“I’m sorry.”
She studied my expression. “But you’d rather I found something else to talk about. Something that doesn’t insult your adoptive parents.”
“Yes.”
Her gaze dropped and her voice lowered. “I’m sorry, Olivia. Obviously, this upsets me a great deal. But it has nothing to do with you, and from everything I can see and everything I’ve heard, the Taylor-Joneses did a…” She seemed to struggle before saying, “Very good job of raising you.” Another pause. Another struggle. “They gave you everything you could have wanted, and if we couldn’t be there, that’s what we would have wanted, too.”
She shifted in her bed. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, the strain of speaking well of my parents past. “On the inside, you meet young women who were adopted, even more with foster parents. You hear stories. Horrible stories. I kept reassuring myself that you were fine, but I still had nightmares. So as upset as I am with the situation, I’m glad that wasn’t an issue. Your father will be, too.” She looked up. “You haven’t been to see him yet, have you?”
I shook my head. “I need to apply for permission.”
“Then do that. Please. Nothing would make him happier.” A wistful smile. “We both loved you so much, but you were always Daddy’s girl. Do you remember anything about him?”
“I…” I wanted to pretend that I didn’t. But her expression was so hopeful that I found myself saying, “I remember him pushing me on a swing. I wanted to go higher but he was afraid I’d fall and skin my knees again.”
She laughed. “Yes, that would be your dad. You loved swinging and swirling. I used to worry he’d make you sick twirling you around. Or scramble your brains.” Another laugh. “Silly first-time-parent worries, I suppose.” A wistful look. “We were so young.”
I barely heard her. I was still back on what she’d said about twirling. I could still picture that in my memory except I didn’t see Todd Larsen; I saw my dad—Arthur Jones—picking me up and swirling me around.
Had Dad done that, too? Or was I really remembering…
My stomach clenched.
Pamela looked over at Gabriel, the first time she’d acknowledged his presence. “You’ll handle the paperwork for her.”
“Will I?” he said.
“For another five thousand you will.”
I swear his icy gaze dropped another ten degrees, but he only said, “If Olivia wishes it.”
The door opened and a nurse looked in. “Five more minutes.”
When the nurse left, I said, “About your case. You’d asked me to take a look at it.”
Her eyes widened. “N-no.” Her gaze shot to Gabriel. “You didn’t let her see—”
“She was hardly going to turn it over to these innocence organizations without knowing what she was being asked to do. And since I have your file…”
“You bastard.”
“I didn’t show her anything that was privileged information, Pamela.”
“No, just the details of those horrible crimes.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She reached out and took my hand. “I’m sorry, Olivia. That’s not what I meant you to do at all. What you must have read—” She sucked in air and blinked back tears. Then she met and held my gaze. “We did not do that. None of it. It was horrible. Sick. Disgusting. To even think a sane person could…”
Her hand started to shake. She lifted her other one and wiped away the tears. “We didn’t do it, which is why I want you to help us by taking our case to those organizations.”
“I will. First, I—”
The door opened again.
“Time’s up,” the nurse trilled, a little too cheerfully.
Gabriel met my gaze with a faint shake of his head, warning me not to tell Pamela we were investigating ourselves. She was too weak to answer questions anyway.
“I am going to pass on your case to someone,” I said. “I’m just compiling what they’ll need.”
She nodded. Was she disappointed that I wasn’t moving faster? I couldn’t tell. She only assured me she could answer any questions that arose and would love the excuse to see me again, and then the nurse hustled us out.
We’d barely gotten ten steps down the hall before Gabriel asked me to wait, and he returned to speak to the officer guarding Pamela’s room.
Gabriel spoke to the man, then shook his hand. It seemed an odd gesture … until I caught a flash of green, the officer being a little less proficient at accepting a bribe than Gabriel was at giving one.
When Gabriel returned, he waved me in the other direction.
“Taking the stairs?” I said.
“Service elevators. The officer said two reporters are waiting at the front door, and he believes there’s an intern by the stairwell.” He paused before pushing the elevator button. “This is your last chance, Olivia. If you’d like, I can go down, see who’s there and discreetly arrange a meeting around back.”
“Thanks, but no. Not yet.”
“As you wish.”
He pushed the button.
“About doing that paperwork to visit Todd Larsen,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Dealing with one long-lost serial-killer parent is enough for now. But if it’s worthwhile for you to make the arrangements…”
“My secretary can handle it. So, yes, it’s worthwhile. Thank you.” He held open the elevator door and ushered me out. “I don’t know if you’re feeling up to it, but I did manage to contact Tim Marlotte—Jan Gunderson’s ex-fiancé. He could meet with us this evening.”
“Good.” I checked my watch. “If you’d drop me off at a library, I can—”
“Ms. Jones?” a voice called.
Chapter Thirty-five
I froze. The voice had come from my left. I wheeled the other way and—
And do what? Run for the nearest exit?
I adjusted my shirt, fixed on a pleasant look, and turned—to nearly smack into Gabriel’s wide back.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he blocked me. “Ms. Jones isn’t giving interviews right now, but if I can take your card, we’ll be sure to consider you.”
“I just want five minutes of her time, Mr. Walsh. Please. My name is—”
“I know who you are.”
“Then you know I’ve covered several of your cases. Satisfactorily, I believe. I’d have heard from you otherwise.”
Gabriel paused.
“Five minutes,” the man repeated. “You’re free to advise your client against answering any of my questions. I’d like a picture, but it will be posed. I’m not going to sneak a shot of Ms. Jones racing from her mother’s bedside.”
Gabriel glanced back at me, then turned to the reporter. “May we have a moment?”
He took me aside without waiting for a response.
“I know, I know,” I muttered before he could say anything. “I should do this. It’s one guy. A few questions. Posed photos. You can vouch for his rep. I just wish…” I exhaled. “Do I look all right?”
“Yes, but if it’ll make you feel better, I can buy you a few minutes in the restroom. As long as you promise not to crawl out the window.”
“Tempting…” I glanced around Gabriel at the reporter. A small guy with a potbelly. Well groomed. Unassuming. He met my gaze with a polite smile.
“Two minutes with a mirror,” I said. “Then I’ll do it.”
I didn’t ace the interview. My mind was still with Pamela—worrying about her and getting annoyed with myself for worrying. On a scale of one to ten, I’d rate my performance a six. Still, it was a lot better than my earlier encounters.
Naturally he wanted to know my thoughts on my biological parents. An interview without that was useless. So I said I was still processing the news, still in shock, blah blah. Not the most exciting answer but an honest one. My others were less honest. I didn’t lie outright, but I hinted—strongly—that I was living in Chicago and looking for work. The only questions I refused were about James. That was one topic I wasn’t ready to speak on.