Page 49 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“That does sound like something my dad would say.” I glance down at the glass in my hands, turning it around and around by the long stem before forcing my hands to stop fidgeting with it and looking back up at Gabriel. “I can’t afford the luxury of relaxing, though. Not right now. I’ve got too many things going on. I’ve got work, I’ve got my brother’s case. I’ve got—gah, Margaret—my father’s estate to figure out…”

“…and Guilder to frame for it,” Gabriel says, smirking. “I get it. You’re swamped. But you remember the very next line of the movie?”

“Yeah,” I admit, ruefully. “I do. ‘Get some rest. If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything’.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Exactly that. So. We’ll let the day job handle itself for a few minutes. How’s the other stuff going? Who’re you getting for Francis Junior’s attorney? Lisa?”

I shake my head.

“No,” I sigh. “She offered to do itpro bonoeven, but Margaret convinced Frank to turn her down. Said she’d rather have him with no lawyer at all, than to accept charity from—how did she put it exactly—from ‘that whore who tried to steal my husband from me, and who’s trying to steal his estate and turn my children against me now that he’s dead’. I think that’s an exact quote.”

Gabriel’s jaw drops, and his eyes go wide as dinner plates.

“You’vegotto be shitting me,” he says, once he recovers. “She actuallysaidthat? Is she for real?”

“Yep,” I answer. “I mean, yeah, she said it. Does she believe it? Nah. I don’t really think she believes that Lisa would ever go after my dad. The rest of it, though?” I shrug. “Who can tell? She knows that Lisa is helping me to unravel stuff with the estate, find out what money went where, figure out how to get back what we can. I suppose it’s easier for Margaret to live with herself if she can blame someone else, though.”

Gabriel shakes his head, but then covers his mouth and looks down at the table.

“What?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says, glancing back up at me with twinkling eyes. “I just—I’m so sorry—I just had an inappropriately hilarious mental picture.”

“Share?” I say. “I could use a good laugh.”

“Well, it’s just, it’s the idea of your- ofFrancis WilsonandLisa Mayfield. Even if he was her type, I mean, she’s kinda-sorta the in-house counsel for a motorcycle club, and herhusbandis the president. That just doesn’t seem like it would be too smart for either of them.”

“True,” I chuckle. “The Tornadoes aren’t exactly the Hell’s Angels or the Pagans, but… still. I don’t think it would have ended well.” A giggle works its way out of me, and that rapidly turns into another full-on laugh.

“Speaking of Lisa, though, and the estate sorting-out. How’s that coming?” Gabriel asks.

I let go of the strands of red hair twisted around my fingers and pick up my glass of wine to take a drink before answering.

“Ugh. It’s all still a mess. We’re sorting through it.” Wait. When did I start playing with my hair? Oh, no. What else am I doing without noticing it?

“Tough situation,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re doing what needs to be done. But, gotta say, I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t kicked her to the curb.”

“I guess.” I shrug it off. “Call it some perverse sense of loyalty, maybe?”

“Loyalty is hard to find,” Gabriel says. “You have principles. I respect that.”

“Thank you,” I say.

When I start to toy with loose ends of hair this time, it’s not unintentional. My heart skips a beat when I see his eyes flick over to my fingers and back to my face. Is there a bit of color rising in his cheeks? Am I imagining things?

“Well. I guess that’s enough, uh,” Gabriel pauses, eyes still fixed on mine. “I mean, we should probably go ahead and order some food, and then get to work.”

“Okay,” I agree, pulling two menus from the napkin rack at the end of the table and sliding one in front of him. “What looks good here?”

Oh yes. He’s definitely blushing.

The man is full of surprises tonight.

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