Visions (Cainsville #2)(15)
James continued explaining. I didn’t need it, but like a sinner at confession, he had to spill all the details of his mistake. Yes, it had been a mistake. Clearly, I did not appreciate my former fiancé hiring someone to take care of me and win me back, but James knew he’d been wrong, and I knew he’d been manipulated by a master. Could I forgive him for that? Yes. I could.
There was more, too, a mistake I didn’t need to forgive him for, because apparently it never happened. Last week, I’d seen a gossip-page piece on a reunion between James and his former girlfriend, getting back together. Now, over coffee, he explained that the encounter had been arranged by his mother, in collaboration with his all-too-willing ex. It had indeed only been an encounter—a few minutes at an event where he’d spoken to Eva, unaware the photo had been snapped, and then he’d left the event, alone. After the article came out, James had contacted Gabriel in a panic and been assured the matter would be set straight. Gabriel had never said a word to me.
“I was an idiot to trust him,” James said. “I knew his reputation. Hell, I spoke to one of my firm’s lawyers and I got an earful—about the cases he’s represented, the criminals he’s set free, the allegations against him. Assault, blackmail, intimidation . . . There’s even a rumor he has a sealed juvenile record.”
He did. For pickpocketing. Which was, I’m sure, only one of many juvenile offenses. As for the rest? I’d seen him deck a reporter. I’d seen him arrange for drugs to be given to a reluctant witness. I’d helped him move a body to delay its discovery. I suspected that any rumors short of murder were true. And I hadn’t cared.
For James, though, I acted as if this was all a huge revelation to me.
He continued, “But when I dug deep enough, all the information I received said that Walsh could, in his way, be trusted. Hire him and he’d do what he was paid for. Apparently not.”
Except he had. He protected me, staying by my side throughout our investigation. As for playing matchmaker? The thought of Gabriel saying, “Hey, maybe you should call your ex. He seems like a nice guy,” was ludicrous. I suppose he figured warning me off Ricky Gallagher was enough.
“So . . .” James said. “I screwed up, and I know you’re upset—”
“Not with you.”
“Then . . .”
He laid his closed fist on the table and opened it. In his palm was a ring. My engagement ring.
My heart seized, and I stared as if he were holding out a vial of poison.
My God, how could I even think that?
I’d planned to marry this man. To spend my life with him. And now it was like he belonged in some half-remembered dream. I had loved him. I still felt something that could be love. He was the same guy he’d been when I’d taken that ring a year ago. James had not changed. But I had.
“Liv?”
I looked up and saw his panic, his confusion. If any part of me wasn’t already consumed with self-loathing, that look devoured it in a single chomp.
“I . . . need time,” I said. “So much has happened, and I’m still confused and . . .” I swallowed. “I know that’s what I said last week, but after that article on you and Eva, I was sure it was over. Absolutely sure. That’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. But I need . . .”
“Forty-eight hours before I ask you to recommit?” James tried for a smile.
“I—”
He closed his hand over the ring. “No, you’re right. I’m moving too fast. I’ll walk you back to your car, and when you’re ready—to talk, to have dinner, anything—just call.”
KING OF PENTACLES
Thursday morning, Rose watched the girl head off to work at the diner. She looked fine, perfectly groomed in that casual, understated way that made it seem as if she rolled out of bed with her hair brushed and makeup on. Poised, that was the best word to describe Olivia Taylor-Jones, the girl Rose preferred to call Eden, at least in the privacy of her own mind. Today, though, that poise was a facade, one she couldn’t quite pull off, her head bowed, gait lagging, as if she’d really rather go back to bed and huddle under the sheets.
Yesterday, Rose had been at the door, seeing a client off, when Eden returned home mere hours after leaving for her first day of work with Gabriel. Eden had gone into her apartment and pulled the blind on her bedroom window, though it was still morning. That’s when Rose knew the cards were right.
During her client reading, the damned King of Pentacles had kept coming up. That was Gabriel’s card—lord of self-discipline, power, and security. Except it had been reversed, which emphasized the negative aspects of those traits. Authoritative, manipulative, and controlling. When Eden came home early, Rose knew what the card meant. Gabriel had screwed up. Again.
It was almost noon on Thursday when he finally phoned, ostensibly to check in on her. It was tempting to tell him she was fine and then say, “Well, I have to go now.” See what he’d do. Teach him a lesson. Only she knew what he’d do—sign off and continue dwelling on the problem alone.
Rose had learned long ago that there was no “teaching” Gabriel anything. Part of that was stubbornness, but part of it was skittishness, too. Perhaps “skittish” wasn’t the right word. It implied nervousness, like a colt snatching food from your hand before dancing off. Gabriel was more like a stray cat. He always had been, even before Seanna left.