I think Anna's house was meant to be welcoming and cozy, but for me, it was anything but. The busy geometric wallpaper seemed at odds with the landscape art. The intermingled scents of candles and air fresheners made my temples throb as my brain tried to sort out the scents. Too many noises as well--the tick-tock of an antique grandfather clock, the tinkle of wind chimes through an open window, an NPR host chattering in the kitchen.
I actually appreciated the mental distraction, though. It kept me from feeling guilty. Anna was clearly not in mourning, which meant her father's body hadn't been discovered. When she found out, I bet she'd spend the rest of her life thinking of him there dead, alone and forgotten.
Anna took Gabriel's jacket, asked how the drive had been, offered him tea or coffee or a cold drink--and completely ignored me.
"Coffee please," he said.
As she ushered him into the living room, she was so busy staring at him that she practically tripped over an ottoman.
"It's black, isn't it?" she said, as if she hadn't stumbled, but merely stopped to ask. "No cream, no sugar."
Which would, I think, be the definition of black coffee, but Gabriel only smiled--yes, smiled, and somehow managed not to look like he was about to devour anyone--and said, "Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble."
"None at all. I have cookies, too. Lemon."
"That would be wonderful. Thank you very much."
His voice had changed. Less growl. More purr. Anna went bright red and almost tripped over the ottoman again as she scampered off to fetch his coffee.
Once she was gone, he turned to me and murmured, "No coffee for you."
"Apparently. No cookies, either."
I didn't get a smile, but his lips did twitch. As he checked his phone, I tried to see what had Anna Gunderson tripping over herself. He was good looking enough. Not to my tastes. He had a hard face. Harsh even, asymmetrical and rough. Some women go for big, overtly masculine guys. I don't. And those eyes ... I'd get used to them, but it would take a while, and from what Gabriel said, he'd only met Anna once. Why didn't they bother her?
When she came in with his coffee and cookies, he asked about her daughter as if he was genuinely interested. As he talked, I thought, "Maybe I'm wrong about the guy." Put him with someone like Anna Gunderson, a nice woman who has suffered a great tragedy, and his empathetic side came out.
And then I realized he was faking it.
He knew Anna had the hots for him, and he knew how to act so she'd relax and open up. Warm and friendly and attentive, even a little flirtatious.
There was only one thing missing from the performance. He couldn't make physical contact.
It was a natural extension of the act. Give her your full attention, and when the chance arises, make contact. Brush her hand when she gives you the cookie plate. Touch her arm when she admits that her father has not been well.
He knew all the right moves. Except he couldn't quite pull them off. There was a hesitation. An awkwardness. A faint setting of the jaw, as if forcing himself to breach that barrier of personal space. Anna didn't notice. She just seemed grateful for the attention.
I noticed, and I was fascinated. I took notes. Actual notes, since I now understood why I had to be invisible. Scribbling on a legal pad cemented my position as the dull, studious intern. I watched Gabriel take this woman--the victim of a tragedy she'd rather forget--and within fifteen minutes have her ready, eager even, to revisit it with him. I was impressed. This was an extension of my acting skills that was well worth learning.
Once the small talk was done and the ice broken, he eased into the interview. "As I said over the phone, I've heard rumors that Pamela Larsen is mounting a new appeal based on some recently discovered evidence. Now, I have contacted the prison and they know nothing about her hiring a new lawyer, so this may be mere gossip, but as the rumored evidence and direction of the appeal involves your brother, I thought you should know."
"I appreciate that." She met his gaze. "I really do, Mr. Walsh."
"Gabriel, please."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression so sincere it mesmerized me.
He went on. "As I'm sure you deduced from my visit at the time, I had also considered using Christian in my strategy. I apologize for that. As a defense lawyer, I must look to my client's interests first. Even when the client has done something as reprehensible as murder, she is entitled to a complete defense. The fact that Pamela Larsen is still in prison only confirms that the system works. I do my part in ensuring it continues to work by taking on such cases."
"I understand."
"When I realized your brother seemed a very unlikely suspect, I focused my attention elsewhere. Now, I don't know what this alleged new evidence may be, but I stand by my original conviction that Christian could not have been responsible for the murder of your sister and even to suggest that--" His lips tightened. "Your family has been through enough."
Anna's eyes welled, and she couldn't respond.
Gabriel continued, "If there are any problems, I will offer you my services to deal with the defense team. Your father doesn't need the aggravation, given his health problems. Of course we're hoping it doesn't come to that, but if it does, I want to be prepared. The best defense is a quick defense. Today I'm gathering information, at no cost to you. If Pamela does hire a lawyer who contacts you or your father, give them my name. With any luck, they'll see we are prepared to defend Christian's reputation and will rethink their strategy."
He straightened, just a little, still leaning toward her. It was more of a flex really, his shoulders bunching, his jaw set, resolute. A physical reminder of his size. The big, strong man prepared to leap into battle to defend her family's honor. I glanced around for the nearest bowl of potpourri, in case she swooned.