Still, he shouldn’t have insisted Olivia take the bedroom. It wasn’t about putting her in a safer spot, he realized. It was about giving her a better place to sleep as a way of saying, “I’m sorry for how monumentally I fucked up tonight.”

When she’d insisted he stay out of the prison visiting room, he’d racked his brain for what he’d done to deserve the rejection. Whatever the cause, he hadn’t taken the snub well. Not until he’d stood at that visiting room door, seen the tears streaming down her face, and all he could think was, Thank God I’m not in there.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to deal with her emotional breakdown. He wanted to fix it. To make her feel better. And he didn’t know how.

Olivia knew whom to turn to for comfort. She’d wanted Ricky. And he’d talked her out of it. He’d been hurt and, yes, jealous, unwilling to acknowledge that someone else could help her when he could not. So how had he handled the situation? By making it worse.

His intentions had been good. He could tell she wanted a drink, so he’d taken her to a bar where they could talk about the visit. Except he’d inadvertently chosen a place where they couldn’t talk about anything. When she said that was fine, again he’d felt relief. He could get her a drink and be spared the necessity of conversation, which would save him from failing to make the correct response.

He’d watched her mood drop ever lower, and he’d known he’d made a mistake. Then Ricky had called, and he’d had the chance to repair the damage. Admit Olivia was not fine and Ricky would be there within the hour. Problem solved. Olivia’s problem solved. By someone else. Which meant there was no way he could bring himself to say, “She’s not fine.” Three simple words. One crushing admission.

“If you have any reason to think Liv needs me, say the word and I’m on the way.”

“She’s fine.”

“Okay, then. I trust you to make that call.”

Another sound from inside the bedroom. He rapped softly enough that it wouldn’t wake her, but when she didn’t answer, his anxiety grew.

He eased the door open. The room was pitch-dark, Olivia having pulled the blackout blind. He pushed the door so that the living room light shone through, and then he scoured the familiar room for anything unfamiliar. Nothing.

Olivia was still asleep, tossing restlessly, making the bed creak. He eased the door farther open, light illuminating the bed. That’s when he saw her, really saw her. She lay on her side, head on his pillow, her nightshirt riding up around her waist, her legs bare . . . more than her legs bare.

Olivia. In his bed.

The image was as unwelcome as the one Morgan had sent to his phone, but he didn’t delete this one. No, he stood, and he watched, and he thought, considered, imagined—

He closed his eyes, but it didn’t do any good. He could still see her there, in his bed . . .

Where she should not be. Not in his bed. Not in his apartment. What the hell had he been thinking? What was he doing, not just bringing her here, but any of it, all of it?

I’m sorry, Olivia. I understand you’re going through a difficult time, and if you need my help as your lawyer, I’m quite happy to give it, but otherwise . . .

Otherwise . . .

Otherwise, he should extricate himself from the situation. Completely and thoroughly. He’d been wrong to make this his problem, to get wrapped up in the madness, to get wrapped up in her.

He thought of leaving and felt pain. Physical pain in his gut, as if someone had sucker punched him and left him gasping.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want her to leave.

But you need to. Leave before she does, because you know she will. You’ll drive her away. You’ll do something or you’ll fail to do something, and she’ll give up on you.

Olivia whimpered in her sleep, and when he looked, she’d doubled over, her head down, legs drawn up as if she was the one in pain.

I can’t help her.

Yes, I can. Maybe not with what happened tonight, but there is something I can fix.

He took out his phone and flipped to the second message from Morgan.

We need to talk. I’ll be home all night and the house will be otherwise empty, so we can discuss this in private and, I hope, come to an understanding. You’re a reasonable man, Walsh. I think we can reason this out.

A reasonable man. By that, Morgan meant that Gabriel could be bought off. The spark of indignation lasted only a second before cold reality snuffed it out. He had been bought by Morgan once, and there was no reason for the man to suspect it wouldn’t work again. That would not happen, of course. Whatever impulse Gabriel had to extricate himself from this situation had been crushed by the determination to prove he could fix this, he could help her, he could be what she needed.

Gabriel dropped his phone into his pocket, eased from the room, and headed out of the apartment, arming the system as he went.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ricky picked me up for breakfast. When we reached his bike, I noticed the bulging saddlebags and the smell of bacon.

“Are you up for a picnic breakfast?” he said. “If you don’t want to eat outside, we could commandeer the meeting room table at Gabriel’s office.”

“No, a picnic is great. Eating out means dining with strangers, and I wasn’t really feeling up to that today.”

“I figured you might want some privacy.”

“I do.” I kissed his cheek before I pulled on my helmet. “Thanks.”