CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

I was going to Gabriel’s apartment. He’d offered so casually that I wondered if I’d been mistaken about his reluctance to have guests. Still, I played it cool, making general conversation, with no comments on the neighborhood or even the building. I certainly could have commented on both.

When Gabriel first took me to his office, I’d expected a modern skyscraper suite in a high-rent neighborhood. Wrong for his office; dead-on for his residence. He lived in the near-north district of Chicago, just over the Loop. It was an impressive building, and I craned to look up at the top floors as I imagined the amazing view. I was so engrossed in my surroundings that I didn’t notice Gabriel had gone quiet. He parked without a word, got out of the Jag, and led me to the elevator in continued silence.

He’d spent most of the trip here talking, that slightly animated chatter that came after his standard half glass of wine. And I could say that had worn off and he’d retreated into a more typical thoughtful silence. But it didn’t feel that way.

As we waited for the elevator, I could feel anxiety strumming off him as his fingers drummed his leg. My gut dropped, any lingering buzz from the wine evaporating.

Gabriel didn’t want to bring me here. He’d had an impulse, and now it had passed, and he desperately wanted to rescind the invitation.

“Is this all right?” I asked.

He glanced over. “Hmm?”

“We can grab a drink someplace else.” I forced a smile. “You look like you’re wondering if the cleaning lady came by today. I know what that’s like. You get busy, and I swear the clutter starts reproducing itself. We can go someplace else . . .”

I was giving him an escape route. Yes, actually, the place is a mess. Let’s go down the street instead. But he stared as if I was speaking Swahili. Finally, he seemed to process enough to understand.

“No, of course not,” he said, ushering me into the elevator. “The apartment’s fine.”

He pressed a button. As the doors closed, I leaned over to see which floor he’d selected.

“Fifty-five? Damn. That’s got to have an amazing view. North or south?”

“South.”

“So it overlooks the river, then? Sweet.”

“Yes, it’s . . .”

He seemed to lose his train of thought, as if the effort of making mundane conversation was too much.

“Fifty-five is a lucky number,” I said. “Multiples of eleven are always good.”

Not exactly scintillating conversation, but he didn’t even acknowledge that I’d spoken. My gut was churning now, the queasiness laced with growing anger. He’d invited me here. I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t hinted. I’d never hinted.

“You’re right,” he blurted finally, hitting the garage button. “It’s a mess. I’d forgotten that. Let’s go somewhere else.”

I hit the next-floor button. He looked over as the elevator stopped abruptly.

I stepped off and turned, holding the door. “Go on up, Gabriel. I can find my way out.”

“Of course not. We’ll—”

“Cut the crap. You don’t want me here. Maybe it’s just me; maybe it’s everyone. It doesn’t matter. I was fine with that. What I’m not fine with? Being invited over and then made to feel as welcome as Typhoid Mary.”

“That’s not—”

“It is. Good night, Gabriel.”

I released the elevator door. He stood there. Just stood there and let the doors start to close. Only then did he make a move to grab them. Too late. Intentionally too late. They shut, and I went in search of the stairwell.

—

Gabriel made no attempt to find me. He could have. It would have been a simple matter of taking the elevator back down and cutting me off at the stairwell. I had eighteen flights to descend. It took a while.

When I reached the bottom and saw no sign of him, I started to text Ricky. Telling him I couldn’t stop by as we’d planned. I stopped before I sent the message. That wasn’t fair or honest. So I called. He answered on the second ring.

“You’re still up?” I asked.

A pause, then a chuckle. “It’s nine o’clock.”

“Right.” It certainly felt later. “Is it still okay if I come over? Or are you busy?”

“Even if I was busy, it would be absolutely okay if you came over. I was just getting a head start on my readings.”

“I’ll be there in about an hour. I need to grab a taxi first and get my car from the office.”

“Taxi? Can’t Gabriel drive you . . . ?” He trailed off. “What’d he do now?”

I managed a laugh. “Not even going to suggest I might have done something?”

“Nope. But I won’t pry. Where are you?”

“Just north of the Loop. I’ll be there—”

“Give me an address and twenty minutes.”

I did.

—

I lay under Ricky, the night-chilled earth against my back, the heat of his bare chest against mine, both of us catching our breath. We’d gone for a ride outside the city and, as usual, ended up like this, in some quiet spot that I only vaguely remembered him pulling into.

“Damn, that never gets old,” he said.

“I hope not.”

I shifted under him, my fingers tickling down his back. Goose bumps rose in their wake as he shivered, eyes half closed, smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you for the distraction,” I said.

His eyes opened. “That wasn’t the distraction. I had something special in mind.”

“Oh, that’s plenty special.”

“Something a little more unusual, then.” He eased off me and flipped me onto him instead as he settled onto his back. “I thought I’d teach you how to ride.”

“Shit. Am I doing it wrong?”

A laugh. “No, you are absolutely not doing it wrong, and you know that’s not what I mean. My bike. I’m going to teach you how to drive it.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s got to be a rule against letting your girlfriend drive.”

“Yeah. Which is bullshit, and I’m ignoring it. At least between us.”

“So I can learn to ride it. Just not tell anyone.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You don’t agree with the philosophy, so I am fine with it. In public, I will stay on the bitch seat, keep my gaze downcast, and follow behind at five paces.”

“Right. I can’t even get you to follow behind when we’re scouting an abandoned psych hospital.”

“That’s because I had the gun. Unless you can throw your switchblade, it’s not going to stop someone coming at us.”

“So I guess you don’t want this?” He reached for his discarded jeans and tugged something from the back pocket.

“Ooh.” I took the knife. It was about three inches long, black and stainless steel.

“Want?” he said.

“Want very much.”

He pushed a button on top. An LED light turned on. “I’d get shit for adding that to mine, but I figured you could use it for those treks through moonlit alleys. Or for stabbing someone in the dark.”

“It’s perfect.” I kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, for making gift-giving very easy for me. I’m much better at choosing weapons than candy and flowers.”

I flicked the blade out. “Sex, a switchblade, and motorcycle lessons. You really are making sure my night ends on a high note.”

“I am. Now, let’s get dressed and get you riding.”