The other stepped into his path. “Gabriel Walsh, you’re under arrest for the murder of James Morgan.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

In that moment, I failed Gabriel. The officer announced he was under arrest and all I could think was, Oh my God, Pamela . . . She’d accused him of murder and now he was being arrested, and that had to be her fault. I froze in horror and dismay, and when Gabriel looked at me, that’s what he saw. As if I thought he might actually have done it.

He turned away, his shoulders straightening. His hand dropped from my back. He walked toward the police cruiser, his chin high as one officer read his Miranda rights and the second told him to put his hands behind his back. They were going to cuff him—with news cameras on every side.

I jumped forward then, saying that wasn’t necessary, that he wasn’t resisting. But Gabriel said, “Enough, Olivia,” and put his hands behind his back as the cameras snapped.

I didn’t say, I know you’re innocent, because there was no question, and I would not act as if there was. Instead, I said, “Tell me what to do.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Please. Tell me what to do.”

He kept walking. I caught his coat sleeve, ignoring the warning grunt of the officer.

“Gabriel, please. Tell me what I can do.”

He glanced at me then, and my panic must have shown, because a little of that stiffness went out of his shoulders. He started rattling off instructions. Notify Lydia. Have her lock down the office pending a search. Do not go into the office until it had been searched. Same with his apartment.

“Do you need a lawyer?” I said.

“I’ll handle it.”

“You can still call me, right?” I said. “One phone call? To let me know if there’s anything more I can do?”

He lowered his voice, turning to look at me as we reached the police car. “I’ll be all right, Olivia.”

The officer opened the door and guided him in. As I hovered there, the officer gave me a surprisingly sympathetic look and said, “You’ll have to step back, Miss Jones.”

I did.

Gabriel ducked his head to look at me out the cruiser window. “May I have a brief word with Ms. Jones? Please?”

The officer hesitated. I suspect he wasn’t as willing to be nice to Gabriel, but the request was worded so politely, the tone downright deferential, that he told his partner to hold up. Gabriel motioned me closer, and the officer stepped away. As I bent to listen, I could see the tightness in his face, the anxiety. He might be acting calm, but he’d just been arrested for murder.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “I didn’t do this, Olivia. Whatever you may hear, whatever you may think—”