Betrayals (Cainsville Book 4) (8 page)

He took a seat. “However, as I realize that sounds like ethical superiority, I will also allow that we find interaction with humans more tolerable than do the Tylwyth Teg. We can assimilate more easily. That means something like this”—he waved around the office—“is easier for us to accomplish.”

“And the fact that you don’t age?” I said.

“We do. Or, more precisely, we age our glamours.” He turned a frame on a table to face me. In it was a photo of a boy. “This is my son, also named Ioan. He’s eleven. He lives in Florida with his mother. We’re still close—or as close as we can be, living across the country. He’ll go to college there, get a business degree there. When he is twenty-four, I will be taken by a sudden heart attack. He will come to the funeral. My associates—also my Cŵn Annwn pack—will convince him to stay on in the company, where he will quickly rise to my position.”

“Because he
is
you,” I said. “Your son is a fiction until you’re old enough to be expected to retire, and then you’ll appear
as
him and continue on.”

“It’s an elaborate ruse, but variations on it have worked for us for centuries.” He eased back. “I
do
have a son, quite a bit older than this one. He does run his own business, though. Quite successfully. Though in his case, his fae blood might be a little more prominent, his line of business not quite so legitimate.”

“My father,” Ricky said.

Ioan went still. “Someone told you?”

“No, I suspected. You just clinched it. Now, Liv has questions—”

“You’re angry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“No, I’m moving on.”

Despite his demeanor, Ricky was pissed. He may have suspected this, but he wouldn’t like hearing it confirmed and was trying to act as if it didn’t matter. He wanted it to not matter, so I said, “Ricky’s in trouble.”

That got Ioan back on track. “Yes, of course. That’s why you’re here. What seems to be the problem?”

“The police are investigating Ricky in the disappearance of a man who was stalking him. A man who seems to be the target of the Cŵn Annwn.”

Ioan frowned. Before he could ask, I explained. When I finished, Ioan leaned back in his chair and said, “Ciro Halloran …”

“Never heard of him?”

“No, I certainly have. He’s been doing exactly what you saw in your vision: killing lamiae.”

“Lamiae? Plural?”

“Two so far, we believe. That does put him in our crosshairs, so to speak. We haven’t been able to catch him, though.”

“Is it really that hard?”

“The Cŵn Annwn …” He straightened. “Explaining further might be seen as a violation of our contract. May I explain, on the understanding that your willingness to listen does not
mean you are nullifying the agreement?” When I hesitated, impatience crept into his voice. “I’m not trying to trick you, Liv. That’s their way, not ours.”

I glanced at Ricky. He nodded, and I said, “All right.”

“Good. Now, you know the Cŵn Annwn pursue killers who murder those with fae blood. There are additional restrictions. We are hunters, not assassins. We must set the hounds on our prey. We cannot take lives ourselves. Nor can we set the hounds on them in any milieu other than a traditional Hunt.”

“So you need to lure your prey into the forest? That’s a little complicated, isn’t it?”

“We have ways. Charms and compulsions, like the Tylwyth Teg. They do not always work, so we have sought other methods. Loopholes, if you will.”

“The brainwashing experiments with Chandler.”

Ioan’s lips tightened. “Not one of our finer moments. The theory was sound, allowing us to turn murderous partners against one another. It would also have allowed us to target those without a fae connection.”

“Why?”

He looked surprised. “Because it’s justice. The purpose of our existence.”

And that, I suppose, was the only answer I’d get. The only one he could give. Their jurisdiction might be limited to crimes with a fae connection, but that did not keep them from seeing injustice elsewhere and wanting to correct the balance. Which is why they’d made the deal with my mother to kill murderers they couldn’t touch.

Ioan continued. “My dealings with Chandler bore fruit, as you know, but they also caused the deaths of innocent people. I will not forgive myself for that. No more than I forgive myself for the danger he put you in. I knew Chandler was not a righteous
man, but I thought he could be controlled. I allowed my zealousness to overwhelm my prudence. It won’t happen again.”

“And Halloran?”

“He appears immune to our compulsions. We’ve been seeking other remedies.”

“But I had a vision of him being pursued by you guys.”

