Cainsville: Visions Part 5

"What possible business-?"

"I hired him," James said. "To look after you."

I stared at James. "What?"

"I can explain later," Gabriel said. "I've been trying to contact Mr. Morgan to discuss the matter-"

"What matter?"

James turned to me. "After we talked the last time, I spoke to him, hoping to contact you. He convinced me not to."

"What?"

Gabriel's face stayed expressionless. "If you failed to provide him with your new contact information, I could presume you didn't wish to speak to him. I merely reiterated that-"

James stepped toward him. "You told me she needed time to herself and I should respect that, but in the meantime, since I was obviously concerned, you would act as go-between."

"I did not say-" Gabriel began.

"You agreed to persuade her to speak to me while monitoring the situation."

I gaped at Gabriel. "You told him-?"

"No, he misunderstood the nature-"

"There's no G.o.dd.a.m.ned misunderstanding, Walsh," James said. "You promised to persuade Liv to speak to me. And you promised to look out for her. For a fee."

I stared at Gabriel, and as I did, I knew James was telling the truth. Of course he was. James always did ... and Gabriel did not. Yet I still stared, looking for something-anything-in Gabriel's face to tell me this wasn't true.

"It wasn't quite like that," Gabriel said finally.

"Not quite like that?" I said. "What part's wrong? The one where you took money to act as a romantic go-between and did nothing? Oh, no, wait-you did do something. When I flirted with Ricky Gallagher, you did your d.a.m.nedest to stop it."

"Who's Ricky?" James asked.

"Or was it the part where you came crawling back after I fired your a.s.s? When you acted like you really wanted to work together again, while all you were really thinking about was the money James was paying you?"

"Olivia, you know that isn't-"

"At Evans's house, you said you would have left me in that bas.e.m.e.nt."

As I spoke the words, I could smell the place-the slightly musty stink overlaid with lemon laundry detergent and blood. Gabriel's blood. He'd been badly injured, and we'd escaped to the bas.e.m.e.nt, only to discover he wouldn't fit out the window. He'd told me to leave him. When I refused, he said if the situation was reversed, he'd leave me, and I'd told him it didn't matter. I would stay. I had stayed.

I continued. "But you wouldn't have abandoned me to my fate, would you? Because you were being paid to protect me."

"That's not-"

"The whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned time, you were being paid to protect me!" My voice rang out along the street, and James moved forward, his hand going to my arm, but I stepped away and looked at Gabriel. "That's why you stayed the other night. Why you were so G.o.dd.a.m.ned insistent that I get a security system, and I thought, I actually thought..."

I couldn't finish. I wouldn't humiliate myself like that.

"Olivia." Gabriel lowered his voice. "I can explain this. Give me five minutes. Please."

"This is why you offered me the job, wasn't it? Here I thought I'd accomplished the impossible. I'd impressed Gabriel Walsh. But that wasn't it at all. You offered me that job so you could keep pulling in a paycheck from James, because you hadn't finished your task. You hadn't earned the bonus for getting us back together."

"No, Olivia. No. That is not-"

"Is he lying?" I said. "Look me in the eye and tell me you did not agree to protect me."

"Yes, I did, but that is not why-"

"Don't." I turned to James. That's when I saw the reporting crew. Thirty feet away. Taping us.

Gabriel noticed them. "Let's go talk-"

"I don't have anything to say."

I started walking away. Gabriel continued trying-give him five minutes, let him explain. He wouldn't raise his voice, though, not with a camera crew right there, and as soon as I was out of earshot, he went silent.

"Come this way," whispered a voice at my ear.

I looked over and it took a moment to focus and realize James was beside me. Oh G.o.d, James . . .

"This way," he said again, hand on my elbow.

The camera crew was bearing down now. They hadn't dared approach with Gabriel there, but this was James Morgan, perfectly civilized, perfectly polite, perfectly unlikely to right-hook them if they got in his face.

"Mr. Morgan?" one called. "Ms. Jones?"

"Not now, please." James put his arm around me and steered me across the road, calling to them, "This is a private matter. Thank you."

The crew followed, the reporter calling questions. Shoes clomped on the pavement.

"Ms. Jones isn't giving interviews," I heard Gabriel say. "If you would like to speak about the developments in Pamela La.r.s.en's case, I can spare a minute."

I didn't look back.

CHAPTER NINE.

If my car had been closer, I think I'd have climbed in and driven away with a distracted "I'll call you later" for James. Fortunately, by the time we reached the VW, I'd recovered enough not to do anything so rude.

James suggested we go for coffee, and he insisted on driving. I was too sh.e.l.l-shocked to argue-with the coffee or handing over my keys. He drove me to a fancy shop tucked into a nearby pocket of gentrification. It was the kind of place I'd normally love-quiet and intimate. Today, though, I wished he'd just pulled into the nearest Starbucks.

I felt exposed here. A half-dozen people turned to watch me walk in. They knew who I was, from my picture in the papers. In the three weeks since the news broke, I'd been into the city almost daily. I'd probably been recognized every time, but after the first week I hadn't given a s.h.i.+t. Why? Because Gabriel had been at my side, and his don't-give-a-f.u.c.k-what-you-think-of-me att.i.tude had rubbed off.

