Omens (32 page)

“Of course. I’d be flattered.”

“About that…” More throat clearing. “This is so embarrassing.”

“What is it, Ms. Jones?”

“I … You may know that I’m estranged from my adoptive mother right now. Which means my income is practically nonexistent. I know about your arrangement with Gabriel, and I’m wondering if…” A deep breath. “If it would stand with me, as well.”

“You mean…” Wary now, letting the words drag.

“Payment,” I blurted, then hurried on. “Not as much as you’d pay him, of course. And I can guarantee you newsworthy interviews. Exclusives on my visits with Pamela Larsen. My memories of life with her and Todd. You’d only pay if you could use it.”

“I see.” A pause.

I waited, holding my breath.

“I’m sure we could arrange something,” he said finally. “Would Gabriel be part of this arrangement?”

Now it was my turn to pause, pretending to think. “He doesn’t know I’m calling but, yes, he should know. And probably get a finder’s fee. He’d expect that.”

A dry chuckle. “Yes, he would. When would you be ready to speak to me again, Ms. Jones?”

“Mmm, no rush really. I just wanted to confirm a few things.”

He let out a curse as I hit the button to end the call. Then I speed-dialed Gabriel.

G
abriel pitched an empty water bottle across the room, doing a rim shot off the trash can. Lydia had given up on the recycling bin after a six-month battle of wills. She now settled for muttering loudly as she separated his trash every week.

He’d shut down his computer for the day. It was still early, but the advantage of owning your own firm was getting to take off early now and then. It wasn’t as if he’d leave empty-handed. His briefcase was already stuffed with files, and he’d synced his documents to his laptop account.

Today he had earned an early departure. He’d barely made it back to the office before being summoned to the courthouse. The jury had returned with its verdict. His client would be going to jail for twenty years. Which, Gabriel supposed, did not make it a good day for Nelson Rivers, who’d left the courtroom cursing Gabriel. He hadn’t put much venom into the curses, though. Rivers was a smart man. He might not like going to jail, but he’d known he didn’t have a hope in hell of an acquittal.

Gabriel’s day had started equally well, with Olivia’s meeting with William Evans. He’d been anxious about that, unconvinced Olivia could get anything useful on her own. But she had. And what she’d gotten could be the key to proving the Larsens’ innocence. Or at least to raising enough of a doubt to give him another shot at a career-making case.

He was equally pleased by how quickly she’d handed over that file, despite Evans’s warnings. She seemed to trust him in a professional capacity, which would make their partnership much easier.

To his surprise, it was indeed becoming a partnership. There was a reason he ran his own law firm. All right, there were several. But one of them was the simple fact he didn’t play well with others. They brought too much baggage to the table, petty annoyances like morals and ethics.

While Olivia certainly had those, she’d demonstrated a capacity to nudge them aside when the situation demanded it. He’d seen a glimmer of ruthlessness there, which cemented his own growing sense that he could actually work—and work well—with Olivia Taylor-Jones.

He checked his watch. Enough of that or he wouldn’t get out early after all. He popped open his briefcase and dropped in a last file.

When his cell phone rang, he considered letting voice mail pick up. But years of jumping every time his phone rang, praying for work, had conditioned him well. He’d check caller display and if it wasn’t urgent…

Olivia.

Almost certainly not urgent, but he still found himself answering.

“Hey, is this a bad time?” she asked.

He clicked his briefcase shut. “Not at all.”

“Did you get your verdict?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Guilty. He’s off to jail for twenty years.”

“Hey, at least he didn’t get the death sentence. Illinois still has that, as my research into the Larsens taught me. I thought we’d gotten rid of it.”

“Probably because there was a moratorium on it for the last decade. And, actually, it is now illegal. It was abolished last year.”

“Ah, well, at least your client didn’t get life, then. So how’d he take it?”

Gabriel paused. Olivia didn’t make small talk, which may be one of the reasons he found working with her less than painful. That meant she was expressing an interest in his work because she wanted something.

And yet … He didn’t mind telling her about the case. She’d seemed genuinely interested in it earlier, in a purely intellectual way, divorced from any actual feelings about a man who’d murdered his longtime business partner and tried to dissolve the body. That was refreshing.

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.

I
t 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.

After I swallowed a mouthful, I said, “Then we have nothing to talk about. You’re fired, Gabriel. As I’m sure you figured out when you realized why I asked for those files.”

His fingers drummed the table. “This is ridiculous, Olivia. I did you a favor.”

“Bullshit. You did yourself a favor. It just happened to work out in my interests, too, so you’re assuaging whatever nub of a conscience you have by pretending you did it for me. I told you I wasn’t ready for that interview. When we bumped into Lores, I was terrified. Genuinely terrified. You saw that. You didn’t care.”

“You were overreacting.”

“How much did he pay you?” I said.

“I don’t see how that’s—”

“It can’t be much for a single interview. Does it cover a week’s gas for your car? Pay for a new shirt? You didn’t need the money. I don’t even think it’s about the money. That’s just an excuse to cover up the real reason you do shit like that.” I looked him in the eye again. “Because you can. You get off on manipulating people.”

I thought that might make him flinch for real. But his gaze seemed to go even colder, that chill seeping into his voice.

“I helped you, Olivia.”

“Inadvertently. If you really gave a shit about helping me, you would have admitted you’d already called Lores and offered to coach me through it. I don’t
expect
you to help me, Gabriel. Not unless it helps you, too. But I do expect to be treated with respect. That wasn’t just cruel. It was disrespectful. That’s why I’m firing you.”