Rough Justice (Cainsville 5.5)

He leaned back. "I know, that's silly of me. It's not like you guys ever tie yourselves up in knots worrying about things you shouldn't have done, things you should have said..."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Which is ninety percent Gabriel's fault. Watching him navigate personal relationships of any kind is painful." He paused. "Kind of amusing, too. But mostly painful."

"He's sneaking out at night."

Ricky's brows shot up.

"It's not that," I said.

"You mean he isn't sleepwalking? Because that was the first thing I thought. As for any other kind of 'sneaking around,' this is Gabriel we're talking about. One of the best things about being with you is that he doesn't have to go through all the trouble of figuring out how to get sex with zero personal involvement."

"Glad I'm good for something."

"You are, and he appreciates it."

I rolled my eyes and then sipped my Scotch. "I know he's not cheating on me. But I don't know what he is doing. He's getting up and apparently going out for a walk. It just started in the last couple of months, which means it isn't chronic insomnia. Even during the day, I walk into the room sometimes, and I can tell he's a million miles away--and wherever he is, he's not happy. He snaps back to himself as soon as I say anything. And then nothing's bothering him. Nope, nothing at all. Just lost in thought."

"Is it a case?"

"He says that if I ask, but cases don't bother Gabriel. If he's losing, that just means he needs to do better. Even if he loses, well, a perfect track record is an impossible goal, and therefore a loss is merely a warning to avoid complacency." I ran my finger down the glass. "I think it's Seanna. Visiting her."

"Does she say anything to him?"

"Not really. It's like visiting a very quiet five-year-old. Seanna sits there. I talk. Rose talks. Gabriel sips his tea. Afterward, he seems fine. He really does. But then there are these night walks, and I don't see any clear correspondence between the timing of those and our visits to Seanna, so I just..." I shrugged. "I don't know."

"You could follow him. You are a detective."

I shook my head. "If he needs time to himself, I don't want to be the nagging girlfriend, who bugs him to tell me what's wrong and then follows him to see where he goes."

"You're never that girlfriend, Liv. Have you tried waking up when he's leaving? Asking him what he's doing?"

"I did once. He just said he was going downstairs to work. And then he went downstairs and worked."

"So--" Ricky stopped and raised a hand, and I turned to see Gabriel.

He'd hesitated inside the doorway, as if fearing he might be in the wrong place. He looked like he was--not many people here in suits--but seeing that hesitation made my heart thud. Gabriel could stride into a biker bar or a frat kegger or a society cocktail party without batting an eye.

He caught my wave, and he made his way over just as the server brought our nachos.

"Look at you," I said as he took the seat beside me. "Two bars in one night. That must be a record."

"Seven," he said, shrugging off his jacket. "I believe my record is seven bars in one night."

Ricky arched his brows. "And how many drinks?"

"None, of course. One cannot pick pockets with unsteady fingers. The advantage to a bar is that one cannot protect one's wallet nearly as well with an unsteady mind."

He set mine on the table.

"How did you--?" I stopped and shook my head. "I don't want to know."

"Actually, you do. The problem is that you left your purse open when you last checked your phone. I'd suggest you return that and zip it."

"Speaking of picking pockets, did you get anything from Ms. Assistant State's Attorney."

"I did. It was quite a successful meeting."