"Certainly. I'll show you where it is, and then I'll copy that report for you."
Eleven
Olivia
Gabriel's investigator did indeed examine the system, as part of her ongoing education. Which meant that, while Heather was gone, I assessed the system...and then Gabriel assessed my assessment.
The verdict? That the system wasn't nearly as good as the Nansens seemed to think. It afforded the illusion of perfect security, but a professional thief would have little difficulty breaking in.
While the Nansens were certain that the same burglar had targeted them three times, Gabriel wasn't convinced of it. The property practically waved a neon Rob Me sign. The house was surrounded by mature evergreens that would have blocked the neighbors from view, but there was also an eight-foot fence. What kept it safe from prying eyes, though, also kept burglars safe from those eyes as they prowled.
Then there were the windows. So many windows. Being a single-story house, for proper security, they'd have needed to arm each window. Instead, the alarms covered only the doors, including the sliding one on the patio off the kitchen where the intruder had entered. That was on a separate system, which Heather explained was kept armed unless they were using the back deck.
"Alan worried that I'd forget to arm the house when I was home alone," she said. "The police said the patio door was the most likely spot for someone to try again, so we left that armed all the time. Alan... He worried."
Her voice caught when she said that, and she cleared her throat with a quiet, "Excuse me."
Gabriel opened his mouth. A look from me shut it. I knew what was coming. He'd been about to tell her to take a minute, his catch-all reaction to people experiencing any surge of emotion.
Take a minute.
It sounded thoughtful and considerate, and clients took it that way. But even from the first time he'd said it to me, I knew what it really meant.
Take a moment and get this over with so we can move on.
Heather was entitled to bursts of emotion, and he could just keep his mouth shut and deal with it. It wasn't as if she seemed in any danger of breaking down sobbing uncontrollably, unable to continue. She was already back on track, showing us how the alarm worked.
"And you had an intruder break in here," I said. "That was the first sign of anyone trying?"
She nodded. "It was strange, really. I slept right through it. Alan got home, and when he went into the kitchen for a snack, he felt a draft. It was March, so the wind blew right through. He looked over to see the door open. At first, he thought I'd left it that way, but then he saw the lock had been forced. He got me up, and we reported it."
It was strange, really.
True, but the way she said it seemed oddly flat. Detached. Though it had been a couple of months ago, and it paled compared to what happened two weeks back.
"The only thing taken was your purse?" I said.
She nodded. "I kept it over there." She pointed to a hook on the wall. "In retrospect, maybe not the best idea. Someone just needed to look in the patio door to see it. The police thought the intruder got startled and left before he could grab more, but really, I'm not sure what else he would have taken. That was an easy snatch and run."
"But then he came back."
She crossed her arms, and now she did look uneasy. "Twice. Which..."
"Seems odd?"
She nodded. "I guess since the purse was so easy, he could have decided he'd come back for more. But twice?"
"You scared him off, though."
"I'm not sure 'scared' is the word. The first time, he tried the front door, and as soon as I turned on a light, he took off. The second, I saw the new motion detector light up the backyard. I thought it was just a cat, so I didn't freak out. I was still awake that time, watching a show on my laptop. I looked out, and there were footprints. It was when we had that freak snowfall a few weeks ago."
"The police seem to believe it was the same person each time."
She nodded. "I think so. There were prints the other times, too. First through the back garden and then under the living room window."
"The same prints?" Gabriel asked.
"The police couldn't say that conclusively--the snow ones had melted, and the first set were less distinct. But they were the same size and seemed like the same tread." She crossed her arms again. "I'm sorry. I guess all this doesn't mean much, considering the intruder isn't the person who...who shot Alan. I don't mean to go on. It just..." She looked at me. "It feels like he's responsible, though I know he's not. I am. I just..."
She straightened. "Enough about the security."
"Actually, this is helpful," I said. "In a potential case, Gabriel would need to establish the situation. The fear that you were living under."
"I wasn't--" A pained smile. "I shouldn't say that, should I? Otherwise, how do you explain...?" She shook her head. "I will explain. But first, the problem is that we weren't living in terror. We were living in defiance."
She waved us into the living room, where we sat.
"We didn't think it was an intruder. Not your garden-variety thief anyway. I haven't told the police that. It wouldn't help my case. After the first time, we did wonder why he just stole my purse. It was almost as if someone wanted to spook us rather than actually rob us."
She settled into the chair, getting comfortable. "When the next attempt came, Alan and I grew suspicious. It really didn't seem as if someone was trying to break in."
"Just spook you."
She nodded. "Yes. And all three happened while Alan was at work. While he was known to be at work. The busiest nights of the week."
I shifted forward. "Can you think of someone who might target you? Anything you tell us will be kept in complete confidence."
A humorless smile. "You mean whether I was having an affair and our intruder was my spurned lover?"
"Not necessarily. Maybe someone was paying you undue attention. Things like that can escalate, from the point where you don't want to sound paranoid to the point where you regret not feeling paranoid enough."
"True. But no. There wasn't a spurned lover or rejected suitor or mystery stalker. This wasn't about me. It was about Eclipse."
