Текст книги "Visions"

Автор книги: Kelley Armstrong

Соавторы: Kelley Armstrong,Kelley Armstrong
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Gabriel had to stop by the office. He left the car idling as he ran in. While he was gone, my cell phone rang. It was James.

“We need to talk,” he said when I answered.

“This isn’t a good time,” I said. “I’m—”

“Côte d’Azur.”

“What?”

“Côte d’Azur. The French Riviera. Next weekend. The two of us. To get this damned mess sorted out.”

I almost said that I wasn’t free next weekend. But that implied I’d go otherwise. The door opened and Gabriel slid back into the car.

I motioned I was on the phone and started opening my door to take the call outside, but he put the car in drive, with a flash of his watch, as if to say we had somewhere to be.

“Liv?” James prompted.

“There’s nothing to sort out,” I said. “I’m sorry. It didn’t work. We tried—”

“Tried? Two dates, Olivia. I got two dates and a damned coffee before you were off running around with—” He sucked back the rest and his tone smoothed. “We haven’t tried, and we can’t, not here in Chicago, with everything that’s going on. You’re confused—”

“I’m not confused, James. I’m—” I looked over at Gabriel and lowered my voice again. “It’s my fault, okay? Blame me. But I’ve made up my mind. We—”

“What do you want from me, Liv? Clearly you’re waiting for the right response and I’m not giving it. I’ve tried staying away. I’ve tried not staying away. I want this, Olivia. I want you.”

“And to hell with what I want?”

“I don’t think you know what you want.”

I bit my tongue. Hard. When I could manage it, I said, “I do know, James. And I’m sorry if it doesn’t fit your plans, but that’s my decision. Goodbye.”

I hung up and exhaled.

“You made the right choice,” Gabriel said.

I glanced over, to make sure he was actually talking about my phone conversation. Of course he was. It wouldn’t occur to Gabriel not to eavesdrop—or to pretend he hadn’t.

I made a noise in my throat, one that most people would interpret as “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He ignored it. “I understand it may be difficult to give up the financial and social stability that a marriage to James Morgan would offer. Yet while you may not be living in the style to which you are accustomed, you seem comfortable enough to manage until you receive your trust fund.”

“You think I was marrying James for ‘financial and social stability’?”

He frowned, as if to say, Why else?

I shook my head. “I was marrying him because I loved him, Gabriel.”

He gave a derisive snort.

“Excuse me?” I said.

A look over his shades. “You can’t really expect me to believe you’d tie yourself to a man like Morgan for some silly romantic notion. You’re better than that.”

“I think that’s meant to be a compliment, but given the choice between lowering your opinion of me and letting myself be painted as a gold digger—”

“Gold digging would be marrying a rich seventy-year-old in hopes he’ll die while you can still enjoy his money. You chose a suitable match—in age, social standing, wealth, and looks. A man who would provide a satisfactory and easy life for you. Traditionally, that is the way for a woman to secure her future.”

“Sure. In the nineteenth century.”

“And that doesn’t apply today? In your social circles?”

He had a point, but I wouldn’t concede it. “It wasn’t like that with me. I have my trust fund, as you’ve pointed out. I had a family business that I could have joined. I have a graduate degree. Your low opinion of James is based on the fact you were able to fleece him, and to you that makes him a fool. James Morgan is a good and decent man.”

“Which is why it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s not an insult, Olivia. James Morgan is completely decent and completely mediocre, and he’d have made you completely miserable. At least if you were marrying him for stability, you’d get something out of it. But love?” His expression conveyed his opinion of the concept. “I’m glad to see you’re done with him. Don’t backslide again.”

“Backslide? Weren’t you the one taking money to help me get back with him?”

His hands tightened on the wheel. There was a moment of silence when I wished I hadn’t said anything. Yes, he’d insulted me, but in his world there was nothing wrong with doing whatever it took to find a stable life.

“I didn’t take money for that,” he said finally, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Morgan insisted on making it part of the deal, so I agreed, but I didn’t accept payment for a service I didn’t provide. I wasn’t planning to accept…” He trailed off.

“To accept what?”

He shook his head, gaze forward. “Nothing.”

“Okay, let’s … I’d like to move past that. Put it behind us.”

He exhaled. “So would I.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m okay with it,” I said. “Or that I don’t think you’ll do it again.”

“I won’t.” We were stopped at a light. He took off his shades and met my gaze. “I know I made a mistake. I knew I was making a mistake at the time. Even if I didn’t see the harm in it, you felt betrayed. I understand that. It will not happen again.”

