“There’s no evidence. The police would have presumed you had a nightmare and fell out of bed.”

“Until I showed them the photos.”

“Even then…” He didn’t say more, but I knew what he meant. Even with this photo of a weirdly bloodless, almost waxen, eyeless head, lying on my sheets, they’d have thought someone had played an elaborate prank on me. Or worse, that I was playing one on them. I was Eden Larsen, child of serial killers.

“So now what?” I said.

“Now you get that security system. This is obviously a very serious threat—”

“I mean what do I do about Ciara Conway?”

A flicker of annoyance, as if I’d interrupted him with something meaningless, like “Umm, I’m not wearing pants.” We didn’t have proof that Ciara Conway was dead, and it wasn’t like he gave a damn about her. The important thing was …

What was the important thing? Making sure I was safe? Why? Because he sure as hell didn’t give a damn about that, either, not unless someone was paying him to, and—

My hand shot to my head, and I winced as fresh pain stabbed through it.

Gabriel moved closer, bending down. “Olivia…”

“Okay. So someone killed Ciara Conway and is leaving body parts, dressed like me, as a warning. Locking my doors isn’t going to solve the problem.”

“Which is why you need a security system.”

Not what I meant. But what did I mean? I have to get to the bottom of this, and I need your help.

Fresh pain stabbed through my head, bringing a wave of nausea.

If Gabriel wants to help me find a security system, wonderful. Let that be the extent of his involvement. He’ll be happy with that. He’s sure as hell not going to suggest—

“We should look into this,” he said.

I ran to the bathroom and heaved into the toilet. One would think my reaction was all the answer he needed, but when I finished puking, he was standing there, calmly holding a towel. He handed it to me and then waited to make sure I was done vomiting before saying, “If you won’t see a doctor tonight, you need to do so tomorrow.”

I shook my head and washed up.

“I’ve been investigating Ciara Conway,” he said.

“Okay.” I tossed the dirty towel in the hamper and brushed past him. “Give me what you have, and I’ll add it to what I know. I’ll get the security system installed. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’m going to put on some clothing.”

“Thank you.”

I glowered at him. “If it offended you, you could have just asked.”

“You were distraught, and I didn’t want—”

I walked into my bedroom and slapped the door shut, cutting him off.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When I came out, dressed, Gabriel picked up the conversation as if I’d never left. “It seems clear that this is related to Pamela’s case.”

“Really? Or just clear enough that you could tack it onto her bill?”

Ice seeped into his eyes. “I am not looking for payment, Olivia.”

“Sure you are. A job means billing. Double-billing if you’re lucky.”

And there it was. Out on the table. His chance to defend himself.

Silence. That’s what I got. Sixty seconds of stone-cold silence.

“Go,” I said, turning away. “I appreciate you coming out here and—”

“I’m not leaving. You were attacked tonight, in case you’ve forgotten, and those locks on your door didn’t keep out a killer. Or me.”

I wasn’t sure which was worse. At least the killer had left.

“I’ll sleep on your sofa bed.”

“Hell, no,” I said.

“Don’t be dramatic, Olivia. I’ve done it before.”

He stood there, strumming with impatience. I glanced at the sofa, and I remembered looking out from my bedroom a week ago, seeing him there after Will Evans accused him of murdering his mother. I’d watched him sleeping, and I’d thought how young he looked, how vulnerable, and how, God help me, I trusted him. I’d trusted him.

“I don’t care if you’ve done it before,” I said. “You are never doing it again.”

Something flickered across his face, too fast to leave any impression before his eyes iced over. “All right. Then you’ll spend the remainder of the night at Rose’s.”

“I’m not—”

“Anderson is dead.”

“What?”

“Michael Anderson, Chandler’s bodyguard.”

“I know who you mean,” I said. “What happened?”

“He was in the hospital, under guard, and when they delivered his dinner, he was dead. He apparently overdosed on morphine, but somehow I don’t think he’s bright enough to have jiggered the dispensing system.”

“Definitely not. Murder, then.”

“Except, according to the guard, no one went in his room. I spent the evening at the hospital looking into it. I got home too late to notify you.”

“I thought you said you were out when I called. That’s why you came over.”

He waved off the distinction. “The point is that, between his death and the attack on you, it’s clear you shouldn’t be alone tonight. Moreover, you need someone to wake you every hour in case you have a concussion. Either you go to Rose’s or I stay here.”

“I’ll go to Rose’s.”

I went back into my room and grabbed my phone. When I came out, he was gathering the spilled contents of my purse and stuffing them back in.

“Ready?” Gabriel asked, straightening.

I nodded.

“It still works,” he said when I checked the lock on leaving. “I picked it. It’s a cheap dead bolt that only keeps out casual thieves. We’ll find you something better tomorrow and arrange for that security system.”

I nodded again. We headed out. In the stairwell, he said, “I could use your help investigating Ms. Conway and any links to Pamela’s case.”

“You think there are links? Because of the … postmortem mutilation?”

He glanced over sharply, and I knew he hadn’t considered that. As I said it, though, he did, those busy wheels churning.

“The mutilations have nothing in common,” he said. “But yes, I’ll give it more thought. In the meantime, there is a connection of some sort. There must be. Someone is warning you, and that someone has tracked you to Cainsville. I cannot imagine that is unrelated to your parents’ case. I cannot imagine you’ve made murderous enemies otherwise.”

He emphasized murderous as if clarifying that he’d certainly believed me capable of making enemies, just not to that degree. I could have taken offense at that, but in Gabriel’s world, if you aren’t making the occasional enemy, you aren’t trying hard enough.

“Back to the point. I could use your help,” he said. “I would pay you, of course.”

“I can’t—”

“It would be research based. There would be no need for you to come into the office. Interaction would be minimal.”

“I’m not arguing about the work, Gabriel. I’m already investigating. I’ll turn over anything you can use.”

We reached the ground floor.

“I’ll need to contact you, then,” he said. “I realize we have an agreement—”

“You’re helping investigate a threat against me. I don’t expect you to pass messages through a third party. Call, e-mail, text, whatever.”

He nodded and held the door for me.

Gabriel had a key to Rose’s house. He opened the door as he rang the bell in warning, then ushered me in and called, “It’s Gabriel,” up the stairs. He went to speak to Rose, leaving me in the front hall. I heard a whispered conversation, but it was brief and I didn’t catch what he said. Then he came down and escorted me up, past a closed door that I presumed led to Rose’s room, to an open door at the end. Inside was a spare bedroom.

“What did you tell her?” I asked.

“Only that you’d taken a blow to the head and shouldn’t be left alone. I would like to explain more, if you’re all right with that.”

“I am.”

“How much can I tell her?”

“Everything.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“And thank you,” I said. “For tonight.”