Deceptions: A Cainsville Novel (9 page)

Morgan? Are you fucking kidding me?

The car pulled into the street. Ricky strode to his bike and hopped on.

You picked the worst possible night to pull this shit, Morgan. And you’re about to find out why.

G
abriel paced the living room, checking the locks and the security system, looking out the window, then sitting on the edge of the couch, hoping to settle in for the night, only to be compelled to get up again.

He’d given Olivia the bedroom. He felt better being between her and the front door. The chances of Morgan breaking in were as infinitesimal as the chances that Gabriel had somehow failed to engage the locks or arm the security system, but taking the couch helped dull the edges of his gnawing anxiety.

He should feel better about the situation. He and Ricky had come up with a rational plan for dealing with James Morgan. The problem was that Gabriel was becoming increasingly convinced they were not dealing with a rational man.

He’d had two e-mails from Morgan today. The first had come late morning. A photograph with the subject line “Thought you might want to see this.” Which had told Gabriel he almost certainly did not. He’d cautiously opened it on his phone, getting the smallest possible preview before realizing what it was, deleting it, and going into his trash and removing it from there, too, on the off chance he might somehow stumble over it later.

It’d been a picture of Ricky and Olivia. Ricky had told him Morgan had interrupted him and Olivia kissing behind the diner. While Gabriel hadn’t seen much before he deleted the picture, he was quite certain “kissing” didn’t quite cover the situation. That was not an image he wanted anywhere in his brain.

But it raised the question: What kind of man purposely walks in on his ex-fiancée with another man and takes a photo of them? And sends the picture to someone else? The levels of incomprehensible behavior were too much for Gabriel to even process.

He was looking out the window when he caught a noise from the bedroom. He walked to the closed door and listened, and then reached for the knob. He stopped himself. Yes, there was a bedroom window—fifty-five stories up without even a balcony to climb on. Most likely, Olivia was using the bathroom. His brain whirred through everything she could find in there. The most damning items—the weapons and the money—were gone, though. He’d removed them earlier that day. With Chandler’s death, the defense attorney in Gabriel had finally overruled the little boy who needed his security blankets, and he’d stashed them in an untraceable storage locker he kept.

Still, he shouldn’t have insisted Olivia take the bedroom. It wasn’t about putting her in a safer spot, he realized. It was about giving her a better place to sleep as a way of saying, “I’m sorry for how monumentally I fucked up tonight.”

When she’d insisted he stay out of the prison visiting room, he’d racked his brain for what he’d done to deserve the rejection. Whatever the cause, he hadn’t taken the snub well. Not until he’d stood at that visiting room door, seen the tears streaming down her face, and all he could think was,
Thank God I’m not in there
.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to deal with her emotional breakdown. He wanted to fix it. To make her feel better. And he didn’t know how.

Olivia knew whom to turn to for comfort. She’d wanted Ricky. And he’d talked her out of it. He’d been hurt and, yes, jealous, unwilling to acknowledge that someone else could help her when he could not. So how had he handled the situation? By making it worse.

His intentions had been good. He could tell she wanted a drink, so he’d taken her to a bar where they could talk about the visit. Except he’d inadvertently chosen a place where they couldn’t talk about anything. When she said that was fine, again he’d felt relief. He could get her a drink and be spared the necessity of conversation, which would save him from failing to make the correct response.

He’d watched her mood drop ever lower, and he’d known he’d made a mistake. Then Ricky had called, and he’d had the chance to repair the damage. Admit Olivia was not fine and Ricky would be there within the hour. Problem solved.
Olivia’s
problem solved. By someone else. Which meant there was no way he could bring himself to say, “She’s not fine.” Three simple words. One crushing admission.

“If you have any reason to think Liv needs me, say the word and I’m on the way.”

“She’s fine.”

“Okay, then. I trust you to make that call.”

Another sound from inside the bedroom. He rapped softly enough that it wouldn’t wake her, but when she didn’t answer, his anxiety grew.

