Cainsville: Visions Part 24

"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 s.h.i.+ft 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 a.s.s home from Ricky's.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

I drove Gabriel back to his office. I'm sure there was no way in h.e.l.l 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 cla.s.ses. 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 doork.n.o.b. 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 pa.s.sing resemblance to my attacker. Yet I couldn't seem to shake the a.s.sociation. 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 a.s.s 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 gla.s.s made him seem to disappear as he walked. Not vanish or fade, but blend into his surroundings.

He pa.s.sed 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-s.h.i.+rt, 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 embarra.s.sed 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 h.e.l.l's Lovers as well as chapters of other gangs, like the h.e.l.ls 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 bas.e.m.e.nt, finally make it home ... and your d.a.m.n owner only pops in on breaks to give you food and water before vanis.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed 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."