Ioan frowned and then said, “We haven’t caught up to him. Possibly that’s a prognostic vision? Have you had those?”

“No, just visions of the past.”

“I don’t know what to say, then. I can only hope that it
is
a vision of the future, and we’ll catch up to him soon. As for his interest in Ricky, though, that’s very concerning. It seems—”

“Awfully coincidental?” I said. “Yep. Whatever’s going on, though, I am going to investigate, because I can’t take the chance of ignoring it. I’m here to ask for everything you know about Ciro Halloran.”

“What about him?”

“Whatever you learned in the course of your investigation. Background info, current info, anything pertinent.”

“None of that is pertinent,” Ioan said. “He’s killing fae. That is an undisputed fact. Details would simply get in the way. I can provide his home address, though.”

“Already got it. How about the crimes, then? Begin with motivation. Why’d he do it?”

Ioan looked confused. “We’re not a court, Liv. We know he’s guilty.
Why
he’s done it is meaningless.”

“Can you tell me
anything
about the murders?”

“The facts, yes.”

“Do that, then.”

It was two blocks back to where Ricky had found street parking. He was quiet as we walked. When we reached the bike, I
caught his hand, and he looked over and said, “I’m okay.” When I kept giving him a look, he pulled me into a hug and whispered, “I’ll
be
okay.”

I eased back. “I know you suspected Ioan was your grandfather, but having it confirmed is a different thing.”

Ricky made a face. “Yeah. Not in the way he thinks …”

“What’s pissing you off is what he did to your grandmother and your father. He helped them financially, but there’s more to supporting your kid than that. Which is a lesson your father learned well.” Don had raised Ricky from birth, letting his mother continue med school and then go on to lead her own life and build her own family.

Ricky said, “When guys screw around and leave a kid behind, it’s a thoughtless, stupid mistake. But the Cŵn Annwn do it intentionally, and I can’t wrap my head about that. My grandmother was an unwed mom in the sixties. Ioan fucked up her life, and now he stands there, telling me the truth like I’m going to get all misty-eyed. I wanted to—” He broke off.

I hooked my fingers in his belt loops and tugged him closer. “You’re angry. You have a right to be angry. Accept it. Redirect it.” I leaned to his ear and whispered, “I kinda like the way you redirect it.” I reached into the saddlebags and waggled a skirt I kept stuffed in there. “Ride?”

He chuckled and nodded.

We lay in a patch of forest, the temperature plummeting as the sun dropped. Ricky pulled me against him, his warmth wrapping around me.

We weren’t dozing. The sex hadn’t been strenuous enough for that. We just rested, as we usually did, finding a bit of forest and catching our breath, enjoying each other’s company. The last time we’d been out, Ricky had joked that we should squeeze a
blanket into the saddlebags, as the days grew shorter, autumn settling in to winter. I would, too, if it meant holding on to these moments for a few weeks longer.

As Ricky returned texts from his dad, I made a call. Gabriel didn’t answer until the fourth ring. That gave me pause, but we’d parted on good terms, no need for concern. That’s what it’s like with Gabriel—even a moment’s delay and I’m racking my brain, worrying that I’ve annoyed him in some way.

“Hey,” I said. “Just calling with the post-Ioan update.”

More silence, and when he replied, it seemed grudging. “Did it go smoothly?”

“As smoothly as can be expected with the Cŵn Annwn,” I said, adding an extra note of brightness, as if that could even the balance. “I was going to suggest we pop by and update you, but you sound busy.”

“I am.”

I started to ask,
Is everything okay?
then bit my tongue. I could tell it wasn’t, as easily as I could tell with Ricky earlier, but with Gabriel, asking even once makes me feel like a court-ordered therapist nagging him to share his feelings.

“We haven’t heard anything from the police, have we? About Ricky?”

“I would tell you both immediately if I did.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “Do you want to wait until Monday?”

“Yes. Monday will be fine.”

“All right. I’ll see you at the office—”

“No,” he said abruptly. “We should talk tomorrow. Will you be in the city?”

“We planned to spend the night in Cainsville.”

“There, then. Ten tomorrow morning?”

