Omens (Cainsville 1)

He glanced up from the phone and gave me a "keep going" wave. A moment later, he murmured, "Good."

I looked back to see him pitch the phone in Hale's direction.

"No photos?" I said.

"Just a poor one of us in the diner. I erased it and checked his e-mail in case he'd sent it. He hadn't."

We continued to the car. I waited until we were on the road, then said, "You aren't worried you'll get in trouble for hitting him?"

"No, I do it all the time."

He was joking. I think.

Gabriel turned onto the road leading to the highway. "He can't write about it without witnesses, which he doesn't have. He could report the assault, but he wouldn't get far. A reporter tried that back when I started my practice. He approached me for an interview. When he wouldn't leave, I responded in what could be called a threatening manner. He reported that I assaulted him. I had not. That was proven beyond any doubt. Shortly after that a photographer tried something similar with the same results. Clearly I was being stereotyped by my size and my choice of clientele and being persecuted by the media for my refusal to grant them unrestricted access to my clients."

"So now, if you do hit a reporter and he wants you charged with assault, the cops ignore it. Lucky break for you, then, getting two false accusations right off the bat."

"There's no such thing as luck, Olivia."

I laughed. When I did, he glanced over and studied my expression before turning back to the road.

I suppose if he was saying that he'd engineered the false accusations, I should be appalled. I thought of what happened in the parking lot. The way he'd hit Hale. The casualness of it. Punching the man hard enough to knock him off his feet. Maybe even hard enough to loosen teeth.

I remembered Gabriel's expression. No anger. Not even annoyance. He'd warned Hale. When the man tried to get past, he hit him. A reasonable response to a threat.

I glanced over at him.

"Yes?" he said, gaze still on the road.

"You have blood on your cuff."

He stretched his arm out over the steering wheel, suit jacket sleeve shooting back, his right cuff speckled with Hale's blood. A murmured curse of annoyance, and he adjusted the cuff so it wouldn't show.

"I think what happened proves my earlier point, Olivia. You are recognizable in that 'disguise.' While Hale didn't get a photograph, he may still write a piece saying he saw you with me. He may include a description of your attempts to disguise yourself. You need to give this some serious thought."

"How? He'll print that or he won't. I..." I paused. "Shit. I need to warn my mother." I took out my cell. The battery was dead. I swore again.

"Can I use yours?" I said. "I'll block the number. It's a local call. I'm just passing a message through the family lawyer."

"For your mother?" Gabriel glanced over. "She's not speaking to you?"

"She's in Europe avoiding the media mess. Wh

ich doesn't mean she won't hear of this if it's printed, unfortunately."

"Europe?" His brows lifted. He said nothing, but his expression spoke for him. Part of me wanted to make excuses for her. And part of me saw his reaction and felt relief, vindication even. If someone as objective as Gabriel Walsh found my mother's behavior odd, I wasn't wrong to be annoyed with her.

"If you're speaking to her lawyer, perhaps yours should speak to him," he said. "I can convey your message."

And in doing so, he'd convey a real message to my mother--that I had delegated the responsibility of communicating to her to someone else. It was tempting, but I wasn't ready to go that far.

"I'll handle it," I said. "I need to warn James, too."

"Morgan? I thought the engagement had ended." He paused. "Or are you keeping him informed in hopes of changing his mind?"

"He's not the one--" I bit off the sentence. "I'm keeping him informed because it's the right thing to do."

"Ah." He turned the corner. "Back to my earlier point. I suggest you may want to stop hiding altogether. Speak to a reputable journalist and deal with the problem straight on. Journalists are like hounds, Olivia. The more you run, the more they chase and the more excited they get. I have some contacts--"