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And it wasn’t as if he was rushing off to anything. He did have plans for the evening. Dinner with a potential client at seven. Then a game of one-on-one with an assistant DA who seemed to think Gabriel needed friends, and that by filling the void, he might earn insight into Gabriel’s cases and win a promotion. To get that information, though, the young lawyer realized he ought to give some in return, which was making it a very profitable relationship for Gabriel.

He sat back in his desk chair, and told Olivia how the case had ended. As they talked, his phone beeped, telling him he had another call coming in. He checked the display. Martin Lores. He ignored it.

At last he said, “I should probably let you go. I was just leaving.” And waited.

“Right. Actually, um, sorry about this, but could you do something for me first?”

He felt his lips twitch in a small smile. She was good at this.

“Yes?” he said.

“You mentioned you have research notes on the ritualistic aspects of the Larsen killings. Expert opinions.”

“I do.”

“Could I get those? I’ve been doing some research here and I … might have found something.”

He let the chair snap upright. “What?”

A laugh. Almost teasing. She was obviously in a good mood, and when she was, that side of her came out—warm and quick-witted.

“I’d … rather not say just yet.”

He imagined her eyes flashing as she said it. Definitely teasing. “If you don’t say, then you don’t get the files.”

“Oh, come on. Give me the chance to look exceedingly clever. And to avoid making a complete fool of myself by telling you, then reading the files and discovering I’m completely off-base.”

“Hmm.”

“I could let you do the research instead,” she offered.

“No, thank you.”

She laughed. “Didn’t think so. So, can I have them? Please?”

Now he really did smile. When Olivia wanted something from a man—whether it was information or extra whipped cream on her mocha—her contralto voice took on a husky note. She didn’t even seem to be aware she was doing it. A fascinating bit of learned behavior.

Not that it worked on him. A lawyer couldn’t afford to be susceptible to female clients, so he’d developed an immunity early on. Which was useful, working with Olivia, who was undeniably attractive, in an intriguing variety of ways.

Still, there was no reason not to give her the files. He turned his computer back on.

“I’m e-mailing them now,” he said. “With any luck, they’ll be more useful to you then they were to me.”

“Got ’em,” she said after a moment. “So I’ll talk to you— Oh, wait. You said you’d arranged interviews for later this week. Who was it again? I should do some research on them, too.”

He chuckled. “You can do all the research you like. I’ll e-mail you the names now.” He did that, too.

“Damn, you’re good. Okay, then. Thanks and have a good night.”

She hung up. He was just about to put the phone into his pocket when it rang again. Lores. What the hell did he want? Gabriel checked his watch, hesitated, and answered.

He’d barely gotten a hello out before Lores spilled his story, peppered with so many anxious apologies that it took Gabriel a few moments to realize what he was saying. When he did, he knew why Olivia had called for those files.

Damn.

Chapter Forty-three

It had been three when I called Gabriel. That meant he would probably knock on my apartment door by about four fifteen. Unless Lores didn’t tell Gabriel he’d screwed up. But Lores seemed smart enough to realize his mistake wouldn’t go undetected for long. He’d confess before Gabriel found out so he could smooth things over.

Gabriel would realize this was too serious for a phone call. He’d come in person to tell me it was all a misunderstanding and, really, I was making too big a deal out of it.

Four fifteen, then.

I checked my watch. Four twenty-five. I dug into my meat loaf as Gordon Webster—who owned the hardware store—stopped by my table to say hello. How was the meat loaf? Was I working tonight? He thought it was my night off. It was a little creepy that people were following my schedule, but Gordon was this side of forty, recently divorced, and Ida claimed he’d been coming to the diner a whole lot more since I started. That was fine. He was a nice enough guy, and he tipped well.

I said yes, I was on as soon as I finished eating. Larry had said that if I ever wanted extra hours, I could come by any dinner hour that Trudy worked. She’d been with the diner since before Larry bought it. Since before the previous owner bought it, too. She was proud of her ability—at seventy—to still take on weekend dinner rushes single-handedly, but was quite willing to share the load.

As Gordon left, he murmured an apology for almost mowing down someone coming in the door. I heard a dry response in a voice I knew well. I checked my watch. Four thirty. Right on time.

I’d sat with my back to the door. Gabriel stopped at my shoulder, as if waiting for me to sense him there and turn. I took another bite of meat loaf.

He finally stepped around. As he pulled out the other chair, Veronica called, “Gabriel Walsh.”

He greeted her, staying politely on his feet.

“It’s good to see you, Gabriel,” she said. “I’ve noticed that car of yours in town more often these days. Which is not as welcome a sight when it’s flying so fast I can barely see it.”

I bit my cheek to keep from smiling. Gabriel exceeded the speed limit in Cainsville by remarkably little, never dropping the pedal until he was past the town limits.

“Yes, well, perhaps I should pay more attention—” he began.

“You should,” she said. “We have children here, Gabriel. We didn’t allow that sort of behavior when you were a little tyke, visiting your auntie. You should be more careful. And more respectful.”

He murmured, “Yes, I should. My apologies,” and even sounded like he meant it.

Veronica softened the rebuke with a smile. “It is good to see you around more.”

He nodded and lowered himself into the seat across from me. Before he could speak, Trudy approached.

“Can I get—?” she began.

Gabriel waved her away without looking.

“I think she was talking to me,” I said. “I would love a slice of apple pie if you get a sec, Trudy. Thanks.”

When I said her name, he looked up sharply. “Trudy. Sorry. I—”

“Yes, you’re only rude to people you think you don’t know. Which is a very poor way to treat anyone, Gabriel Walsh.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I will have a coffee and—”

“You know where it is,” she said and tromped off, orthopedic shoes clomping.

After a moment, Gabriel said, “Could we step out—?”

“I have pie coming. What do you want, Gabriel?”

“I know you spoke to Martin Lores. I believe—”

“—that I may have misinterpreted what he said? That you didn’t set up that interview with him? Or that you weren’t paid for it? If either of those lies comes out of your mouth, I will get you that coffee … and dump it over your head.”

He eyed me, as if trying to figure out whether I was serious. He considered long enough for Trudy to return with my pie. Then he cleared his throat.

“Were you pleased with the outcome of that interview, Olivia?”

“You know damn well I was. I made you cookies.”

Did he flinch? Just a little?

“You were pleased,” he said. “You admitted it was the right thing to do. So I don’t see the problem.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

His gaze met mine. His shades were off, as they had been so many times in the last week that I’d gotten used to those frozen blue eyes. Every now and then, I’d even thought I’d seen a flicker of something in them. Something human. But now they were empty again. I dropped my gaze to my pie and dug in.