Visions (Cainsville 2)

His gaze met mine, and I knew what he meant. Who he meant. Gabriel. Would he push me away again? Lie to me? Betray me? Ricky wouldn't. Trusting Gabriel was like pitching camp on a fault line; Ricky was solid ground.

"Exactly," the man said.

I glared.

"Would you prefer I didn't admit I know what you're thinking? Don't worry. It's too draining to maintain for long. But I'll use what tools I have to understand the situation. You can't blame me for that. I'll bid you good night, then." After two steps, he glanced back to see me settling on the ground beside Ricky. "How's your back, Olivia? I'll presume it doesn't give you any trouble?"

"My back? It's fine."

"Good." He turned to walk away, then glanced at me again. "You're welcome," he said, and vanished into the forest.

SHARK TANK

The Morgan residence was patrolled by a security guard. At what level of wealth did one require a home security guard? Actually, Gabriel knew the answer to that, having dug deep into Morgan's finances while looking for ammunition to use against him.

Morgan was rich. A juvenile term. At Gabriel's age, he should be more specific with his terminology. But he'd been young when he set his sights on his future goals, and that was the wording he used, at least to himself.

He could not achieve "rich"--it was for those who came from money, though it allowed for the occasional entrepreneur. Gabriel's goal was "successful." Wealthy and very successful.

Morgan's wealth came from both family money and his business, and it far exceeded anything Gabriel could hope for. It did not, however, warrant a roving security guard.

One problem with the rich was that they lacked basic survival skills. Morgan considered himself a shark, devouring anything that got in his way, but he was a shark in a tank, relying on others to keep him safe. The rich bought their fancy locks and security systems and, it seemed, even security guards. Yet it was like wearing a breastplate into battle--it still took only one good stroke to lop off your head.

And so it was here. The guard was useless. Stationed a hundred feet away from the house, at the gate. Patrolling the grounds every twenty minutes. Once Gabriel determined the schedule, he waited until the guard returned to his post and then scaled the back fence. Two minutes later, he was knocking on the front door.

Morgan answered. He stopped short, and his gaze shot to the guard post.

Gabriel waved at the manicured spruce behind him. "While I'm loath to criticize gardening choices, may I suggest that's a very poor place for a shrub?"

Morgan cursed under his breath as he realized that the tree blocked Gabriel from the guard's view. Then Morgan's hand slid up the wall.

"You can certainly summon the guard," Gabriel said. "I'll understand if you'd like him to be privy to our conversation. While my size is no fault of my own, some men find it intimidating."

Morgan's lips tightened, and his hand moved away from the intercom. Such a fool. There was nothing wrong with being a shark in a tank--Gabriel supposed it was a fine and comfortable life--but one should have the good sense to see the glass walls and realize one's limitations.

"May I come in?" Gabriel asked.

Morgan nodded and moved back. As Gabriel entered, he heard a noise on the steps and looked up to see an older woman eyeing him with suspicion. It didn't matter how fine his manners or impeccable his dress, when women like this saw him, they backed up clutching their purses. Which was not an unwarranted reaction, all things considered. Ten years ago, he'd have salivated walking into a house like this, mentally running through all the most likely hiding places for valuables and mapping out the most efficient route for snatching them. He didn't miss those days, but admittedly there were still times when he looked at a woman's necklace or a man's watch and his brain threw out a dollar figure--not the cost but how much he could fence it for.

"It's Olivia's lawyer," Morgan called up to her. "On business."

"At this hour?"

"It's barely eleven. Everything's fine, Mom. Go back to bed."

She retreated, but slowly, still eyeing Gabriel, her expression less fear than warning now. Gabriel turned his back on her.

"May we speak in another room?" he asked Morgan.

Morgan waved him into a parlor or some such room designed for sitting, which neither of them did. They walked to the middle and faced each other.

"If you're here to intimidate me . . ." Morgan began.

"In your own home? With your mother and your security guard at hand? That would seem unwise."

Gabriel kept his voice soft, free of emphasis, but Morgan still tensed at the mention of his mother and his guard.

"I would like you to stop contacting Olivia," Gabriel said.