CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

I expected Gabriel to come back. I really did. It was 1 A.M. and a look around told me I was more likely to hail a rapist here than a taxi. Empty streets. Dark buildings. Two guys on the corner, locked in a drunken exchange, me moving my gun from my purse into a pocket.

Gabriel would realize what kind of neighborhood he’d left me in, come screeching back, put down the window and say, “Get in.” He wouldn’t be happy about it, but even if he’d all but said We aren’t friends, that thread of basic human decency would bring Gabriel back.

Gabriel did not come back.

I called a cab company and gave them the intersection. They said it would be “hours.” In other words, they weren’t coming here. I started to walk. I headed toward the two drunk guys, only because I didn’t dare turn my back on them. They stopped arguing and fixed me with assessing stares. I stared back. One grumbled and resumed the argument. The other gave in after a pause, and they went back at it, ignoring me.

I called Ricky. “I hate to do this,” I said when he answered. “But could you pick me up?”

“Sure.” The thud-thud of his feet hitting the floor, followed by a stifled yawn.

“I woke you, didn’t I?”

“Nope. Just finishing a very boring reading, waiting for my good-night text. What happened? Where’s Gabriel?”

I paused and then said, “You were right.”

“And from the sound of you, I’d rather I wasn’t. What was I right about?”

“He found out about Gwynn and Arawn. That he’s Gwynn. He . . .” I inhaled. “It went badly. Really badly. We argued. I got out of the car. He took off. I waited in case he came back, and I did phone a cab, so I wouldn’t bother you—”

“Call me first. Always. Where are you?” The click of the door and the scrape of the key as he locked the deadbolt.

I told him.

“He left you there? God-fucking-damn him. What do you see? We need to get you someplace safe until I arrive. Restaurant, coffee shop, corner store—hell, even a twenty-four-hour laundry. I’ll stay on the line until you’re there.”

—

Ricky picked me up and took me back to his apartment, where we made love. It really was making love, not having sex. It was my apology, even if he’d never know I had something to apologize for.

I remembered everything Gabriel had said in that car, lashing out in the way guaranteed to hurt the most. Telling me what, in my gut, I feared most—that I’d been tricked, that this was all a ruse, and I was steering my life based on hallucinations. Telling me that I was also hallucinating anything between us, that if I thought we were friends, then I was a silly little fool.

That’s the guy I’d considered leaving Ricky for. Just so I’d be free to be with him, however he’d have me. Exactly how pathetic was that?

I really had been a silly little fool, and now I made it up to Ricky. Afterward, we lay there, Ricky on his back, me curled up against him, my hand on his chest, feeling his heart slowing as I traced the edges of his triskele tattoo.

“Can I see the designs for ours yet?” I asked.

“They’re on my phone,” he mumbled sleepily. “You get it, and we’ll look. If I can open my eyes.”

I smiled. “It can wait until morning. Go to sleep.”

“No, get it. I’m just resting for round two.”

“It’s almost four A.M.”

“Which is why there probably won’t be a round three. However, if you insist, I’ll try to accommodate, because I’m selfless like that.”

I laughed, fetched his phone, and held it out.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Nothing on there you can’t see.”

He directed me to a project management app.

“You’ve got a lot of projects,” I said as I skimmed the files.

“I’m organized.”

“Trip list? Don’t tell me you make packing lists, too.”

“Yes, I do, but that’s not one of them.”

“Can I open it?”

He flipped onto his side. “Did I say there’s nothing on my phone you can’t see?”

I opened the file. It was a list of places. The Three Sisters, Texas. Tail of the Dragon, North Carolina . . .

“Top ten motorcycle roads in North America,” he said.

“How many have you done?”

“Zip.” He looked at me. “You want to change that?”

His fingers rested on my thigh. His tone was confident, but his gaze was slightly lowered, in that way he had when he suspected he might be pushing into territory that could send me backpedaling. I’ve never backpedaled, but Ricky intuits better than anyone I know, and I couldn’t help wondering if he’d picked up on my confusion with Gabriel.

“Are you offering to take me away from all this?” I said.

“More like take you away when all this is over.”

“Let’s do that.” I held up the list. “Pick a spot.”

“Nope.” He turned the phone around. “You.”

“I’d have to research—”

“Uh-uh.” He scooched me over against him and covered my eyes. “Pick one.”

I did and opened my eyes. “Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia?”

