"Come on," I said. "Back to bed, TC."
One brow lifted. "I thought you weren't naming him."
"I didn't. TC. The Cat. It's an acronym."
His lips twitched. "I see." He pulled a .45 from the back of his waistband, then tucked it under the couch.
"You swiped Chandler's gun?" I said.
"No, I merely failed to return it."
I laughed, said good night, and headed to my room.
Before I got into bed, I checked under the mattress, just as I had the night before. I didn't expect to see anything, but I couldn't go to sleep until I checked. When I saw a piece of folded paper beside the bed, I practically dove to snatch it up.
It was the note Ricky had given me earlier today, his number written on what looked like lecture notes. I started to ball up the page to throw it out. Then I stopped and flipped it over. The biker. The MBA student. Two halves of the whole. His parents were hardly serial killers, but I felt some inkling of kinship there. He'd grown up in gang life. He could escape it if he wanted. He was handsome, charming, obviously intelligent. Yet I didn't get the feeling his MBA was an escape route. He was getting it to secure his position as gang leader. That interested me. He interested me.
I fingered the page for another minute, considering. Then I folded it neatly, put it in my wallet, and got ready for bed.
A Matter of Trust
Gabriel opened the living room window, then closed it again and double-checked the lock. He could have sworn he'd felt a draft coming through earlier, but it seemed fine. He checked the other window. Same thing.
Still, he wasn't satisfied. Olivia's apartment was only three floors up. Easy to scale and break in. He'd done it himself many times, when he'd been younger and much smaller.
She should get a security system. She'd say she couldn't afford it, but he could call in favors, get one for not much more than she'd paid for the gun. He just needed to persuade her that the added security was necessary.
Was it? There were few places safer than Cainsville, if you were the right kind of person. That's what his aunt always said. As for what exactly constituted "the right kind," she was vague on that. It seemed unlikely that Rose would qualify. Even less that he would. But they did. Now Olivia did, too, which should mean she was safe, but...
He checked the front door for the third time since she'd gone to bed. It was locked. He knew that. So what was he checking for? He had no idea, only that he felt unsettled. As if something was amiss, and the only way he knew how to deal with that was to keep prowling and listening and checking.
He'd said earlier that he'd feel guilty if something happened to her. He shouldn't--participating in this investigation was entirely her choice. Yet he felt responsible for her and it left him ... unsettled.
Of course, he had a very good reason for protecting her. A monetary incentive. At the thought, though, he found himself walking faster, pacing the living room, a tickle of something dangerously close to guilt prodding him on. It was like the damned cookies. He hadn't done anything wrong. So why was it bothering him?
It didn't help that the cat kept staring at him.
"I haven't done anything wrong," he murmured as he lowered himself to the armchair.
The cat, surprisingly, did not respond. Gabriel let out a low growl and leaned back. The cat leapt onto the coffee table, sitting right in front of him, staring.
He stared back. He wasn't going to feel guilty about this. James Morgan was the fool who'd made the offer. Look after Olivia. Keep her safe. Which is exactly what Gabriel would have done anyway--she was his client--so there was nothing wrong with accepting money for it.
Morgan had come to him, simmering with the kind of shallow, manufactured fury that can only be expressed by someone who's never had any reason to be truly furious about anything. He'd read Lores's article. Clearly Gabriel was taking advantage of his innocent, befuddled fiancee. Gabriel had told him the truth and opined that Morgan should really allow Olivia to pursue this investigation. That she needed answers, and if he truly cared about her, he'd step back and not interfere.
He'd fully expected Morgan to explode. In Olivia, James Morgan would see only a suitable wife. He didn't truly understand her. He certainly didn't love her. Yet Morgan had called a day later and agreed to stay away. He asked only two things of Gabriel, which he would pay for, of course. One, that he look after her. Two, that he lobby on Morgan's behalf, which meant pushing Morgan's suit and telling her that James was there, waiting, whenever she wished to speak to him.
Gabriel had ignored the second part. He wasn't a matchmaking service. He hadn't actually refused the task, but he wouldn't accept payment for it. That was only fair.
