CHAPTER SEVEN

While neither Jon nor Childs is a particularly uncommon name, when you put the two together you get fewer than twenty adult males in the country. And exactly one in the Greater Chicago area.

The Chicago Jon Childs was a thirty-six-year-old self-employed equities trader. Successful, according to his tax records. Yes, we had access to his tax records. Or Lydia did. Not necessarily legally. She’d spent most of her working life as the executive assistant to Chicago’s Field Office Special Agent in Charge. That would be the CIA field office.

Before I met Lydia, I’d presumed that husky voice on the phone belonged to some hot young thing. When we did meet, I realized my unforgivable lapse in reasoning. There was no way in hell Gabriel would hire eye candy to manage his office when he could get someone like Lydia for the same salary, given she was past retirement age and just looking for an interesting way to spend her time. Working for Gabriel was nothing if not interesting.

According to Lydia’s research, Childs was a graduate of Portland State who’d moved to Chicago ten years ago, immediately opening his own business and attracting a decent clientele. Never married. No kids. No affiliation with any known political party or other group. In other words, a guy without ties. Not unlike the man I worked for. A lack of ties meant a lack of accountability and, well, let’s face it, a lack of witnesses.

Childs worked from home, which made it difficult to stake him out. Problem number two? We could find absolutely no photographic record of him. No passport. No driver’s license.

The only alternative was to call him up, express interest in his services, and persuade him to meet with me. Except Childs wasn’t home, and he didn’t seem to have an admin assistant. I left a message with my cell number.

—

Lydia was on the phone as we were walking past her desk. She flagged me down and covered the receiver.

“I can finally get you in to see Todd,” she said.

I froze mid-step. Gabriel turned to me. “You’d rather not?”

“No, I—”

“Let me rephrase that. I know you’d rather not. I’m going to leave this ball in your court, Olivia. If you wish to visit Todd at some juncture, let Lydia know and—”

“Tuesday.”

He hesitated.

“I’ll go Tuesday,” I said.

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Oh, right. Maybe . . .” I took a deep breath and turned to Lydia. “I’d like to go tomorrow if you can make the arrangements, please.”

She nodded, and Gabriel led me out the door.

—

I showered and changed at Gabriel’s, and I planned to grab a taxi, presuming Ricky would have his bike at the airport. Gabriel was having none of that. He would deliver me to the doors of the appropriate terminal, where he would watch until I was safely inside. I could say he was overreacting, but given the events of the last few days, he really wasn’t.

I stood with the usual crowd of friends and family at the bottom of the baggage claim escalators and tried not to bounce on my toes like an excited kid. As I spotted Ricky at the top, a young woman beside me whispered to her friend, “Who’s that?” They began speculating—musician, actor, model . . .

When I first met Ricky, I thought he looked like Hollywood’s version of a biker. Six feet, well-built, tousled blond hair to his collar, hazel eyes, and a cleft chin when he shaved. What bolstered the whispering, though, were the two Satan’s Saints who stood on the escalator step behind him. To his left was CJ, who looked pretty much exactly like you’d expect from an aging biker. Big guy, late forties, slight paunch, graying beard, stringy ponytail, and shit-kicker boots. The other was Wallace, sergeant-at-arms—Don Gallagher’s right-hand man and main enforcer. Wallace is clean-cut and almost as tall as Gabriel, with an extra twenty pounds of muscle. Both men could pass for roadies or bodyguards, and that’s what the girls obviously mistook them for.

Ricky was staring straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. Wallace said something and as Ricky looked over, he noticed me and gave a blast of a grin that had the girls beside me twittering. He jogged down the rest of the steps, strode over, and scooped me up in a soldier-on-furlough kiss.

Whispers snaked around us. I’d caught a few earlier, but that kiss made people take a closer look. They recognized me and Ricky from a Chicago Post photo a few weeks ago. I heard my name and “biker,” and I’m sure Ricky did, too, but he just kept grinning down at me.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said. “Thank you.”

Wallace and CJ walked over.

“Hey, Miz Jones,” CJ said.

“Hey, guys.” I asked how their flight was as we headed to the baggage carousel. Then I said to Ricky, “I know you thought you’d be clear tonight. Does that still stand? Or does your dad need you?”

Ricky would have texted me if our plans had changed. I was saying this for Wallace and CJ’s benefit. My relationship with Ricky didn’t thrill Don Gallagher. He seemed to like me well enough. What he didn’t like is the Gabriel–me–Ricky dynamic. While Gabriel has made it clear he has no romantic interest in me, Don would rather Ricky kept his distance, just to be safe. Don values Gabriel’s legal expertise too much to rock that boat.