It would. Not that he was lying. He meant it. But a time would come when he’d betray my trust again and he’d tell himself it was necessary or that I wouldn’t be upset or that it didn’t count. I had to deal with the possibility. I didn’t need to forgive him if it happened again, but I couldn’t tell myself it wouldn’t. Either way I’d get hurt, but at least if I had my eyes open, it might dull the sting.

I nodded, and it must not have looked convincing enough, because he kept his gaze on me and said, “I mean it, Olivia.”

“I know you do. Thank you.”

He nodded, put on his sunglasses, and roared through as the light turned green.

I felt more centered after my talk with Gabriel. It was like sweeping away the last of the cobwebs, the stage clear to start again. It helped that he was in a rare truly good mood. We went to dinner at my favorite steak house—he’d made a reservation.

As we ate, Gabriel regaled me with the story of a past case, one he knew would amuse me. Compared with other diners deep in conversation, his gestures were restrained, his affect muted, his tone even, but for Gabriel he was positively animated. Possibly even a little drunk, having finished almost an entire glass of wine. His blue eyes glowed with a warmth I’d never seen, even at his most engaged, and I wanted to lean back and bask in it. But every time I relaxed, a little voice reminded me I needed to discuss something with him while he was in a good mood.

When we moved on to dessert, I worked up the nerve. I took a bite of my cheesecake, then said, as casually as I could manage, “Earlier, being at the station, it reminded me of something.”

He sipped his coffee, brows arching, waiting for me to continue.

“Have you identified those photos yet?”

As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. He froze, coffee mug at his lips. He’d been having a good night, something he probably hadn’t had in a very long time, something he deserved, and with six words I’d completely fucked it up.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “This isn’t the time. I just– So, about the Meade case—”

“I haven’t had a chance to see the photos,” he said, lowering his mug. “I need to, obviously, and I will.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

At that, he met my gaze and he smiled. It wasn’t more than a wry twist of the lips, but it reached his eyes, warming them, as if I’d just volunteered to do a year’s worth of research free of charge. Even when the look vanished, the smile lingered as he nodded.

“It’s simply a matter of finding time.” He leaned back in his seat. “I should make time, I suppose. It’s not going to magically manufacture itself. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll go.”

“Whenever you are.”

“What’s your shift tomorrow? Yes, I know, it’s Sunday, but if you’re free…”

He’d decided to do this thing, and if we didn’t arrange a time, he’d find an excuse to postpone.

“I have tomorrow off,” I said. “I can meet you anytime.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“No, that’s fine. I—”

“You’re doing this for me. I’ll pick you up. I might even let you drive.”

He smiled then, a real smile, and I couldn’t do anything but agree … to a time late enough for me to get my ass home from Ricky’s.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I drove Gabriel back to his office. I’m sure there was no way in hell a few ounces of wine could legally intoxicate a guy over two hundred pounds, but it was definitely more than he was used to. Besides, I was happy for any excuse to get into the driver’s seat. I took the long way and told myself I was just making sure he was sober, windows down, fresh air rushing in. He wasn’t in any hurry, either, and we sat outside his office talking for almost an hour before I remembered he really needed his sleep. For once, he seemed relaxed enough to actually get it. So I said goodbye, grabbed the key Ricky had left behind my tire, and headed for his place.

Ricky’s apartment was in a graduate housing complex on East Hyde Park. He lived with his dad, but he wanted a place for when he had classes. Technically, being a part-time student, I suspect he shouldn’t have gotten into graduate housing at all, but I wasn’t surprised that he’d managed it. Between Ricky’s charm and persuasion and Gabriel’s lock picking and sleight of hand, if I took enough lessons, I could become a first-rate private eye. Or a master criminal.

The building was quiet. Not a lot of students around in June. The floor layout was an odd C shape, with the elevator depositing me on the far side. I had to round a corner, then another—

I stopped. Ricky’s apartment was two doors down. I could see the number. But someone was trying the doorknob. My hand went to my purse, sliding inside to where my gun rested. Even as I reacted, I chastised myself. Going for my gun because a drunk student had the wrong apartment? But my gut told me it wasn’t a drunk student, and when I caught a glimpse of his profile, I jerked back around the corner, heart pounding.

It was the guy from the motel a month ago. The guy whose attack made me flee to Cainsville. A random motel clerk obsessed with my parents. And now he was here? Breaking into Ricky’s apartment? How did that make sense?

