Seeing that advertisement, Gabriel flashed back to the night with Olivia before everything went wrong. They'd just solved the crimes for which her parents had spent the last twenty years in prison. Bittersweet victory, which they'd celebrated on the shores of Lake Michigan, walking along the surf and then drinking wine and talking about dreams and fancies. One perfect night, perfectly destroyed when--
"Who the hell are you?" Lambert said, scrambling to his feet. The architect brushed a hand through his hair. "I mean, I'm afraid I'm not taking new clients. I'm sorry my receptionist wasn't at her desk to receive you."
"She was."
"Then how..."
Lambert paused. Taking a moment. He looked as if he could use one. Or twenty. He definitely looked as if he could use the vacation displayed on his laptop. Gabriel had met with clients who appeared less harried and exhausted after a weekend in lockup.
The firm's website photo showed Lambert as a fit and handsome forty-five-year-old, the very picture of calm and confident professionalism. The man in front of Gabriel looked as if he hadn't even changed his clothing in days. His hands shook so badly Gabriel would presume drug withdrawal if he didn't trust the state police enough to know they wouldn't have missed the signs.
"Your receptionist seemed under the mistaken impression that I'm with the police," Gabriel said. "I merely said I needed to speak to you about Monday night."
Lambert winced. "You're a reporter, aren't you?"
Gabriel arched one brow and cast a pointed look down at his suit, which would not belong to any member of the fourth estate lacking a trust fund the size of Olivia's...and likely not even then, given the fashion sense of the journalists he knew.
"No," he said slowly. "I am a lawyer, representing--"
"Sharon." Lambert exhaled his wife's name. "She contacted a divorce lawyer."
"No, but given the circumstances, I can see where you'd be concerned about that."
Lambert flushed. "It's a misunderstanding. It was raining, and this girl was hitchhiking. I wanted to help."
"I'm sure you did," Gabriel murmured. "However, I have to wonder why you would tell your wife. Why you'd tell anyone."
Panic flashed behind Lambert's eyes. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Inhaled and straightened, as if this really was such an obvious question it didn't require a response.
"I had to warn them, didn't I? Report the girl missing?"
"The girl disappeared into thin air. That's what you told--"
"I was mistaken. People don't vanish. Not outside cheap magic shows." A forced hearty laugh. "The police misunderstood."
"You told them multiple times--"
"They misunderstood. I meant that she wandered off into the forest while I was checking the car. I was concerned. Understandably concerned."
"About that forest... You drove several hundred feet off the road, through thick brush, in a very expensive vehicle."
"It's an SUV. It's meant for that. I was just driving the girl home."
"She lives in the forest?"
Sweat beaded on Lambert's temple. "I mistakenly believed it was a narrow road. That's what she said. It wasn't until I got stuck that I realized otherwise."
"You also reported that you believed you'd driven no more than ten miles off the regional highway when, in fact, you went more than thirty."
"I lost track of time. She was a very good conversationalist."
"What did you talk about?"
The drop of sweat slid down Lambert's jaw. At this point, all he had to say was that his conversation was none of Gabriel's business. But human nature hungered for confession.
"You've been asked to keep this quiet, haven't you?" Gabriel said. "Asked--strongly--to recant your story. By your partners in this firm."
"No, of course not." A nervous glance toward the door. "Why would you say that?"