So he was taking money for protecting her, yet he wasn't only protecting her because he was taking money for it. Therefore, there was nothing to feel guilty about. Except for the small matter that he and Olivia had that very morning resolved a similar issue over Lores.
If she found out about this...
Damn it, why did she need to be so unreasonable? She'd helped him hide a body, for God's sake. She understood necessity. She understood that ethics were in most cases a burden that could be reasonably ignored in pursuit of necessity. She should understand that there was nothing wrong with accepting money for doing something that needed to be done, like getting unbiased media coverage for her or protecting her from harm.
But it wasn't the fact that he'd made the deal with Lores that upset her. It was that he hadn't told her. A silly distinction. Why should she need to know?
Because it was a sign of respect.
He wanted to finish this investigation with Olivia. He might even want to continue their working relationship beyond that. It was still a nascent idea, born when she'd joked earlier that he'd be happy to be rid of her. He wouldn't be.
If she found out about his deal with Morgan, though, their partnership would end. And he had a feeling persistence and concessions wouldn't fix it this time.
He should tell her.
Gabriel looked across the living room at her bedroom door. It could wait. It should--
He rose and walked over. Though there wasn't any light coming from under the door, that didn't mean she was asleep yet. As he leaned in to listen, he accidentally brushed the door and it clicked open.
He put his fingertips against the door as he leaned closer for a better listen. It opened an inch. He reached for the handle to close it, but took a quick look first, to see if she was awake.
She was in bed, sound asleep, covers pulled away. She was facing the other direction, hair fanning over the pillow. She wore an oversized T-shirt and it had bunched up around her thighs, her feet bare, legs bare, and that's when he realized that he wasn't looking through the crack anymore. He was standing in her bedroom, a step past the door.
He backtracked fast. Once outside, he pulled the door shut and retreated to the sofa bed. As he sat on the edge, he felt the cat's stare and looked up to see it on the couch arm.
"I didn't do anything," he murmured.
Nor would he. That was one crime no one could ever accuse him of. He'd never even chased a reluctant conquest. It would be like finding a handful of pennies scattered on the sidewalk and deciding you really must have the one wedged in the crack. Willing partners were plentiful. Besides, seduction might suggest he wanted more than an hour of a woman's time, which he decidedly did not.
He looked back at Olivia's bedroom door. Seduction hadn't been his intention anyway. This was a business relationship. She was a client.
He'd only wanted to talk to her. But the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced such a discussion wasn't necessary--or wise. What if confessing wasn't enough, despite what she claimed?
He should never have agreed to Morgan's offer. While there was--he still believed--nothing wrong with what he'd done, the hassle wasn't worth the payment. Taking care of Olivia was easy enough. She didn't need it, if he was being honest. But working with Morgan? A pain in the ass. The man ha
d left five messages in the last few days, panicked over some newspaper photo of him with another woman. He blamed his mother. Gabriel hadn't bothered getting the details. Obviously Morgan had screwed around, been caught, and now he'd say anything to clear his name.
James Morgan was an idiot. If Gabriel had any doubts on the matter, working with him had erased them. Morgan lost Olivia through his own cowardice and stupidity, and he didn't deserve to get her back. Gabriel had done the right thing. Olivia was better off without him, and given her flirting with Ricky, she knew it.
But there was the possibility she wouldn't see it that way.
He should tell her.
Gabriel stood. Then he sat down again.
Yes, he'd tell her--later. After he'd ended his arrangement with Morgan. That's how he'd fix this. He'd call Morgan in the morning and say he'd changed his mind and wire back his money. Olivia would accept this better if he'd already quit and refunded the retainer. She might not truly understand what it took for him to return money he'd rightfully earned, but she would still appreciate the gesture. It would cement his sincerity, and she would forgive him.
Everything would be fine. He just needed to be patient and handle this properly.
Ignoring the cat, he stripped off his shirt and crawled onto the sofa bed.
