Rose put the King of Wands aside, flipped over so she wouldn’t have to look at it. Then she cut through the deck until she found the card she wanted. The King of Pentacles, symbolizing control, power, security, and discipline. Reversed, it suggested a tendency to be controlling, authoritative, domineering. Gabriel’s card.

She smiled at the austere and foreboding figure on the front. She laid it beside the Queen of Swords with a snap of satisfaction, stepped back, and . . .

Her grandmother’s voice sounded at her shoulder. You can’t do that, Rosie. It doesn’t work that way.

But this is what I want.

I know, but you can’t force the cards to come. You can put them there, but what do you feel when you look at them?

Rose looked at the two cards on the counter. They did work together. Her gut said they did. But her gaze kept drifting to that discarded King of Wands.

Damn it.

If fifty years with the sight had taught her anything, it was exactly this. She could use her gift to manipulate circumstances and guide people down a path, but ultimately, they made their own choices.

At the creak of a floorboard, she glanced into the hall to see that Gabriel had arrived. He was standing outside the open parlor door, tucked back into the shadows as he watched Olivia with Ricky. His face was impassive, but she could see the turmoil in his eyes, the hesitation in his stance, as if he wanted to back up and walk away. Run away.

Goddamn it!

She wanted to march into the parlor and tell Ricky Gallagher to get the hell out of her house. To turn on Olivia and tell her to smarten up or she could get out, too. She needed to see what she was doing to Gabriel and tell Ricky it was over.

None of that was fair, of course. Ricky was doing nothing wrong. Nor was Olivia. If there was blame here, it fell on . . .

Her gaze slid to her nephew, and she stifled a pang of guilt. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. The problem could be traced back to everything that had gone into making Gabriel the way he was today: his mother’s neglect, his father’s negligence, and, yes, Rose not doing enough to mitigate the damage.

She had told herself he was fine, and he was, in so many ways. Brilliant, driven, successful, as capable and competent as a man twice his age. And completely, utterly incapable of forming anything remotely resembling a normal human relationship. Until Olivia.

Rose didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, but she wanted it for Gabriel. With Olivia, he could have that perfect bond between two people who are both partners and lovers. Ultimately, though, what mattered was having a bond. For Gabriel to have someone he cared for, who cared for him in return. Someone who made him happy. A few months ago, she’d have said that was impossible. Now she’d seen it wasn’t. He had Olivia. And Olivia had Ricky.

Gabriel turned toward the kitchen, as if to come look for Rose instead. Olivia noticed him there. She said, “Just a sec,” to Ricky, came out into the hall and retreated with Gabriel to the front door. Rose watched Olivia’s face for any sign of distance, proof that her bond with Gabriel was thinning. There was none. She was relaxed and comfortable with him, her gaze as warm as ever, her regard as strong as ever.

And Gabriel? He answered her questions about the police investigation concisely but sincerely, no impatience or sign that he’d rather be anyplace else, doing anything else.

Good. Now, ask her how she’s doing. How she’s holding up.

“Everything is under control,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around and answer more questions—”

“There was no need. That’s what I’m for, as your lawyer.”

Damn it, Gabriel. No. Not as her lawyer. As her friend. She just found someone she cared about murdered. If you can’t express some sympathy, at least let her know you’re thinking of what she’s going through.

“Right,” Olivia said. “Anyway, billable hours or not, I appreciate it.”

Her tone was steady and her thanks sincere, but Rose didn’t miss the rueful twist to the words “billable hours.”

Goddamn it, Gabriel. You have no intention of adding a single dollar to her bill. Clarify that. It’s a gift, not a service. Make sure she knows—

“Is Rose around?” Gabriel asked.

“In the kitchen, making tea.”

“Would you mind giving her a hand? I need to speak to Ricky.”

“Sure.”

Rose slid the cards into her pocket and opened the cupboard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ricky and I escaped to my apartment after tea. That wasn’t the plan, but I decided I really needed to grab a few things as soon as possible . . . escaping the most awkward tea party ever.

Gabriel had spent the entire time on his phone, typing e-mails and checking messages. I kept telling him I was fine and he could go back to the office, but he stayed—and kept working, without so much as a grunted answer when a question came directly his way.

I finished my tea. “Okay, we should get over to my place—” I looked into Ricky’s cup. “Oh, sorry.”

He drained his cup in one gulp. “Done.”

I got to my feet and turned to Gabriel. “Go back to Chicago. I promise to stay in Cainsville and behave myself until further notice. Okay?”

His jaw twitched. “Are you saying you want me to leave?”

“No,” Rose snapped. “She’s saying you’ve been on that goddamned phone since you got here, and you’re making her feel like she’s imposing.”