When he said nothing for two blocks, I asked, "You don't think I should?"
"I agree that a record is wise. I'm just not certain I can help you obtain one."
"No problem. I'll do it myself."
"I don't mean . . ." He cleared his throat. "No matter how you obtain it, your connection with me will . . . I've used restraining orders in the past to establish a record of harassment against a client. Except in those cases . . ."
"Your clients weren't actually being harassed."
"I'll fix this, Olivia."
"It's not really your problem to fix," I said softly.
"Actually, it is. I'm the one who . . . made that deal with him."
"To protect me and get us back together again." Gabriel had accepted money from James, to look after me and help me reconcile with him.
"It wasn't--" Silence. Then, "Whatever my intentions, it's clear that he interpreted our arrangement to mean reconciliation was a strong possibility. You said it was over, and I muddied the waters. I miscalculated."
Two words. Simple enough. I miscalculated. But they weren't simple at all. They were an admission of fallibility, and that didn't come easy for Gabriel.
"I'll fix this," he said. "I promise."
--
As we drove to the dealership, Gabriel got a call. It was Pamela Larsen, my birth mother, phoning from prison. He told me it was her, but he didn't answer.
My relationship with Pamela was strained. When I'd discovered I could see omens, I'd remembered her teaching me all those superstitious ditties as a child. So I'd gone to her for answers. She'd brushed it off as nonsense passed along by a young and foolish mother trying to entertain her baby. I'd refused to see her until she agreed to talk.
She was trying to reach me through Gabriel because he was her lawyer. She'd hired him a few years ago to win her an appeal. He'd failed to do so. As much as she hated him--and hated me having any association with him--she hadn't hesitated to hire him back for her latest appeal. Begging him to be allowed to see me would be difficult for her. I regretted that it had come to that. Yet I didn't regret it enough to visit. If she wasn't going to give me answers, I'd try Todd. Which was turning out to be a lot more complicated--logistically and emotionally--than I could have imagined.
Todd Larsen was a convicted serial killer. A monster. My memories of him should surely be equally monstrous. Except the ones I'd dredged up were bright and warm. By all accounts, I'd adored my father, and he'd adored me. When I'd been unable to get in to see him--we still weren't sure why--he'd sent that letter, and it was everything I could have wanted . . . and everything I didn't want.
I'd had a dad. Arthur Jones. An amazing father I lost to a heart attack a year ago. And now I had Todd, who, from that letter, had been just as good a father. I was struggling to reconcile that. I'd have to face him. I would, when I got the chance. I just hoped I could handle it.
CHAPTER FOUR
At the car dealership, Gabriel set me loose and said, "Find me something." I tried to get his opinion, but he was having none of that. I don't know if he was too distracted or he honestly didn't give a damn, but he seemed serious, so I had fun.
The new Jag I chose wasn't that different from his old one. The style suited him, and I was loath to change that. I started rhyming off options.
"I usually just pick one from the lot," Gabriel said.
"That's your first mistake."
The salesman cleared his throat. "I can offer a discount on the lot models. We'll be starting the new year soon."
"How much of a discount?"
"I can't say exactly, but if you come inside, we can negotiate--"
"Ballpark it for me," I said.
"Maybe a thousand dollars."
"Not worth it."
Gabriel's lips twitched in amusement. "Whatever she says."