“Seanna Walsh?” I forced a laugh. “Uh, no. If you’re going to impersonate a long-lost relative, I’d suggest you pick one who’s actually alive.”

“Don’t I look alive to you, Eden?”

Behind me, Lydia said, “I believe she asked you to call her Olivia.”

Lydia’s gaze laser-beamed on the woman, as if ready to throw her out. Gabriel’s assistant may be well past retirement age, but I didn’t doubt she could do it. When I shook my head, though, Lydia walked stiffly to her desk and lowered herself onto the front of it, perched there, ready for action.

“You are not Seanna Walsh,” I said. “I’ve seen photographs of her, both before and after her death. You may resemble Seanna, but those coroner pics guarantee you are not her.”

“And I guarantee I am. The pictures were staged.”

“Bullshit,” I said, bearing down on her. “You cannot stage—”

“With enough money, you certainly can.”

“Which only proves you are not Seanna Walsh, who never had a dime she didn’t stick up her arm.”

“So it’s true, then. You and my son are more than coworkers.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

“Get—” I began.

“Get where? Under the desk? Behind the bathroom door? Where exactly are you going to hide me, Eden? And why bother, if I’m not really his mother?”

The footfalls continued past the office door. Just one of Gabriel’s upstairs tenants.

I took out my phone and texted him. Can you stay away longer, pls?

The please would tell Gabriel I was serious. A moment later, he replied saying he was supposed to visit a client at Cook County this morning and should he just do that?

Yes, pls.

I pocketed my phone and turned to the woman.

“Sit down.”

She gave that spine-raking smile again. “So you are sleeping with my son. I notice you didn’t deny it.”

“Gabriel and I are friends. Good friends.”

“Gabriel doesn’t have friends. No one wants to hang out with a freak.”

I felt Lydia’s hand on my arm before I even realized I was surging forward, my fists clenched.

In that moment, I forgot that this couldn’t possibly be Seanna Walsh. That was who I saw, who I heard, and I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. It was only when I realized what I was thinking that I exhaled fast and hard.

“Sit down,” I said again.

She started for the door.

I stepped into her path. “I told you—”

“No, Eden. You are adorable, really, but completely out of your league. Go back to painting your nails or picking out a new wardrobe or whatever your type does.”

I lifted my hand…to point a gun at her forehead. “This is what my type does. Or have you forgotten who my parents are?”