"The restaurant?"
She nodded. "What did someone stand to gain by pretending to break in on Saturday nights? Getting Alan to stay home."
When neither Gabriel nor I said a word, she said, "My husband needed to be at Eclipse. Having him there ensured everything ran smoothly on the busiest nights of the week. He was the captain of the ship and the face of the restaurant itself."
"So you thought someone was trying to make him stay home on the busy nights. To damage the business?"
"I know it sounds ridiculous, but restaurants are cut-throat operations. Most close in less than a year. Even one as successful as Eclipse wasn't exactly running in the black."
Gabriel met her gaze. "You are telling me that you feared a competitor was attempting to sabotage a failing business?"
She visibly bristled. "Eclipse isn't failing, Mr. Walsh. That's how newer businesses operate. How long did it take you to break even with your law firm?"
"Two months."
Her mouth opened. Then it closed.
"These are questions a prosecutor or the police could put to you," I said. "You need to be prepared."
She eased back. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. In the restaurant business, it may take years to break even, and the chances of it ever being wildly successful are slight. It's a labor of love. A chance to live a dream. Putting Eclipse out of business means another restaurant gets those patrons and increases its own chance to survive. Having Alan stay home on the busiest nights could be catastrophic. Which is why he insisted on continuing to work."
Gabriel said nothing for so long that Heather began to squirm and shoot glances my way.
"All right," Gabriel said finally. "I will accept that someone might have been harassing you in an effort to convince your husband to stay home. But if you s
uspected it wasn't an intruder, why did you shoot him?"
Heather jerked back as if slapped. She stared at Gabriel. Then she looked to me, waiting for the "good cop" to jump in. I met her gaze with a level stare. And I waited.
"I..." She hesitated and then inhaled. "I panicked. We told ourselves it was sabotage. Alan was so sure of it. But he"--another breath--"he didn't have to be here alone, hearing someone outside and hoping--praying--it was just someone trying to spook us. And then, when it happened, the way it happened..."
"Can you tell us about that?" I asked.
She nodded. "It was just before midnight. I was in bed--I'm not a night owl. I was asleep when I heard someone in the house. I got up and took out the gun. That was my plan. The next time this joker tried something, I'd scare the crap out of him. So I got the gun, but before I could even get out of bed, I heard footsteps running down the hall. Running toward our bedroom. The door flew open, and I saw a figure in the doorway and...and I fired."
"Without considering that it could be your husband?" Gabriel said.
She tensed at that. Not bristling now, just tensing.
"Yes," she said. "And I will never forgive myself for that."
"You don't like her story," I said as we got into the car.
Gabriel started the Jag and reversed from the drive. When he was on the road, he nodded at me. Telling me to go first.
"Alan was the one who convinced her it was a saboteur," I said. "Whatever she might say, she wasn't as sure. He tells her it's just someone trying to spook her, but meanwhile, I think she's kinda pissed. His explanation gave him an excuse to go about business as usual while she stayed home and prayed it wasn't a rapist looking for his opportunity to break in."
"I agree that she wasn't convinced it was sabotage."
"And she doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who'd be comfortable admitting she was afraid. That can be tough. If a woman says she's worried, the guy might brush it off, tell her she's overreacting. So let's say Heather believes she might actually be in danger. Then there's someone in the house, bursting into her room, in the dark, without any warning, not a text, not a call... If Alan thought he could do that--knowing his wife was armed--then I'm sorry, but he was an idiot. Not an idiot who deserved to die but..."
"Tragic mistake then?"
"It sounds like it, but..."
"You aren't convinced."
"No. I want to be, but I'm not."
Gabriel turned the corner. "Neither am I."
Twelve
Gabriel
Olivia stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, naked, close enough to the glass that she almost had her nose pressed against it. Gabriel walked in with two tumblers of Scotch in one hand. He set one tumbler on the end table beside her. As it clicked down, she said, without turning, "Yes, I still love the view."
"It's one of my favorites, too."
She looked then, as if she had to be sure he wasn't referring to the skyline. She smiled and picked up the tumbler. After a sip, she lowered herself to the floor, still at the window. They'd bought a new couch and moved it closer to take advantage of the view, and he settled on that, but she still needed to be closer, endlessly fascinated by the night skyline, fifty-five floors above the city.
As he watched her, he enjoyed a few minutes of undiluted contentment with a hint of satisfaction. This was what he'd wanted. This view. Olivia at his window. And yes, Olivia naked at his window, her skin glowing with sweat from sex. But even more than that, he wanted the expression on her face, reflected in the glass. Her happiness. Her contentment. Six months together, and if anything had changed, it was only for the better, as the early awkwardness and worry faded. She was still here, still happy, sitting at his window, enjoying his view.
One word in that statement, though, niggled at him. His. His window. His view. Half a year as a couple, and there remained a clear delineation between her home and his, and Gabriel wasn't quite certain what to do about that.
