“The college brat?” The woman looked me up and down. “If she sent you to score from him, Josh don’t do that no more.”

She started shutting the door. My hand shot out to stop it.

“It’s not that. She said he might be getting back into graphic design”—that was his college background—“and I was hoping to hire him.”

“I dunno nothing about that.”

“Could I speak—?”

“He’s not here.”

She gave the door a sudden shove and I stumbled back. The door didn’t close, though. A big Italian loafer stopped it.

The girlfriend looked down at that shoe, then up at the rest of Gabriel.

“No,” she said as she backpedaled. “No, no, no. I don’t know nothing. Nothing.”

“About what?” he said smoothly, stepping into the apartment.

“You’re the guy who called Josh, pretending to be some lawyer.”

“Pretending?”

She pointed a trembling finger at him. “You’re no lawyer. I know what you are. Josh told me what you guys did to his friend.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything,” Gabriel said.

She ran—straight for the balcony door, which was wide open. I tore after her. She lunged through and yanked it shut behind her. Then she scrambled over the rusted railing and dropped one floor to the ground.

I raced back to Gabriel. “Come on. We need to catch her.”

“Do I look as if I’m dressed for an alley chase?”

I glowered at him and started for the door, but he caught my shoulder.

“She’ll come back eventually, and we will, too. Perhaps by that time, Mr. Gray will also be home.”

“Do you think he bolted after you called?”

“If he was that worried, he wouldn’t have left his girlfriend behind. He may have gone to speak to someone after hanging up on me.” He pulled his shades down. “We’ll return later.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

I’d just stepped out of the building when I saw eight crows on a power line. Not the same ones, I was sure, but there were clearly eight. I kept glancing up, as if my gaze was magnetized.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked.

“Nothing.”

He peered up at the crows. “Do the birds mean something?”

“Death,” I blurted before I could stop myself. I sighed. “Yes, I’m superstitious.”

“Crows are a death omen, too?”

The hair on my neck rose. There was something about the way he said it. Death omen.

“Only when there’re eight of them.”

“Then everything’s fine, because there are only six.”

I looked up. I counted eight out to Gabriel, pointing at each.

“There are only six birds up there, Olivia.”

A chill stabbed my gut. I muttered something about one of us needing our eyes checked, then hurried on. Gabriel caught up with me in a few long strides.

“You saw eight, Olivia. Earlier, too, didn’t you? I noticed crows in a tree outside the parking lot. You were staring at them.”

“I’m tired. Stressed out. We’ve lost a viable lead—”

He gripped my elbow, turning me to face him. “My aunt is a psychic. Most of what she does is a con, but there’s something there, too. Something real. The second sight. Runs in my family, apparently. It passed me, for which I believe I should be grateful. But I know she has it. I’ve seen her use it. And I’ve seen how intrigued she is by you.”

“We share an interest in spiritualism.”

“It’s more than that. Last week, you saw poppies, and your mother escaped a potentially fatal stabbing.”

“Escaped. If poppies are a death omen, she shouldn’t have escaped.”

“But an omen is a warning, is it not? That’s how Rose’s powers work. She sees possibilities, nothing preordained.”

“I don’t—” I shook off his hand. “I don’t know. I just . . . I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then humor me. Pretend it really is a death omen. Now what?”

“Now what?”

“If you did see omens, there would be a reason.” He gazed around the street. “What else do you see?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “That’s it. Just the—” I stopped as something caught my eye down the road. A flash, like light reflecting off a window.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll go that way.”

“I never said—”

“I cheated you out of an exhilarating chase down filthy alleys. Let’s play follow-the-omens instead.”

He started off. I stayed where I was until two guys at the corner began calculating the distance between me and Gabriel. I hurried to catch up with him.

“You lied,” I said.

“Undoubtedly. Which particular instance are we talking about?”

“Your aunt told you something about me.”

“Only that I should trust your hunches, even when you don’t.” He stopped at the corner. “Now which way?”

I felt something tug my attention to the left, and he noticed.

“Excellent. Off we go, then. The game’s afoot.”

“I don’t believe you just said that.”

He smiled down at me and picked up his pace.

• • •

“Is that . . . ?” I whispered.

I stared at the foot protruding from a pile of moldy cardboard. I kept telling myself it was a coincidence. Another passed-out drunk.

Lying facedown.

Covered in cardboard.

Gabriel hauled off the moldy pieces and tossed them aside without so much as a fastidious wipe on his trousers.

When he was done, we were staring at a man with a bullet hole through his back.

Gabriel didn’t check for a pulse. There was no need, I suppose, but I did anyway, crouching and pressing my fingers to the man’s neck. He was still warm. But dead. Definitely dead. Blue eyes stared at the ground.

Gabriel checked the man’s pockets. “No wallet. No cell.”

“Robbery then,” I said.

Gabriel didn’t seem to hear me. He was tapping away at his phone. After a moment, he turned it to face me. On the screen was a photo of the man lying in front of us.

“Josh Gray?” I said.