Omens (Cainsville 1)

He checked his watch. Enough of that or he wouldn't get out early after all. He popped open his briefcase and dropped in a last file.

When his cell phone rang, he considered letting voice mail pick up. But years of jumping every time his phone rang, praying for work, had conditioned him well. He'd check caller display and if it wasn't urgent...

Olivia.

Almost certainly not urgent, but he still found himself answering.

"Hey, is this a bad time?" she asked.

He clicked his briefcase shut. "Not at all."

"Did you get your verdict?"

"I did."

"And?"

"Guilty. He's off to jail for twenty years."

"Hey, at least he didn't get the death sentence. Illinois still has that, as my research into the Larsens taught me. I thought we'd gotten rid of it."

"Probably because there was a moratorium on it for the last decade. And, actually, it is now illegal. It was abolished last year."

"Ah, well, at least your client didn't get life, then. So how'd he take it?"

Gabriel paused. Olivia didn't make small talk, which may be one of the reasons he found working with her less than painful. That meant she was expressing an interest in his work because she wanted something.

And yet ... He didn't mind telling her about the case. She'd seemed genuinely interested in it earlier, in a purely intellectual way, divorced from any actual feelings about a man who'd murdered his longtime business partner and tried to dissolve the body. That was refreshing.

And it wasn't as if he was rushing off to anything. He did have plans for the evening. Dinner with a potential client at seven. Then a game of one-on-one with an assistant DA who seemed to think Gabriel needed friends, and that by filling the void, he might earn insight into Gabriel's cases and win a promotion. To get that information, though, the young lawyer realized he ought to give some in return, which was making it a very profitable relationship for Gabriel.

He sat back in his desk chai

r, and told Olivia how the case had ended. As they talked, his phone beeped, telling him he had another call coming in. He checked the display. Martin Lores. He ignored it.

At last he said, "I should probably let you go. I was just leaving." And waited.

"Right. Actually, um, sorry about this, but could you do something for me first?"

He felt his lips twitch in a small smile. She was good at this.

"Yes?" he said.

"You mentioned you have research notes on the ritualistic aspects of the Larsen killings. Expert opinions."

"I do."

"Could I get those? I've been doing some research here and I ... might have found something."

He let the chair snap upright. "What?"

A laugh. Almost teasing. She was obviously in a good mood, and when she was, that side of her came out--warm and quick-witted.

"I'd ... rather not say just yet."

He imagined her eyes flashing as she said it. Definitely teasing. "If you don't say, then you don't get the files."

"Oh, come on. Give me the chance to look exceedingly clever. And to avoid making a complete fool of myself by telling you, then reading the files and discovering I'm completely off-base."