I peeked around the corner and realized it wasn’t the same man. He had a similar build—tall and wiry—but this guy was younger, had lighter hair, and bore only a passing resemblance to my attacker. Yet I couldn’t seem to shake the association. I moved my gun into my jacket pocket before I rounded the corner.

“Can I help you?” I said.

He was taking something long and silver from his pocket. A lock pick? When I spoke, he jumped and turned, dropping the object back into his coat.

I double-checked the number on the door, confirming it was Ricky’s.

“Are you looking for someone?” I said.

He paused. “Rick Gallagher,” he said finally. “Is this his place?”

“Is he expecting you?” I asked.

“Olivia Taylor-Jones,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I knew I recognized you. So you’re coming to see Rick?”

“How do you know him?”

“Are you expecting him back soon?”

I sized him up. A reporter? From a school paper or blog? I’d been worried about that when the picture hit the Post. Ricky hadn’t. While he didn’t advertise who he was, he didn’t hide it, either. Professors and students who knew his background presumed he was trying to “break the cycle.” He didn’t disillusion them.

“You should leave now,” I said.

A brief smile. “Should I?”

I met his gaze. “Yes.”

“When do you expect Rick back?”

“Do you want to leave a name and number? I’ll tell him you dropped by.”

He held my gaze, easing closer as my fingers tightened around the gun in my pocket. “Why don’t I come inside and wait with you.”

I sputtered a laugh. That seemed to surprise him. Had he really expected me to agree? He stood there, eyes locked on mine, as if he could … I don’t know, hypnotize me? When I just smiled and shook my head, he looked honestly baffled.

“I think you should let me come inside with you,” he said.

“I think you should haul ass back to the elevator before I call the police.”

He blinked, finally breaking eye contact. One last look at me with that perplexed frown. Then he walked past, so close his jacket brushed me. I stood my ground.

“Shall I tell him who called?” I said.

He kept going. I waited until the elevator dinged, then I hurried to the stairwell. I zoomed down the flights and made it to the first floor just as he was walking through the front door.

I could see him outside, but the reflection of the lights against the glass made him seem to disappear as he walked. Not vanish or fade, but blend into his surroundings.

He passed a parked light gray car, and his jeans and jacket seemed to lighten to match, leaving a gray blur. Obviously a trick of the darkness and the reflection of light. As soon as he was far enough away, I opened the door to see better, but once I did, I lost track of him completely.

He must have darted between parked cars. I went out and looked around. No sign of him.

I spent another few minutes looking. I wanted to see where he would go, what he drove, maybe get a license number. But I’d waited too long before stepping outside, and now he was gone. After one last look, I retreated inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ricky’s apartment was what I’d expect for student housing—a place the size of mine, with a bedroom, bath, and all-purpose living and dining area. About as tidy as mine, too, which meant not spotless but not noticeably messy. Casual and lived in. I got comfortable on the bed while I did some work for Gabriel.

When the door opened a few minutes later, boot steps told me it was Ricky. He rounded the corner into the bedroom. I started to close the laptop.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” he said. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

He stood at the foot of the bed, a little bleary-eyed after a long day but waking up now, brown eyes glittering as they traveled over me, facedown on his bed, dressed only in my panties. As he admired me, I twisted to look over my shoulder and did the same back. He’d shucked his jacket at the door and wore a dark T-shirt, tight across his biceps, the edge of one tattoo peeking from under a sleeve. His blond hair was mussed from the helmet, raked back with his fingers, falling forward now as he watched me. His jeans were faded, fraying at the seams, sculpted to his thighs and everything else. I rose and his gaze never left me, sliding down then back up to my face, lingering at points in between. Then he lifted his hand, stopping me.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he said, gesturing at the laptop.

“Yes,” I said. “But not with this.” I closed the computer and shot a pointed look at his bulging crotch.

A rough chuckle. “As tempting as that is, I’m going to have to insist you go back to work. You tested my distractibility. Now I get to test yours.”

“Oh?”

“Um-hmm.”

He walked over, opened the laptop, set it up, and waited for me to flip onto my stomach. Once I did, he retreated. A moment later, the bedsprings creaked. Hands slid over my calves, up to my thighs, squeezing gently before tugging down my panties. The hands again, pushing me up a little, parting my knees, and then … a warm mouth, hot tongue, and …

“Oh,” I said.

“Um-hmm.”

I sighed, quietly closed the laptop, and let myself be fully distracted.

An hour later, we were stretched out on the bed, naked, talking, drinking beer, and eating leftover nachos he’d brought home. He did most of the eating. I was still stuffed from dinner. He asked where we’d gone. When I told him, he whistled.

