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"Get where? Under the desk? Behind the bathroom door? Where exactly are you going to hide me, Eden? And why bother, if I'm not really his mother?"
The footfalls continued past. Just one of Gabriel's tenants.
I took out my phone and texted. Can you stay away longer, pls?
The please would tell Gabriel I was serious. A moment later, he replied saying he was supposed to visit a client at Cook County this morning and should he just do that?
Yes, pls.
I pocketed my phone and turned to the woman.
"Sit down."
She gave that spine-raking smile again. "If you're trying to pretend you aren't sleeping with my son, you might want to begin with a slightly less impassioned defense."
"Gabriel and I are friends. Good friends."
"Gabriel doesn't have friends. No one wants to hang out with a freak."
I felt Lydia's hand on my arm before I
even realized I was surging forward, fists clenched.
In that moment, I forgot that this couldn't possibly be Seanna Walsh and that was who I saw, who I heard, and I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. It was only when I realized what I was thinking that I rocked back, exhaling fast and hard.
"Sit down," I said again.
She started for the door.
I stepped into her path. "I told you--"
"No, Eden. You are adorable, really, but totally out of your league. Go back to painting your nails or picking out a new wardrobe or whatever your type does."
I lifted my hand . . . to point a gun at her forehead. "This is what my type does. Or have you forgotten who my parents are?"
She laughed. "You aren't that girl, Miss Eden. You might carry a gun in your purse and tell yourself you're a private investigator, but your blue jeans probably cost a week's salary. You're a trust-fund baby, and my baby is going to fleece you for every penny you have. I hope you realize he's running a long con here. Give the rich debutante her bad-girl dream, empty her trust fund and then dump her pretty little ass."
I could tell her Gabriel doesn't need my money. That he owned this building. Owned a million dollar condo. Kept a hundred grand in cash under his bed for "emergencies." But that would mean giving her some idea exactly how much her mark was worth. So I shot her in the leg.
The woman fell back, yowling.
I turned to Lydia. "Please call the police and tell them I have been forced to shoot a trespasser. It's a minor wound, but they still may want to send an ambulance."
Lydia picked up the phone. The woman lunged to grab it. I motioned for Lydia to hang up and said calmly, "Are you going to sit down now?"
"You--you shot--"
"Barely." I grabbed a tissue box from Lydia's desk and tossed it at the woman. "Staunch the blood. If you play nice, I'll get you bandages. I might even toss in five bucks to buy a patch for your jeans. Now sit. Lydia? Any chance you could grab me a mocha?"
Gabriel had a hard-and-fast rule about involving Lydia in trouble, and the legality of that bullet graze was already highly questionable.
When I mouthed "please?" she nodded with reluctance and said, "I'll be right around the corner."
I waited until she was gone. The woman still wasn't sitting. She wasn't making any move to leave either, so I decided not to press the point.
"Seanna Walsh is dead," I said.
"No, Seanna Walsh was playing dead." She tossed bloodied tissues aside. "I knew this guy--police sergeant--who used to make problems disappear for a price. We had an arrangement. One night, he brought dope to party, and he got loaded and told me he nabbed a half-kilo of coke from the evidence locker. I saw an opportunity."
