Текст книги "Visions"

Автор книги: Kelley Armstrong

Соавторы: Kelley Armstrong,Kelley Armstrong
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

CHAPTER FORTY

Our earlier chase had been a playful game of hide-and-seek. This was a hunt. I tore through the forest, vines snagging my legs, branches whipping my arms, rocks biting into my soles, Ricky one step behind, his breath coming so hard I had to look back to be sure it was him, half expecting to find a hound on my heels instead. As for why I was running, or where I was running, I’m not sure I could have even articulated it. I felt … drunk isn’t the right word. But something like it. High on adrenaline, the hormone pounding through me, drowning out rational thought, telling me I wanted to see it, wanted to see it …

Wanted to see what?

Oh, I knew. I could say I didn’t, but deep down I did. The ground vibrated under my feet. The smell of horses wafted over on the breeze. And then I heard it: the baying of hounds. Everything I’d smelled and heard in that hallway at the charity dinner, but this time there was no urge to run away. I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever wanted to run away. Tonight I felt that and I heard it and I smelled it, and I ran toward it.

Then I saw it. The flicker of movement in the forest, the ground pounding so hard now I stumbled. Ricky caught me around the waist, keeping me upright. I looked into the forest and I saw fire, licking flames in the distance, and I heard the pounding of hooves and the panting of hounds. Ricky’s hands closed around my waist and he tried to turn me around, but I wouldn’t look away, kept straining to see. He pushed against me, hard and urgent, and said something, but his voice was too thick for me to pick up the words. I dropped to my knees, on all fours, Ricky dropping behind me.

I saw fire and shadows. Then I saw riders. Riders and hounds, and Ricky thrust into me, and after that I didn’t care what I saw, didn’t care at all.

What happened next? I wasn’t even sure. Oh, I remembered the first part just fine. Sex. Amazing, unforgettable sex. Then collapsing on the ground, Ricky shuddering and panting, “Shit, holy shit,” as he caught his breath, his arms around me, so warm it was like falling into that fire, the fire I could still smell on the breeze. And then … well, nothing. I could say I drifted off, but I don’t even remember hitting the ground.

The next thing I knew, I was alone in the forest, sitting naked on the ground, blinking into the darkness.

“Ricky?”

“Right here. Sorry.” He appeared through the trees, something gathered in his arms. “I thought I could make it back before you woke up.”

He took our jeans and stretched them over me, then paused and looked down at his work.

“Not much of a blanket,” he said.

I laughed softly. “I appreciate the effort. Very sweet.” I reached for his hand and tugged him down.

He stretched out beside me, pulling me against him, which was warmer than any blanket. As I snuggled in, he said, “That, um, that was…”

“Intense?”

“Hell, yeah.” He exhaled. “Intense.” He was silent for a moment. “Was it…? I mean, that wasn’t quite … Is everything okay?”

In his eyes, I saw the real questions. Was it too intense? Did I frighten you? Did I hurt you?

I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, answering that way. After a moment he relaxed, the kiss deepening, his hands on my ass as he pulled me closer.

“Is everything okay with you?” I asked as we broke for breath.

“Hell, yeah. I just wasn’t sure if it was too much—”

I cut him off with a kiss. “For the record, I will always let you know if it’s too much. I’m pretty sure I was the initiator there, and yes, I was following your lead, but I wouldn’t do that just to make you happy. I’m not that selfless.”

He smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

A few moments curled up together, light kisses, postponing the inevitable trip back to the cabin. Then he said, “In the forest … Did you see…?”

“I saw something.”

“Riders?”

I nodded.

“There’s a stable nearby,” he said. “I suppose that’s what it was, but…”

“But…?”

He looked at me. “You promised not to mock, right?”

“Absolutely. And I meant it.”

He reclined with his arm still around me. I twisted and rested on his chest, my chin propped up.

“It was riders from the stable,” he said. “A midnight hunt. Logically, I know that. But when I was a kid, sometimes I’d hear the horses and the hounds, and I’d tell myself it was the Hunt.”

