I got to my feet. The guard started forward, but Pamela’s hand shot up to stop her.

“All right, Eden. You win that one. You’re right. I cannot overlook an opportunity to drive a wedge between you and Gabriel. You’re going to need to allow me that one weakness. However, you have my word that I won’t hurt him to do it.”

“You’re in jail. You can’t physically hurt him yourself. Nice loophole. Try again, Pamela.”

I walked back to the table. Sat. Folded my hands on it. Waited. It took at least two full minutes before she said, “I will do nothing that could lead to him being physically harmed. I will do nothing that could lead to him being incarcerated or otherwise forcibly removed from your life. If I ever do, you have the right to never see me again.”

“Still a loophole, should you decide that getting rid of him is worth it.”

Her jaw tensed, just a little, but she said, “Fine. You have my unequivocal word. I will do nothing to see him physically harmed or forcibly removed from your life.”

“Good.” I rose again. “I’m still going to penalize you for that foul, though. If you have more information on Ricky, I will come see you. However, you need to contact me through Gabriel.”

“And trust he’ll actually tell you?”

“He will.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Gabriel was waiting in the hall. Not standing there impatiently. Not checking his e-mail. Not jotting notes on a scrap of paper. Just standing, his attention fixed on the visiting room door. When I walked out, his gaze shot to my face. I kept my expression impassive as I said, “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

It was, I will admit, a cruel jab, given that I’d just told Pamela I was fine with what Gabriel had done. But if I walked out of that room and said, “It’s okay. I understand,” that would give him an excuse the next time.

His only reaction was a cheek tic and the slightest shift of his gaze. For Gabriel, though, that was as sure a sign of shame and guilt as if he’d dropped to his knees.

“I should have told you.”

“When should you have told me? At what point, exactly?”

A glimpse of something almost like panic, as his mind whirred to come up with the right answer. He knew the one I wanted, and while Gabriel Walsh had no problem telling people what they wanted to hear—truth be damned—I was different.

“It’s not a test, Gabriel,” I said. “Put it this way—when do you think I’d want you to tell me?”

“Before I first spoke to her.”

“And when do you think you should have told me?”

“Immediately after she agreed.”

I laughed. The sound startled him, as he looked at me in confusion. I rose up on my tiptoes and brushed my lips across his cheek. “You passed.”

Now he really did stare at me, as if suspecting I’d been passed an illegal narcotic during my brief prison sojourn.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m sure you’d rather have had a handshake, but I couldn’t resist. You’ll survive.”

I pointed toward the exit, and we started out. We got through the doors. Then I said, “Waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“Yes.”

I smiled. “Okay, I think you should have told me right away. I can hardly say that I’m glad you went behind my back, can I? In future, just tell me, okay? Then do whatever you think is best. But I understand why you skipped that this time, and so I accept your apology.”

“I haven’t apologized yet.”

“Mmm, right. Do you want to do that? Or just pretend you did?”

“I made a conscious decision to do what I thought was right, knowing that you would likely disagree. I’m sorry if you thought it was the wrong decision.”

“That’s kinda like an apology. Sure, I’ll take it. Now, do you have dinner plans?”

“Do I ever?”

“You do now.”

Our early dinner turned into a late one, lingering over the meal and then dessert and then coffee. We talked about his strategy for Pamela and Todd. We talked about what Pamela had told me. We talked about Aunika and Ciro and the lamiae and what we’d do next. And we talked. Mostly, we just talked.

I’d had a bit too much wine to fetch my car, so Gabriel drove me to Ricky’s. If I needed a lift in the morning, just call. No, scratch that—he’d pick me up at eight.

When I opened Ricky’s door and saw him dozing on the couch, textbook open on his chest, I watched him and thought how lucky I was. I stood there, grinning like an idiot, the wine still singing through my veins. Then I crept forward until I was right beside him and—

Ricky grabbed my arm and pulled me down onto him in a kiss.

“Gotcha,” he said.

“That was supposed to be my line.”

“You’re too slow.”

He tugged me on top of him and pushed the book to the floor with a thump. Then he kissed me, a sweet and deep kiss that seemed to ignite that lingering wine, sending it roaring to my head, making me light-headed and giddy and happy. Indescribably happy. When he ended the kiss, he caught my chin and lifted my face over his, looking up at me.

“Yes, I may have over-imbibed on the cabernet.”

He chuckled, a delicious throaty chuckle, as intoxicating as the wine. He stroked his thumb over my cheek and said, “You look happy,” and I thought I caught a note of wistfulness in his voice and I pulled up a little, worried, but his smile held no hint of that, and his next kiss was even better than the first. A kiss that had me stretching out against him, pressing against him, as he entwined his fingers in my hair. No quick shedding of clothing. No hands moving anywhere other than hair and hips. Just a kiss. A wonderful kiss.