“Hope you have a passport.”

“I do. But if you want someplace closer—”

“Nope, I do want to take you away from all this. As far from it as we can get.” He rolled onto his back and pulled me down with him. “At least for a little while.”

“God, I love you.”

“You’d better. ’Cause you’re about to spend two weeks alone with me in the middle of nowhere.”

“Perfect,” I said, and leaned down to kiss him.

—

I awoke to a text from Gabriel, telling me not to come in to work.

“I think I just got fired,” I said.

Ricky got out of bed fast. “He sure as hell better not.” He peered at my phone. “Bastard. It’s a temporary overreaction, but still, that’s your job. Your only source of income after he convinced you to quit the diner. He’d better not fuck with it because he’s feeling pissy.”

Ricky grabbed his jeans. “I’m going to go chat with him.” Before I could protest, he cut me off with a lifted hand. “No, not to give him shit for that text. He’s freaking out about the Gwynn shit, and he’s pissed that you didn’t tell him, and I’m part of both those things. I just want to talk about that.” A half smile. “I promise not to hit him, however tempted I might be.”

“Maybe I should try first and . . .” And if I did and Gabriel failed to reply and then Ricky showed up, it really would look like he was taking a message from me. “Okay, go on. After breakfast.”

—

Ricky returned an hour after leaving, barely time for him to have made it to Gabriel’s office and back.

“He won’t see you?” I said.

“Oh, he did. For five minutes, during which he said exactly seven words, though admittedly he did repeat them a few times.”

“What’d he say?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So he’s playing it like that?”

“Yep.” Ricky headed for the bathroom. “Try texting him later. See if anything changes.”

I texted Gabriel three times that day. On the third, I said, Can you answer please? So I know you’re getting these? He replied with I am. I stopped texting.

I spent the day investigating my parents’—my father’s—victims. Ricky helped.

I heard from Tristan twice. The first time, he left a message hinting that he was onto something. I ignored him. The guy had left a girl’s head in my bed. He’d lured me to an abandoned psych hospital in the middle of the night, pretending to have kidnapped the young woman who ultimately tried to kill us. He’d turned James from a sweet former fiancé into a crazed stalker ex. Call me a grudge-holder, but I was having some trouble getting past all that.

And yet . . . Well, as I’d been told—and shown—many times in the last few months, the fae didn’t think like us and couldn’t be expected to act like us. To them, the psych hospital and the James manipulation and even the surprise body parts were cattle prods, guiding this reluctant human in the direction they wanted her to go. We were cattle to them. Useful. Perhaps even necessary for survival. But not terribly clever.

Tristan texted later that afternoon.

Solid lead. Need GW 2 chk P Larsen visitor logs. OK?

I showed the message to Ricky.

“I find fairies with cell phones disconcerting enough. Do they really need to use text talk?” He shook his head. “You going to answer?”

“I am curious—what the hell would he need those logs for? But one, I can’t trust Tristan. Two, I don’t dare ask Gabriel to do anything right now. And three, I don’t trust Tristan.” I put the phone away. “I’ll ask Lydia tomorrow if she can get the logs. I don’t like going behind Gabriel’s back, but . . .”

“One, he’s being a dick. Two, you’re doing this to help him avoid jail time. Three, he’s being a dick.”

I smiled at him. “Exactly.”

Four hours later, we’d just returned from a late dinner when I got another text from Tristan.

Must talk. Big problem. Need privacy. Come 2 place we met 2nd time. Trust no one.

“Seriously?” I said, showing the text to Ricky. “Trust no one. Now fairies are watching X-Files?”

“He just wants you to believe.”

“No shit. Well, he’s officially piqued my curiosity. I’m calling back.”

I did, as we walked up the stairs to Ricky’s apartment. I called twice. Tristan didn’t answer. The first time, it went to voice mail, and I hung up to try again. That time, I got a “number not in service” message. I called a third time, in case my redial had screwed up somehow. It hadn’t. The number was no longer in service.

“Okay. Apparently, his number doesn’t work anymore.”

“So we’re still going?” he said.

“To an abandoned psych hospital? Once was enough. I’m not playing his game again.”

Inside the apartment, I slowly took off my shoes, so lost in thought that I didn’t realize Ricky was gone until I looked up and saw him coming out of the bedroom.

“Okay,” I said. “I know this will sound crazy, but—”

He handed me a new switchblade. “You’re going to need this.”