Betrayals (Cainsville 4)

"Which is?"

He fixed me with cool gray eyes. "That's not our concern."

"And your client thinks I'm connected? Is that why you're following me?"

The guy on the ground--clearly feeling left out of this confessional moment--said, "No, he wanted us to make sure you're okay."

His partner shot him a shut-the-fuck-up look, but his partner was tired of playing stoic paramilitary dude and continued. "We followed you from the hospital, but we couldn't get good-enough photographs. That's what he wants: pictures to prove you're up and around, no harm done."

"Shut--" the other man began...and Gabriel hit him. A punch to the jaw as effortless and casual as if he'd reached up to scratch his nose.

"You needed pictures of Ms. Taylor-Jones as proof she was not seriously injured," Gabriel said to the man on the ground. "You may tell your employer that she was injured--seriously--and when I find him, he will pay for that. Preferably through a civil suit, but other methods may be substituted as needed. Now, your client asked for proof that she survived her ordeal. Specifically her?"

"You, too, though he was more concerned with her."

Gabriel nodded, processing. "Do you have anything to add?"

"No."

"All right. Before I release you, I'd like the name of your client."

The man against the wall managed to laugh, wincing from his injured jaw. "Address, e-mail, and social security number, too?"

"Some method of contact would be appreciated."

"God, you're a piece of work, Walsh. That arrogance might work in a courtroom, but in the real world, people don't just give you whatever you want--"

"True." Gabriel pinned the guy, forearm at his throat, silencing him, as I began searching his pockets. "But I do like to give them the option. It's only reasonable."

I found a cell phone and a knife tucked in his shoe. I took both. That's when the guy on the ground decided rather belatedly to make a run for it. Gabriel tossed mercenary #1 aside and caught #2 by the back of the jacket. The guy didn't bother waiting for me to pat him down. He handed me a phone and a knife while his partner cursed him out. I still did the pat-down, and found only a set of car keys. We released the men, and I watched them struggle to pull their dignity back in place as they strode away.

CHAPTER TWENTY

We sat in the car, on a hill near the city limits, and watched the sun rise. It was Gabriel's idea. Even if he cannot quite fathom the appeal of watching something that occurs--without fail--every day, he knew that it'd been a ritual with my father and brought back good memories. So he got me a mocha and brought me here.

I went through the phones we'd confiscated. Texted instructions confirmed the two guys were hired help and that their mission had indeed been to provide proof that I was alive and well. Which was a little weird, and made Gabriel and me both wonder if the client knew who I was--not Olivia Taylor-Jones or Eden Larsen, but Matilda, prized by the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn, both of whom were not pleased I'd nearly died.

I

was going through those when my phone buzzed. Incoming voice mails. A whole bunch of them.

"Seems the new phone is taking its time releasing my messages," I said as I flipped to the inbox. "I have three from Ricky. One--oh, shit. Pamela got my number, and I totally forgot to tell you."

Dismay crossed his face, disappearing under an impassive mask. I knew it was difficult for him to talk about her, as much as he pretended otherwise. This was the woman who'd had him framed for murder.

"She called right before I met up with Aunika Monday night. She found out about Ricky somehow. That he's in trouble. She says she has information that can help him."

"I'll speak to her."

"Absolutely not. She's just manipulating me, and I'm not even going to listen to her messages." I scrolled down the list. "Despite the fact she left six of them. How the hell is she doing that? When she called, I didn't get the penitentiary warning."

"She's borrowed or stolen a phone. It happens. However, it might be wise for me to contact her and tell her you're all right, given that your accident made the paper."

"Right," I muttered. "Shit."

"I ought to get a message to both Pamela and Todd, assuring them you are well."

"Can you tell Todd to call me? So I can let him know myself that I'm fine. And have Lydia handle Pamela. I really don't want you having contact with her."