“So it’s not fear of rejection. It’s fear that it won’t work. That you’ll drive her off. That in trying for more, you’ll lose her completely.”

I always do.

He rubbed his temples again.

“Gabriel . . . ?” Concern in her voice now as she stepped forward.

He moved away from her. “As entertaining as it might be to try extending your powers to mind reading, I find the need to continually defend myself against groundless accusations irritating.”

She kept her voice low. “I only want you to be happy.”

“Then allow me to continue this vigil in peace, because what I’m doing, had you asked, is waiting until they finish their conversation so I can return to the task of making sure I don’t go to jail for murder. That would make me happy.”

“No, that would just be a relief. What makes you happy is her.”

She walked away before he could reply. He turned back to the window.

She was right, of course. Not about all of it. Any sexual attraction was an unavoidable matter of biology. He was spending his days in the company of an attractive young woman and it had . . . been a while.

Sex was a problem for someone uncomfortable with physical intimacy. When he’d been a teenager or a college student, the drive overrode the revulsion. As he got older, the edge wore off that drive, and the anonymity he needed became much harder to come by when he made a conscious effort to get as much public exposure as possible. Women might pretend to have no idea who he was, but afterward he’d often get a “Remember me?” call at the office. The last one had actually shown up there. That had been almost a year ago. Which explained the “issues” with Olivia. He could solve them by breaking his dry spell but he recoiled at the thought. And he had a feeling it wouldn’t be more than a very temporary solution. Because, if he was being honest, there was more to his attraction than biology. That didn’t matter, though. Having such a relationship with Olivia introduced far too many uncontrollable variables into the equation.

She won’t stay. She never does.

The other night, when he’d insisted Ricky join Olivia in her room upstairs, it had been, admittedly, an effort to prove their relationship didn’t bother him. Of course, as soon as Ricky had climbed the stairs, and Gabriel realized how quiet the house was, and that he’d hear them if they engaged in anything, he’d felt very differently about the situation. Sure enough, the sounds from their room did drive him out of the house. But they weren’t “that” sort of sound at all, simply them whispering and laughing, their voices too low for him even to make out what they were saying. That was enough, those whispers and laughs pounding through his skull like red-hot spikes.