“Nope, it’s all good,” Ricky said. “I checked in with him before I invited you over.”

“Ah. Well, in that case . . .” I glanced meaningfully at a sign for the airport Hilton. “It’s a long drive back to the city, and I’m sure you had a tiring flight.”

His eyes glinted, sending a familiar lick of heat through me.

“Go on,” CJ said. “We’ll grab your bag.”

“Thanks.” Ricky put his arm around my shoulders and we walked away.

“Was that okay?” I said when we were out of earshot.

“My girlfriend surprises me at the airport and drags me off to a hotel? I don’t think my rep will ever recover. I definitely owe you.”

“I’m looking forward to repayment. It was a very long three days.”

“Damn straight.”

He tugged me around as he backed up. Next thing I knew, we were in a short service hall, partially blocked by a massive cardboard standee. He propelled me to the end and then pulled me into a kiss. If the one at the escalator had started reminding me how much I’d missed him, this one cemented it.

Five seconds later, I had my back to the wall, arms around his neck, hands in his hair, his hands under my ass. By the time I broke the kiss, I wasn’t even sure where we were anymore, and I looked around, blinking, before saying, “Hotel, five minutes, that way.”

He dropped his lips to my neck as he pressed against me. “So near and yet so far.”

I chuckled. “Well, if you don’t want to wait . . .”

“Tempting,” he said as his lips moved up my throat.

“I am wearing a skirt.”

“I noticed.” His hands slid under it, cupping my ass again.

“Did you notice what I’m not wearing?”

His fingers checked, making sure I didn’t just have on a thong. Then he groaned, pushing against me. “Now, that is a tease.”

“Between that sign blocking the hall, and the fact that no one has come this way since we arrived, I’d put our odds of not getting caught at about eighty percent.”

He kissed me so hard it left me gasping. “Tell me you’re serious.”

“I am always serious,” I said. “Even if someone looks in, it’ll seem as if we’re just making out, very enthusiastically.”

“Hell, yeah.”

He kissed me again, boosting me up to straddle him, which lowered our odds for discretion, but I wasn’t arguing. That’s when his phone rang, the tone playing “Big Boss Man.” His father. He let out a curse and fumbled to hit Ignore.

“Sorry. I texted him when I got off the plane. He’s just saying hello. Lousy timing.”

I caught his shirtfront and pulled him back into a kiss. He turned off the ringer and stuffed the phone into his pocket, and within seconds we were where we’d been, my back against the wall, skirt hiked up around my hips. I felt his phone vibrate and let out a snorting laugh.

“Ignore it,” he said between kisses. “Please.”

More kissing, hotter and deeper now, the bulging crotch of his jeans pushing against me in just the right spot, exquisite teasing as I could feel exactly what I wanted. He reached down for his belt. I beat him to it, and he chuckled. I flipped open his belt and then the button on his jeans and—

A shadow extended from behind the cardboard sign. Ricky turned his head to follow my gaze, his eyes narrowed. Then he caught my chin in one hand, pulling my face back to his, kissing me again, and I could feel the determination there, the lust and the need and the resolve not to let anything get in our way. Except . . . well, while I’m not one to let the words “public place” stop me from having sex, I’m no exhibitionist, either, and neither was Ricky, and even as he kissed me, we’d both slowed, our attention pulled down that hallway.

“I’ll get this,” he muttered.

He fastened his belt with an angry snap of the leather and strode around the sign. Then, “What the fucking hell?”

I smoothed my skirt and hurried after him as CJ said, “I think the hotel is that way.”

“No fucking—”

“Your dad called,” Wallace cut in as I caught up. They were both standing there, bags at their feet, as if patiently waiting for us to finish.

“I know,” Ricky said, his words brittle. “And since when am I not allowed ten fucking minutes to call him back?”

“We weren’t interrupting,” CJ said. “We were going to give you time—”

“He needs us at the clubhouse,” Wallace said. “Something came up. Something urgent.”

Ricky’s jaw worked until he finally looked Wallace in the eye and said, in a deceptively soft voice, “Is it urgent, Wallace? Is it really?”

“That’s what he said, and that’s all he said. He called right after you left, so we came after you and saw you duck into the hallway here.”

“Oh, to be that young again.” CJ thumped Ricky on the shoulder. “We can give you two a few minutes. We’ll stand guard.”