“Very nice. Gabriel footed the bill, I hope.”

“He did, though he can expense it. Also, he’s picking me up at my apartment at ten tomorrow, so I can’t sleep in as late as I’d hoped. I suspect he’ll want me to do some work after that.”

“I’ll be home studying. Got a midterm next week. Seems tomorrow’s going to be a write-off for us, then. I’m expected to hang at the clubhouse a few nights a week, and I’ve been remiss. If I don’t, my dad will know something’s up.” He took a last slug of beer and crushed the can. “Once we’ve gone public—with my dad and Gabriel—I’m going to need to ask you to join me now and then, if you can. Not your scene, I know…”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll make it easy. But if the guys know I’m seeing you, they’ll wonder why you’re not there with me. Whether you think you’re too good for them or I’m embarrassed by them.” He made a face as he popped open another beer. “Politics. Motorcycle gang or country club, there’s always politics.”

“Do you usually date girls from there?” I said. “I know one seemed a little territorial.”

He sputtered a mouthful of beer. “Lily? She’s eighteen.”

“You’re twenty-two. It’s not cradle-robbing.”

“With Lily, it would be. She’s a very young eighteen. I don’t date girls who hang out at the clubhouse. Ever. Did you actually see them?”

“I’m not judging.”

He laughed. “Judge away. That is not my dating pool. I mostly go out with girls from school. Not a lot of that, though. I’m too busy, and it’s too complicated. Either way, no one expects me to bring casual dates to the clubhouse.”

“If you need me, I’m there.”

“Okay. I, um, wouldn’t make plans for next Saturday then. If you want me to keep my mouth shut a little longer, I will, but I’d rather come clean with my dad.”

“Just warn me, and I’ll talk to Gabriel. We can both get the this-is-a-bad-idea speech at once.”

“I know.” He took a long drink of his beer, then said, “But it’s not going to change anything, right?”

“Not for me.”

“Good.” He put the beer aside and pulled me over.

When I told Ricky about his late-night visitor, he didn’t seem too concerned. He doubted it had anything to do with the club. There were territorial issues, of course. I’d gotten a crash course on that from Ricky a while back. In Chicago, there were Illinois natives the Outlaws and the Hell’s Lovers as well as chapters of other gangs, like the Hells Angels and Wheels of Soul. They were all much bigger than Satan’s Saints, and the Saints basically stayed out of their way, having no interest in expanding their territory. As for “territory” in their less-than-legal activities, Ricky said it didn’t overlap much with others’. His father had carved out their own niche.

Most likely, Ricky figured, it was exactly what I’d suspected—a third-rate reporter hoping for a story. If the guy came around again, he’d take care of it.

It was probably a good thing I’d be spending Sunday night at my apartment. TC was not impressed with my gallivanting. Can’t blame him, really. Get trapped in a basement, finally make it home … and your damn owner only pops in on breaks to give you food and water before vanishing again.

I got back an hour before Gabriel was due to arrive. I had a call from Howard, which I returned. Just a check-in for my mother—I’d gotten busy and forgotten yesterday. TC spent the next half hour following me and jumping onto the nearest tall object to give me the stink-eye. When a rap came at the door, he planted himself in front of it, as if forbidding me to answer. I moved past him. He stalked back into the living room.

I opened the door to find Gabriel standing there, a coffee in hand. He passed it to me. “Yes, I’m early, but I need to get a photograph of Seanna from Rose. I’ll give you this while it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.” When he started to go, I stepped into the hall after him. “Gabriel?”

“Hmm?”

He turned. His shades were on, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was still in a good mood. The mocha suggested it. His stance and expression, relaxed and at ease, confirmed it. I hated to screw that up. I really did. But I had to warn him.

“She knows. Rose, I mean. If you planned to grab a photo and not mention why … She already knows.”

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, setting my drink down. “I asked her if you’d been to the station, and…”

“She didn’t know what you were talking about. You had no reason to think I wouldn’t have told her. I intended to. I just hadn’t gotten to it. I’ll apologize, then, for putting you in that position.”

His face was still relaxed, no sign of concern. When I glanced up, he lifted his shades onto his forehead, and there was nothing more to see in his eyes. Calm and centered.

“Okay,” I said. “I just wanted to warn you.”

“I’d need to explain when I asked for photos of Seanna anyway. It’s not as if I’d want a few for decorating my apartment.” A quirk of his lips, no bitterness in his eyes. “This saves me from having that conversation, and since it saves you from having to listen to it, we’ll go over together.”