CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The girl tore off. When I started after her, Gabriel caught my shoulder.

“We’re done here,” he said.

He still had his shades off and was looking toward the house, his gaze distant.

“Gabriel?”

“We want answers, but not at the expense of showing you horrors you can do nothing to stop. It’s pointless and cruel.”

“It’s data.”

His eyes narrowed as if I were mocking him. I took his hand from my shoulder. When I touched it, I expected him to pull back. He gave no sign he even noticed, still watching me with that wary look. I lowered his hand but didn’t release it.

“It’s information,” I said softly. “You need it. I need it. And this is the only trustworthy source.”

I thought he’d say there were no trustworthy sources. He only gazed in the direction the girl had run, that cautious look easing but not evaporating.

I squeezed his hand. He still didn’t pull away. He looked as if he wanted to retreat behind his wall, snap at me not to be foolish, to leave this place. Yet he couldn’t. He looked at me, and I felt so much. Too much.

I dropped his hand and turned in the girl’s direction. She was long gone.

“I need to see this through,” I said, and took off.

Gabriel ran after me. I heard a grunt and turned to see him pulling off his suit coat. He caught me looking and scowled as he laid the jacket over his arm.

“Next time you plan to take us climbing through ruins, I would appreciate advance notice, so I may dress appropriately.”

“Do you even own anything appropriate?”

Another scowl, as if this wasn’t the point.

“Tell you what, the next time you get a fake message telling you to meet me at some remote location, just hit a Target on your way.”

I took off again, hearing him growl in annoyance as he came after me. As his mood darkened, it lightened mine. This wasn’t Gabriel truly angry—it was pique and ego and mild discomfort. It was a Gabriel I knew well, and it chased off the last shadows of my vision.

We came around the side terrace, picking through rubble and brambles until . . .

“This,” I said, waving my arm toward the lake. “This is what I want.”

He didn’t even look. He was too busy loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. But when I walked across the ruined patio and climbed onto the railing, he noticed. “Get down from there.”

“I’m looking for the little girl. Also, it’s an amazing view.” I stepped to the side and motioned at the railing. “Hop on up.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, just gingerly laid his jacket over the railing after inspecting the level of filth.

“You obviously don’t see her, so get down from there, Olivia. It’s not safe and if you fall, let’s hope you’re still able to dial 911, because I won’t do it for you.”

“Grumpy.”

“No, cautious. One of us has to be. Down. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hopped down—the other way. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then he scrambled down the steps . . . to see me standing on an intact planter below, grinning at him.

He crossed his arms, pinned me with a look, and then shook his head. “I suppose I should be glad you bounce back from trauma so quickly.”

“I have to, don’t I?” I said as I hopped off the planter. “Given how quickly the traumas come these days. It’s that or assume the fetal position and wait for the white coats.”

I looked out toward the lake again. As he turned, he blinked, and then stared at the gorgeous ruined terraces, green-choked fountains and pools, an endless cascade of gardens and patios and water features leading down to the shore of Lake Michigan.

“Did I say it was amazing?” I said. “I’m serious, too. I want one of these.”

“With a five-million-dollar trust fund? You’d be lucky to get a house on the lake at all.”

“Your pragmatism will not deter me. I don’t want a house, anyway. I just want this.” I waved at the terraces. “I’ll find my own ruins, where I can hide away with a book and a bottle of wine and contemplate the impermanence of empires.”

“Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair?”

“Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away.” I gazed out at the sands below. “Fitting, don’t you think? And deservedly so.” After what happened here, I meant. The girl was right. The beauty I saw here was the revenge of nature, destroying the claims of interlopers and murderers.

“You could possibly buy the property with your trust,” he said. “I suspect there would be significant back taxes, but the trick would be to first secure the right to sever the property and obtain development permits and then divide it and sell most of the land for vacation condos. If done right, you could even turn a profit.”

I smiled at him. “Very practical. And not the nature of fancies at all, Gabriel. I wouldn’t buy it, and I’d certainly never sell it for development. I’ll just bring my book and my wine and trespass like ordinary folk.”

He nodded and looked out at the view. “If the girl is gone . . .”

“I’m pretty sure she didn’t send those e-mails.”

“Though it sounded as if she gave you some idea what you were brought here for.”

I hesitated.

“Olivia . . .” He moved in front of me, blocking both the sunlight and the view.

I started down the marble steps. “To your left and to your right, you’ll see what appear to be matching horse fountains, though I don’t know why horses are leaping out of water.”

“They’re kelpies. Look at the hooves.”

Long feathers of hair covered their lower legs and hooves, like the spats on a Clydesdale. When I looked closer, though, the hair was seaweed, and under it the “hooves” were actually frog-like feet.

“I remember a story about kelpies,” I said. “They lure children to the water, and when the kids climb on their backs, they can’t get off again. The kelpies ride out to sea and the children are drowned. The story I heard was about ten children. Nine climb on. The tenth refuses, but he makes the mistake of reaching to touch the horse’s nose. His hand gets stuck, and he hacks it off to escape just as the kelpie leaps back into the sea.”

“That’s a charming bedtime tale.”

“Did I mention I was raised by serial killers?”

“Alleged serial killers.”

I smiled. “Right. Sorry. And honestly, I don’t think Pamela is responsible for the more gruesome tales of my youth. Definitely not Todd.”

“Why definitely?”

I shrugged and continued down the steps. “I’m pretty sure I found the stories on my own.” I turned to head out across the next terrace. “Ahead, you’ll see the lily pond—” I stopped. “Shit. Lily pond. Ricky.”

“Interesting word association.”

Hopefully, I didn’t blush. I busied myself pulling out my cell phone and typing in a text, and then . . .

“No signal,” I said. “Do you . . . ?”

He checked. “The same. Did he have classes today?”

“No, he’s free. I guess he’ll just be well-caffeinated by the time we’re done.” I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. “Okay, as I was saying, the next stop on the tour is the lily pond, which is completely overgrown. If you look beyond the sunken gardens, you’ll see vandalized statues. The historical records call them herms, which is technically inaccurate. A herm is a column with a head and, well, Hermes is a fertility god, so you can guess what else they had. These ones were clothed, much to my twelve-year-old self’s bitter disappointment.”

He shook his head as he followed me down more steps.

“The swimming pool is way down here,” I said. “Right at the beach side.”

“The girl said you were here to find something. What?” When I sighed, he said, “Did you really think I’d be distracted?”

“Hoped.”

“The fact that you are reluctant to tell me indicates the message was not a positive one. There’s some sort of danger, isn’t there, if you go looking?”

“She said that I’ll be hurt, but not physically.”

“Doesn’t that matter?”

I walked down the last few steps to the beach.

Gabriel continued. “Seeing something that leaves a mental or emotional mark is no different from tripping and breaking your ankle on the way to see it. In fact, I’d suggest it’s worse.”

I turned to look at him.

“Yes?” he said.

Did you really just suggest that emotional pain is worse than physical?

He repeated, “Yes?” with a touch of impatience.

I said, “Nothing,” and continued toward the pool.

“Am I arguing with myself, Olivia? What exactly did the girl . . .”

He trailed off. When I looked back, he was gone.