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"I'm sorry," I said. "If I'd realized this in Chicago, I'd have caught a cab. I didn't mean to have you chauffeur me out here--"
"I didn't chauffeur you. I wouldn't have let you come on your own. Not until this other matter is settled." He adjusted his cuffs. "I'll escort you in, then, and ensure all the proper arrangements have been made. Is that suitable?"
I could hear the chill in his voice. Damn it, Gabriel. This is not the time to get your back up.
"I'm sor--"
"No need. I understand."
He pulled open the door and ushered me through.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When I went to see Pamela for the first time, I'd been surprised to meet her at a table, with nothing between us. Gabriel had said the authorities would never let me get that close to Todd. He was right. I was sitting on a rickety stool, staring at a battered speaker and scratched Plexiglas, listening to the woman beside me complain to her inmate husband about the neighbors parking in front of their house.
I'd been a fool to ask Gabriel to stay outside. Yes, it would be harder with him here, watching and assessing, but that would give me a reason to be stronger.
I stood and turned toward the door. Should I ask him to come in? I--
"Olivia."
I jerked back. The voice was so familiar, my adopted name so wrong in it.
"If you're leaving, I understand."
His voice was soft, yet still audible over the faint buzz of the speaker.
My knees wobbled, and I think if I could have run without falling flat on my face, I would have, but I couldn't move.
"If you can stay, just back up and sit down. You don't have to turn around. Be careful, though. You don't want to miss the stool."
A soft chuckle. Oh God, I knew that chuckle, just as I knew the quiet voice and the louder raucous one, too. I could hear that voice strumming with laughter as he pushed me on the swing. As he swooped me up, swirling me around. As he put me on his shoulders. As he tossed me onto the couch and whirled me around in a pool. Always playing, always feeding my need to go higher, go faster, to feel the adrenaline rush.
Then his quiet voice, as he bent to fix a scraped knee or whisper in my ear after a bad dream. I had vague images of Pamela as a warm and loving mother. But Todd? The moment I heard him speak, those memories flooded back, sharp and clear, and the tears started. They didn't begin as prickles or even drops. I felt them streaming down my face, soaking my collar, my cheeks wet, my skin red-hot.
"Can you turn around, Olivia?"
He didn't call me Eden. He didn't stumble on my adopted name, as Pamela did. He was being careful, so very careful.
I took a slow step back and bumped the stool.
"There. Now sit down."
The woman sitting next to me stopped complaining about the neighbors and stared at me, her face scrunched up like I was covered in plague boils.
"Ignore her," Todd said, his voice sharper, and he must have glared at the woman, because she turned away quickly. "Ignore everyone else."
I felt myself nodding and settled onto the stool.
I should turn around.
I can't.
This is stupid. I'm making a fool of myself.
"It's okay."
I nodded again.
