teeth on poor old Clive,” Mike pointed out gently.

“At least he was a gentle man.”

“You just don’t like Gabe, full stop.”

“I told you. Something about him frightens me away.”

“Hey, Chloe, like a muffin?” someone called. “Nice and fresh.”

Chloe looked up as a young production assistant sauntered up to her, holding out a white paper bag.

“Gee, thanks, Rosie. I’m hungry, missed breakfast.”

“Just popped into my head.” Rosie smiled and moved off.

Chloe made short work of the delicious apricot muffin, wiped her mouth and fingers, then adjusted the collar of her yellow silk crepe blouse and stood up. “That’s it, then. I’d better see McGuire.”

“I’ll walk out with you,” Mike said. “I should have been over at the Broncos training session ten minutes ago.”

McGuire was watching her approach through the glass wall of his office, motioning her in with a near pugilistic lift of his arm. Needless to say he was on the phone, one hand riffling through some papers, the other holding the receiver slotted between his aggressive cleft chin and his broad shoulder. Chloe took a seat, sitting upright, slender legs neatly locked at knee and ankle. She wished now she hadn’t worn the yellow outfit, a favourite because it brightened her mood, but the short skirt was undeniably short. McGuire must have thought so, too, because his eyes moved slowly over her legs before settling on her face.

Drat. Why did he have to do that? He was carrying on a high-powered conversation while his near-black eyes almost bound her to the chair. He was openly studying her. Not politely, formally, but with confrontational male interest. Chloe couldn’t help knowing she was pretty—other people said beautiful—but Chloe, at twenty-four, was still a virgin with a very fastidious mentality. Having sex, for Chloe, involved falling in love, and Chloe knew better than anyone that love and the loss of it meant terrible suffering. She had friends, of course. Lots of friends. Male and female. But she couldn’t play the jump-into-bed game. One of the things about McGuire that bothered her was his sexual charisma, the certain knowledge that he would be a passionate maybe too demanding lover. She had known the second she had laid eyes on him, felt his eyes on her; recognised the looming battle ahead. She had readied herself, immediately raising her defences against such a threatening aura.

Now inexplicably she knew a bleak moment She was a mess. Had been since the fabric of her life had been ripped apart. No man could ever put his heart in her hands. She wouldn’t know what to do with it.

McGuire slammed the phone down and leaned across his massive mahogany desk, causing Chloe to audibly exhale.

“Tell me why you couldn’t make the meeting?” he asked, almost gently for him.