CHAPTER SIXTY
I stood in the living room watching Gabriel sleep. The cat was perched on the back of the sofa again, staring down, as if wondering what this person was doing in his apartment. I could ask myself the same thing.
What was Gabriel Walsh capable of?
A lot. I had no doubt of that.
Was he a sociopath, though?
From what I knew from my experience with Gabriel, he was not incapable of forming relationships. He was just a man who’d learned life was a whole lot safer if you didn’t form relationships. A survivor, not a sociopath.
Gabriel clearly cared for his aunt, and there was nothing obsessive or unnatural about that. Yes, Rose could be useful, but she seemed to be the one pushing her gifts on him. He was a reluctant recipient, as if she was the one person he didn’t want to take anything from. Didn’t want to use.
Last night he’d been annoyed because he was worried about putting me in danger. That sounded almost comical when you thought about it. “I’d feel bad if you got hurt and, damn it, I don’t want to feel bad.” But given what Evans just said, it made sense. Gabriel could form attachments. He just really, really didn’t want to.
So had Gabriel killed his mother? No. I remembered his speech when I confronted him about giving drugs to Desiree. That wasn’t the reaction of a man who’d dispatched his drug addict mother half a lifetime ago. Seanna’s abandonment hurt. Really hurt, even fifteen years later.
So what did I think happened? Yes, his mother was dead. Yes, he knew it. She’d OD’d, probably at home, and he foresaw children’s services in his future. So he’d done the same thing we did with Josh Gray when we realized how inconvenient the discovery of his murder would be. Moved the body.
I put the phone on my nightstand and slipped into the living room.
“Gabriel?”
He didn’t even twitch. If his back wasn’t rising and falling, I might have been worried. I walked over and crouched beside him.
“Gabriel?”
Still nothing.
I touched his shoulder. “Gab—”
His arm shot out, hitting me so hard I toppled onto my ass.
“Oww . . .” I said.
He’d rolled back onto his side, hands clenched, ready to leap up swinging. For a second, he stared up, as if wondering where the groan came from. Then he looked down and saw me on the floor.
“Olivia?”
As I rose, he took in my nightshirt, then glanced down at himself, bare chested, legs wrapped in a sheet. His eyes widened.
“Yes, you’re sleeping in my apartment,” I said. “On my sofa. It was an exciting night, but not that exciting. I’d really hope you’d remember if it had been.”
“Wha—?” He blinked, still confused.
He looked . . . young. Very young and very vulnerable. His face relaxed. His expression relaxed. His blue eyes . . . not cold, not empty. Wide and bewildered and, yes, damn it, vulnerable. I looked at him and I felt things I really didn’t want to feel about Gabriel Walsh. Not now. Probably not ever.
“You said your friend at the SA’s office told you about Joshua Gray?” I said.
He looked up. Met my gaze. Blinked some more. Still confused and sleepy. Good. Pounce before he got his guard up.
“The police report,” I said. “The one where Josh said Peter told him a secret just before he died. Do you actually have it? Or did your friend just tell you about it?”
He rubbed his face. “The . . . ? Yes. Sorry. The police report. I have it. Those particular pages, that is. Copies.”
“Could I see them?”
“Do you think I missed something?” He sat. “I doubt it, but, yes, you should take a look. It’s at my office. Do you want that now or . . . ?” He looked around, still trying to orient himself.
“When we head into the city.”
“Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair and snarled a yawn.
“Long night. You were dead asleep. That’s why I had to poke you. A mistake I will never repeat.”
“Sorry.”
“Or maybe I should wake you up more often. I bet you haven’t apologized that much in the last decade.” I turned. “I’ll get coffee. Caffeine will help.”
“Thanks.” He started rising, then looked at the sheet around his legs.
“Don’t worry, you’re wearing pants,” I said.
“Right.”
He located his shirt and leaned over to grab it as I headed for the kitchen.
• • •
I was measuring grinds into my new coffeemaker when I heard Gabriel. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, watching me. I was—I will point out—perfectly decent, dressed in an oversized T-shirt that hung to midthigh. That was, admittedly though, pretty much all I was wearing.
Gabriel yanked his gaze away.
“Should I get dressed?” I said.
“No, of course—” He stopped. “Perhaps. If you’d be more comfortable.”
I turned the coffee making over to him. As I passed, I noticed him watching me again. He looked away fast.
“Oh, and there is a reason I woke you up before six,” I said. “Dr. Evans called.”
Genuine confusion, then he swore. “Chandler contacted him.”
“Which you expected, right?”
“That depends.” He paused, and I could see him pulling himself back together. When he spoke again, he sounded more like his usual self. “If it required an early morning call, that means he’s alarmed by our visit. Perhaps we can use that. What did he say?”
“I’ll tell you after I’m dressed.”
His hand lifted, as if to tell me not to bother. Then his gaze slipped to my bare legs.
“Yes. You do that. I’ll prepare the coffee.”
• • •
So what did I tell Gabriel? That Evans had called out of concern that we’d joined forces again.
Gabriel sighed. “I should be flattered that he finds me so intimidating, but it’s becoming irritating. What does he want?”
“Me to come over right away. He says he has information on you that I need to see.”
Gabriel shook his head. No surprise. No consternation. Just that head shake. “I’m sure he does. Some rumor he’s dug up and believes himself the first one to do so, which he is not, such being the nature of rumors. All right, then.” He paused. “I’m presuming he said to come alone?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Immediately?”
“Yep.”
Now Gabriel did look concerned.
“Yes, I know,” I said. “It screams setup.”
“It certainly does. However, if that were the case, it would make more sense to invite both of us, since we are clearly both a threat.”
“Unless he figures I’ll bring you anyway. Or he might really just want to talk. He’s seventy years old. I don’t think he’s going to jump me at the door to silence me.”
“Anyone can use a gun, as someone did to silence Joshua Gray.”
“You think Evans did it?”
“I have no idea.” He paused. “Perhaps he’s simply nervous about the pharmacological connection and believes you’re the more sympathetic ear. I’ll still insist on coming along, though I’ll stay outside.”
“Not going to argue.”
“All right, then. Ms. Mosley’s lead can wait. We’ll pursue this first.”
“Anita has a lead for us?”
“She left a message on my voice mail. Another potential contact, someone she needed to confer with before passing along his name. He was a subject in one of Chandler’s experiments. One that Evans participated in. He’d very much like to speak to us, apparently.”
I set my coffee cup on the counter. “Shouldn’t we do that first? If he can add to the picture, it would help to have that before I visit Evans.”
“Perhaps. Evans is waiting, though.”
“And it might not hurt to keep him waiting. Let him stew a little. I’ll text and say I can’t make it right away, but I’ll be there by noon.” I stood and dumped the rest of my coffee. “Let’s go speak to this subject.”
He stood. “All right, then. My office is on the way. We’ll pick up that police report.”