Ricky passed over his driver’s license. As the cop read it, the youngest officer stepped behind Ricky, who reacted like the guy had pulled a knife on him. Obviously, the kid didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with bikers. You don’t walk up behind them. You just don’t.

Ricky let go of my hand long enough to take off his jacket. He held it out with the patch toward the officer.

“Is that what you wanted to see?”

“Satan’s Saints?” the young cop said. “That’s a stupid name.”

“True, but changing it would be a bitch. You’d need to buy all new jackets, and then hold a media awareness campaign to let everyone know. Plus there’s the issue of tattoo reconstruction.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed.

Ricky sighed, tossed his jacket into Gabriel’s car, and took my hand again. “I know you’ll need to speak to Olivia, but—”

“We need to talk to you, too,” the oldest one said. “Seeing as how you’re obviously involved in this.”

“He just got here,” I said. “You couldn’t have missed him, whipping past you on the road.”

“Right,” the youngest said. “Which means he was speeding.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ricky muttered under his breath.

Gabriel came over. “These are my clients, officers. If you wish to speak to them, I have to ask that you include me.”

“They’re both your clients?”

“I represent Ms. Jones, as well as her birth mother, Pamela Larsen. I also represent Mr. Gallagher and his father, Donald Gallagher, president of the Saints motorcycle club. Now, I suggest you allow me to lead you and the detectives to the body”—he checked himself—“to Mr. Morgan.”

“You know the dead guy?”

Gabriel’s voice chilled. “The deceased is James Mills Morgan. Ms. Jones was formerly engaged to him.”

The confusion on the young man’s face looked painful. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m relaying facts which may or may not become important to your investigation. I hope you’re taking notes. The house—Villa Tuscana—was owned by Nathaniel Mills, a distant relative of Mr. Morgan.”

“His maternal great-grandfather’s cousin,” I said.

Gabriel nodded. “Ms. Jones’s family has been close to Mr. Morgan’s for several generations. Connected through the joint enterprise of the Mills and Jones department store, as I’m sure you already figured out.”

From the cops’ expressions, they were a million miles from figuring it out. In short, Gabriel was screwing with them. By the time he led them toward the Villa, they followed him as docilely as lobotomized lambs.

Ricky boosted me onto the hood of Gabriel’s car. When I stiffened in horror, he chuckled and held me there.

“One, it’s a rental. Two, there’s nothing metal on your butt to scratch the paint. Three, even if there was, Gabriel wouldn’t give a shit and you know it.”