Visions (Cainsville 2)

A flurry of texts followed. Ricky made it clear that he wanted to see me after our separate engagements and would like to spend the night with me. At a hotel if that's what I was comfortable with, but he'd prefer his place or mine. Just tell him what I wanted. I did, in detail, which led to a break-time flurry of a whole other kind of texts. The upshot was that when I headed to the city, I'd bring an overnight bag.

--

"The detective who'll be interviewing you is Ruben Fuentes," Gabriel said as he drove us to the station. "You may notice that he doesn't like me, but that is no reflection on his handling of this case, so don't be alarmed."

"I think I'd be more alarmed if he did like you."

Gabriel slanted a look my way.

"What?" I said. "Are there cops who do?"

"The degree of antagonism varies, but that's a given, under the professional circumstances. A detective's job is to find the killer. A defense attorney's job is to prove his incompetence in doing so. Fortunately, with many, that's not difficult. The law enforcement profession seems to attract an inordinate number of idiots."

"I'm sure they love to hear you say that. Just like I'm sure you do say it. In front of them."

"Not often." He cut off a car to make a right turn. "My goal is to keep my clients out of jail. Not to make friends."

"Then don't take offense when I point that out."

"I don't. I merely take offense at the glee with which you point it out. Back to the subject at hand. Fuentes is competent. I've never personally embarrassed him. He dislikes me because, when he was in Vice, I had his partner investigated for bribery."

"Was he actually accepting bribes?"

"Irrelevant," he said. "He was investigated and moved to a different department to avoid the temptation that Vice offers. Fuentes has not forgiven me. However, I trust he will deal with you fairly, and if he does not, I'll handle it. Given his antagonism, you may wish to cool our interplay."

"Pretend you're a necessary evil?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Oh, I can manage that performance. Minimal acting required."

He glanced over to see if I was joking. I gave him an enigmatic smile and changed the subje

ct.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Gabriel has a habit of steering me, with a hand at my back, as we walk. In the beginning, that guiding hand rarely even brushed the folds of my shirt. Gabriel doesn't do physical contact. But as we got to know each other, it became an actual tap on the arm or his hand lightly on my back. It sounds very intimate and personal. It wasn't. More like a sheepdog herding a wayward lamb.

Now, as he guided me through the station door, I jumped at his touch. A couple of departing officers noticed. Gabriel did not--he was too intent on his destination. As we walked, I kept about a foot farther away than usual. Again, he was distracted, not realizing I wasn't in my normal place until he reached to steer me toward the front desk . . . and discovered I wasn't within reach. His lips tightened in annoyance, and he caught my gaze. I dropped it as soon as our eyes met.

A middle-aged detective who'd been watching the exchange came forward.

"Gabriel," he said.

Professionally, I'm guessing police officers don't call lawyers by their first name, any more than lawyers would use an officer's. They stick to the proper titles, unless they're friends. Gabriel was not, I was certain, friends with any law enforcement officer, and this man's tone was pure condescension, as if Gabriel did not deserve the respect of Mr. Walsh.

"Detective Fuentes," Gabriel said. "This is Ms. Taylor-Jones."

"Olivia, please."

I kept my gaze lowered. After we shook hands, I cast a nervous look at two young officers who'd been watching and whispering as we came in. They weren't the only ones, but they were being the most obvious about it. That's her. The Larsen girl.

Gabriel moved closer. Protective. I don't think he realized he was doing it, and when I inched away, he shot me a puzzled look. Fuentes noticed, though--that as well as my general discomfort at being watched and assessed. He gave a sharp look at the whispering young officers, then said, "This way, please," and led me down the hall.

While we walked, I stayed close to Fuentes. Gabriel shot me a look behind the detective's back. I returned it, resisting the urge to mouth, "It was your idea, dumbass." Apparently, when he said to downplay our relationship, he meant verbally--don't joke with him, whisper with him, act too familiar with him. But it was the body language that counted most, and mine said, "This guy might be my lawyer, but he makes me nervous."

As Fuentes led us into an office, I cast a furtive glance at Gabriel. "Does Mr. Walsh need to be here? I'm sure he has better things to do, and it's only an interview. I'm not a suspect. I mean, obviously, I guess I am, but this isn't that kind of interview, right?"