“The Hunt?”

“I mentioned that my nana used to tell me stories. She’s Irish, and she grew up with all that. I liked it, so she’d pass it on. Stories of fairy traps and enchantments. And the Wild Hunt.” He lifted his head. “Have you heard of it?”

I was glad for the darkness, hiding my expression. “I have. Phantom riders and hounds that hunt the living and send them to the afterlife. If you see the Wild Hunt, it’s a death omen.”

“Nana said you aren’t supposed to see them, but only because, if you do, they might be after you. They hunt evil. Spectral vigilantes. I like that version better.”

“Nice. You’ll have to tell me more of her stories.”

“Better yet, you could meet her.” He shifted, getting comfortable. “She’s off on some hiking tour in Peru for the next few weeks, but when she gets back, if you’d like to meet her…”

“I would.”

His arm tightened around me. “Good.”

“They’re your dad’s parents, I presume?”

“His mom. His father isn’t in the picture. Never was. He sent plenty of money, but there was no contact. That’s one reason my dad insisted on keeping me, and made sure my mother stayed in touch.”

“Wanting something better for you.”

“Yeah.” He shifted again and made a face, reaching under him.

“Yes, the ground is cold and rocky.”

“That’s not it. I’m lying on…” He pulled out the boar’s tusk. “Um, okay…”

“Actually, that’s mine. It must have fallen out of my jeans. Did I mention I wouldn’t tease you about your superstitions? I have my own. It’s a good luck charm.”

“Huh.” He turned it over in his hands. “I’d remember if I’d seen it before, but it looks familiar. A tooth of some kind?”

“Boar tusk—the tip of one.”

“Really? And the writing? What does it mean?”

“I have no idea. I had someone take a look, and she could only decipher enough to figure out it’s a protective amulet.”

He peered at the etched letters. “It’s old, whatever it is. Very cool. Especially this.” He ran his thumb over the entwined moon and sun. Then he touched the words under it. “You have no idea what this says?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. Well, as hard as I try not to be superstitious, I think you’re right. It’s good luck. You should keep it close.”

“I am.” I stuffed it into my jeans. “And I suppose I should put these back on so I don’t lose it, which probably means we should head back to the cabin. It is a little nippy out here.”

“We’ll head back, and I’ll get the fireplace roaring.”

Ricky was having a dream. A bad one. I woke when he kung-fu-chopped me in the neck.

I scrambled up, ready to fight whatever monster had attacked in the night, only to find Ricky tossing and turning, moaning softly. Sweat plastered his hair and soaked the pillow. I tugged the covers off, in case he was just overheated.

He mumbled something I couldn’t make out. He kept mumbling it, over and over. I rubbed his sweat-drenched back.

“Ricky?”

More mumbling. Then he shot up so fast he startled me.

“I know,” he said, grabbing for me. “I know it.”

His eyes were wild, those golden flecks I’d seen earlier glowing. He held my arm tight, gaze fixed on mine, sweat dripping from his face.

“I know it, Liv.”

“Okay.” I loosened his iron grip on my arm.

“Sorry, sorry.” He let go. “I know it.”

“All right,” I said. “What do you know?”

“The tusk. The writing. I know what it says. What it means.”

“Okay. What?”

His mouth opened. Panic flooded his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. I know. I know.”

“Ricky…” I shifted to kneel beside him. “You were having a bad dream.”

He shook his head, sweat-soaked hair lashing as I gripped his shoulder. “No. I remembered. It’s important. It’s so important.”

I leaned in. “You’re still half asleep. It’s okay. It was just—”

“No! You need to know.”

He pushed me away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it caught me off guard and I fell back.

“Fuck!” His eyes rounded as he grabbed my arms, steadying me. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine.” I reached out, ran my hand through his wet hair, and leaned over to brush my lips across his cheek. “You’re having a bad dream.”

