We spent the next few hours at the office combing through the first two pairs of murders again, hunting for a connection and finding none. When my yawning got too loud, Gabriel promised we’d leave soon, and suggested I rest in the chaise longue in the meantime. I did . . . and woke four hours later to find him still in his office chair, laptop shoved aside, arms folded on a stack of papers, his head on them. Sound asleep. He looked adorable. I considered taking a cell phone picture for future blackmail. I may even have done it, but I’ll admit nothing.

I went out and returned a half hour later. Gabriel woke when I placed a steaming coffee beside his head. He groaned as he opened his eyes. Groaned louder, pairing it with a wince, when he lifted his head.

“Yep, that’s going to hurt,” I said. “You should have taken the longue.”

“It was occupied.” He winced again as he pushed himself into a relatively upright position. “Even if it wasn’t, I don’t fit on it.”

Which was true. It looked as if it had never been used. He was too tall to sleep on it, but I’d bet he’d never even sat there. So why buy it? Another Gabriel mystery.

“Coffee,” I said, pushing it toward him. “Extra large.”

“Thank you.”

“And this.” I fished a vial of Tylenol from my bag. “For your neck. But don’t take it until you’ve eaten. Luckily, food is also provided.” I set down a box of four still-warm muffins. “Blueberry, banana nut, lemon poppyseed, and double chocolate. Your pick.”

He took the banana nut and set the double chocolate down by my coffee cup. I smiled. “Thank you.”

He leaned back with the muffin and coffee as I settled into the other chair. He eyed the painkillers but didn’t open them. I reached over, popped the lid, and shook out two.

“Your neck is hurting from sleeping like that. It’s only going to get worse. We may have a full day ahead. Take.”

He did.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now, when you’re feeling better, Detective Pemberton got back to me with a name.”

He looked up so fast he winced, pulling his neck again.

“Relax,” I said. “Let the meds kick in. It can wait.”

“You realize, as your employer, I legally have access to your e-mail.”

“I didn’t use my office one.” I smiled and let him simmer for a minute, just for fun. Then I said, “Imogen Seale,” and he was on his laptop in five seconds flat.

I waited until he said, “All right. I have—” Then I passed over my notebook, with Imogen’s current address and a page of notes.

“Early bird gets the scoop,” I said. “Eat, drink, let those pain meds do their work, and we’ll get out of here.”