“No, it was.” I turned to him. “It absolutely was. I could have resisted if I disagreed. I’m only sorry you needed to push me.”

“You were intruding on what is probably your father’s worst memory, but you needed that information. Accessing memories is like reading omens or seeing visions. They provide what you need. What no one will—or can—give you.”

“The truth.”

“Yes. As for going to my apartment, I think we both need a break right now.” He paused. “I would like one.”

“Good.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

As we were pulling into the condo garage, Detective Fahy called to remind Gabriel that his mother was still missing, presumed dead, and that she strongly considered him a person of interest. That was exactly what he needed right now.

On the elevator up, Gabriel seethed. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even stab the buttons. That would be a loss of control. The angrier Gabriel gets, the more tightly he reins it in.

By the time that ride ended, I felt like I’d been locked with a keg of dynamite and a smoldering wick that sucked all the air from the tiny room. I wanted that keg to explode, blow the doors off, let me breathe. Because if Gabriel didn’t vent his frustration, then slamming a door or cursing would make me seem selfish.

Look at me. I’m pissed off and I’m frustrated and I’m hurting. Pay attention to me. I’m the one who matters.

Gabriel unlocked his condo door so slowly I wanted to rip the key from his hand and do it myself. He was being deliberate, resisting the urge to throw the door open, stalk inside, and say, Fuck this. Fuck all this.

He’d gone about three steps when he seemed to forget why he was there. He stopped. I circled wide, careful not to startle him, in case he’d forgotten I was there. And he did seem to have, his eyes widening when I moved in front of him. Then he gave an abrupt nod.

“Yes. Packing. I need…”

He turned, and it was like his brain cut out, every ounce of energy spent keeping his temper reined. When his phone beeped, he tensed so fast I thought he’d throw it again.

He pulled it out and saw the damage from when he’d whipped it into the wall. Then he carefully and deliberately set it on the table, as if to say, I won’t do that again.

I moved in front of him again, slowly, but he still jumped.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No, I just…” He looked around, as if trying again to remember what he’d come here for.