"Which only proves you are not Seanna Walsh, who never had a dime she didn't stick up her arm."
"So it's true, then. You and my son are more than coworkers."
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
"Get--" I began.
"Get where? Under the desk? Behind the bathroom door? Where exactly are you going to hide me, Eden? And why bother, if I'm not really his mother?"
The footfalls continued past the office door. Just one of Gabriel's upstairs tenants.
I took out my phone and texted him. Can you stay away longer, pls?
The please would tell Gabriel I was serious. A moment later, he replied saying he was supposed to visit a client at Cook County this morning and should he just do that?
Yes, pls.
I pocketed my phone and turned to the woman.
"Sit down."
She gave that spine-raking smile again. "So you are sleeping with my son. I notice you didn't deny it."
"Gabriel and I are friends. Good friends."
"Gabriel doesn't have friends. No one wants to hang out with a freak."
I felt Lydia's hand on my arm before I even realized I was surging forward, my fists clenched.
In that moment, I forgot that this couldn't possibly be Seanna Walsh. That was who I saw, who I heard, and I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. It was only when I realized what I was thinking that I exhaled fast and hard.
"Sit down," I said again.
She started for the door.
I stepped into her path. "I told you--"
"No, Eden. You are adorable, really, but completely out of your league. Go back to painting your nails or picking out a new wardrobe or whatever your type does."
I lifted my hand...to point a gun at her forehead. "This is what my type does. Or have you forgotten who
my parents are?"
She laughed. "You aren't that girl, Miss Eden. You might carry that gun and call yourself a private investigator, but those blue jeans cost a week's salary. You're a trust-fund baby, and my baby is going to fleece you for every penny you have. I hope you realize he's running a long con here. Give the debutante her bad-girl dream, empty her trust fund, and then dump her pretty little ass."
I could have told her Gabriel doesn't need my money. That he owned this building. Owned a million-dollar condo. Kept a hundred grand in cash under his bed for "emergencies." But that would mean giving her some idea exactly how much her mark was worth. So I shot her.
The woman fell back, yowling, though the bullet had barely scraped her leg.
I turned to Lydia. "Please call the police and tell them I have been forced to shoot an intruder. It's only a scratch, but they still may want to send an ambulance."
Lydia picked up the phone. The woman lunged to grab it.
I motioned for Lydia to hang up and said calmly, "Are you going to sit down now?"
"You--you shot--"
"I grazed you." I grabbed a tissue box from Lydia's desk and tossed it at the woman. "Wipe up the blood. If you play nice, I'll get you bandages. I might even toss in five bucks to buy a patch for your jeans. Now sit. Lydia? Any chance you could grab me a mocha?"