Liz and Gabe’s story

"I’ll take it in the living room," she said. Liz walked across the hall, picked up the phone, and waited for the click from the kitchen before speaking.

"Elizabeth Matheson," she said in her most professional voice.

"I need your help."

He hadn’t said his name; he hadn’t needed to. She’d know Gabriel’s voice anywhere.

"Where are you?"

"County sheriff’s office," he said. "They’re about to take me up to a holding cell. Ask for Gabe Leary, Elizabeth, not Smith, and get here as fast as you can."

She’s already figured out that Smith probably wasn’t his real name. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he answered. "But they think I may have killed someone."

Liz told herself she was a lawyer. Whether he did or didn’t commit the crime, he had a right to counsel. Only she wasn’t sure she could go through with it if he had. She wasn’t sure which bothered her most: that he might be lying, or that if he was, she’d kissed a murderer.

She gripped the phone for a minute, trying to think.

"Elizabeth," he whispered again. "Are you still there? I’m no good around people. I seem to be causing more trouble for myself than helping." He was quiet as if listening to her breathe, and then he added, "I need you."

She straightened. "I’ll be right there."

She hung up and walked back into the dining room, where everyone was having dessert. "I have to go. I’m needed over at the jail."

"A client," Claire said. "Oh, how exciting. Little sister has a real client."

Liz grabbed her coat and purse. As she walked out the door, she yelled back, "No. A date."