He nodded and took deep, shuddering breaths. His arms went around me, pulling me against him, and I fell into them. He held me tight, still shaking, as I rubbed his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.” I nuzzled his neck, kissing him. “It was a nightmare.”

His head shook against my shoulder. “Not a nightmare. Well, yes, kind of. But more like a dream. I knew what the writing on the tusk meant, and I had to tell you. It was so important to tell you, and…” He took deep breaths. “And it was just a dream.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck.” He pulled back, looking abashed. “It seemed so real. I had to tell you, but part of me didn’t want to, like I’d lose you if I told you, but you needed to know, and…”

Sharp breaths now, and I could feel him shivering as the dream passed and the sweat dried, leaving him cold and confused. I pushed him back on the bed and crawled in beside him, tugging the covers over us.

“Stay with me,” he said.

“It was only a dream,” I whispered as I curled up against him.

“I know. Just … stay with me.”

“I will.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Despite the events of the night before, I had little trouble waking up at the crack of dawn. I’ll credit Ricky with that. His methods of waking me were much nicer than any alarm clock. The fact that he felt guilty over disturbing my sleep last night only made him that much more determined to ease my waking.

There wasn’t much to pack—you can’t fit a lot in saddlebags. Then homeward bound. Ricky dropped me at my apartment, and zoomed off to make his morning class.

I showered and changed, and fed TC, who was peeved and ignoring me. Then I took off to the city.

“Good morning,” I said, handing Lydia a tea as I walked in. I heard voices in the meeting room and lowered mine. “Still in his appointment?”

“No, he had to cancel it. A more urgent one came up. You didn’t get his message, I take it?”

Shit. I’d checked for messages over breakfast, when I had cell service, but only had e-mail, which I’d ignored. Ricky’d had a call from his dad. Some problem with a member of the gang. Nothing urgent, just asking him to phone later. Now that I could catch the voices from the meeting room, I knew who was in there with Gabriel.

“Olivia?”

Gabriel opened the meeting room door. Don Gallagher stood behind him. Another man sat across the room.

Gabriel walked out. “You didn’t get my message?”

“No, sorry. I didn’t check e-mail this morning.”

I felt Don’s gaze on me. Thinking that his son had also been out of touch last night? Shit.

“I could use you in here.” Gabriel glanced at Don. “Is that all right? Olivia’s getting a crash course in law, and this seems a good case for her. She’s signed a confidentiality waiver, of course.”

Should I be involved in a case regarding Ricky’s gang? I hesitated. Don noticed. Shit.

As Gabriel asked Lydia to bring coffee for the clients, I quickly texted Ricky.

At office. Your dad’s here.

The answer came back in seconds. Yeah, I know. Didn’t want to warn you. Better if you were honestly surprised.

Except I missed Gabriel’s message. So your dad knows I was out of contact last night. Like you.

Fuck. I’ll fix this tonight. Sorry.

I signed off as we settled into the room. I thought no one had noticed me texting, but I looked up to see Don watching me.

“How are you doing, Olivia?” Don asked.

“Fine. Apologies for the disruption. I’m not used to having a job where I need to check e-mail.”

He nodded. It was a pleasant nod, just as the inquiry had been pleasant. Civil and warm. No hint of suspicion, but I felt like a mouse squirming under a tiger’s gaze. I suspect a lot of people feel like that around Don Gallagher. There’s no mistaking he’s Ricky’s father—same blond hair, same dark eyes, same chiseled features, softer in Don. Those looks were the only softer part about him, though. Ricky could find his edge when it suited him; with Don, that edge never went away. It didn’t matter if Don looked as if he belonged at the country club, with his clean-shaven good looks, golf shirt, and pressed trousers. You saw the set of his jaw and the glint in his eye and the biceps straining the sleeves of that shirt and you knew this was a guy you did not want to piss off. Shit.