Shortly before Olivia and Ricky broke up, she'd said something that made him worry they might be moving in together. That was the sign he'd been watching for: that they would make their joint living arrangement official--"moving in" together in a more permanent way. Once they crossed that threshold, marriage would become a very real possibility, and Gabriel's own hopes would evaporate.
But it never came to that. As Olivia later said, what she had with Ricky was "in the moment." They were very happy together, but neither of them saw a future to it. Which had been exactly what Gabriel had wanted to hear.
Except now they'd been together for six months, and Gabriel wanted more. A seal of intended permanency. A guarantee was impossible, but he needed a sign that Olivia did see this as a long-term relationship, one that might culminate in marriage, though he did not require that, as long as the intent was there. The intent to form a partnership with a future.
A clear signal that she planned to stay with him.
Even thinking that made him twitch--the idea that he required such a thing. No one had ever accused him of a lack of ego, and that ego should hold him confident in the belief that Olivia should want to stay with him. That he was worth it. And if she did not agree? Then he was better off without her, and he would accept her decision with equanimity.
Which was a lie. Perhaps the biggest he had ever told.
Gabriel was afraid Olivia would leave him. While part of that was Gwynn's old fear, Gabriel needed to admit to himself that there was more to it.
If anyone had dared suggest that he feared abandonment after Seanna's departure, he would have laughed. His mother had never truly been present in his life, and he'd grown up with only the most transient of friends and even more transient lovers. He was not the least bit concerned about losing people. He didn't want them to stay.
Which was the clearest proof that Seanna had left scars. She had raised Gabriel not to form attachments of any kind. Not to care if anyone left. Not to let them get close enough for him to miss them when they disappeared from his life. Better yet, he should leave them first.
Now that he had someone he didn't want to lose? He was terrified.
The problem was that he had no idea how to take the next step, no more than he'd known how to take the first one. He'd tried, but ultimately, the ball had been shunted to Olivia's court.
He couldn't ask her to move in with him. First, that implied giving up her house in Cainsville, which neither of them wanted. Even if he clarified that it did not, the question seemed rather ridiculous.
"I'd like you to move in with me, Olivia. Part-time, of course. When we aren't at your house."
"Uh, isn't that what we're already doing?"
He couldn't even make a symbolic gesture, like giving her his key or his security codes or closet space. They had exchanged keys and codes before they got together. The "guest room" in her house had been his from the moment she'd moved in, and she'd already been keeping toiletries and clothing at his condo for when they worked late together.
How did you start living together when you'd practically been doing so even before you began dating?
It seemed that the only solution was to skip that step and jump to the next. But if they'd never even discussed marriage, he could hardly present her with a diamond ring.
So bring it up. Start there, with the discussion.
I've been thinking.
He opened his mouth to say that...and nothing came out.
I've been thinking.
Just say it.
Olivia turned. "Can I ask you something?"
Gabriel exhaled in relief. "Of course."
She walked to curl up on the other end of the couch. "It's about Seanna."
He tried to hide his reaction, but she saw it and said, "I know, that's the last thing you want to talk about."
Yes. "No, of course not."
"Liar." She tucked her legs under her. "You hate me bringing her up. I hate bringing her up. I'd rather just"--her hands fluttered--"put her in some alternate reality. Like G
race's building really is another dimension. We go in, we talk to Seanna, we leave, and we forget all about it. Poof. She's gone. But it doesn't work like that. She stays in here." Olivia tapped her head. "But mostly," she said, gesturing to his head, "in there."
She met his gaze full on. "I know what's going on, Gabriel. What you're not telling me."
His breath stopped, and his heart hammered, hand tightening around the glass he'd forgotten he was holding.
She knew, and realizing that, he also understood what he'd really been doing as he'd watched her at the window and tried to figure out how to bring up the subject of living together.
Closing the deal.
That's what it was about. Locking her in. Erecting the barriers that would keep Olivia from fleeing if she found out he'd betrayed her trust...again.
I need to tell you something, Olivia.
Those should be the next words out of his mouth. Beat her to it. Confess before confronted.
And if that wasn't what she was about to say? Too bad. Confess anyway. It was the right thing to do.
Ah, yes. The right thing to do. Admit to the hell he was enduring...so Olivia could blame herself for letting Seanna live, for supporting her staying in Cainsville.
If he confessed, was he doing it for their relationship? Or for himself?
"What am I not telling you?" he asked carefully.
She untucked her legs and crossed them instead. "How difficult it is for you, having her in Cainsville. Visiting her. It's not a case keeping you up at night. I've seen you sleep like the dead the night before trials that have me in knots...and I'm not the one defending the case. This is about Seanna."
No, of course not. Everything's fine. Just fine.
"Yes," he said. "I'm...struggling."
Olivia leaned over and hugged him. "Thank you."
"For struggling?"
"Ha-ha. For admitting it." She settled in again. "Okay, so we've established the issue. Now for the solution. I'm going to make a suggestion." She looked up at him. "Take a break."
"From...?"
"Seeing her. Let me do it. I'll go to tea with Rose. I doubt Seanna will notice you're not there. I'm not sure she even remembers you between visits."
Oh, she remembers me.
"We could both stop going," he said.
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