"No. If they find me, so be it. I'm not inviting that. Not yet."
He tapped his fingers against the wheel, gaze on the road. I waited for him to say something. When he didn't, I took out my notebook and went back to organizing my thoughts on the case.
I was an hour into the next day's breakfast rush when my phone started vibrating. I headed into the back with empty dishes, then checked.
Gabriel.
He didn't leave a message. I texted him back, saying no, I hadn't gotten a chance to use Larry's computer last night--which I'd said already, when I texted him eight hours ago.
I hadn't even sent the message before my phone started vibrating again. I glanced up to see Larry watching. I sent the text and left my phone in the back as I grabbed the next order.
Ten minutes later, as I was doing rounds with the coffee, Larry came out with my phone.
"Someone's really trying to get hold of you, Liv." He motioned me back to the kitchen. "Go ahead."
I answered my ringing phone with a snapped, "Yes?"
"Have you read the paper, Olivia?"
I went quiet. "Shit. Hale. He wrote that he saw me having lunch with you. Which paper? Wait, he said the Post, right?"
"There is no article about you, Olivia. It's something else." He paused. "I need to keep this brief. I'm on my way into the courthouse."
As he said that, I noticed the background noise. The screech and roar of rush-hour traffic. Someone talking too loudly on a cell. The faint click of heels on the sidewalk. Then a whoosh, as if he'd opened a door.
"Mr. Walsh?" a woman's voice said. "Can I get a comment, Mr. Walsh?"
"That's not about me, is it?" I said.
"No, my client. He's on trial for killing his business partner and dissolving him in quicklime. Which is ridiculous."
"Uh-huh."
"It is. Anyone in my client's line of work knows that quicklime is a very poor solvent. Chemical hydrolysis is the method of choice these days."
"Did I apologize yet for snapping at you?"
A rumble that might have been a chuckle. In the background a man called his name.
"I apologize for the abruptness of this, Olivia, but I thought you should know. Pamela Larsen was attacked last night. There was a mention of it in the morning paper."
"Wh-what?"
Poppies. Yesterday, I saw poppies. I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Is she ... dead?"
"No, but she's in critical condition. She asked to see you. They called me."
I stood there, struggling to think of something to say. The little girl inside me screamed, "My mother could die!"
"I ... should see her then." I almost added, "Shouldn't I?" but angrily shook off the question. Not his place to answer. I took a deep breath. "Right. I'll go see her. I'm sure I can get Susie to cover. I'll take a cab to the prison. Or is she in a hospital?"
"A hospital. However, the doctors have assured me she's stable. I would advise against rushing to see her, given that she asked for you."
I paused, working through what he was saying. "You think she did this to herself? You said she was attacked."
"She was. Part of an ongoing dispute. The woman jumped her in the shower with a homemade knife."