His brows shot up. “She claims that my mother isn’t Seanna Walsh? That’s a first.”

“This woman says she is Seanna.”

He looked at me, those eerily pale blue eyes fixed on mine, and for a moment that’s all I could see—those ice-blue irises ringed with a blue so dark it looked black. Then he laughed, and the sound was so unexpected, I jumped.

“I don’t mean to laugh,” he said. “Obviously, you were concerned about how I might react to this impostor. I appreciate that concern, Olivia. And yes, as much as I’d like to say that I don’t care—never cared—the truth is that until six months ago this was indeed my greatest fear—that I’d walk into the office one day and Seanna would be sitting there with her hand out. I shouldn’t say I was glad to learn she was dead. But I was. It lifted a weight.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“My mother is clearly dead,” he said. “Dealing with an impersonator will not rattle me. Nor will it resurrect old memories.”

I wanted to leave it at that. Shove it aside until the DNA test came back, and once it was negative, I could breathe a sigh of relief. But Gabriel knew me too well.

When he saw my expression, he said, “You don’t honestly believe there’s a chance she is Seanna, do you?”

“Of course not. I saw the coroner’s photos. Yes, this woman looks like her, but she’d need to, in order to pull it off. And her story is preposterous.”

“What is her story?”

“Oh, some crap about a bargain with a cop.” I rose from the sofa and headed for the kitchen. “Do you want coffee? Rose brought over fresh chocolate chip cookies. Your favorite.”

I grabbed two mugs and stuck one under the coffeemaker as I hit the button. I was taking out a plate for the cookies when a form darkened the kitchen doorway, shadow stretching across the sun-dappled floor.

“What exactly was her story?” he asked.

“Like I said, some bullshit—”

“I’d like to hear the whole thing.”

I told him. When I finished, he walked to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. Then he stiffly lowered himself into it.

“It’s ridiculous,” I said, bringing over the coffees, sloshing slightly. I put them down and crossed my arms to hide my shaking hands. “Fake her death to escape a bounty? Not even actually fake it, but only switch photos six months later and expect she’ll be legally declared dead? There are a million easier ways to disappear. It’s a preposterous scheme.”