“You have a cat.”

“Not by choice.” I shut down my laptop. “He came in last night chasing a mouse and apparently he likes it here. I kicked him out in the morning and found him at my door when I got back. I left him in the hall, but he started caterwauling. Grace came. She tried taking him outside. He scratched her arms, so she threw him in here and told me I have a cat.”

“I see. Does he have a name?”

“That would imply I’m keeping him.” I scowled at the cat, who simply tucked his paws under himself and continued ignoring me. “He gets a towel, some kitty litter, and that empty tin can for a water dish.”

“From the looks of him, he’ll settle for that. And maybe a flea collar.”

On cue, the cat scratched behind his ear.

“Great,” I muttered. I started for the door, then I handed Gabriel a box from the counter. “My thanks for getting me through the interview.”

He took the box gingerly and stood there looking down at it.

“What? Is it ticking?” I reached over and pulled off the lid. “Cookies. That’s what you smelled earlier—I hope. My first batch ever. Well, actually, my second. There was a test run. I’ll feed them to Grace.”

He looked down at the cookies.

“I asked your aunt what I could do to thank you,” I said. “She gave me the recipe. Said they were your favorites.”

“Ah. Yes. Well . . . this . . . wasn’t necessary.”

“Shit,” I said, leaning back against the counter. “Too personal, isn’t it? I told her that, but she insisted you wouldn’t take it the wrong way.”

“I’m not. It’s . . . very thoughtful.”

“Guess I should have just gone for a card.” I slapped the lid onto the box. “You can throw them out when you get home, but they are edible. I ate two.”

“They smell good.”

“Whatever.” I waved him out the door.

• • •

Gabriel drove into a largely residential neighborhood near Garfield Park. He pulled in between two beautifully restored greystones. The lane was clearly marked “Private parking. Violators will be towed.”

As we got out, I noticed a video camera aimed at the spot where he’d parked.

“Um, Gabriel?” I gestured to the camera.

He nodded and ushered me along the lane. We came out between the greystones. In New York, they’d be brownstones. Same concept, different colored brick.

Gabriel led me up the wide front steps to the front door. As he opened it, I saw a small bronze plaque affixed to the stonework: Gabriel Walsh, Attorney-at-Law.

“This is your office?” I said.

Obviously it was. When I’d pictured his office, though, I’d imagined something unrelentingly modern. A sterile chrome and marble suite on the fortieth floor of some skyscraper.

He hesitated on the stoop, frowning at me slightly. Then he nodded. “Ah, I neglected to mention the pit stop, didn’t I? I need to sign some papers before my secretary arrives in the morning.” He hesitated. “I suppose you could have just waited in the car.”

He glanced back toward the road. He looked faintly confused, as he had when I’d asked about his office. No, not confused. Distracted. He had my cookie box in his hand and was holding it out awkwardly, as if it might leak and stain his jacket.

I was about to say I’d go in with him. Seeing the outside of his office made me curious about the rest. Then, before I could speak, I caught a movement down the road—someone getting out of a car—and suddenly I was the one forgetting what I was doing as I stood there, gaping. Luckily, Gabriel was still too distracted to notice, and I recovered before he did.

“Maybe I’ll walk around a bit out here,” I said. “Stretch my legs after the car ride.” As he reached for the doorknob, I said, “Take your time. I’ll probably go around a block or two.”

He nodded absently. “I should make a couple of calls.”

I waited until he’d gone in. Then I hurried down the steps. I paused at the bottom. The car I’d seen was only about fifty feet away. The man who’d gotten out was even closer, coming toward me. There was no doubt who it was, yet I paused there, sure I was mistaken, as I had been once before.

He’d been smiling when I first came down the steps. As I paused, worry flickered over his face, as if I might dart into the office instead.

When I continued toward him, the smile returned, blazing bright now.

“Liv.”

James covered the last few paces with his arms out, hesitating just before he reached me. I walked into his arms and hugged him back.

“You look good,” he said into my hair.

“No,” I said, backing up to look at him. “I look like shit. But thank you anyway.”

A sputtered laugh as he hugged me again.

“I saw the article,” he whispered as we separated. “I came by to speak to Mr. Walsh, hoping he was working late. I was just about to leave when you drove up.”

“Howard did warn you about the article, didn’t he?”

“Yes, I got his message. I got yours, too, from last Thursday night.” His hands rested on my hips. “I’ve been forwarding my line to my cell ever since, in case you called again.”

“I—”

“I didn’t really expect you to. I made a mess of things. I know that.” He took my hands, holding them and looking down at me. Then he glanced over my shoulder. “Can we go someplace? Talk?”

I wanted to say yes. Absolutely yes. Then I imagined telling Gabriel I was bailing on the interviews he’d arranged so I could spend some quality time with my ex.

“I can’t,” I said, then quickly added, “I will. We will. But . . .” I gestured back at Gabriel’s office. “He’s on the clock. He’s helping me sort things out with the Larsens.”

A faint tightening of James’s lips. “Yes, I read that. You need to be careful of men like that, Liv. I’m sure he told a good story when he tracked you down, but he’s only after your money. You really should have checked him out before hiring him. Or at least spoken to Howard. Walsh has a reputation—”

“For getting the job done,” I said. “For being a helluva good lawyer.”

I hadn’t meant to defend Gabriel, but this was about me. My ability to exercise common sense and good judgment.