Chapter Fifty-nine
At 5:30 a.m., I was awakened by a buzzing. I leapt up thinking there were bees in my room, which meant I'd have a visitor--and if I killed the bee, the visit would not be pleasant. It was not, however, an omen, but only my cell phone. Which, I suppose, is a "visit" of sorts.
I picked it up, muttering, "Gabriel," then glowered at the screen, saw Will Evans's number, and remembered that Gabriel was presumably in my living room.
I answered.
"Olivia." My name came out on a sigh of relief. "I am terribly sorry to call you at this hour. I've been trying to wait for a more reasonable one, but I simply couldn't hold out any longer."
"What's wrong?"
"It's come to my attention that you're working with Gabriel Walsh again."
Damn. That was fast.
I moved to the bedroom door to tell Gabriel to keep quiet if he was awake. He wasn't.
He was still on the sofa bed, sprawled on his stomach, head turned to the side. He'd taken off his shirt, but left his pants on, and the sheet was twisted around him as if he'd had a hard time getting comfortable. He was comfortable now, though, and deeply asleep. Also? Very nice to look at in that particular pose, muscular arms and back bare, wavy black hair tousled, long inky lashes against his cheek. Damned nice.
I closed the door. If I was eyeing Gabriel that way, I really should consider giving Ricky a call.
"I know you aren't fond of him--" I began.
"Fond?" A short laugh. "My feelings about Gabriel Walsh do not approach the realm of fond, Olivia. The man terrifies me. There, I've said it." An exhalation. "I know it sounds ridiculous. After all, whatever his reputation, he is still a man of law. An educated man. Presumably a civilized man. I've been trying to remember that, to give him the benefit of the doubt and merely suggest--strongly--that you not work with him. But..."
"What is it?"
"I told you I have reasons for distrusting him. I was given those reasons in confidence, which is why I've not done anything more than hint."
"Something about his mother." I lowered my voice. "She was a drug addict, wasn't she?"
"Yes." A pause. "Has he told you what happened to her?"
"We have a professional relationship. He doesn't share anything like that."
"Okay, then. Seanna Walsh was an addict, con artist, petty thief--pickpocket mostly. Never married. There's no father listed on Gabriel's birth certificate. It was just the two of them until Gabriel was fifteen and Seanna left."
"Left?"
"Presumably. Now, if such a thing were to happen under normal circumstances to a fifteen-year-old boy, he would take refuge with a relative, would he not?"
"I guess so."
"Instead he stayed where he was for almost a year, pretending his mother hadn't left. I don't know how he paid the rent, but I doubt it was through a part-time job. Otherwise, he continued living normally, even attending school. Eventually, his aunt Rose discovered Seanna was gone. As soon as Gabriel realized she knew, he ran. She seems to have pursued him for about six months, during which time police records list him as a missing teen. Then she told police he'd been found and the file was closed. She hadn't found him, though. She stopped looking so he would stop running. A few months later, 'Seanna Walsh' rented an apartment again. No one ever saw her, though. Just her teenage son."
And this story was supposed to turn me against Gabriel? How? Because he'd likely been involved in something illegal to support himself? The guy had been abandoned by his drug-addicted mother at fifteen, and he'd made it through law school. On his own.
The story explained a few things about Gabriel. Hell, it explained a lot. And it did change my opinion of him, but not in the way Will Evans seemed to expect.
"I don't understand," I said.
"Think about it, Olivia. Do Gabriel's actions make any logical sense? He had an aunt he was apparently close to, who could have easily and happily supported him, yet he refused. He told no one his mother had disappeared. He ran away when his aunt discovered it. Those are not the actions of an abandoned child, and I believe I know why."
"So tell me."
"Seanna was last seen in late September that year. In mid-October, the body of a woman was discovered in an abandoned building several blocks away. The coroner believed she'd died of a drug overdose. The police found evidence to suggest she hadn't died there--she'd been moved to that location. The woman had no identification on her, but her description matches that of Seanna Walsh."