Gabriel brought me up to speed. The other guy in the room was Chad Sullivan, who naturally went by Sully. He was a big bruiser with a ponytail, beard, and tats. A stereotypical biker, which was actually the minority in the Saints.

The case was a personal matter. Except in a gang it seems that nothing is ever truly personal.

Sully’s ex was after him for unpaid child support. Don was pissed about it. I could see it in his face, hear it in his tone. You have kids; you pay for them. No exceptions. When Don learned of Sully’s debts, he’d paid them, with Sully owing him the money. Which would have been fine, except it came too late, Don having only found out about the problem last night, when Sully got arrested for assaulting his ex.

Whether Sully had assaulted his ex or not was a matter of debate. He swore he hadn’t. Don was still pissed. Sully had let the child support slide to the point where it seemed she retaliated, and in doing so, he’d violated club rules, which said all legal matters had to be brought to Don’s attention immediately.

Don and Sully left just before noon. Gabriel took a call before we could speak. When he came out of his office, I could tell something had happened. He waved me inside.

“The police put a rush on the DNA,” he said. “The press is breathing down their necks. When a young woman turns up dead and mutilated, the assumption is ‘serial killer,’ even if that’s rarely the case.”

“Is there a problem with the DNA?” I asked.

“It’s not a match for her mother.”

“What?”

Gabriel motioned for me to sit. “They tested against the mother. That saves any unexpected family surprises.”

“In case Dad’s not the father. You can’t lie about maternity, though.”

“Yes. But it seems Ciara Conway isn’t biologically related to her mother.”

“Could it be…?” I shook my head. “Okay, I was going to suggest she was adopted and the family was hiding it, like with me, but obviously not if they asked for the DNA.” Even as I said it, my heart thudded. I guess I wasn’t completely over that shock yet.

“Olivia?”

“I’m fine. Sorry.” I forced a smile. “Back to the subject at hand…”

“There’s no hurry. Take a—” He cleared his throat. “I meant that if you want to…” He seemed to search for words.

“Take a minute?”

I’d given him crap a few weeks ago for that particular turn of phrase, one used when a client was upset. He meant it to sound sympathetic, but I always picked up that note of impatience bordering on contempt. Really, this is an inconvenient time for all this emotional nonsense. If you must, get it over with quickly, please.

This time I suspect he really was showing empathy. But it was like watching a teenage boy hold a baby, making a genuine effort while clearly as uncomfortable as hell.

“I’m fine,” I said. “So the dead body isn’t Mrs. Conway’s biological daughter. Does that mean the corpse isn’t Ciara? Or has there been a lab mix-up?”

Gabriel visibly exhaled, much happier to get back on the relatively safe ground of discussing dead people. “In reality, such mistakes are exceedingly rare. I also don’t see how the body could have been someone other than Ciara Conway. While death photos are difficult to ID—given the difference in pallor and muscle tone—there seemed no doubt this was Ms. Conway.”

“But if she isn’t the child of her parents, what does that mean? Switched at birth? Does that even happen outside of soap operas?”

“That is what you’re going to find out. I suspect the likelihood isn’t any greater than that of a lab error or misidentification, which means we’ll be looking at three equally dubious possibilities.” He tapped his pen, frowning, his gaze distant.

“Whatever the answer, I think someone knew,” I said.

“Hmmm?”

“Someone advised them to get that DNA test, when it seemed a complete waste of time and money. But it wasn’t. We need to find out who advised them. I bet he—or she—knows what’s going on here.”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ll try to make an appointment to speak to the Conways tomorrow. Are you free?”

“Until three again.”

“Good. I’ll set it up.”

Switched at birth. There’s actually a Wikipedia page for that, which was damned handy, but also a little disconcerting.

After my diner shift, I’d set about doing the research. As I expected, though, the idea was primarily used as a plot device. In fact, that’s what most of the entry covered—all the ways it had been used in fiction and film. The list of actual documented cases was short. Of course, one could argue that only the cases that are discovered are documented, but it would still be exceedingly rare. Modern hospitals have measures in place—like wristbands—to prevent mix-ups.

