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Lambert's brow creased, as if Gabriel's words sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean.
" He checked his watch, and he pulled over his laptop. "I really need to get back to work."
"You mean you need to get back to booking that vacation."
"Yes, I'm running out of time." Lambert blinked, seeming confused. "For the sale. I'm running out of time for the sale."
"I see."
"I lost my way. I need to get back on track."
The hairs on Gabriel's neck rose. "Back on track?"
That look again from Lambert. The one that made Gabriel feel as if he were working from a different script in this scene.
"What?" Lambert said.
"You said you'd lost your way and needed to get back on track."
More confused blinking, and Gabriel imagined Lambert peering at his script, wondering where that dialogue came from.
"Back on track for work," he said, quickly and firmly resolving the matter. "I need to get back to work, and I'm afraid I must ask you to let me do that. Good day, Mr.... What did you say your name was again?"
Gabriel turned and walked out of Lambert's office.
SIX
PATRICK
Patrick knew his son did not play well with others. That wasn't a trait he'd learned from either parent, but rather--he feared--from experience.
Seanna might have liked to surround herself with friends and admirers--or, as she'd call them, marks and dupes--but Patrick suspected she'd have seen no reason to encourage her son's socialization. In fact, she'd have likely discouraged him from making friends because it might prove inconvenient to her. She wouldn't want kids snooping around, getting underfoot, scaring off those dupes and marks, and possibly showing her young son that pickpocketing and petty theft were not skills most parents taught their offspring.
So Gabriel did not play well with others. He lived alone. Started his own law firm straight out of school. Only hired Lydia when doing administrative work began to impede his earning potential. But he didn't work with Lydia. No one earned that spot until Gabriel had met a certain former socialite with serial killer parents.
With Liv away, Patrick had hoped Gabriel missed the experience of working closely with another person. Another person like Liv--clever enough, resourceful enough and devious enough to keep up with Gabriel. A person like Patrick.
Evidently not.
Patrick had spent most of yesterday composing a ghost story for his son. Supplementing what he found online. Adjusting facts. Photoshopping articles to better support the story he wished to tell.
It was, truly, a creative masterpiece. And Gabriel wanted nothing to do with it. He'd refused the file of carefully curated--and constructed--evidence.
Just the facts, sir. Give me the facts, and I'll research them on my own.
Which meant that, at any moment, his son was going to discover his "case" was nothing more than a conveniently timed example of an urban legend in action.
Worse, Patrick had triggered Liv's suspicions. She'd called last night to find out what he was up to, knowing there was no way in hell he needed this for book research. She suspected he was trying to wriggle into his son's good graces while she was away, unable to intervene.
She'd also inadvertently tipped him off to Gabriel's night-time visit to the scene. Which meant Gabriel was actively investigating. Without Patrick. Robbing him of the opportunity even to prepare special effects for his visit.
Now Gabriel was interviewing Robert Lambert. Alone. Patrick had called for an update, and Gabriel had said he was "working the case" and, when pressed, admitted he'd be conducting interviews today. While he hadn't said whom he planned to interview, it didn't take keen deductive reasoning to realize the top spot would go to the guy whose claim started this investigation.
So Patrick had set up shop in yet another coffee house, this one right across from the architect's office building. He didn't even need to watch out the window. When Gabriel arrived, Patrick noticed--saw the movement in the crowded sidewalk as it cleared. Gabriel had that effect on people. Even those who wouldn't normally clear the way for a guy in an expensive suit changed their minds after one look at Gabriel. Six foot four. Built like a linebacker. With a face better suited to the kind of guy who'd pick you up, put you against the wall and say his boss expected payment now.
Gabriel himself never seemed to notice the parting of the tide, too intent on his destination. Patrick watched him walk into Lambert's building. Then he packed away his laptop and went outside to wait.
SEVEN
