“And mine”—I dangled my keys—“is over there.”

He grabbed the keys and whisked them out of my reach.

I could barely force the words out. “The only excuse you have for taking my keys—ever—is if I’ve been drinking—”

“You’re distraught. That’s equally impairing.” He dropped the keys into his inner jacket pocket.

I headed for a cab idling in front of the prison and climbed inside. Gabriel opened the other rear door, folded himself into the backseat, and gave the driver his address.

“Get the hell out,” I said. “Now.”

“I think you should both get out,” the driver said.

Gabriel handed him a hundred-dollar bill. The man pocketed it and put the car in drive.

Gabriel turned to me. “Earlier, I apologized for treating you poorly. While I know apologies are the normal way of expressing regret, I’ve never seen the point. In the rare instance that I do regret my actions, it would seem that the proper way to show it is through action. I behaved badly earlier. I am now making amends.”

“By stealing my keys and kidnapping me?”

He handed back my keys. I glowered at him.

“If you agree to return to my apartment with me, I’ll tell the driver to go back and we’ll take your car.”

“Oh, sorry, not kidnapping. Just coercion.”

“It’s a lesser charge.”

“Would stabbing you with my switchblade be a defensible action against that lesser charge?”

“No. However, as your lawyer, while I’m not supposed to advise you on how to commit a crime, I might suggest that if one wanted to stab a second party with one’s switchblade, one should wait until both parties have relocated to her car. That avoids witnesses”—he nodded at the driver—“and would allow her to claim defense against kidnapping, if the second party is driving.”

“I hate you.”

“So you’ve said. It’s situational. I don’t take it personally.”

“You should. I realize interpersonal relationships aren’t your forte, but a word of advice? You don’t fix problems by forcing people to do what you want.”

“Then I’ve been doing it wrong for a very long time. At immense profit and professional success.” He looked at me over his shades. “Perhaps you’re doing it wrong.”

“Gabriel . . .”

He removed his sunglasses. “While I cannot imagine otherwise wanting to force someone to spend time with me, I would concede that it’s probably not prudent—and certainly not legal—to do so. However, given that you are armed with both a knife and a gun, the choice is, ultimately, yours.”

“So you’ll understand if I stab or shoot you to escape?”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

The cabdriver cleared his throat. “I think I would like—”

“Take us back to the prison.” Gabriel turned to me. “It’s settled, then? You’ll come to my apartment?”

“Is that actually a request?”