No, he hadn’t. I knew that without finishing the question. There’d been no time for that in Gabriel’s teen life, no point when he could afford game tickets just to make a girl smile. The only reason to win a prize would be if he could pawn it for a profit. And the only reason he’d come to a place like this was if he could pick enough pockets to make it worthwhile, given the cost of admission and transportation.

I heard fake-Seanna’s voice again, mocking me for thinking I was a badass. I didn’t. But where I came from, I had been the wild one, the girl who made “shocking” suggestions, like breaking into an abandoned park. When I compare that to Gabriel’s life, I am ashamed. Yes, he’d have broken in. To steal food. To find shelter. To survive. And me? I’d plotted silly rebellions from my Inglewood bedroom, chatting on my cell phone, planning to borrow one of my dad’s classic sports cars for the excursion.

When I think of Gabriel’s young life, I grieve for what he lost. What he can never get back. For experiences he cannot even imagine, ones the average American teen takes for granted. And it is all Seanna’s fault.

“Olivia?” he said.

“Sorry. Where was I? Right!” I leapt over the counter again. “I had a mission, and that mission is…this way.”

I dashed through the booths, startling a stray cat that had ventured forth. Spotting me, it wheeled to zoom through a hole in a concession booth. Then it saw Lloergan and froze, saucer-eyed. We raced past, and I skidded to a halt beside a two-story building so garishly painted that even on a midway it looked like a hooker in a convent.

In three-foot-high letters, a sign overhead announced that we’d arrived at the fun house. Or, the FUN HOUSE!!! Gabriel’s expression suggested he was already prepared to sue for false advertising.

“Hey, at least I didn’t propose that.” I jabbed a finger toward the haunted house. “Given our track record, we’d probably find actual corpses. Then we’d need to report them and explain, again, that we just have a knack for that sort of thing, and if I was following in my parents’ footsteps, I’d hardly be reporting my crimes.” I pursed my lips. “Though that might be rather ingenious.”

“It’s not,” Gabriel said. “I had a client who tried it. He killed his wife and called it in, and then after he was charged, he killed his mistress and called that in, too, reasoning it would somehow prove he wasn’t guilty of either. Just terribly unlucky in love.”

“You’re admitting he was guilty? Bad defense attorney.”

“Hardly. He’s the one who admitted it. He insisted on taking a plea bargain.”

“Against your advice, I presume.”