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Annabelle shrugged. “Sorry. I thought that’s what we did, you and I. Get what we want and leave without explanation. Did I misread the situation?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded. “I guess I deserved that.”

Damn right he did. “Did you want something, Gabriel? A book, perhaps?”

She stared him down. She had every right to be angry. Hurt. Unless he was prepared to give her an explanation right here, right now, he could remain on the other side of that counter forever, as far as Annabelle was concerned.

His nostrils flared, and he looked like he might take up her challenge, then he turned toward the rows of books, and the old heartbreak bloomed anew.

“How would one go about finding a book if one were in the market for one?”

So this was what they were reduced to? All those weeks spent together in Paris and now they were talking in the third person? “It depends on what book one was looking for?”

Gabriel shrugged. “A grimoire.”

Annabelle stiffened. Did he know? Was it possible he’d known all along where the spell had come from?

He’d said their pack had once protected a witch, back in the tenth century.

Was the grimoire hers? What did that say about the Langeais wolves if it was?

“I imagine covens would guard their grimoires well. We do. The chances of them ending up here, or on the open market, would be slim.”

He smiled, those dark eyes of his boring into her. “But one did end up here, didn’t it, Annabelle?”

“No,” she squeaked. She stared down at the counter, her fingers tracing a deep scratch, its origins long forgotten.

His hand nudged her chin up. “Liar.”

Damn shifter senses.

“I know about the grimoire you stole from here, Annabelle.”

She pulled away from him. “How could you possibly know that?” Her shoulders slumped. If he’d been guessing, taking a stab in the dark, she’d just given herself away.

“Your boss keeps really good records. It didn’t take Stef long to find what we were looking for.”

There was no point in hiding the— What did he just say? “Stef was in here ? Last night?” Her eyes narrowed on Gabriel. “Let me guess, she also broke into Aunt Marjory’s house.”

His silence was all the answer she needed.

Hurt blossomed in her chest. “I get it now. While we were…” She cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had taken up residence there.

“While we were otherwise occupied, Stef broke into our High Priestess’ house, into her office .

When she couldn’t find what she was looking for, she came here.

I’m surprised you didn’t have this place ransacked, too. ”

Annabelle took in a few deep breaths. She didn’t know whether to be angry or to cry. “Go back to France, Gabriel. We’ll figure this mission out on our own.” She skirted around the counter and flung open the door for him. “We don’t need your kind of help.”

Gabriel didn’t move. “Did you say someone ransacked Marjory’s office?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t know. Stef wouldn’t do that.” He gestured to the store. “She came here, too. Does the store look trashed to you?”

Annabelle looked around. Nothing was out of place. No books thrown about, the counter untouched. He had a point. If Stef had trashed Aunt Marjory’s office, why would she not have done the same here? She let the door swing closed.

Gabriel stalked toward her. “Annabelle, where’s the grimoire now? Is it safe?”

She took a step back, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s a lot safer now than it was this morning.”

Her phone rang, an urgent trill from behind the counter, muffled in her backpack. She moved to answer it, but Gabriel blocked her. It stopped ringing.

“Belle, you need to show me the grimoire.”

“No. And stop calling me that. You lost that right three years ago.”

“Annabelle—”

Her phone rang again, and she dodged Gabriel. “I need to answer that. It could be important.”

She grabbed her bag, digging it out. “It’s the High Priestess.” She hit answer. “Aunt Marjory.”

“Annabelle, whatever you do, don’t say another word to Dutton or any of the King family about your task,” she said.

She caught the tilt of Gabriel’s head. He was listening in. “Okay, sure. I wasn’t planning on it, anyway. Before you say anything more, you should know Gabriel’s right here.”

“Good. You can trust him.”

“But Stef—”

“Annabelle, while cleaning up the mess in my office, we found an electronic listening device. That must have been how Dutton knew of your meeting at The Ritz-Carlton last night.”

“Who’s to say the shifters didn’t put it there?”

Gabriel tsk tsked. Annabelle glared at him.

“I had Roger take a look at it. He got a partial print off it. Dutton’s arrest for that bar fight a few years back came in useful. Roger matched his prints.”

Having a warlock who was also a cop had come in handy over the years. Thank goodness Roger was on their side of the coven divide, not the Kings’.

“But I still don’t think we can completely trust—”

“I’ve received word back from the shifters, Annabelle. What I said earlier about Gabriel being a good ally, about being a wise choice… I stand by that. In fact, now I’m openly encouraging it.”

What the hell, Aunt Marjory?

Gabriel stood in front of her and rocked on his heels, arms folded, eyes twinkling and his lips curled at the corners. What she wouldn’t give right now, to wipe that smug, shit-eating grin off his face.