I trailed off, and we made it all the way to the top terrace before he said, as if through clenched teeth, "Overprotective?"
"We've both been through a lot," I said carefully as I turned to face him. "I think that might lead us to overestimate the threat level--"
"Really?" His shades were off, ice-cold eyes boring into mine. "After all this, you think it's possible to overestimate the threat level?"
You're pushing him away. Don't do this.
I took a deep breath. "I can't leave not knowing what I was supposed to find."
"Yes, you can. You can return to the car and wait there while I search the house."
"And what in God's name has ever led you to believe that I'd go hide in the car while you do this for me? I am not some--"
I cut myself short and turned away, my arms crossing as I fought to regain my temper. I didn't want to fight about this. I really didn't.
So what do I want?
To have him agree I should search and accompany me into that house.
Isn't that as unreasonable as what he wants?
There was no middle ground here. I wanted what I wanted, and damn him if he didn't give it to me.
I exhaled, let my arms fall to my sides, and turned. "I'm sorry. I--"
Gabriel wasn't there.
I looked about, expecting to see the scenery changed, the house new again, some sign of a vision . . .
Then I spotted his back, as he walked into the house.
"Damn you, Gabriel," I muttered, and took off after him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I knew what every structure on the Villa's grounds had been, no matter what its condition. Inside the house? Inside I found only endless empty rooms, with the occasional rotting chair or moldering carpet.
Legend had it that when Mills discovered his bride's body in the pool, he'd walked up the stairs, through the house, out the front door . . . and never returned. He'd ordered everything to stay exactly as it was, allowing priceless antiques to rot. My father had told me a different version. He'd heard that Mills had ordered his men to sneak in and spirit off the most valuable of the furnishings, so he could maintain the romantic fiction while recouping the most significant losses.
Judging by the wall of broken windows, I'd just entered the conservatory. Brisk lake air blasted through. I jogged to the next room, but I could see no sign of Gabriel. I called, "Gabriel? I'm apologizing, okay? I was being bullheaded, and while I don't think I'm the only one, I want to talk about this."
No answer. As I walked to the far doorway, I made tracks in the dust on the floor. One set crossing the room. None at the doorway, meaning Gabriel hadn't come this way.
Was there another exit from the conservatory? I took three steps back the way I'd come and then heard an impatient, "Olivia," from the opposite direction. I hurried into a long, narrow room with tw
o fireplaces . . . and a half-dozen doors.
"Shit," I said.
"Where am I?" a voice demanded. "What the hell is going on?"
The voice seemed to come from all corners, booming, oddly distorted, like speakers turned up too loud. Not Gabriel. Yet it seemed familiar.
"I know you're here," the voice continued. "Damn you, come out and face me."
I turned and there was Nathaniel Mills. He was older, bloated and unkempt, a flask in one hand as he staggered toward me.
"Do you think I can't hear you?" he shouted at the empty room. "Whispering, laughing, taunting? Do you think I don't know what you did, you ungodly sons of bitches? Come out and face me!"