KING OF PENTACLES

Thursday morning, Rose watched the girl head off to work at the diner. She looked fine, perfectly groomed in that casual, understated way that made it seem as if she rolled out of bed with her hair brushed and makeup on. Poised, that was the best word to describe Olivia Taylor-Jones, the girl Rose preferred to call Eden, at least in the privacy of her own mind. Today, though, that poise was a facade, one she couldn’t quite pull off, her head bowed, gait lagging, as if she’d really rather go back to bed and huddle under the sheets.

Yesterday, Rose had been at the door, seeing a client off, when Eden returned home mere hours after leaving for her first day of work with Gabriel. Eden had gone into her apartment and pulled the blind on her bedroom window, though it was still morning. That’s when Rose knew the cards were right.

During her client reading, the damned King of Pentacles had kept coming up. That was Gabriel’s card—lord of self-discipline, power, and security. Except it had been reversed, which emphasized the negative aspects of those traits. Authoritative, manipulative, and controlling. When Eden came home early, Rose knew what the card meant. Gabriel had screwed up. Again.

It was almost noon on Thursday when he finally phoned, ostensibly to check in on her. It was tempting to tell him she was fine and then say, “Well, I have to go now.” See what he’d do. Teach him a lesson. Only she knew what he’d do—sign off and continue dwelling on the problem alone.

Rose had learned long ago that there was no “teaching” Gabriel anything. Part of that was stubbornness, but part of it was skittishness, too. Perhaps “skittish” wasn’t the right word. It implied nervousness, like a colt snatching food from your hand before dancing off. Gabriel was more like a stray cat. He always had been, even before Seanna left.

When Seanna became pregnant, she’d refused Rose’s help and ran from Cainsville. Rose didn’t find her until Gabriel was a toddler. She’d been allowed to take him on weekends, leaving Seanna to her men. Once, during that first year, Rose hadn’t taken him back to Chicago. When Seanna came around—two days later—Rose informed her that she was keeping the boy until her niece got her act together. Seanna snatched Gabriel, and it had been two years before Rose saw him again. Rose herself was quite capable of learning lessons, and she’d learned that one, restricting her efforts to what she could do for Gabriel on their weekends together.

As for socializing him, it had been too late. By the time they first met, Gabriel was already that stray cat, cautiously allowing only the most modest degree of attention, ready to run if he got even the slightest hint that he wasn’t wanted. That’s what having a mother like Seanna did to a child. There was no undoing it. All Rose could do was understand and work around his limitations.

“What happened with Olivia?” she asked finally.

A pause. “You’ve spoken to her?”

“No, but I’ve seen her, and it’s obvious she’s upset about something. It’s also obvious she didn’t work a full shift for you yesterday, which suggests the problem originated there.”

A long pause, requiring a prodding “Gabriel?” Then he told her what had happened, and as he did, she sank into the chair and sighed silently.

For such a brilliant man, he really did seem incapable of learning. He’d betrayed Eden’s trust once, and she’d soundly smacked him down for it. He’d worked his way back from that, winning her trust again . . . only to commit nearly the same offense, multiplied by ten.

“You know, if you really didn’t want to see her again, I’m sure a simple ‘get lost’ would have sufficed. Olivia doesn’t strike me as a young woman who lingers where she’s not wanted.”

“I was not trying to get rid of her.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re doing an excellent job of it, though your technique seems overcomplicated.”

“Working together on a dangerous case meant I’d naturally watch out for her. So there was no harm—”

“—in taking payment for it. Just as there was no harm in taking money from a reporter for setting up that interview a couple of weeks ago. As for the fact that she didn’t want the interview, clearly she wasn’t the best judge of that, and you were only acting in her best interests.”

A faint noise that was probably meant to be a snort but sounded more like a growl.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it, Gabriel?”

“I miscalculated the timetable.”

Rose closed her eyes and shook her head. She didn’t have any problem with him taking money from James Morgan. Walshes had been taking advantage of gullibility and stupidity ever since they conned their fellow cavemen out of their spears. Highwaymen, pirates, swindlers, and card sharks . . . their family history was both colorful and dark. Rose might have the second sight, but it wasn’t reliable enough to provide her with a steady income. For that, she needed a Walsh’s true powers—the ability to lie, con, and cheat anyone out of anything.

“I should have told her,” he said.

“Yes, you should have.”

Silence, long enough for Rose to wonder if he’d hung up. Then, “I was trying to give the money back.”

“What?”

“I called Morgan on Sunday to say that I was ending our agreement and returning his retainer. I wanted to wire it to him, but he wouldn’t provide banking information. That’s what I was waiting on, before I told Olivia.”

When it came to money, Gabriel had . . . issues. Deep-rooted issues. Yet he’d planned to give back income he’d already earned? Rose sat there, stunned, before finding her voice.

“And you told Olivia this?” she asked.

“Of course not. He hadn’t taken it back.”

“But you told her you ended the agreement and you were trying to return his money?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no proof.”

Rose argued the point, but Gabriel wouldn’t budge. He had delayed telling Eden until he had proof, and, having no proof, he would not mention it. Nor would he further discuss the matter with Rose, let alone accept advice on how to mend the rift. He would not even admit he wished to mend it.

“I have an appointment,” he said when she pushed too hard. “I should go.”

“All right,” she said, stifling a sigh. “But if you need anything . . .”

“I do.”

The response was so unexpected, she hesitated.

Gabriel continued, “Or I should say, Olivia needs something. A security system. There was a threat.”

“What kind?”

“I’m not at liberty to explain. I can simply say that I take the threat seriously, and I was getting a system installed for her. I would like that done as soon as possible. Perhaps you could suggest you see the need for it.”

“Tell her I saw danger in the cards?”

“Precisely. Tell her that you can get one installed without involving me in the matter.”

“But shouldn’t you be involved in the matter? If I tell her that you asked me to make sure she got this system, when you are no longer being paid to protect her—”

“No.”

“It would show her that—”

“No. Leave me out of it. Please. I’d only like you to suggest she requires it and provide the appropriate contact information. I’m sorry to ask—”

“You never need to be sorry, Gabriel.”

“Well, I am. But it’s for Olivia, not me. I know you’re fond of her.”

She was. The question, though, was what Gabriel felt for Eden. Rose didn’t need the sight to know her nephew had lost more than a mere client.

Damn it, Gabriel. You knew better, and yet you went ahead and messed this up anyway. Why?

She knew why. Partly because he couldn’t help himself when it came to money, but partly, too, because it kept Eden firmly on the other side of the barrier. A Walsh never conned the people he cared about. Ergo, by conning Eden, Gabriel said, “I don’t care,” which would be perfectly fine . . . if it were true.

“Rose?”

“Yes.”

“If you could do this for her . . .”

“I will,” she said. But not for her.