“So, Wednesday?”

Ricky’s voice startled me, and I looked around to realize we were at my car already. I glanced back over my shoulder.

“It’s gone.” His tone was light, jaunty even. “So, Wednesday, do you want to come here again or someplace else?”

“Wednesday? I—”

“Or Thursday. Maybe a walk this time. It’s supposed to be perfect weather.”

“You really are persistent.”

“Damned straight. But I haven’t heard a no. Wednesday, then? Same time? Coffee or a walk?”

I paused beside the Jetta. “I can’t. I’m sending the wrong message—”

“The message that you enjoy my company? That you had a hurricane blast through your life a month ago and you’re still sorting through the pieces and you could use the occasional coffee break with a normal—well, relatively normal—guy? The rules don’t change unless you change them, Olivia. The only message you’re sending says I don’t bore you to tears.”

“Okay. Wednesday. I’ll figure out where and text you. Is that okay?”

“Texting me anytime, for any reason, is absolutely okay.” He opened my car door and I climbed in.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ten minutes into my shift, I got a call from Rose. She left a message asking me to phone back, which I would have, on my break, if her damned nephew hadn’t called three times after that.

After the first time, I’d left my phone in the back—and on vibrate—but it didn’t help.

“Liv . . .” Larry said, bringing my phone out.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Gabriel. I saw. Don’t apologize. He’s your lawyer. Take the call in back, and I’ll cover for you.”

When Gabriel answered, I said, “Have I ever told you about Margie? The server I replaced, in part because she kept getting calls during her shift?”

“I didn’t realize you were at work, as I’m no longer in possession of your schedule.”

“And my voice mail wasn’t working?”

“I wasn’t about to trust that you wouldn’t simply delete the message unheard.”

“Texting?”

“The buttons do not accommodate larger-than-average fingers.” Which meant, apparently, that I’d hallucinated all the times we’d communicated by text message. He continued, “I was unable to arrange for a security system installation today. It will be done tomorrow. In the meantime, you will stay with Rose.”

“I will?”

“I’ll tell her you’ll be by after your shift. As will I. We need to discuss a matter relating to both your mother and Ciara Conway. Nothing urgent, but I have a busy week.”

“I don’t get off until eleven.”

“I realize that. I’ll meet you at Rose’s. I presume you’ll want to gather an overnight bag from your apartment, and I’ll ask you to wait until I arrive to do so.”

“Okay.”

Silence. Then, “I’m serious about this, Olivia. I don’t want you going to your apartment alone at night—”

“Didn’t I say okay?”

“Too quickly, suggesting you’re humoring me and have no intention of actually doing as I asked.”

“Mmm, if that was your idea of asking, I’d hate to see how you give orders. I inconvenienced you and Rose last night because I didn’t get that security system. Insisting on staying in my apartment tonight without one would be careless and immature.”

“All right. I’ll see you at eleven.”

—

“Gabriel’s running late,” Rose said as she let me inside. “He had a call from a client.”

“I’ll phone him,” I said. “We don’t need to do this—”

“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. It’d be a bigger inconvenience if he has to turn back.”

True. A light was on in Rose’s parlor, so I headed in there.

“What’s wrong?” she said as I took a seat.

“Nothing.”

“Do you remember what I said about the key to being a good psychic?”

“Being willing to make guesses and be proven wrong? Yes, you’re wrong this time. Sorry.”

“I meant observation and interpretation.” She sat down across from me. “You have never walked into this room and not taken advantage of the opportunity to poke about. Something happened today.”

I hesitated, then said, “I saw the hound again.”

“Where?”

“In Chicago. The thing is, I wasn’t alone, and the person I was with saw it, too. But . . . something about it bothered him, more than it should have, and I’m worried. For him.”

“Was it James?”

“No. Ricky Gallagher. He’s—”

“Don’s son. Does Gabriel know you’re seeing him?”

“I’m not. It was just coffee.”

“I see. While I’ve never met the Gallaghers, I do follow them in the news, since they are my nephew’s primary clients. I’ve seen photos of young Mr. Gallagher.”

“I’m trying to reconcile with James.”

“By going to coffee with an attractive young man? I would offer to do a reading to see where that will lead, but I don’t need the cards for that.”

I glowered at her. “Can I talk about the hound? Or are you testing out a career move? Advice to the lovelorn?”

“That wouldn’t help you at all. Love doesn’t enter into this choice. Lust versus duty. The perfect conundrum for a student of Victorian literature, though, one would hope, less of a struggle for a modern young woman. May I suggest that James Morgan is a wonderful catch . . . for someone else, and that if you persist—”

“So Ricky and I saw this hound.”

She sighed but waved for me to continue.

“It seemed to . . . confuse him,” I said.

Now she leaned forward. “As if he recognized it?”

“No. And yes. It was like . . . Hell, I don’t even know how to explain it. Like when you catch a scent and it’s familiar but you can’t place it. When I see an omen, I know it means something. What do other people sense? They must trigger something, or there wouldn’t be superstitions about them. Ricky did sense something about the hound, which paid no attention to me. It was staring at him.”