Omens (Cainsville 1)

"I can see that your standard of living has dropped significantly as the result of this revelation. Your adopted mother has apparently disowned you--"

"No, I'm just taking some time away."

"Oh?" He looked around. "So this is where you usually come on vacation?"

I kept walking. He followed in silence until we reached the sidewalk, where a sleek Jaguar had taken the last spot on Rowan--the one in front of the fire hydrant.

"May I suggest that poverty is not the grand adventure you expect, Ms. Jones?"

"I know what poverty is."

"Do you? My mistake then."

I glanced back. His lips were slightly curved, this time not in a smile but in disdain. Bastard. I climbed the apartment steps. Grace was still there on her battered lawn chair, pulled back into the shadows. She nodded. But it wasn't me she was looking at.

"Gabriel."

"Grace. I brought you a scone." He lifted a small brown bag, which looked remarkably like the one ... I looked down at my empty hand.

How the hell had he done that?

"Fresh from the oven," he said. "Still warm."

Grace took it with a queenly nod, then glowered my way. I started to claim the scone, but realized it would sound like whining. If he got it from me, that was my own fault. Bastard.

"You two know each other?" I said.

"We're acquainted." Gabriel turned to me. "I've made my offer, Ms. Jones, and I hope you'll take some time to reconsider it."

"I don't need to."

"I think you might."

He nodded to Grace, then walked down the steps and headed for the Jag. Got in, peeled from the curb. I watched him go, then turned to Grace.

"You know who I am," I said.

"Maybe." She peered into the bag and pulled out the scone. "Don't expect me to feel sorry for you."

I stood there as she took a bite, gray eyes closing in rapture.

"He said she called him." I waved toward the fortune-teller's house. "Tipped him off about me."

She opened one eye, then the other, piqued at the interruption. "If you think it was me, say so. Don't beat around the bush. Makes you look weak."

"Okay. So you called him."

"I wouldn't call Gabriel Walsh if I was on fire." She pursed her lips. "No, I might. To sue everyone responsible--from the person who lit the match to those who made my clothes. But I'd wait until the fire was out. Otherwise, he'd just stand there until I was burned enough for a sizable settlement."

"So he's an ambulance chaser."

"He's a money chaser, doesn't matter where it c

omes from. Young as he is, he runs his own practice. Makes him look like some kind of prodigy, but the truth is with his reputation, even the sleaziest firm in Chicago wouldn't hire him. He is honest, though, in his own way. If he said Rose called him, I'm sure she did, because she called me about you, too. The part Gabriel left out? That old gossip is his great-aunt."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. Gabriel Walsh comes from a long line of hustlers. He's just the first one to go to law school and get a license for it."