"There's no evidence. The police would have presumed you had a nightmare and fell out of bed."
"Until I showed them the photos."
"Even then . . ." He didn't say more, but I knew what he meant. Even with this photo of a weirdly bloodless, almost waxen, eyeless head, lying on my sheets, they'd have thought someone had played an elaborate prank on me. Or worse, that I was playing one on them. I was Eden Larsen, child of serial killers.
"So now what?" I said.
"Now you get that security system. This is obviously a very serious threat--"
"I mean what do I do about Ciara Conway?"
A flicker of annoyance, as if I'd interrupted him with something meaningless, like "Umm, I'm not wearing pants." We didn't have proof that Ciara Conway was dead, and it wasn't like he gave a damn about her. The important thing was . . .
What was the important thing? Making sure I was safe? Why? Because he sure as hell didn't give a damn about that, either, not unless someone was paying him to, and--
My hand shot to my head, and I winced as fresh pain stabbed through it.
Gabriel moved closer, bending down. "Olivia . . ."
"Okay. So someone killed Ciara Conway and is leaving body parts, dressed like me, as a warning. Locking my doors isn't going to solve the problem."
"Which is why you need a security system."
Not what I meant. But what did I mean? I have to get to the bottom of this, and I need your help.
Fresh pain stabbed through my head, bringing a wave of nausea.
If Gabriel wants to help me find a security system, wonderful. Let that be the extent of his involvement. He'll be happy with that. He's sure as hell not going to suggest--
"We should look into this," he said.
I ran to the bathroom and heaved into the toilet. One would think my reaction was all the answer he needed, but when I finished puking, he was standing there, calmly holding a towel. He handed it to me and then waited to make sure I was done vomiting before saying, "If you won't see a doctor tonight, you need to do so tomorrow."
I shook my head and washed up.
"I've been investigating Ciara Conway," he said.
"Okay." I tossed the dirty towel in the hamper and brushed past him. "Give me what you have, and I'll add it to what I know. I'll get the security system installed. In the meantime, if you don't mind, I'm going to put on some clothing."
"Thank you."
I glowered at him. "If it offended you, you could have just asked."
"You were distraught, and I didn't want--"
I walked into my bedroom and slapped the door shut, cutting him off.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When I came out, dressed, Gabriel picked up the conversation as if I'd never left. "It seems clear that this is related to Pamela's case."
"Really? Or just clear enough that you could tack it onto her bill?"
Ice seeped into his eyes. "I am not looking for payment, Olivia."
"Sure you are. A job means billing. Double-billing if you're lucky."
And there it was. Out on the table. His chance to defend himself.