"So the police believed the body was Gabriel's mother and told him--"
"The police never connected the events. The woman was buried as a Jane Doe because Gabriel hadn't reported his mother missing. When his aunt reported Gabriel missing, police did not connect the dots back to the Jane Doe. My investigator did."
"You think Gabriel knew his mother was dead?"
"Think about his behavior, Olivia." His voice snapped with impatience now. "Those aren't the actions of an abandoned child. They're the actions of a guilty conscience. Gabriel Walsh gave his mother that overdose, then he hid her body in that building and pretended she was still alive."
"That ... No, he--"
"--wouldn't do that? She was an addict, Olivia. I'm sure she made his life hell. Gabriel Walsh is an amoral man with clear sociopathic tendencies. Perhaps his mother is to blame, but whatever the reason, he saw her as an obstacle. He rid himself of that obstacle. I have evidence to prove it, and that's why he's trying to frame me for my son's death."
"W-what?"
When Evans started to explain, I was sure either he was crazy or I was still sleeping. Neither possibility completely disappeared as he went on.
When Gabriel first tried to interview him, Evans said he'd looked him up. What he found made him even more curious.
"I'm an old man, Olivia," he said. "Life gets dull after a certain age, and it doesn't take much to pique my curiosity, and a potentially interesting psychological profile always does the trick."
That led him to the missing-person reports, which turned mild curiosity into a full-blown project. Here, presumably, was a boy abandoned by his mother and left on the streets ... who became a defense attorney. An intriguing case study. So Evans hired an investigator.
"Yes, it sounds borderline obsessive and certainly an invasion of privacy, but I was completely fascinated."
Then he discovered the fate of Seanna Walsh. The investigator gathered enough evidence to make a convincing case that Gabriel was responsible.
"That's when I realized I'd gone too far," Evans said. "That--along with other deeds that the investigator uncovered--convinced me I was dealing with a sociopathic personality. I stopped digging. I refused to see Gabriel Wals
h. I hoped he would simply go away. And he seemed to."
"Until now."
"Yes."
Evans believed that when he insisted on seeing me instead of Gabriel this time, Gabriel did some investigating of his own and discovered that Evans knew his darkest secret.
"I'm sure Gabriel had learned that I worked for the CIA long before now. But suddenly it's a matter of great interest to him. Edgar Chandler called me last night and as soon as he described his visitors, I knew it was you two. And I knew what Gabriel was doing. Framing me for my son's death."
"I don't--"
"How did the investigation change course, Olivia? The last I heard, you were pursuing Christian Gunderson as a suspect. Did you discover this new lead? Or did he?"
"It was a joint effort," I lied.
"Was it? And it led to Edgar Chandler?"
No, first to Josh Gray, who wound up dead. Then to Desiree Barbosa, his girlfriend.
Or the woman who claimed to be his girlfriend.
Could Desiree have been playing a part? Leading me to Evans with her "secret" about him and the CIA? No. Especially not after all that runaround with the bikers and the drugs. The idea was almost as crazy as Evans's whole "Gabriel Walsh is framing me" theory.
"I did work for the CIA, Olivia. As part of MKULTRA on a classified subproject in Chicago. I'm not proud of what I did. I was young and I naively thought I was helping my country. As soon as I began to doubt that, I left."
"So why would Gabriel frame you? You could do the same to him."
"I don't know what his endgame is. Perhaps simply blackmail. I've heard he's fond of that. Whatever his plan, he's using you. Right now, that's what worries me the most." He paused. "Come to the house, Olivia. I know you don't believe me, but I have the evidence here. I can prove that Gabriel Walsh killed his mother."
Chapter Sixty
I stood in the living room watching Gabriel sleep. The cat was perched on the back of the sofa again, staring down, as if wondering what this person was doing in his apartment. I could ask myself the same thing.
What was Gabriel Walsh capable of?
A lot. I had no doubt of that.
Was he a sociopath, though?
From what I knew from my experience with Gabriel, he was not incapable of forming relationships. He was just a man who'd learned life was a whole lot safer if you didn't form relationships. A survivor, not a sociopath.