As I zipped down the Wiki entry to the sources, a line caught my eye, under “see also” links to related entries. A link for changelings. When I read that, I heard Rose’s voice.

You have no idea what a fairy circle is, do you? Which is shocking for a changeling child.

Changeling. A fairy child left in the place of a human one, to be raised by the unknowing parents. It applied to me metaphorically—my adoptive parents having raised me not knowing my true heritage.

I looked at the photo of Ciara. Another thing we had in common? A chill skittered over my skin.

I ran a Facebook search on Ciara Conway’s family. Her mother and brother had pages. I clicked her mother’s link for photos and skimmed until I found a family shot of all four Conways, taken a year ago. I enlarged the photo and stared at the screen.

Ciara Conway was not her parents’ child.

Everyone knows genetics does wonky things. A family of blue-eyed blonds can have a green-eyed, red-headed throwback to some previous generation. But the resemblance will still be there, in deeper ways—the shape of the face, the eyes, the cheekbones. That’s what was missing between me and my adoptive parents.

It was also missing between Ciara and the Conways.

Yes, there were similarities in the coloring. She was dark-haired. So was her father. But Ciara’s hair was as dark as Gabriel’s. Her coloring superficially resembled his and Rose’s. Black Irish: black hair, pale skin, blue eyes. While she didn’t closely resemble either of them, she could have passed for a Walsh better than for a member of her actual family.

No. I was jumping to conclusions. That damned Wiki entry had seized my imagination and made off with it.

I would show Gabriel the pictures, and he’d point out facial similarities, along with the general impossibility of my theory. The DNA confusion must be a lab error or misidentification of the body. Both were more likely than “switched at birth.”

I was forwarding my conclusions to Gabriel when I got an e-mail from him. It was his usual terse missive, more like an elongated text message.

Heard from police contact. Conways advised by anonymous call. So-called psychic. Male. No name. Said Ciara alive. Urged to have DNA tested. Call traced to pay phone. Can still meet with Conways but see little point. Will talk tomorrow.

Anonymous call? From a supposed psychic? I wasn’t even sure where to go with that. I finished my e-mail to Gabriel, hit Send, shut down my computer, and went to bed.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I was still drifting off to sleep when my cell phone rang. Ricky’s number illuminated on the screen.

“Hey,” I said as I answered.

There was a pause. One so long I repeated the greeting before Ricky said, “Hey. Are you…? You’ve gone to bed, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not asleep yet.” I pulled myself upright, smile vanishing as I heard his tone, cautious and strained. “It didn’t go well with your dad?”

“I just … I need to see you. Can I come by?”

“Of course. Where are you?”

Another long pause. “Outside.”

“You’re here?”

“Yeah. I came straight here, hoping you were still awake, but then I saw your light was off and got your good night text and…”

“Come on up.”

I was barely at the door before Ricky rapped, just once, almost hesitant, as if I might have fallen asleep. When I opened it and saw him, I thought, It’s over. Don’s told him to break it off. The club comes first.

His gaze lifted to mine. A bruise was rising on his jaw, purple and red, and his lip was split, smears of blood on his chin where he’d wiped it off.

“Oh,” I said. I reached to touch his face, but he caught my hand.

“I’m fine,” he said, and came inside, shutting the door behind him. “I’m fine now.”

His lips came to mine, and I held back, thinking of his cut, trying to be gentle, but he pulled me to him, his kiss hard and hungry, the faint taste of blood on my tongue.

I laced my arms around his neck, fingers in his hair as he swung me back against the wall, hands pushing up my nightshirt, fingers hooking in my panties. Then he paused, breaking the kiss, panting slightly as he whispered, “I need you.”

“Yes,” I said.

Afterward, we were on the floor, half in the front hall, half in the kitchen. Ricky lay on top of me, catching his breath. He glanced up as something snagged his attention.

“Hey, TC,” he said.