With James, it felt completely different.

I'd been in the paper before this debacle. When you come from money, you attend events that get coverage. The only noteworthy thing I'd ever done, though, was getting engaged to James Morgan. CEO of Chicago's fastest-growing tech firm. Son of a former Illinois senator. Fixture on the city's most-eligible-bachelor lists. Now here he was telling me he hadn't abandoned me. He'd only done what I asked and given me s.p.a.ce.

"I know..." He exhaled and rubbed his thumb on his chin, a nervous gesture I knew well. "... what I did was wrong. Stupid. h.e.l.l, the only reason you're sitting here right now is because you're waiting for an explanation. Waiting for me to tell you how I can justify paying a guy to protect you."

True, though I had an idea what that explanation would be.

He rubbed his chin harder, thumb pressing in. "This is embarra.s.sing as h.e.l.l, Liv. If I didn't need to explain..."

"You do."

His thumbnail absently nicked his lip, and he straightened abruptly. "He talked me into it. Which sounds like a lame excuse, but I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true, because it's d.a.m.n humiliating. I walked into Walsh's office knowing exactly what I wanted-to talk to you, apologize to you, be the man I hadn't been when you needed me most. I walked in with a clear purpose ... and an hour later I walked out having hired Gabriel Walsh to do that job for me. He made it seem..." James shoved back, chair legs squeaking. "d.a.m.n it, Liv. I feel like I was conned. I know that's ridiculous. He's an attorney, not a two-bit hustler."

Actually, Gabriel was both. An attorney from a long line of hustlers. Earlier, when James said that Gabriel "convinced" him not to talk to me, I'd had a good idea how this had played out. Gabriel had seen the opportunity for profit and pounced. He'd made his case, and James had fallen for it, like so many before him. Like me.

James continued explaining. I didn't need it, but like a sinner at confession, he had to spill all the details of his mistake. Yes, it had been a mistake. Clearly, I did not appreciate my former fiance hiring someone to take care of me and win me back, but James knew he'd been wrong, and I knew he'd been manipulated by a master. Could I forgive him for that? Yes. I could.

There was more, too, a mistake I didn't need to forgive him for, because apparently it never happened. Last week, I'd seen a gossip-page piece on a reunion between James and his former girlfriend, getting back together. Now, over coffee, he explained that the encounter had been arranged by his mother, in collaboration with his all-too-willing ex. It had indeed only been an encounter-a few minutes at an event where he'd spoken to Eva, unaware the photo had been snapped, and then he'd left the event, alone. After the article came out, James had contacted Gabriel in a panic and been a.s.sured the matter would be set straight. Gabriel had never said a word to me.

"I was an idiot to trust him," James said. "I knew his reputation. h.e.l.l, I spoke to one of my firm's lawyers and I got an earful-about the cases he's represented, the criminals he's set free, the allegations against him. a.s.sault, blackmail, intimidation ... There's even a rumor he has a sealed juvenile record."

He did. For pickpocketing. Which was, I'm sure, only one of many juvenile offenses. As for the rest? I'd seen him deck a reporter. I'd seen him arrange for drugs to be given to a reluctant witness. I'd helped him move a body to delay its discovery. I suspected that any rumors short of murder were true. And I hadn't cared.

For James, though, I acted as if this was all a huge revelation to me.

He continued, "But when I dug deep enough, all the information I received said that Walsh could, in his way, be trusted. Hire him and he'd do what he was paid for. Apparently not."

Except he had. He protected me, staying by my side throughout our investigation. As for playing matchmaker? The thought of Gabriel saying, "Hey, maybe you should call your ex. He seems like a nice guy," was ludicrous. I suppose he figured warning me off Ricky Gallagher was enough.

"So..." James said. "I screwed up, and I know you're upset-"

"Not with you."

"Then..."

He laid his closed fist on the table and opened it. On his palm was a ring. My engagement ring.

My heart seized, and I stared as if he were holding out a vial of poison.

My G.o.d, how could I even think that?

I'd planned to marry this man. To spend my life with him. And now it was like he belonged in some half-remembered dream. I had loved him. I still felt something that could be love. He was the same guy he'd been when I'd taken that ring a year ago. James had not changed. But I had.

"Liv?"

I looked up and saw his panic, his confusion. If any part of me wasn't already consumed with self-loathing, that look devoured it in a single chomp.

"I ... need time," I said. "So much has happened, and I'm still confused and..." I swallowed. "I know that's what I said last week, but after that article on you and Eva, I was sure it was over. Absolutely sure. That's not your fault. It's not my fault. But I need..."

"Forty-eight hours before I ask you to recommit?" James tried for a smile.

"I-"

He closed his hand over the ring. "No, you're right. I'm moving too fast. I'll walk you back to your car, and when you're ready-to talk, to have dinner, anything-just call."

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 d.a.m.ned 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 s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 s.h.i.+ft 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 over-complicated."