"No, I'm fine. I just need to figure out--"
Her fingers pressed to his lips. "You're lost. Poor boy. So terribly lost. But it's not too late. Retrace your steps. See where you went off track. That's always the best thing to do when you're lost, is it not?"
He stared at her, and his mouth opened to brush off her nonsense, but instead he felt himself nodding and saying, "Yes."
"You have forty-eight hours to find your way. If you do not..."
She leaned into his ear and whispered, and when he heard what she whispered, his gut went cold, again ready to say no, what the hell--
"Do you understand?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Forty-eight hours."
She lifted on tiptoes, her lips brushing his. Then she disappeared.
ONE
GABRIEL
Gabriel Walsh was waiting for a phone call. He would settle for a text. Even an e-mail. But a call was what he wanted. His cell phone, however, was not complying, no matter how harshly he glared at it.
True, Olivia was not due to call until tomorrow. That was what they'd arrang
ed. She was heading back from vacation with Ricky, due to arrive Thursday night or Friday morning. Earlier, he'd sent a message suggesting that it might be more convenient for her to call today. That was his way of saying he wanted to speak to her but had no work-related excuse to do so. As for the idea of just saying so--Hey, if you're free, give me a shout--that went too far. Which was exactly how they'd gotten into this predicament in the first place.
A month ago, a car on a dark road, the two of them arguing. She said something about them being friends, an offhand comment. And he'd...
He wasn't sure exactly what he'd done. Made some dismissive noise. A snort. A grunt. A laugh. He'd been hurt and confused, and he'd lashed out and been cruel. Yes, cruel.
Then afterward, once the dust settled, their case solved...
When you said we were friends, and I laughed. I was angry. We are. I hope you know that.
How long had it taken him to work up the nerve--and shoulder past his pride--to say those words? Too long. But he'd done it. And he'd watched her squirm. Too little, too late. The problem stayed, and Olivia left.
Not left. She went on vacation, and she was heading home now.
When his cell phone rang, he snatched it up. It wasn't Olivia's ringtone, but it could be her, so he grabbed the phone and...
Call display showed a client's number.
Gabriel grunted. Therein lay the problem with giving clients his personal number. They tended to use it.
He let the call go to voicemail and made a mental note to tell Lydia to deliver an update. That's all the message would be. The client looking for news on a legal matter that was of utmost importance to her--one that guaranteed she'd stay on the preferred side of a prison wall--but to Gabriel, it was just another such matter on a calendar filled with them.
When he had news, he would give it. Until then, reassuring a client that he was doing his best to keep her out of jail was ultimately a waste of time. Of course he was doing his best. He was Gabriel Walsh, thirty years old and already one of Chicago's most famous--some might say infamous--defense attorneys. One did not achieve that status through lackluster effort.
He put away his phone and skimmed the day's schedule. Plenty of work. None of it interesting. That's the type of client call he'd prefer. A lead on an interesting case for Olivia when she returned.
I bring you the gift of murder and mayhem, a puzzle to be solved, a mystery to be cracked.
A case for them to investigate together.
Finding that was proving more difficult than one might expect. True, in a city the size of Chicago, there was always murder, always mayhem, but lately it seemed only the pedestrian sort that would induce yawns from his new investigator.
Oh, look, another drive-by shooting.