I put the phone on my nightstand and slipped into the living room.
"Gabriel?"
He didn't even twitch. If his back wasn't rising and falling, I might have been worried. I walked over and crouched beside him.
"Gabriel?"
Still nothing.
I touched his shoulder. "Gab--"
His arm shot out, hitting me so hard I toppled onto my ass.
"Oww..." I said.
He'd rolled back onto his side, hands clenched, ready to leap up swinging. For a second, he stared up, as if wondering where the groan came from. Then he looked down and saw me on the floor.
"Olivia?"
As I rose, he took in my nightshirt, then glanced down at himself, bare chested, legs wrapped in a sheet. His eyes widened.
"Yes, you're sleeping in my apartment," I said. "On my sofa. It was an exciting night, but not that exciting. I'd really hope you'd remember if it had been."
"Wha--?" He blinked, still confused.
He looked ... young. Very young and very vulnerable. His face relaxed. His expression relaxed. His blue eyes ... not cold, not empty. Wide and bewildered and, yes, damn it, vulnerable. I looked at him and I felt things I really didn't want to feel about Gabriel Walsh. Not now. Probably not ever.
"You said your friend at the SA's office told you about Joshua Gray?" I said.
He looked up. Met my gaze. Blinked some more. Still confused and sleepy. Good. Pounce before he got his guard up.
"The police report," I said. "The one where Josh said Peter told him a secret just before he died. Do you actually have it? Or did your friend just tell you about it?"
He rubbed his face. "The...? Yes. Sorry. The police report. I have it. Those particular pages, that is. Copies."
"Could I see them?"
"Do you think I missed something?" He sat. "I doubt it, but, yes, you should take a look. It's at my office. Do you want that now or...?" He looked around, still trying to orient himself.
"When we head into the city."
"Okay." He ran a hand through his hair and snarled a yawn.
"Long night. You were dead asleep. That's why I had to poke you. A mistake I will never repeat."
"Sorry."
"Or maybe I should wake you up more often. I bet you haven't apologized that much in the last decade." I turned. "I'll get coffee. Caffeine will help."
"Thanks." He started rising, then looked at the sheet around his legs.
"Don't worry, you're wearing pants," I said.
"Right."
He located his shirt and leaned over to grab it as I headed for the kitchen.
I was measuring grinds into my new coffeemaker when I heard Gabriel. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, watching me. I was--I will point out--perfectly decent, dressed in an oversized T-shirt that hung to midthigh. That was, admittedly though, pretty much all I was wearing.