I craned my head back to see the cat, sitting there, staring at him.

“Probably not the best way to make his acquaintance,” Ricky said.

“It’s not you. I swear, the first night Gabriel stayed over, TC sat on the couch and stared at him all night. He’s assessing the situation. Determining how likely you are to steal his food and his blanket.”

“I’ll leave him to his bed and find my own.” He started to rise. “Your room’s through there?”

“It is.” I pushed up on my elbows.

“Uh-uh. I got you out of bed. Least I can do is get you back there.” He scooped me up.

“Mmm, impressive,” I said.

He laughed, and I reveled in the sound, the look in his eyes, relaxed and centered now. He carried me to the bed and set me on it while he stood at the side.

“You okay with me staying tonight?” he said.

“I’d be more concerned if you finished your booty call and scrammed.”

“It wasn’t a booty call.”

“I know,” I said, reaching for him. “I was teasing. Come to bed. Talk to me.”

He stripped off his shirt and socks and slid into bed.

“You told your dad about us,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“And…” I touched the purpling bruise on his jaw. “He wasn’t happy.”

“Yeah.” A pause, then his eyes widened as he made the connection. “No. He didn’t—” He shook his head. “Definitely not. He’s never laid a finger on me. That was…”

He took a deep breath and propped himself on his side, facing me. “We had some shit to do earlier. Territory issue. New guys. Not bikers—just punks with bikes who fancy themselves a club. They want territory, and they’ve decided, since we’re the smallest club, they’ll take ours. We’ve been trying to stomp them without causing serious trouble. Dad doesn’t like trouble. It’s bad for business. Anyway, we went to have a conversation, and the asshole in charge decided to come at me instead. He figured he had ammunition. That picture of us in the Post.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. So he’s trash-talking you, and usually I’m good at ignoring idiots. But he stepped over the line, and I went off on him. Hence…” He pointed at his jaw and lip.

“Bet he’s feeling worse.”

I smiled when I said it, expecting he’d joke back, but his eyes clouded. “Yeah. I … really went off on him. I’m not like that. I can fight, obviously. I have to. But my dad and I don’t get into it the way the other guys do. Part of that’s how we are, but part of it’s a choice, too. Let the guys get down and dirty while we stay above that. We stay in charge. Never lose control. I lost it tonight.”

I must have looked worried, because he hurried on. “In some ways, it probably helped. The guys respect my dad even if he doesn’t mix it up. The old-timers have seen him mix it up, before he took over. Me, though? I’ve never done that, and I think some of them figure maybe I can’t. The college boy. Smart, but…” Another shrug. “A little soft. So, yeah, they were impressed. My dad, though…”

“Is not impressed.”

“Yeah. And considering what set me off? We didn’t need to have our conversation after that. I should have told him about us. Finding out that way?” He shook his head.

“He’s angry.”

“Hurt, more like. Confused. It’s always been just the two of us. Now here’s this major change in my life that he knows nothing about, and if it was just some girl from school, he could figure I was working up to an introduction. With you? No such excuse. He knows why I kept it from him, too—because I thought he wouldn’t like it. And he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t.” Ricky rubbed his mouth and paused before saying, “It’s worse than I expected. He told me to end it. Not as my father. As the president of my club. He’s … he’s never done that before.”

The look in Ricky’s eyes told me Don wasn’t the only one hurt and confused here.

“Okay,” I said carefully. “So that means you have to end it, right?”

He shook his head. “He took that back. I think he was testing me. Seeing how serious I am about you. When I argued, he retreated, but…” He looked over at me. “My dad and I don’t fight. We disagree, sure, but even that’s rare. We’ve never had the usual parent–kid issues. This was an issue.”

“Because of Gabriel.”

Ricky nodded. “I know how bad this will sound, so bear with me. In a club, women aren’t exactly equal citizens, as you’ve figured out. They can’t be members. Even wives are kept out of club business. You’re supposed to treat women well, and there’s some serious old-school chivalry there, but that leads to a certain mind-set. Your woman is your…”

“Property?”