“Is everything okay?” The words came before I could stop them, and I winced as they left my mouth, but even then I scolded
myself for being so dramatic, always expecting the worst with Gabriel. There was nothing wrong with asking—

“Yes, of course,” he said, his words clipped and cool.

“Right, well … I’ll see you at ten.”

He said something that was probably a goodbye but sounded more like a grunt before he hung up.

R
icky
woke sharply. He lay there, in the darkness, listening hard, hearing only the sound of Liv’s breathing. She slept with her back to him, his hand resting on her hip, her body close enough for him to feel the heat of it against the night breeze fluttering in through the open apartment window.

He’d close the window in a moment, but for now he snuggled against her back, settling whatever unease had woken him.

Ricky did not consider himself a troubled guy. His path might be unusual, but it was the only one that led anyplace he wanted to go. Sure, there’d always been the vague sense he was missing something important, but he wasn’t the type to dwell on it. He’d set his course, and he’d hit the gas, and he’d roared headlong toward the goal. Then he met Liv. And he’d stopped for her. He couldn’t help it. Stopped and circled back, and found something he hadn’t been expecting. Clarity. A strange word to use, but when he was with her, the ride stopped in a freeze-frame, the world snapping into perfect focus.

He didn’t understand how it worked with Arawn and Matilda and Gwynn. Were they destined to find one another? Or was it pure happenstance? Either way, he
had
been looking, even if he’d never realized it. Looking for something he needed. She
was it, and Arawn was it. The answers to his unasked questions.

Liv often said that theirs was the most comfortable relationship she’d ever had. Again, maybe an odd choice of words, seemingly underwhelming. But there was no overestimating the importance of being completely comfortable with another person. No stress. No expectations. No sense that the other person would like you even better if you changed this or that.

There were, of course, stronger words he could use to describe their relationship. A crazy-giddy, mad-about-you, can’t-wait-to-see-you romance that hadn’t gotten any less crazy-giddy, mad-about-you, can’t-wait-to-see-you after six months.

There was also the sex. There was absolutely no overestimating the sex. Liv was very sure of what she wanted and not afraid to ask for it, and also very eager to reciprocate. Confident and uninhibited, with an appetite to match his own. No, he couldn’t overestimate the sex, and the thought of it had him kissing the back of her neck, his fingers sliding to her thighs.

The trick to waking a girl for sex was consideration. Kissing and touching, stroking her thighs, fingers moving up, waiting for a response. Too deeply asleep, and there’d be no reaction, which was a red light. But as he teased Liv’s inner thighs, she sighed in sleep, her legs parting, and that was a green. Well, a yellow. Proceed with caution, because if she didn’t wake, it meant she needed sleep more than sex. He eased his fingers up, stroking until she shifted more, and he slid his fingers into her and she sighed again, deeper now, snuggling back against him. Still asleep, but having very pleasant dreams and—

A yowl cut through the night.

Ricky stopped, and Liv made a noise in her sleep, clearly not pleased at the interruption to her dream. He pushed upright, peering around the dim room, his eyes adjusted enough to make out everything.

“TC?” he whispered.

The cat usually slept on the foot of Liv’s bed. Even if things got raucous, he’d only glower at them and move farther from the epicenter of the disruption. The yowl came again, through the open window, distant, with a plaintive note.

TC had been inside when they went to bed. Ricky always got the impression he liked to stick close to Liv while she slept, watching over her.

The yowl came again.

“Lousy timing, cat,” Ricky muttered. He leaned over and planted a kiss on Liv’s shoulder, and then carefully slid from bed.

TC was not out front. Nor was he waiting at the rear door. Ricky checked anyway, twice, and then stood on the front porch, shivering in only his jeans as he surveyed the empty street. The yowl came again, muffled. TC was inside somewhere.

The cat had gone missing once before. He’d been trapped in the basement of the Carew house. Purposely trapped there, Tristan putting him in that basement so he could get into Liv’s apartment undisturbed.

Which meant Ricky needed to get back to Liv, and they’d find the cat together. Yet when he reached the stairwell, TC yowled again, right on the other side of the wall.

Ricky walked to that apartment door and rapped. He wasn’t surprised when no one answered. They’d never met one of Liv’s neighbors. They’d only catch glimpses and hear voices and occasionally soft music.