CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Gabriel and I didn’t get five steps out of the apartment before he started.

“They argued last night, I presume? After Ricky told him about you?”

I nodded.

“And Ricky took off? Didn’t answer Don’s calls?”

“I guess so. He was pretty shaken up.” I turned onto the sidewalk. “He’ll work it out.”

“I’ve known the Gallaghers for almost four years, Olivia. I have never seen them argue. They simply don’t.”

“I’m not trying to cause problems.”

“But you obviously are.”

I stiffened. “Yes, obviously, because I chased poor innocent Ricky down and seduced him.”

“I am well aware of who did the chasing. For whatever reason, he wanted you, and—”

“For whatever reason?”

A pause. I didn’t look up, but I swore I could sense him searching for a path out of the quagmire.

“I meant that he found you attractive, for whatever—”

He managed to stop himself. I still scowled at him.

“The point I’m making is that he pursued you,” Gabriel said. “I realize that. But he’s made a mistake. You both have. It may seem unfair to put the onus on you for recognizing that, but he’s young—”

“He’s twenty-two, not twelve. There’s no mistake here. We’re involved in a perfectly functional relationship—”

“Functional?” His brows arched. “That sounds romantic.”

“I’m putting it in language you’ll understand, because if I did make it sound romantic, you’d mock me. I know your opinion on the subject.”

“If you think you’re in love, you’re suffering the emotional fallout from your breakup with James. I can understand that you’d be looking for that sort of thing again—”

“Umm, no. I’m not looking for that.”

He looked relieved. “Good. Then you will have no problem breaking it off—”

“I mean I’m not wildly and blindly infatuated, not that I don’t care about him. I know you’re concerned, but Ricky doesn’t discuss club business with me and I wouldn’t discuss your legal business with him. You can keep me off any Saints cases, if that helps.”

Gabriel grabbed the diner door and held it for me. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He didn’t reply until we were seated at the table. He opened his mouth, and the server appeared, coffeepot in hand.

“She’ll have some,” Gabriel said.

I smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the server as she filled our mugs while Gabriel looked increasingly impatient at the entire ten seconds the process took.

“It’s the commingling of professional and personal relationships that makes both Don and me uncomfortable,” Gabriel said after she left. “The Saints are my primary clients, Olivia, and many of my other clients come through them directly or through my association with them. I cannot afford to muddy these waters.”

“Then fire me.”

He pulled back. “Is that what you want?”

“No. If I did, I’d quit. The issue is not that you or Don see an actual problem. You see the potential for problems. But this isn’t about either of you. If you’re going to threaten me with dismissal, get it over with.”

“I’m not the one who mentioned it.”

“Because I beat you to it.”

The server approached with her order pad. Gabriel waved her off. I gave her a five-minute sign.

He shifted forward. “You say it’s not serious, but you’re willing to risk a good job for him. A lucrative job that you enjoy. You’ll give that up for a man you have no future with. You realize that, don’t you? Ricky isn’t James. You won’t get that life from him.”

“I don’t want another James. That’s the point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re comfortable with who you are, right?”

A slight frown, confused. “Of course.”

“I’ve spent my life feeling like a cuckoo raised by robins. I grew up pretending to fit into my mother’s world, and the whole time I felt suffocated. Then I went to Cainsville, and everything changed. I met people who know who I am and don’t give a shit. Who don’t expect me to be anything other than what I am. For me, that’s huge. Being with Ricky is part of that. I have my own life. I have my own secrets. He doesn’t care. He takes what I can give, and he’s happy with it, and I’m happy with him. He’s exactly what I need right now.”

Gabriel sat there, saying nothing. I could tell myself he was processing, but in his eyes I saw anxiety and discomfort, as if he’d spent the entire monologue wishing I’d just shut up.

Damn it. I’d only wanted him to understand. It was so hard to figure out where the boundaries lay. Mostly because he set them, quietly and secretly, in places I could never quite discern. Interfering with my personal relationships? That was fine. Listening to me talk about how I felt? Hell, no. Keep that shit to yourself. Please.

“I’m sorry,” I said after thirty more seconds of silence. “I only wanted to explain—”

“No, that’s fine.” His gaze traveled to the door as if measuring the distance to the escape hatch. He shifted. Adjusted his cuffs. Glanced around again. “All right. I think you’re making a mistake, and I fear it will be a problem, but if it’s what you want . . .” He seemed to choke on the words before saying, “I won’t interfere.”

“If it does become a problem—a real one—tell me,” I said. “I want to keep my job, and I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

He nodded and waved the server over. As he was ordering, I got a text from Ricky, saying he was on his way and Don was coming with him. They’d worked it out. As I put down my phone, I was thinking of what had happened tonight and my cuckoo analogy, the two rubbing together until . . . click.

“Can I see Macy’s license?” I said as I typed in a search on my phone’s browser.

Gabriel passed it over. I took another look at it, then zoomed in on a photo on my screen. I passed both over.

“See a resemblance?”

“Yes, but if you’re saying they’re the same person—”

“Obviously not. There’s at least twenty years between them. But could this woman—Mrs. Conway—be Macy’s mother?” I didn’t wait for an answer, instead flipping to Ciara’s photo. “More than it could be her mother?”

“You think they were . . .” He hesitated. “Switched?”

“The guy who took Macy told me she was connected to Ciara. That she was ‘more wronged’ than Ciara by that connection. That what happened to them is connected to Cainsville. And to me. Somehow, it’s all connected to me.”

“We’ll look into it. What else—”

He looked up as a hand squeezed my shoulder, and Ricky said, “Hey.”

I pushed back the chair beside mine. He took it. I smiled at Don. I won’t say he exactly beamed back, but his smile seemed genuine enough.

As we ate, I could feel Don’s gaze on me, especially whenever Ricky and I were talking or teasing. He was taking the measure of our relationship, but even more, he was taking my measure. Would I treat Ricky well? Was I good enough for him? If the answer to either was no . . . well, then I suspected I’d see the real leader of the Saints.