He eased the door open. The room was pitch-dark, Olivia having pulled the blackout blind. He pushed the door so that the living room light shone through, and then he scoured the familiar room for anything unfamiliar. Nothing.

Olivia was still asleep, tossing restlessly, making the bed creak. He eased the door farther open, light illuminating the bed. That’s when he saw her, really saw her. She lay on her side, head on his pillow, her nightshirt riding up around her waist, her legs bare . . .
more
than her legs bare.

Olivia. In his bed.

The image was as unwelcome as the one Morgan had sent to his phone, but he didn’t delete this one. No, he stood, and he watched, and he thought, considered, imagined—

He closed his eyes, but it didn’t do any good. He could still see her there, in his bed . . .

Where she should not be. Not in his bed. Not in his apartment. What the hell had he been thinking? What was he doing, not just bringing her here, but any of it, all of it?

I’m sorry, Olivia. I understand you’re going through a difficult time, and if you need my help as your lawyer, I’m quite happy to give it, but otherwise . . .

Otherwise . . .

Otherwise, he should extricate himself from the situation. Completely and thoroughly. He’d been wrong to make this his problem, to get wrapped up in the madness, to get wrapped up in her.

He thought of leaving and felt pain. Physical pain in his gut, as if someone had sucker punched him and left him gasping.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want her to leave.

But you need to. Leave before she does, because you know she will. You’ll drive her away. You’ll do something or you’ll fail to do something, and she’ll give up on you.

Olivia whimpered in her sleep, and when he looked, she’d doubled over, her head down, legs drawn up as if she was the one in pain.

I can’t help her.

Yes, I can. Maybe not with what happened tonight, but there is something I can fix.

He took out his phone and flipped to the second message from Morgan.

We need to talk. I’ll be home all night and the house will be otherwise empty, so we can discuss this in private and, I hope, come to an understanding. You’re a reasonable man, Walsh. I think we can reason this out.

A reasonable man. By that, Morgan meant that Gabriel could be bought off. The spark of indignation lasted only a second before cold reality snuffed it out. He
had
been bought by Morgan once, and there was no reason for the man to suspect it wouldn’t work again. That would not happen, of course. Whatever impulse Gabriel had to extricate himself from this situation had been crushed by the determination to prove he could fix this, he could help her, he could be what she needed.

Gabriel dropped his phone into his pocket, eased from the room, and headed out of the apartment, arming the system as he went.

R
icky picked me up for breakfast. When we reached his bike, I noticed the bulging saddlebags and the smell of bacon.

“Are you up for a picnic breakfast?” he said. “If you don’t want to eat outside, we could commandeer the meeting room table at Gabriel’s office.”

“No, a picnic is great. Eating out means dining with strangers, and I wasn’t really feeling up to that today.”

“I figured you might want some privacy.”

“I do.” I kissed his cheek before I pulled on my helmet. “Thanks.”

He drove us to the Lincoln Park lily pool. One of my favorite spots. I’d mentioned that to him
once
. In passing.

The park had just opened for the day, and there was no one else around. Ricky still led me to an out-of-the-way corner, where we could enjoy a view of the pond and the ducks without much danger of interruption.

We were settling in on the rocks when I noticed scrapes and bruises on his knuckles. I caught his hand as he reached into the bag of food.

“Trouble last night?” I asked.

“Mmm, yeah. Minor resistance.”

He busied himself pulling out breakfast sandwiches and a cardboard carton of coffee.

“Did it go okay?” I asked. “You seem quiet.”

“It went fine.” He paused, holding the coffee carton in one hand, the cardboard cups in the other. “Well, the negotiations did. After that . . . I kinda quit the club.”

“What?” My gaze shot to his leather jacket, set on a rock beside us.

“It was temporary. I stormed off, cooled down, went back, and talked to my father. We worked it out. No big deal.”

“Um, yeah.” I took the coffee from him and set it aside. “You
quit
the
club
. Even if it didn’t last an hour, that’s an hour too much. I know what the Saints mean to you and what your dad means to you.”

