“Horrible. He should have quit while he was ahead. Yes, I know, the fans wouldn’t let him, and he felt he had to bring Holmes back after Reichenbach Falls, but let’s face it, it was about money, and it showed.”

“Okay, to some degree yes, but . . .”

We chatted comfortably about the later Holmes works until Todd glanced over my shoulder and then got to his feet.

“Mr. Walsh,” he said. “Good to finally meet you.”

I made a show of gesturing at my watch, to say it hadn’t been ten minutes, but Gabriel wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Todd, his head slightly tilted. Was he recognizing the fae blood? Or was it what I’d felt on my first visit, that Todd simply wasn’t what he’d expected?

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Todd said.

Gabriel recovered then, pulling over a chair from the next window. “I’m sure you have,” he said in a tone that made Todd laugh.

“Yes,” Todd said. “Not all of it good, but what counts is that you’ve gotten closer than anyone to getting Pamela out of prison. Thank you for that. And for looking after Olivia.”

Gabriel tensed, as if expecting a trap.

“I know about the arrest,” Todd said. “Obviously you’re out, which is good. While I’m hoping that means charges were dropped . . .”

“They weren’t.”

“But it was obviously a setup,” Todd said. “Someone trying to make it look as if you were pinning James Morgan’s murder on the real Valentine Killer. Maybe connected to this man who admitted to killing the Evans and Gunderson kids? The one who took his own life last week.”

“Edgar Chandler. We’re working various angles, including that one.”

“Have you talked to . . . to my mother?” I asked.

“Not since I saw you. We speak a couple of times a month. After twenty years, there’s not much to say beyond ‘How are you doing?’ and, as you might imagine, the answer to that doesn’t change.”

“One reason I’m asking . . . I should warn you, before you speak to her again, she’s convinced Gabriel killed James.”

“What?”

“He didn’t,” I said quickly. “He wouldn’t. And he had an alibi. But even before he was arrested, Pam—my mother—”

“You can call her Pamela, Liv.”

I exhaled. “Sorry. It’s just—”

“You’ve had other parents for most of your life. I understand that. So before Gabriel was arrested, Pamela . . .”

“She told me he did it. Someone convinced her.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“She won’t say, but I’m sure it was a Huntsman. One of the Cwn Annwn.”

He hesitated, and that hesitation told me he knew exactly what I was talking about. That was one thing he didn’t have in common with Ricky—the ability to pull a charming smile and say, convincingly, I don’t know what you mean. Todd didn’t even try.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “So you know . . .”

“Cainsville, the hounds, the ravens, the owls, Tylwyth Teg, Cwn Annwn, Mallt-y-Nos, Matilda of the Night.” I met his gaze. “I don’t know everything, but I’m figuring it out. I know what you are. Cwn Annwn. The blood, anyway.”

He nodded slowly. “My father, apparently. I found out— Well, it doesn’t matter how I found out.”

“Maybe it does.”

He shook his head. “It might, sweetheart, but I can’t talk about it. Your mother . . .”

“But you’re like them. The Huntsmen. They hunt and kill, and their prey isn’t foxes and rabbits. Is that why you did it?”

There was genuine shock in his eyes. “What?”

“The thrill of the hunt. The need to hunt.”

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t— If there is any of that—any at all—I don’t feel it. I would never— I wouldn’t.”

“Tell me more, then. How did you find out about yourself, about me? What—”

“No, Liv.” He met my gaze. “If I know anything that will help Gabriel fight his charge, I won’t hold back. But my primary concern is protecting you. It always has been.”

“Is that why you did it? To protect me?”

I expected the same reaction. Shock, with the emphatic and immediate denials. Instead, he hesitated again, and my stomach clenched so hard I had to clamp my jaw shut before I hurled my lunch on the floor. When his denial came, I was already on my feet, staggering toward the door.

CHAPTER FORTY

Gabriel called after me, not raising his voice, just sharpening it, as if I were a puppy who’d escaped her harness.

I kept jogging. He finally surrendered to indignity and ran in front to cut me off.

“If you want me to call Ricky, I can do that for you. I would argue, however, that I’m better equipped to deal with this. I understand the situation, and if—”

“They did it. They actually did it.”

“My car is over here.”

“And mine”—I dangled my keys—“is over there.”

He grabbed the keys and whisked them out of my reach.

I could barely force the words out. “The only excuse you have for taking my keys—ever—is if I’ve been drinking—”

“You’re distraught. That’s equally impairing.” He dropped the keys into his inner jacket pocket.