“No,” I murmured. “That’s okay. Let’s go.”

Spontaneous sex in an airport was one thing. An efficient quickie really wasn’t the same.

Ricky let CJ and Wallace lead the way.

“I’m sorry,” he said when they were out of earshot.

“It’s okay.”

“No, goddamn it, Liv, it’s not. My father needed me to suddenly take his place on a trip to Miami, and I went, even though I knew damned well he was only testing to see if I’d complain about leaving you. Then yesterday, when you were sick, I checked to see if I could catch an earlier flight back and he said no. I didn’t argue. Now this? There’s no emergency. He’s snapping my leash. Yes, he’s not just my dad, he’s my boss, and I’ve always respected that. I don’t ask for special treatment or shirk my responsibilities—”

“I know that. He knows that.”

“Then why—” He bit the sentence off with a shake of his head. “You don’t need to hear me bitching ten minutes after I get back. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s frustrating.” A quick smile. “In more ways than one. But Don—and Gabriel—can test us all they like. Eventually, they’ll have to accept that we aren’t kids who’ll duck our responsibilities to sneak off together. We’ll wear them down.”

A short laugh, relaxing now. “Yeah.” He adjusted his grip on my hand, pulling me closer, our fingers entwined. “About tonight—as much as I would love to say I’ll see you in a few hours, that’s never worked out before. I don’t want you waiting up half the night only to hear that I won’t make it. I would like to see you for breakfast, though. Not for sex. Well, I won’t argue if we squeeze it in, but mostly just to hang out. I’ve missed you.”

I leaned against him. “Same here. Breakfast tomorrow.”

—

Ricky had recovered his mood by the time we reached the car. Yes, it was a car. Apparently, leaving their Harleys in airport parking would have violated club rules.

CJ joked that it was a big backseat. Ricky good-naturedly flipped him the finger, and we settled in. The plan was to drop me off at Gabriel’s condo. I called him at the start of the drive, but he was on the line, the phone going to voice mail, so I left a message.

At the building, Ricky insisted on taking me up, and I didn’t argue. If Gabriel had a problem with Ricky coming as far as the front door, he should have replied to my message.

Gabriel had to buzz me in, and he did so without comment, but when he opened the door and I saw his expression, I said, “You didn’t get my message, did you?”

He looked befuddled, as if we’d woken him from a nap. He took out his phone.

“Oh,” he said.

“Right. So, things came up. Ricky has to go, and I’m here.”

“This is the official handoff,” Ricky said. “I relinquish her to your custody. I’ll pick her up at seven for breakfast.” His smile faded as he studied Gabriel. “Unless tonight’s a problem . . .”

Gabriel snapped out of it. “No, of course not.”

“Then I should run,” Ricky said. “The guys are double-parked downstairs.” He glanced up at Gabriel. “We need to talk.”

Gabriel frowned.

“About that thing? The one we were discussing?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

Gabriel nodded.

Ricky took off to the still-waiting elevator.

“I don’t want to impose,” I said to Gabriel. “How about I catch a cab to my parents’ place? They have a top-notch security system, and I have my gun.”

It seemed to take time for him to process my words, and when he did, he blinked.

“No, of course not.” He realized he was blocking the doorway and backed inside.

There were papers spread across the living room table, along with his laptop and what looked like an untouched cup of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this is inconvenient. Why don’t I just go into . . .”

I looked around the apartment. Living room. Bathroom. Bedroom. Kitchen and dining room. Closet. That was it. I was sure it was a million-dollar condo, but you were paying for the address and the view, not the square footage. Given how he’d cut me off from venturing into the kitchen this morning, my options for giving him space were limited.

“I could use a bath,” I said. “A long one. You keep doing whatever you were doing.”

He swept the pages off the table and tucked them into a file. “It was just work. It wasn’t going very well.”

“If it’s anything I can help with . . .” I began.

He shook his head. “It’s not.”

“Okay, well, let me go take that bath. I know you were expecting an evening of peace and quiet—”

“I’m quite happy to abandon it, given how poorly it was progressing.” He closed his laptop with a decisive click, dumped his coffee in the kitchen sink, and when he came back, he was more himself, his movements smoother, words more precise. “If you want a bath, you’re quite welcome to one, but given that your evening with Ricky was lost, I’m guessing you haven’t had dinner yet.”

“No, but—”

“Nor have I. There’s a place nearby. We’ll walk.”