I rubbed my fingers over his shoulder, where he had the Saints patch tattooed on the back.

“Some people will bluff and bluster to get their way,” I said. “Threaten to end a relationship. To quit a job. To drop out of a group. That’s not you.”

He dipped his chin, gaze sliding away from me. I snagged it back. “I’m wrong, right? You were bluffing. Showing Don how angry you were.”

Ricky exhaled. Then he shook his head. “I wanted to show him I was serious, but I wasn’t bluffing. I wouldn’t do that. I was ready to walk away.”

“Wh-what?”

“Shit.” Ricky grabbed my hands and tugged me onto his lap. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about. Hell, I wasn’t even going to tell you. I planned to come out here and talk about what happened yesterday. To
you
.”

I twisted to look at him. “If you were seriously ready to quit the club because of our relationship, then we have a problem.”

“The situation just kept escalating, Liv. It’s like putting out tiny fires and, somehow, you’re fanning the flames instead. By not resisting my dad’s interference, I was proving that you weren’t important to me. When I did resist, he gave me an ultimatum. Choosing you was the only way I could say, ‘I’m serious,’ and if that cost me my patch . . .” He went quiet. “I just really hoped it wouldn’t.”

I turned in his lap, arms going around his neck, my kiss telling him everything I couldn’t put into words—how much that near-miss worried me, how badly I didn’t want to come between him and the club, or him and his father, but how badly I didn’t want to lose him, either.

I said all that in the kiss, and when it deepened, urgency and hunger and fear igniting as he pulled me down onto the rocks, I showed him exactly how much he meant to me, and how glad I was to have him.

—

I lay under Ricky as he caught his breath, his eyes threatening to close. When I made a move to slide from under him, he put one hand between my shoulder blades, the other on my rear, and flipped onto his back with me atop him. Then he pulled me down in a slow kiss. When it broke, I tried to back away again. His arms tightened.

“Eager to escape this morning, aren’t you?”

“No. Just thinking I should probably pour us some coffee before we drift off to sleep, half naked, in a public park.”

A languid grin. “Anyone spots us, they’ll steer clear.”

He pulled me back down into a kiss, and I started thinking maybe he had a point. The sun was bright and warm, and it felt so quiet and peaceful. Right up until we heard the distant sound of voices. Kids’ voices. He rolled me over onto my back, saying, “I’ll get that coffee.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll get it . . . along with my jeans.”

While I pulled on my clothes, he propped himself up to watch. I had my own view to enjoy. As fine as Ricky Gallagher looks in clothes, he’s even better without them. He had his jeans still on, pulled up now but unbuttoned, his shirt off as he reclined on his elbows, his sweaty chest glistening in the sunlight.

He smiled. “You keep staring at me like that and I’ll put you on the bike and spirit you off to the cabin early.”

“Spirit away,” I said, bringing back two cups of coffee. “I have the day off.”

He buttoned his jeans. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. A gift from Gabriel, though I suspect he wants me out of his hair so he can get some actual work done. If you have things to do, you can drop me at the office and Lydia will play bodyguard until—”

“My day’s plan was killing time until you’re free.”

“So you want to head up early?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Anytime you’re ready, then.”

“Not so fast.” He caught my arm as I began to get up. “I want to hear about last night first.”

He sat, and I leaned against his shoulder.

“When I first went to visit Pamela, I prepared myself to see a killer. Someone who’d done terrible things . . . and who’d given birth to me and raised me and was a part of my life while she did those terrible things. I knew that would be difficult to reconcile, but I think my greater fear was that I’d walk into that room and be unable to see a killer. That I’d remember my mother and I’d think, ‘No, she didn’t do it.’”

“And?”

“I tried to hold her crimes in my head, like a barrier. It took effort to keep that wall up, but I managed it, and I came to accept that she could have been a good mother
and
a murderer. When I found out she wasn’t responsible for the deaths of Jan and Peter, it was . . .” I trailed off, trying to find the right words. “It was a relief,” I said after a moment. “A sign that maybe she could be innocent. But I also knew that I had to steel myself against the possibility that if Gabriel and I keep digging, I’ll find out she killed six people.” I looked at him. “I can’t do that with Todd.”

