Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
I yanked open the door just as the last word faded. I stepped into the hall and looked around. It was just like my corridor--a short one with two doors on each side, all four shut tight. I strained to pick up the sound of singing from any of the rooms, or coming through a window, but that churchlike hush blanketed everything.
I turned to go.
"What's Thursday's child, Mommy?"
I spun, the words still seeming to hang in the air. An empty hall stretched out in both directions.
"Thursday's child has far to go," a woman's voice answered.
"That's me!" the girl giggled. "I have far to go."
The woman laughed. "You do indeed, my Eden. You do indeed."
I hurried into the stairwell.
I made it to the front door, grabbed the handle and was about to push it open when I was yanked by...
Gabriel Walsh. He was opening the door, one hand on the knob, the other on his sunglasses. Seeing me, he left his glasses on and stepped back to wave me out.
I took a moment to regain my composure before looking up at him. "I told you I didn't need a ride."
"No, you said you didn't want one. Considering the cost of a fare and the fact that you're apparently working as a waitress"--did I imagine it or did his lips twitch?--"I decided you do need it."
"I have a cab coming." The only vehicle in sight was his Jag, purring in front of the building.
"I told him you wouldn't be needing his services." He closed the door behind me. "Our appointment is at four. That's the latest I could make it."
In other words, ride with him or don't go at all. Damn him.
I looked up. He hadn't gotten any smaller. I'm not usually intimidated by men of any size, but those sunglasses made me anxious. Silly, I know, but unsettling all the same. As was the hint of a smile on the visible part of his face. Amused? Mocking? Insolent? I couldn't tell without having his eyes to complete the picture.
He reached into his suit pocket, took out his cell phone, and handed it to me.
"You can put 911 on speed dial."
Okay, definitely mocking.
He steered me toward the car. "If it makes you feel better, you can call the CPD and ask about me. You won't hear anything flattering, but they'll admit I've never been accused of assaulting anyone." A pause as he opened the passenger door for me. "Well, not any clients."
I slid into the cool interior. The sharp smell of new leather and strains of Bach swirled around me. As Gabriel got in, I braced myself for the sales pitch, but he only turned up the stereo and roared from the curb.
He didn't say a word for the first half of the trip, which was good because, considering how fast he drove, I really preferred he kept his attention on the road. When he whipped past a cruiser, I glanced in the rearview mirror.
"We're fine," he said. "I drive this route regularly. They used to pull me over, but it got tedious. Now I offer a generous contribution to their annual fund-raiser, and we call it even."
"Nice."
"Efficient."
We fell back into silence.
Zooming along the highway, I managed to close my eyes and soon realized I was enjoying the rumble of the road beneath me, the sensual perfection of Bach coming from the car's stereo, the rich smell of fine leather. I also realized I felt safe for the first time in four days. Cocooned in a world I knew.
"Safe" probably wasn't the right word to use with a man like Gabriel in the driver's seat, but even he seemed to add to the ambience, like a tacit chauffeur who could play bodyguard in a pinch.
He didn't speak until we were within sight of the prison gates. Then he pulled onto the shoulder and sat there, hands on the wheel, gaze forward, car idling.