She wanted to march into the parlor and tell Ricky Gallagher to get the hell out of her house. To turn on Olivia and tell her to smarten up or she could get out, too. She needed to see what she was doing to Gabriel and tell Ricky it was over.

None of that was fair, of course. Ricky was doing nothing wrong. Nor was Olivia. If there was blame here, it fell on . . .

Her gaze slid to her nephew, and she stifled a pang of guilt. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. The problem could be traced back to everything that had gone into making Gabriel the way he was today: his mother’s neglect, his father’s negligence, and, yes, Rose not doing enough to mitigate the damage.

She had told herself he was fine, and he was, in so many ways. Brilliant, driven, successful, as capable and competent as a man twice his age. And completely, utterly incapable of forming anything remotely resembling a normal human relationship. Until Olivia.

Rose didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, but she wanted it for Gabriel. With Olivia, he could have that perfect bond between two people who are both partners and lovers. Ultimately, though, what mattered was having a bond. For Gabriel to have someone he cared for, who cared for him in return. Someone who made him happy. A few months ago, she’d have said that was impossible. Now she’d seen it wasn’t. He had Olivia. And Olivia had Ricky.

Gabriel turned toward the kitchen, as if to come look for Rose instead. Olivia noticed him there. She said, “Just a sec,” to Ricky, came out into the hall and retreated with Gabriel to the front door. Rose watched Olivia’s face for any sign of distance, proof that her bond with Gabriel was thinning. There was none. She was relaxed and comfortable with him, her gaze as warm as ever, her regard as strong as ever.

And Gabriel? He answered her questions about the police investigation concisely but sincerely, no impatience or sign that he’d rather be anyplace else, doing anything else.

Good. Now, ask her how she’s doing. How she’s holding up.

“Everything is under control,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around and answer more questions—”

“There was no need. That’s what I’m for, as your lawyer.”

Damn it, Gabriel. No. Not as her lawyer. As her friend. She just found someone she cared about murdered. If you can’t express some sympathy, at least let her know you’re thinking of what she’s going through.

“Right,” Olivia said. “Anyway, billable hours or not, I appreciate it.”

Her tone was steady and her thanks sincere, but Rose didn’t miss the rueful twist to the words “billable hours.”