When I came in, Gabriel looked up and waved me to his office. I left Lydia’s tea behind and followed.

As Gabriel took his coffee, I studied his posture and expression, both relaxed. I’m sure he’d been up late working, but there was no sign of it, no hint of that haggardness from a week ago. I was glad to see it. With Gabriel, a good mood was like finding a rare sunny patch by the window.

“I have a few things to do this morning,” he said. “But you can use my office. We’ll pay Macy a visit after lunch. First, though, how did it go with Patrick?”

“My plan to get him talking worked. As for how useful it was . . . that’s debatable. He won’t answer direct questions, so—”

A tap at the door. Lydia poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. I have a package from Olivia’s family lawyer. It’s apparently important.”

“Not really,” I said. “It’s from James. Something I left at his place, I’m guessing.”

She lifted the parcel. “It doesn’t seem like clothing.”

It was a flat, legal-sized envelope about an inch thick.

“Legal documents?” I said. “What’s he doing? Suing me for breach of contract because I ended the engagement?”

“That law was abolished in the thirties,” Gabriel said.

“I was kidding.” I took the envelope and thanked Lydia, and she retreated. Gabriel watched as I stuffed the envelope in my bag.

“You aren’t going to open that?” he said.

“It’s been a good day so far. I’d rather not ruin it before nine.”

He settled back into his chair but kept glancing toward my bag.

I sighed. “It’s going to bug you until I open it, isn’t it?”

“It does look like a legal document. Do you share any property or goods in common?”

“Nope. I even gave the ring back.”

“Have you borrowed anything from him? Money perhaps?”

“If I didn’t take a handout from my mother, I sure as hell wouldn’t take it from my ex.”

His gaze slid to my bag again, as if magnetized. I sighed again, reached down, and opened it. Only as I was pulling out the papers did he say, “If you’d rather not . . .” because he knew it was too late. I tugged out two file folders and opened the thinner one.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

Gabriel moved behind me to read over my shoulder.

“I don’t know how he got this,” I said. “But I don’t think he should have it.”

Gabriel bent and flipped through. “No, it’s a matter of public record. Charges laid against members of the Satan’s Saints since Don Gallagher took over in the late nineties.”

“And let me guess where you took over as counsel of record . . .” I ran my finger down the pages. The first two were a mix of sentences, acquittals, and a dozen plea bargains. Then the mix changed to charges dropped, acquittals, and two plea bargains. “Right about there,” I said, pointing.

He smiled, pleased. “Yes, that would be it. I regret the plea bargains, but sometimes acquittal is too much to hope for.” The smile faded as he lifted the pages. “As for why Morgan is giving you this . . .” He flipped to the first page. “Ah.”

“James thought he’d provide a little background information on Ricky. Except it’s not on Ricky. It’s on the Saints.”

“Because there’s nothing he could dig up on Ricky other than his association with the club. He’s never been charged with an offense. He’s had a couple of traffic violations, but I was able to successfully argue that they were based purely on the fact that he was driving a Harley and wearing a club patch. Ricky knows the value of a clean record.”

“So what’s in this other . . .” I flipped open the thicker file and saw the cover sheet. “Oh.”

Gabriel didn’t even seem to bend down to read it. “Yes, that would be mine. It appears Morgan had a little more luck there.”

I closed the folder and handed it up to him. “Shred it. And if you want to retaliate with the McNeil business you mentioned, go ahead.”

That same pleased smile he’d given when I complimented his defense record.

“Did you think I’d read it?” I said.

“Perhaps, but I didn’t expect you to suggest retaliation.” He pulled his chair over and sat with the folder on his lap. “I want to ignore him. He’s making that increasingly difficult, though.”

“Sorry.”

Gabriel opened the file. “As for this . . .” He skimmed the top sheet. “True.” He set it on the desk and checked the next. “Not true.” He started a second pile and checked the third. “Not entirely true—there is a basis in fact, but the primary accusation is wrong.”

He began another pile, in between the two. He continued through the stack. When he finished, the three piles were about equal. He leaned back in his chair.

“There. Go ahead. Take a look.”

I shook my head. “Will Evans tried the same thing.”

“And as long as you associate with me, there will be someone who thinks it’s his duty to tell you exactly how horrible I am. Whoever Morgan hired to investigate me was certainly thorough. Every charge I’ve ever heard is here. I will rest easier if we get this over with. Clear away the rumors. Render the ammunition useless.”

I looked at him, pulled over the first pile, and began reading.

—

What did I find in those piles? Nothing worse than I’d heard. Nothing worse than I suspected. I knew Gabriel had a juvenile record for pickpocketing. I also suspected he’d continued picking pockets, along with other methods of theft, through his teen years, to support himself. He just got better at hiding it.

There were accusations of assault. Some true; most not. Again, what I’d expect. I’d seen Gabriel use his fists, but he was more comfortable intimidating with his size, as he’d done with James. There was an accusation of murder. He scoffed at that.

“Killing a business rival?” he said. “It suggests I need to eliminate an opponent to defeat him.”

“Terribly insulting,” I said.

“It is.” He paused. “Also, untrue.”

A large chunk of the file concerned his activities during college. How he paid for his degree. The rumors were that he’d dealt drugs or run an illegal gambling ring.