He winced. “I wouldn’t use that word, but it’s the gist. One thing you don’t do is go after another guy’s girl. Ever.”

“I’m not Gabriel’s girl.”

“To my dad, you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re not sleeping with him. He brought you in. You’re with him. Therefore you are off-limits.”

“In case Gabriel ever decides he does want to sleep with me?”

Another wince. “In my world, you can be friends with a girl and not go there. Not for my dad, though. Either you are there or you’re heading there.”

“Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“I know that makes him sound like a Neanderthal. He’s not. When my mom got pregnant, he never expected her to drop out of med school and marry him. He offered to get married, of course, but he didn’t expect a yes. He was just happy she was willing to go through with the pregnancy. He never asked for anything else from her. Never tried to deny her rights, either. A lot of the guys didn’t get that, and he took some lumps for it. He lost a few members when he took over, because Mr. Mom wasn’t their idea of a club president.” He stopped and flushed. “I didn’t mean to rant.”

“You didn’t. I understand, and as long as you don’t consider me your property—”

He laughed. “I know how far I’d get with that. Booted out the door. With my ass kicked the whole way. No, I’m not my father. But as a club member, I have to follow his rules. After you came by that first time, and I knew I wanted to see you again, I made sure I wasn’t overstepping. I talked to Gabriel.”

“And said what? Hey, are you planning to hit that?”

He gave me a look. “Not in so many words, but yeah. That’s not sexist, either. If you met a guy through a woman you respected, wouldn’t you check to see if she was interested in him before making a move?”

“Point taken. So what exactly did you say?”

He shrugged. “I asked if you guys were together, and when he said no, I asked if he was heading that way. He said absolutely not. You’re a client, and that’s grounds for disbarment. So I asked if that would change when you weren’t a client. He gave me that cold stare and said it was a professional relationship. End of conversation. Or so I thought.”

“So you thought?”

Ricky rolled onto his stomach and propped up on his forearms. “Gabriel’s … different.”

“Really?”

“No shit, huh.” He chuckled. “But he’s different in a whole lotta ways. Our last lawyer used to come to the club, hang out with the girls, go home with the hangers-on. It was a perk of the job. Gabriel? Hell, no. My dad suggested it once, and he got a very frosty no thank you. No girls. No drugs. Give him a drink, and he takes a few sips to be polite. Totally straight edge. He’s driven and he’s ambitious, and until he gets where he wants to be, nothing’s getting in his way, including romantic entanglements. That means he’s single-minded as hell. So when I ask about you, it takes a day or so for him to realize why I’m asking. He pops by the clubhouse on business. When I ask how you’re doing, he pounces. He strongly advises against asking you out. We’re both clients, and that would be problematic. Also, you’re going through serious changes in your life and you don’t need the disruption. I should steer clear.”

“Bastard,” I muttered.

Ricky seemed surprised by the venom in my voice. “Yeah, I’m sure you don’t appreciate that, but on the other hand it means I may have overstepped after all. It gives ammunition to my dad’s argument.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Ricky rubbed my bare hip. “Yeah, it kinda does. If Gabriel was that adamant about me not dating you, it could mean he really is—”

“He isn’t.” I told him about Gabriel’s deal with James. When I finished, his mouth opened. Then it shut, and he shook his head.

“I’d say I’m stunned, but it’s more like mildly surprised. Gabriel saw the chance to make a little extra on the side, and since it didn’t hurt your case, it wasn’t against your interests. On a professional level.”

“Which is all that matters with Gabriel. The point is that your dad has zero reason to think you were overstepping. Gabriel was only guarding someone else’s ‘property.’ If Gabriel still complains, it’s only because us dating could add a mild complication to his business interests, which come first.”

Ricky nodded slowly, digesting that. “That helps. On all levels.”

“Good. Because I understand that the club comes first for you, and I won’t interfere with that. But if we can make this work…”