Part 5 (1/2)
”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.