"I'm sure you would," Gabriel said, sliding between us. "However, that is normally accomplished by a phone call, not waylaying her in a parking lot."

"I was dining downtown and spotted her-"

Gabriel motioned to James's hand. "You're still holding your keys, and you're short of breath."

James dropped his keys into his pocket and stepped sideways to address me. "An a.s.sociate saw you in the restaurant and called me. He was concerned about your choice of dining companion."

"And you came running to her rescue?" Gabriel said. "How n.o.ble."

"No, I came to speak to her, because I seem to be having some difficulty accomplishing that." Another sidestep, Gabriel having eased over to block him again. "If you won't return my calls, I have no way of communicating with you, Liv. I don't know where you work. I don't know your new address."

"Perhaps, given your penchant for waylaying her, you can understand why she wouldn't be eager to share that information."

James glowered at Gabriel. He had to look up to do it, and I could tell he didn't like that.

"This is a private conversation," James said. "Could you leave, please, Mr. Walsh?"

"Absolutely not."

James pulled out his wallet. "How much?" he asked.

"How much what?"

"How much will it cost to make you walk away? I know there's a price."

James's lips curved, pleased with his jab. Gabriel only tilted his head.

"How much do you have?" he asked.

James pulled out a wad of bills. "Will five hundred do it?"

"I believe so."

Gabriel pocketed the money and walked away. I smiled and shook my head.

"You're okay with that?" James said as Gabriel left. "Your lawyer just took money to leave you alone with me."

"You offered it," I said. "It's not as if he turned me over to a potential mugger. Now, what-?"

Gabriel returned and stepped between me and James again.

"Second thoughts?" James said. "I'll take my money back."

"Certainly not. I did as you asked. I walked away."

I had to laugh.

James scowled at me. "You find this amusing?"

"Yes, I do. However, at the risk of losing further amus.e.m.e.nt, I'm going to end this group hug. James, please don't track me down."

"It's over," Gabriel said. "Leave her alone. That is the message she's trying to convey. If you need it in writing, I can arrange that. In the form of a restraining order."

"Excuse me?" James said.

"He's not serious," I said.

"Yes, actually, I am," Gabriel said. "At present, the situation does not qualify, but I am serving notice, Mr. Morgan. If you waylay Olivia again, there will be consequences."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a warning."

"All right," I said. "Let's not blow this out of proportion."

"I don't think I am." Gabriel lifted his shades. "Am I, Mr. Morgan?"

Before James could answer, Gabriel laid his hand on my shoulder, steering me toward the car.

"You're going to allow him to do that?" James said. "Speak for you? Threaten me? Shuttle you off?" He strode toward us. "I'm not letting you walk away with this thug-"

"If you lay a hand on her-"

"Go to h.e.l.l, Walsh." James started past him. When Gabriel blocked him again, James snarled, "You're not going to stop me-"

"Actually, I will."

"James, please. Just turn around and walk away. Gabriel? Can we go? I don't want to do this."

Gabriel waved for me to continue toward the car. As we turned, James lunged. His fingers closed on my arm, and I was pulling away when I saw a blur of motion. His hand jerked free. At a bone-cracking thump, I spun to see Gabriel with his fist wrapped in James's shirtfront, James slammed up against an SUV and gasping in pain and shock.

"Are you psychotic?" James struggled to get free, but Gabriel kept his hold. "Liv, tell your pit bull-"

"I warned you not to touch her," Gabriel said, his tone conversational.

"She is my fiancee," James spat.

"Ex-fiancee, a concept you appear to have difficulty comprehending, which is at the root of this problem. However, if you are suggesting that even as her fiance you would have the right to touch her, you are mistaken on a very important point of law. You do not. You will not. Is that clear?"

"Is that a threat?"

"No. This is a threat." Gabriel leaned down. "If Olivia wishes to speak to you, she will contact you. If you contact her, I will take action."

"What? Beat me up and throw me in the river?"

"McNeil."

"The McNeil? Where the f.u.c.k is-?" James stopped. He froze. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to Gabriel's.

"Good," Gabriel said. "We understand each other. If you bother Olivia again, I will have a little chat with the SEC. Tell them about your arrangement with Mr. McNeil."

James said, "I don't know what you're talking about," about ten seconds too late. He tried to yank his shirt from Gabriel's grasp. "That isn't a game you want to play, Walsh."

"No?" Gabriel's lips curved in what could have been mistaken for a smile. "Try me and see how much I want to play it. And how good I am at it."

Gabriel released him. James recovered, shame and fury blazing in his eyes. Fury at me, too, for standing there, watching him be humiliated. Even now, his glower said, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

I turned and headed to the car. It wasn't until we were in it that I said to Gabriel, "He isn't usually like that."

"Because he usually gets what he wants."

"No, he's just upset-"

"Because he's not getting what he wants, and it isn't an experience he's accustomed to." Gabriel glanced back, making sure James was gone. "Are you aware of his reputation in the corporate world, Olivia?"

