She looked at him. Then she nodded for the guard to leave.

“Misrepresenting yourself, Gabriel?” she said as she sat. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I am surprised it took you so long to come.” She leaned back in her seat. “Go ahead. Tell me exactly how you feel about me.”

Pamela let the silence stretch until she shifted, unable to hold it. “Let me guess—it took so long because you were trying to figure out a way to make me pay, legally. To prove that I tried to have you framed for murder. Failing that, you’ve come to tell me that I’ll pay, one way or the other.”

He stayed exactly as he was, hands folded, gaze resting on her.

“Stop that,” she snapped.

“I’m waiting for you to finish speculating on the nature of this visit. You seem to be enjoying it, so I will indulge you, though I must warn that, as you know, our time is limited.”

“What do you want, Gabriel?”

“The question is what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“Me.”

A harsh laugh. “Your head on a pike, I suppose? No, sorry to disappoint. I want you out of my daughter’s life, but it appears I can only wait until she comes to her senses and sees you for the manipulative son of a bitch you are.”

“You want freedom,” he said. “What do you need for that, Pamela?”

Her jaw set in a way he knew well.

“What do you need, Pamela?” he repeated.

Her jaw clenched so hard he heard her teeth grind. She barely pried her mouth open enough to spit, “Bastard. You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“It’s not pleasure. It’s control.”

“You take pleasure in control.”

“No, I take comfort in it. It makes life easier. You need me. My counsel. My services. You need me to represent you—along with Todd—in your appeal. It’s your only chance of seeing the outside of this prison.”

“If your appeal frees Todd, it will free me.”

Gabriel eased back, hands falling to his lap. “Not necessarily. That’s what Todd wants, but if you think it’s what your daughter wants, you are sadly mistaken. If you cannot be tried for James Morgan’s death, she’ll happily see you stay in here. What she wants is Todd’s freedom. What I want to give her is Todd’s freedom.” He straightened, hands on the table again. “It’s not going as well as I’d hoped.”

“Are you actually admitting—?”

“You will wonder why I’m offering to represent you, and that is the answer. The last time I saw you, you said that if I took your case again, you might be able to recall more useful answers to our questions. I presume that still holds true?”

“It does.”

“Then it seems …” He met her gaze. “That you win this round.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ioan had asked us to meet him at an address in the Loop. I figured it was a high-rent residence there—Gabriel’s own condo was nearby. But when I told Ricky the address, he said, “That’s office space.” He was right—it led to a skyscraper a few blocks from James’s corporate offices. The route would have taken us right past, but Ricky detoured, saving me from those memories.

“I’m sure I wrote the address down right,” I said as we looked up at the building.

“I’m sure you did, too. I’m wondering if we’re being sent on a wild goose chase.”

The building was dead quiet on a Saturday afternoon. Inside, we told the guard who we were there to see, and he sent us up to the twenty-third floor.

As we stepped from the elevator, we saw a corporate sign.

“Gwylio Consulting,” Ricky read. “Welsh, I take it?”

“It means ‘to watch, to look out for.’ And the correct pronunciation is guh-wi-luh-ee-oh.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Actually, it is. Once you know the pronunciation of the letters and the diphthongs, you can say any word, because—unlike English—there’s only one way of pronouncing them.”

“I’ll take your word for it. The question is what Gwylio Consulting actually does. That sign’s not giving me any clues. Nor is this.” He waved at the reception area beyond the glass doors, which looked like any upscale corporate office.

“Security,” said a voice.

We turned to see a man approaching. Early sixties. Physically fit and handsome enough that he still turned heads. Ioan emanated money and charm and good breeding, from his stance to his smile to his suit. Not exactly the kind of guy you’d picture riding a flaming black steed and dragging souls to the afterlife.

“What kind of security?” I asked.

Ioan’s smile grew. “Whatever you need.”

“Right now, I need answers.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place, as I’ve been telling you for a while, Olivia.” He led us to the door he’d come through. “It’s good to see you, Ricky,” Ioan said as he ushered us through.

Ricky nodded, and I could see Ioan’s gaze following him, disappointed by his apparent lack of interest. Ricky was interested in his Cŵn Annwn heritage, but to betray that would give them the advantage.

As we walked down a row of offices, I looked through the glass walls. Nice offices, all of them. Executive sized, executive furnished. Tidy, but not unduly so.

“It looks real,” I said.

“Hmm?” Ioan glanced over his shoulder at me.