Deceptions
Page 77

His gaze went to mine and he stopped himself, as he realized what he was about to say, to imply. That there were only two reasons the Larsens would commit murder. For each other. And for me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
If Gabriel was seething before, he’d hit a roiling boil when I refused to answer my phone. I wasn’t trying to piss him off, but the angrier he got, the more annoyed I got.
I texted him. I really am working. I’m a big girl, Gabriel. I can handle this. Talk later.
I arrived at my next destination: lunch. I had one final stop on my schedule, and I needed sustenance for that one. I was eating a sandwich when my phone rang.
“Gabriel called you, didn’t he?” I said as I answered the phone.
“Yeah,” Ricky replied. “I’d say you must have seen an omen, but with Gabriel, you don’t need them. Apparently, you took off and can’t be trusted to survive alone in the big city.”
I answered that with a few choice words, then said, “I left to do some legwork, and apparently I forgot to ask permission and deliver my minute-by-minute itinerary. I’m not making a statement—I’m just trying to get some damned work done. I’ll text him.”
—
I sighed as I approached the prison’s front doors. “The point of texting to tell you where I was going was to assure you I was fine. It wasn’t an invitation to join me.”
Gabriel didn’t say a word, just bore down on me with a look that made me consider an end run around him. There were guards with guns inside. Surely they’d protect me.
“Stop right there,” I said, putting up my hand. “If you’ve come to give me hell, head back to your car and save it for morning.”
“Are you coming to work in the morning?” he asked.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t . . .” I trailed off. “You thought I quit?”
“I suggested you weren’t doing your job properly, and you walked out.”
“To do my job properly. I went out to speak to someone about the case. I told Lydia. I told you. And you thought what? That I’d swanned out, and I was sitting in a coffee shop, sipping a mocha, chortling to myself as I texted you pretending to work? How old do you think I am? Twelve?”
“I—”
“Don’t answer that. Here’s what I was up to: First, I tried to speak to Jon Childs. He wasn’t home, so I visited Chris Pemberton, following up on your question about motive. I hoped maybe he might have some insight. Then I came here to see Todd and get the answers that Pamela won’t give. It’s work, Gabriel. It’s all work.”
I strode past him. He followed. Sadly, the prison doors moved too slowly for me to slam them in his face.
“Does it help if I apologize?” he asked.
“Let me give you a tip,” I said as I turned. “If you feel an apology might work, you don’t ask if it will. That defeats the purpose.”
I started to walk away, but he swung into my path. He pulled off his shades.
“I’m sorry, Olivia. You were correct. I was under a great deal of pressure, but that was no reason to take it out on you. I apologize.”
When I hesitated, his eyes widened, as if frantically trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Shades off, check. Eye contact, check. Sincere tone, check. Clear and unambiguous wording, check.
“I mean it,” he said finally. “I am sorry.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning—”
“We haven’t spoken about your vision.”
“I thought I’d speak to Rose about it first.”
I wanted to tell Rose about Gabriel’s connection to Gwynn and get her opinion on how to tell him. I wasn’t punishing him. But his expression said that’s what he felt.
“I thought maybe you didn’t need the distraction,” I said.
“It’s not a distraction. It’s essential information for understanding the situation. We’ll discuss it over dinner. But first, you need to speak to Todd. I’d like to meet him as well.”
“Um . . .”
“Is that a problem?” His gaze met mine, that wall ready to fly back up.
I exhaled. “I guess not.”
It wasn’t the most enthusiastic response, but he pocketed his sunglasses and steered me down the hall.
—
Gabriel agreed to give me ten minutes alone with Todd. When they brought my father in and he saw me, he grinned, and when he did, I remembered what the little girl said: that he was Cwn Annwn. Of their blood. Like Ricky. When Todd grinned, I saw it. Not a physical resemblance, but something in the way his grin sparked, easy and genuine.
When my smile faded, his grin vanished. He quickened his pace to the window and leaned forward to murmur, “You don’t have to do this, Liv.”
“I’m fine. How are you doing?”
Todd tried to hide a smile, and I relaxed in a laugh. “Okay. Dumb question. Sorry. I’m not very good at this.”
“I’m fine,” he said as he sat. “I’d say that I was rereading a Sherlock Holmes collection, but that might sound like I’m trying too hard. So I won’t mention it.”
“You just did.”
“True, but I worded it in a way that I’m hoping will help me avoid looking like I’m trying too hard, while still giving us something to talk about. I read His Last Bow. It’s horrible.”
I laughed again. “It is not horrible. Maybe not his best—”