I could hear the hurt in my voice and I could feel it in the way I hesitated, waiting for her to change her mind. A few seconds passed, seemingly endless, and I realized I had to follow through, had to leave. Then her mouth opened and my heart jumped in relief.

“I’d like to speak to Gabriel,” she said.

Another three seconds of silence before I found my voice, as steady as I could manage. “You want to speak to—?”

“He knows, doesn’t he? You’ve told him about these omens.”

My disappointment burned away in a flare of anger. “Whether I—”

“He knows. I can tell.” She leaned over the table. “I’ve been trying to stay out of this, Olivia, but I need to ask. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with him?”

“I hired him to help me investigate your case.”

“And otherwise?” she asked.

“Otherwise what?”

“There’s something going on between you two, and I’m going to be blunt, because I need to ask. Are you sleeping with him?”

“No.”

“Is there any romantic—?”

“No. Gabriel has never made anything even resembling a pass at me. Whatever you think of his ethics, he knows the grounds for disbarment. Hell, he probably has a laminated list in his wallet.”

“So it’s a simple client–lawyer relationship?” She waved at the door with its small glass pane, blacked out by the wall of Gabriel’s back. “He’s right there. He’s been there since he left, and he only left because you wanted him to go. He jumped to do your bidding. Now he’s hovering there, waiting for any sign that you need him.”

“Gabriel doesn’t jump. Or hover.”

“Nor does he give up his evening to accompany a mere client on a visit to her imprisoned mother. Is he on the clock now, Olivia?”

“You’re right—I’m not just a client. We worked side by side on your case. I wouldn’t presume to call him a friend, but he offered to come with me and I’m happy for the company.” I looked at her. “Is that what you want to talk to him about? Our relationship? Because if it is—”

She shook her head. “I want to talk about the case. My case.”

I nodded brusquely and left.

CHAPTER SIX

As I waited for Gabriel, I fought against disappointment and hurt. Pamela was the only person who could help me understand what I was going through. And she’d refused. Not only refused, but acted as if I was an over-imaginative child.

I thought I felt my cell phone vibrate in my back pocket. Which was impossible, because I’d left it in the car to avoid turning it in at security. Still, the sensation startled me enough that I turned and …

I saw the hound. The big black dog from yesterday, crossing a hall junction ten feet away. It was on a leash, being led by a woman. It turned and fixed its red-brown eyes on mine. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, I was looking at a black Lab in a harness. I blinked again, to be sure, but it was definitely a Labrador retriever, probably being brought in for prisoner therapy.

I watched the dog and its handler go. Then I paced outside the visitors’ room until the door opened. As Gabriel stepped out, I motioned that I’d be another minute. He nodded, and I slipped back into the room as they were taking Pamela away. The guard warned that my time was up.

“I know. Just one last thing I need to tell her.”

Pamela gave me a wary look and tried to cover it with a smile. “What is it, baby?”

“I’ve been seeing a dog. I saw it twice yesterday. The same dog, fifty miles apart. About this big”—I lifted my hand above my waist—“with black fur. I think it’s some kind of hound.”

As I spoke, Pamela’s eyes widened, her face filling with horror and dread. Before I could say a word, that expression vanished, replaced with feigned confusion and concern.

“That’s odd,” she said, her voice strangled.

“You don’t know anything about it?” I asked.

“No, I don’t.”

I met her gaze. “Don’t do this, Pamela. Please. Something’s going on and I need—”

“You need to forget it,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot, baby, and the best thing you can do right now is look after yourself.”

“That’s what I’m trying—”

“No, you’re not. Go home. Turn off the phone. Take a hot bath. Relax and try to forget all this. That’s the best thing you can do. The only thing you can do.”

She let the guard lead her away and never looked back.

On the drive to my parents’ place, I told Gabriel what Pamela had said. As I spoke, his hands tightened on the wheel.

“She knows something,” I said.

“That goes without saying. She admitted to teaching you about omens, and there is no doubt you can read them. Therefore a connection exists.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes.

“I practically begged,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “No. Forget ‘practically.’ I did beg. I told her I needed it. And she turned me down. Flat. Made me feel…” I settled my hands in my lap. “I’m going to stop seeing her.”

He glanced over.

“Until she agrees to talk about the omens,” I said. “If she contacts you asking to speak with me, will you tell her that?”

“I will. It is, quite possibly, the one thing that will force her hand. As for getting help elsewhere, you still need to talk to Rose about the hound and the body.”

“I know.”

“I tried to visit Chandler yesterday. He won’t see me. Not surprising, I suppose, given that we put him in there. That will change. He’ll eventually decide he can manipulate me to his advantage. In the meantime, I’ll visit Anderson.”

“His bodyguard.” I paused. “Former bodyguard, who may not be any happier with you, considering you blew off half his foot.”

“I’m going to offer to defend him.”

I glanced over. “Seriously?”

“He will be more forthcoming with his lawyer, and he might be able to tell me whom Chandler would hire to put that body in your car. As for his foot…” He shrugged. “It was business. He was acting on his employer’s behalf; I was acting on my client’s. I’m sure he’ll see reason.”

“Good luck with it.”

“Luck has nothing to do with that. He will hire me, and I will find out everything he knows about Edgar Chandler’s associates.”

My dad kept the labeled keys for his car collection in a garage safe. I was grabbing the set for the Jetta when Gabriel reached past me and took the ones for the Maserati.

I sighed. “I almost hope that means you’re taking the car hostage pending payment of your bill. Otherwise, I believe we’ve already had this conversation, and—”

“And you’re taking the Jetta. For now. I accept that decision, even if I think it’s foolish. This”—he dangled the keys—“is temporary. We’re going for a ride.”

“We are?”

“I have a long night ahead of me. I’d like a coffee, and I suspect the Maserati will get me one faster than the Jetta.”

I could have pointed out that the short walk to the house would get him one even faster. As might his own car, waiting in the drive. But I looked at the keys, considering. He dangled them again, as if to say, “You want this—I know you do.”

“When’s the last time you took it out?” he asked.

My smile evaporated. “Not since my dad—”

Gabriel cut in before I could go there. “Then you should take it for a spin. Cars like that shouldn’t be left in storage. It causes mechanical issues. With brakes and tires and engines and such.”

My smile returned. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

“Not a word.”

This wasn’t about getting a coffee. It was about getting me out of my post-Pamela funk. So I took the keys and waved him to the passenger seat.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I put the top down and whipped along my favorite roads, ones where the danger—of cops or traffic or, most importantly, kids—was minimal and I could put the hammer down and go. People used to joke that I’d inherited my father’s love for fast cars. Some of my earliest memories were of being out with him in this very car, me in my booster seat, straining against the harness like a dog with its nose out the window, feeling the rush of wind, closing my eyes and imagining I was flying.