CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

We were leaving the cemetery when I said, “You need to go back for your bike.”

“I will.”

“I know the club rules. You can’t leave it there. I’d prefer you got it now, so you don’t need to take off when we reach the police station.”

I dropped him off, and he caught up before I reached the station. As we walked in, he went over how the process differed from the assault charge, where bail was set automatically. Gabriel would be kept in a holding cell for up to forty-eight hours, pending the arraignment, where the charges would be read and a plea entered. Bail would be set at that hearing.

“Everything will be okay. I’ll handle this.” He struggled for a smile. “Yeah, handling homicide charges is not my usual gig. Last time we had a member charged with murder, I was in high school. I’ll call my dad and see what we need to do. Gabriel will handle the legal stuff, though. I’m just saying . . .” He paused and met my gaze. “Gabriel didn’t do this.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you don’t suspect he did, but I absolutely know he did not. Beyond any doubt. I guarantee this will be resolved.”

He couldn’t guarantee that at all, and part of me wished he wouldn’t say that. It felt like patting me on the head during a tornado and telling me everything would be all right. But when I looked at him, I didn’t see a hint of condescension. Just resolve plastered over panic.

I hugged him, and we headed inside.

—

Ricky had warned I wouldn’t be able to speak to Gabriel. I still tried. Tried damn hard, with Ricky beside me, both of us arguing with as much determination and eloquence—and as little animosity—as possible. I think the desk sergeant was impressed in spite of herself. That didn’t mean we were getting a visit, though. So I parked my ass in the visitors’ room, where I’d sit for as long as it took, either until I got to see him or until he was arraigned.

Gabriel had managed to send me further instructions from the back of the police car. He asked that Lydia be present for his office search and Ricky for his condo, because both were familiar enough with the process to stop the police from digging beyond the scope of the warrant. If Gabriel was concerned about having his office and condo searched, he gave no sign of it. I still fretted. Ricky reassured me that Gabriel was a defense attorney. If he had a nosebleed, he probably incinerated his shirt that night, just to be safe.

At around seven, I got word that the arraignment was set for noon the next day. I thanked the officer and told him I’d wait.

Ricky returned with dinner. After we ate, he started getting calls from his father. There was a club meeting that night, and I knew that, short of illness or imprisonment, Ricky was supposed to attend. He joked that he was near a prison. I made him go anyway.

Rose showed up shortly after Ricky left, likely after a call from him. She brought tea and cookies. We talked. I sent her home when the clock ticked near eleven.

Once Rose left, the night shift desk clerk came in to inform me that I absolutely could not stay. I pointed out that the station was open all night. If they wanted to make an issue of it, they could toss me in an empty cell on charges of being a pain in the ass. The clerk shook his head and left me alone.

At 11:45, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and held off answering until it was just about to switch to voice mail. Then I picked up.

“Olivia, you are not spending the night in the police station waiting room.” It was Gabriel. “Ricky has my apartment keys. You can both stay there for the night. Arm the alarm and lock the doors. I’m not convinced his apartment is secure. My arraignment is at nine tomorrow—”

“I thought it was noon.”

“They moved it up, which may have something to do with you being camped out in their waiting room. I appreciate that, but you should go now. There’s no way we can meet before the arraignment.”

“Pamela,” I blurted. “When I was there yesterday morning, she said she knew you’d killed James. Someone had told her—one of the Cwn Annwn, I think.”

“Whatever Pamela said, I did not—”

“I know. But that’s why I froze up when they arrested you. Because I hadn’t warned you about what she’d said.”

“Ah.”

“I know you don’t have much time, so if you have anything important you need to say, cut me off, but I want to say that I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to give it any credence. If I’d thought, for one second, that you might actually be arrested—”

“It’s all right. It helps to know where to begin looking for answers. The only important thing I have to say is ‘go home.’”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Of course.” He sounded mildly offended that I’d ask. But I wasn’t really asking. I was diverting him from realizing that I hadn’t agreed to leave. He fell for it, and went on to tell me to bring him fresh clothing, along with a comb and a razor.

Ricky arrived a few minutes after we hung up. He brought a pillow, blanket, and hot chocolate.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said as he settled in, pulling the blanket over our legs.

“It’s like a sit-in,” he said. “I missed all that fun in my undergrad years. Not really my scene. But a protest against trumped-up criminal charges? I can get behind that. Now drink your cocoa. It’s like a mocha with less caffeine.”

“You could have gotten a decaf.”

“That’s just wrong.”

I smiled and leaned against his shoulder.

—

I did get some sleep, partly because Ricky kept haranguing me until I closed my eyes, and once I did, I drifted off. I’d been propped against him, his arm around me. At some point I fussed enough to end up lying across the chairs, and he’d put the pillow under my head and draped the blanket over me, and when I woke, I was alone. I sat up quickly to find him still there, pacing.

“Go home,” I said. “Seriously. It’s a police station. I’m safe.”

I was teasing, but when he turned, the smile fell from my face. He looked like he’d been awake for three nights straight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m—” He sat beside me. “Sorry, you don’t need my shit right now. I know that. I just can’t . . . I can’t keep . . .”

“Ricky . . . ?”

“We need to talk, and I know this isn’t the time, and I’ve been trying to push this off, but I can’t.”

“Do you want to step outside?” I asked.

He nodded.

“We’ll tease the desk officer,” I said. “Make him think we’ve actually given up our vigil.”

I smiled, but his expression stayed dead serious. My heart started to thump.

When we were in the parking lot, I said again, “What’s wrong?”

He glanced back toward the police station. “I shouldn’t do this now. It’s just . . . I managed all day, but then night comes, and what I can put off during the day . . . I can’t anymore.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “It’s over.”

“What?”

“You and me. You were looking for easy and comfortable, and that’s not what you’re getting. Between your father and James, and now this . . .”

“Hell, no. I do not want that. At all.”

“Well, it’s obviously something you’d rather wait to tell me, and that’s the only thing that came to mind.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Liv,” he said. “I really, really do not, and I’m afraid . . .” He exhaled hard. “I just want you to know that I thought I was doing the right thing. Obviously, my solution was the wrong one—the worst possible one—and if I could go back and change it, I would. In a heartbeat.”

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out.”

He exhaled again, and I could see the fear in his eyes, and I wanted to slap my hand over his mouth and say, No, don’t tell me. Whatever it is, if you’re this afraid to say it, don’t, because I don’t want to mess this up. I really do not want to mess this up. Instead, I took his hands, pulled him in front of me, and said, “Tell me.”

“It’s James. His death. I think—I think it might have been me.”