"If you're referring to what I presume is an SEC violation, I honestly have no idea what that's about. I don't even know a McNeil."

"Of course not. Because he keeps you out of that. I have a reputation for being ruthless in my professional life. Correct?"

I nodded.

"So does James Morgan. Which is how he has reached his level of success. But he handles himself differently in public. He comes from a political family. He has political aspirations. Ruthlessness would make him seem cold. Calculating. Unpleasant. So he's mastered the art of the dual personality." Gabriel eased back in his seat. "I suspect it's not entirely an act. He's found a way to be tough professionally, while remaining warm and amiable personally. Except when he doesn't get what he wants. Am I correct that he initially pursued you? Actively and doggedly pursued you?"

"It wasn't aggressive-"

"Of course not. But if my sources are correct, it was a determined pursuit and courtship. He was an aspiring politician, and he knew the role that traditional marriage plays in such aspirations. He needed a young wife, from a good family, attractive, intelligent, and well educated, a suitable match in all regards."

"You make it sound like he was choosing a horse."

A pause. "You're insulted," he said, as if he couldn't quite fathom why. "I'm not saying he chose you merely because you fulfilled a list of requirements. He was already involved with someone who did that. Marriage to you promised more personal satisfaction, so he dropped her, pursued and won you. Then this happened. He set about getting you back, confident that he would not only win you but win your grat.i.tude for taking you back under the circ.u.mstances."

I snorted.

"Therein lies the problem. A man like James Morgan is not accustomed to being thwarted and will not take it lightly." He glanced over. "You think I overreacted, don't you?"

"I think you intentionally overreacted. Like killing a fly with a baseball bat, just to make sure it never bothers you again."

His lips curved. "An apt a.n.a.logy." The smile faded. "However, not entirely accurate. His behavior concerns me, Olivia. He refuses to accept that he's lost you, and it doesn't seem like groveling or desperation. It seems like pride and anger. He wants you back, and he will keep coming after you until he gets what he wants."

"Well, he won't now. Whatever you've threatened him with, it worried him. He'll stay away."

"I hope so," Gabriel said, and started the car.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN.

We didn't visit the Conway family. Though Ciara's body had been found, I still couldn't visit them in good conscience. I also knew what it meant to lose a loved one. When my dad died, I realized for the first time the cruelty of funeral customs that expect the family to meet and greet people mere hours after a death. Yes, I know, it's supposed to provide support. But I hadn't wanted support. I'd wanted to curl up in my bed and grieve. Gabriel didn't understand but agreed to wait until after Ciara's funeral.

Instead, we visited two friends and a teacher whom I'd found in my online research. That was all we could fit into an afternoon, and we were lucky to find many potential sources at home and willing to speak to us.

All we heard were variations on a story. Ciara was a good girl. Ciara was a troubled girl. Good but troubled-that was her epitaph. We asked if she'd expressed concerns about anyone following her, stalking her, contacting her. Nope. She was there, struggling through life. And then she wasn't.

By the time we finished the interviews, it was past seven. Gabriel was driving me home when he noticed the time and said, "I should have got you dinner."

Gabriel might not seem to take much interest in feeding himself, but G.o.d forbid I missed a meal. I was curled up in the pa.s.senger seat, half drowsing to the strains of Handel. I bit back a yawn. "I'd invite you over, but the only thing I have is dry cereal and bread. And I think the bread is sprouting a lovely shade of periwinkle."

"I'll take you out, then."

"That wasn't a hint."

"I know, but..." He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the wad of bills from James. "It was a profitable day."

I laughed and shook my head. He glanced over, as if making sure I was really okay with him fleecing my former fiance. I was. James fell for it and could afford it.

"Dinner it is, then," he said. "I believe we're past the point of pulling off the highway, so you'll have to settle for the diner."

"The food's good. The service is iffy, but that new girl isn't on tonight, so it should be fine."

By the time we got there, the dinner crowd had cleared out and the place was more than half empty. That may explain why we seemed to provide the main source of entertainment. Ida, Veronica, and the other elders sat there, beaming and whispering until I felt like the wallflower who showed up for prom with the star quarterback.

"Next time?" I whispered. "You're getting dry cereal and toast. I'll sc.r.a.pe off the mold."

He glanced around. "It does inhibit conversation, doesn't it."

"Mmm."

Patrick stopped by the table, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder.

"Calling it a night?" I said.

"I am." He leaned over and lowered his voice. "Keep talking to me. Smile. Nod. Look happy."

"Why?"

"The old folks think I've done something right for a change. I see no point in disillusioning them. Just look like you're pleased to see me. You, too, Gabriel."

"What do we get for it?" I asked.

"My grat.i.tude, which is valuable beyond reckoning."

I snorted. Gabriel smiled and sipped his coffee.