CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lydia was waiting for me at Gabriel’s office, on her feet as soon as I came in, offering to take the linen blazer I’d worn. She’s tall—about an inch above my five-eight—with the kind of wiry body and quick moves that suggest a lifetime of aerobics . . . or at least hard-core yoga.

Lydia has to be in her sixties. Her late sixties—past retirement age. Today she wore a stunning quartz Armani pantsuit that perfectly complemented her dark skin, with a price tag that suggested she worked more for excitement than income these days.

“I’m glad you’re here, Olivia,” she said. “That’s what you go by, I presume?”

I must have flinched, because she shook her head, laughing softly. “I’m sorry. I guess that can be a loaded question for you. I meant do you go by Olivia, Liv . . . ? I’ve only ever heard Gabriel call you by your full name. I wasn’t sure if that was your preference.”

“Olivia’s fine, but it’s usually Liv. It’s a name of many diminutives. The only one I hate is Olive.”

She smiled. “That makes it easier. I’m always having to discreetly correct clients who call Gabriel Gabe.”

“Ah, I heard he doesn’t like that. So is he back?”

“Not yet. He’s running late. He asked me to give you the grand tour.”

I noticed a newspaper on Lydia’s desk.

“There was something about me in the Post today,” I said.

“The photo of you and Ricky? Yes, I know. Gabriel had me set up a Google alert so I can monitor news mentioning you. With his clientele, he needs to be on top of any whisper of trouble.”

“Did he . . . see that?”

“Gabriel reads the Tribune. I buy the Post for him to browse if he has a trial being covered. With Pamela’s appeal, I’ve been doing that, but he doesn’t always have time to read it. I saw no reason to buy it for him today.”

“Thanks. I know he wouldn’t want his employee dating a client. It really was just coffee. Ricky and I aren’t . . . involved.”

“No?” Her brows lifted. “That’s a waste.”

I laughed, and she began the grand tour.

—

The office wasn’t large, and I’d seen most of it before. There was the reception area, Gabriel’s office, and the room where he met clients. He didn’t bring them into his office, though there was no reason not to. His office was gorgeous, a Victorian library with gleaming wood and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The meeting room, on the other hand, was modern and sterile. Completely devoid of personality. So, was Gabriel’s personality expressed in his private office, off-limits to common clients? Hell if I knew.

As Gabriel had warned, there wasn’t an office for me. For now he’d put me in his, at a table in the corner, with a chair wheeled in from the meeting room. Not what I expected. Nor what I particularly wanted.

After the tour, Lydia and I talked about Todd. She wanted to know if I’d like her to start trying to get me in to see him again. I said yes. The longer I waited, the more I wanted that visit, and if I was working for Gabriel, I could accept this as an employee benefit rather than a personal favor.

“It’s not as easy as it should be, is it?” I said. “I know it can’t be easy to walk into a maximum security prison and chat with a notorious serial killer, but . . .”

“You’re his daughter. It should not be difficult at all. I couldn’t even get an answer on why it was. The prison system can be a pain to work with, but this is odd. I kept hearing that a visit wasn’t currently possible, and no one I speak to knows why. Unfortunately, they don’t seem all that interested in finding out why, either.”

“Could he be refusing to see me?”

“If so, they’d tell me. That’s common enough.”

“Could he be refusing but have asked them not to tell me?”

She shook her head. “No one there is going to do Todd Larsen any favors. It’s a puzzle I haven’t quite figured out, but I will.”

“Thank you.”

My first task was to read through Pamela’s file, which Gabriel had updated after Chandler’s arrest. The police were still investigating Chandler’s case and not required to share what they’d learned yet.

“There isn’t much new there,” said a voice, echoing my thoughts as I read.

I looked up to see Gabriel filling the doorway, his shadow stretching nearly to the meeting room table. He looked exhausted. There were no bags under his eyes. No stubble on his face. His shirt and pants were as perfectly pressed. But there was a dullness to his eyes, stress lines around his mouth, a shaving nick on his jaw.

He looked around. “Why are you in here?”

“Bigger table for spreading papers. I’m profiling Chandler and the other six victims, as we’d discussed. I’ll tidy up when I’m done, and if you need the room, just kick me out.”

A faint tightening of his lips told me my excuse didn’t cut it. He’d set me up in his office and I should damn well be where he put me.

He walked away. I took that as a dismissal until he called, “Olivia?” with an edge of irritation, and I realized he’d meant for me to follow him.

In his office, he told me what he’d learned about Ciara’s disappearance. He’d spoken to the detective in charge. They’d confirmed my suspicions that she’d been a drug user. Addicted to meth for almost a year, according to her parents, which only made the police more certain she was alive, just lying low.

I’d compiled a list of people we could speak to—friends and teachers mostly. He promised we’d start those interviews next week. It wasn’t as if Ciara was going anywhere, unfortunately.

My first day of work was exactly what I expected. While our conversation felt stiff and awkward and distant, I’d expected this, too. What I hadn’t expected was how it would feel working under Gabriel. Under the guy who’d betrayed me. Twice.

I was collecting files before leaving for the day when Gabriel stopped me.

“Did I give you too much?” he asked.

“No. This is fine.”

His pale eyes bored into mine, trying to read me. I resisted the urge to look away.

“It’s been a long day,” I said.

“Because it’s almost seven. You could have left sooner.”

“I didn’t mean that. Just . . . If I look tired, it’s not the work. I was up late talking to Rose.” I forced a half smile. “Blame her.”

He kept studying me. “It will get easier.”

I don’t want it to get easier. I don’t want this to get comfortable, me working for you. I want things the way they were.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

—

After that, I dragged my ass home. I was almost there when I got the icing on my day’s cake. A text from Ricky. Not calling, huh? Quickly followed by Understand things might have changed. Not trying to give you grief.

I cursed and resisted the urge to text back while driving. I pulled into the parking lot behind my building and sent: Give me 5.

I hadn’t wanted to call Ricky too soon, because that seemed disrespectful to James: “Hey, I just dumped my ex. So how about dinner?” Then I got distracted by my disappointing day with Gabriel. But I should have sent a quick note that all was fine.

I walked into my apartment. The first thing I did was look for TC. Every damned time, I looked.

Then I called Ricky.

“I’m sorry,” I said when he answered.

“Nothing to be sorry for. We’re okay to talk, then?”

“Yes. It’s . . . sorted. With James. We’re fine.”

As I said that, I realized it could be interpreted as “James and I are fine,” not “You and I are fine.” I didn’t clarify. I wasn’t ready to tell Ricky about the breakup. He couldn’t exactly say, “Great news!” and I didn’t need more awkward today.

“You around?” he said. “I was hoping to catch you before you left the city.”

I paused, considering lying and driving back to the city. I could feel the tug of his voice, like someone trying to pull me out of deep water, and I wanted to grab hold, but I couldn’t manage it.

“No, I’m home,” I said. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“All clear past eleven.”

“How about here, then? In Cainsville. That might be better for now. The town doesn’t even have a newspaper.”

He chuckled. “Bonus. What time do you get off work?”

“Three.”

“I’ll swing by and meet you at the diner.”