“Can’t do what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Keep the wall up. I can’t . . . Damn it.” Tears pricked my eyes. “I can’t
find
that wall, Ricky. I couldn’t even look at him right away. When he walked in, I was ready to flee, and then I heard his voice and there was no doubt. Everything in me said, ‘This is my father. And my father is not a killer.’”

“You don’t want to think that way.”

“No, I don’t. It makes me feel like a gullible fool. But when I walked out of that visiting room yesterday, all I could think was that we’ve got to move faster on this case, forget everything else and focus on proving them innocent.”

“What did Gabriel say about that?”

“I never told him. The rest of the evening was . . . not exactly conducive to conversation.”

“The bar.”

I looked over.

“I texted him,” he said. “I know you said you were fine, but I wanted to be sure. I asked him to give me a call and when he did, I could hear the music. Not a chance of talking in that place.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Sure. He insisted you were fine, which I suspected you weren’t, but . . . he thought you were doing okay, and I didn’t feel right running over if you’d rather I didn’t.”

Gabriel had told Ricky he shouldn’t come? After I had made it clear—
very
clear—that I wanted to see him?

“Liv?”

I pushed down the rising anger. “Sorry, just . . . Goddamn it, Gabriel!”

Ricky chuckled. “I’m guessing he missed a few cues that you weren’t fine.”

“Just a few.”

“I’m also guessing that’s why you didn’t talk to him about Todd. It’s one thing if Todd gave you proof he was innocent, but it would be hard to say to Gabriel that you
feel
he’s innocent. He won’t understand.”

“And he’d think I was being foolish.”

Ricky made a face. “I wouldn’t go that far. He just won’t get it. Either way, maybe you
should
push harder on your parents’ case—”

The jangle of “Big Boss Man” cut him short. In the past, when that ring tone sounded, Ricky would roll his eyes, but when he answered there was always a warmth in his voice that belied the grumbling. I’m sure I used to do the same when my dad called—no matter how inconvenient the timing, I was always happy to hear from him. Now Ricky tensed, like a deer spotting a shotgun.

“You should answer it,” I said softly.

“I know.” He did, saying, “Hey.” His face stayed tight as he listened and then said, “Actually, we were heading up to the cabin early. Liv has the day off.” As Don replied, Ricky relaxed. “Okay, sure.” A soft laugh. “Yeah, I know. I set out a few traps when we were up the last time.”

I walked to the pond to give him privacy while I checked my own phone. No texts. No messages. A few e-mails, the last from Gabriel. Changing his mind about giving me two days off? God, I hoped not.

I opened Gabriel’s e-mail so I could shoot back a quick response before we hit the road. Then I read his message.

I’ve tried calling, but you aren’t answering your phone. Something urgent has come up. I need you to meet me as soon as possible. It’s in regards to the Larsen case and not something I wish to put in an e-mail. I’ll be at the address below. I’ll expect you there within the hour. This is important, Olivia.

I checked the call log. While it was not impossible that I could have been too, um, preoccupied to hear my phone ring, there weren’t any missed calls. But my cell service fluttered, the bars rising and falling.

I called Gabriel. It went straight to voice mail. I hung up and walked back to Ricky, who was on his feet, tugging on his T-shirt.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Yep. I suspect something came up and he was hoping I could get to it before I headed out. When I said we were leaving right away, he just wished us a good trip and asked if I’d pop into town to check messages tonight and tomorrow morning, in case he needs to contact me. Which is protocol anyway.”

“So situation normal?”

“For now. Let’s hope it stays that way.” He looked down at the cell still in my hand.

“Gabriel,” I said.

He swore. I passed over the phone with the message on the screen. As he read it, he swore some more, but said, “You
do
want to move on your parents’ case. We’ll get this over with and then take off.”