Betrayals (Cainsville Book 4) (15 page)

Focus, damn it. Focus.

Ricky. He’d heard Ricky. Why would he …?

Because Gabriel had texted Ricky, before he went to meet Olivia. Just a quick note to say where they were, and Olivia should be done in an hour and would call him then. What Gabriel had
really
been doing was covering their backs, just in case.

“In here!” Gabriel shouted, as loud as he could, and while Olivia started, she still didn’t wake. Goddamn it, why didn’t she wake?

“Ricky! We’re in here!”

His voice echoed through the tunnel. Echoed … and stayed trapped there.

He
set Olivia down and moved her against the wall, as far from the edge as possible. Then he slid off the side and swam, stopping every dozen strokes to shout. He was about ten feet from the entrance when he heard, “Gabriel?”

“Here! The tunnel!” He covered the last part of the distance, dove, and came up to see figures on the shore, about fifty feet down, shining searchlights on the water.

“Here!” he shouted, waving one arm, and a figure turned and the light hit him, and Gabriel exhaled in relief.

R
icky
rode in the back of the ambulance. Gabriel needed to be treated for hypothermia, and the paramedics had quickly realized it would be easier to do so if Ricky was there. He’d distracted Gabriel by explaining how he’d found them.

How much of the story did Gabriel process? Not much, Ricky suspected, but he didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up—or, in Gabriel-speak, give a curt “That’s enough.” Which proved that the paramedics were right: hypothermia slowed mental processes.

As Ricky talked, the paramedics worked on Olivia. Every few minutes Gabriel would rouse from his stupor and demand to know why she wasn’t regaining consciousness, and that was when
Ricky
would have liked to tell
him
to shut up, because he didn’t need the reminder.

All that ended when, in the course of treating Liv, the paramedic discovered a thin knife wound, like a stiletto stab, on her right side, between her ribs. The ambulance ride wasn’t nearly as calm after that.

“She fell in the river,” Gabriel snarled at the desk clerk. “From a bridge. No, wondrously, she does not have her wallet with her. Meaning she does not have identification or proof of health insurance.”

It was not as if the hospital was actually refusing Liv treatment. The clerk had simply asked for the information, and hesitated when told why it could not be provided. That hesitation had been enough, though, considering that Gabriel was already in a frothing temper over the paramedics’ slowness in discovering Olivia’s stab wound. A temper which Ricky knew was fueled by the fact that Gabriel himself hadn’t realized she’d been stabbed.

“Her name is Olivia Taylor-Jones,” Ricky said, as calmly as he could. “Her family owns the Mills & Jones department store. She can definitely cover her bills. If you need proof of her identity, just google her name.”

The clerk still hesitated. Ricky resisted the urge to snap at her. Liv had been taken in already and was being assessed. This was merely a formality.

Gabriel snapped cards onto the counter from his soaked wallet. “Visa and American Express Platinum. A hundred-thousand-dollar limit on each, both currently empty because I use this.” He waved his debit card. “If you can point me to an ATM, I can secure you a down payment and those”—he pointed at the credit cards—“are yours to keep. Does that resolve the issue?”

The full force of those ice-ray blue eyes locked on the hapless clerk, and she froze, her mouth opening and closing.

“Take the cards,” Ricky said, pushing them into her hand. “We’ll come back for them later.” Then, to Gabriel, his voice lowering, “Let’s go find Liv.”

Locating the correct floor would have been easier if the desk clerk had been more useful, but Ricky had always known how
to get people to do what he wanted—the right smile, the right tone, the right words. He’d always presumed he inherited that from his father. It turned out he was partly right—it was a gift they’d
both
inherited with their Cŵn Annwn blood. He hadn’t yet told his father about that. He wasn’t sure where to start.

They found the room where Liv was being assessed, and Ricky obtained a promise for an update ASAP, which he got from a harried doctor minutes later.

When the doctor left, Gabriel reached for his inside jacket pocket to pull out his phone or ever-present pad of paper. The coat he was actually wearing contained neither. It was Ricky’s leather jacket. Under it, the borrowed T-shirt was about two sizes too small, stretching tight across Gabriel’s chest. For trousers, he had a pair of jeans from Wallace’s saddlebags. Between the biker jacket, jeans, tight T, and dark stubble, Ricky understood why the desk clerk had been so flustered. She’d probably already alerted the banks to their obviously stolen credit cards.

When Gabriel patted his pockets, scowling, two nurses scuttled out of the way. Ricky jogged to catch up with them and ask a favor. Then he returned and handed Gabriel a sheet of paper and a pen.

Gabriel nodded curtly and began jotting notes. When he reached into his jacket again, he didn’t even have time to scowl before Ricky held out his own phone. This time Ricky got a grunt of thanks, and Gabriel went to work, fingers flying as he searched the words on his list—terms the doctor had used to describe Liv’s condition.

“Can I have that back?” Ricky asked when Gabriel finished and tucked the phone away.

Gabriel started, as if from his thoughts, grunted something semi-apologetic, and returned the phone.

Ricky cleared his throat. “May I borrow your list, too? I remember most of it, but …”

Gabriel
glanced over. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and when they did, he frowned. “Yes, of course,” he said. “You want to know, too … Of course.”

“Let’s go sit down. You still seem a little out of it.”

He got a frosty, “I’m fine, thank you,” for that.

“Well, I’m going over there to sit,” Ricky said.

They sat, and Gabriel explained what he’d found, filling in what they’d gotten from the doctor.

When he got to the part about the stab wound, his voice sharpened with anger.

“You couldn’t have known,” Ricky said.

“I should have.”

“You thought her attacker only pushed her. You didn’t see the blade. Then it was dark, and the blood had washed away.”

“I was careless.”

“And nothing I can say will help, will it?”

“No.”

“So stop trying?”

“Yes.” Then, grudgingly, “Please.”

Ricky shook his head and they lapsed into a silent vigil, both watching the room where Liv lay, out of their reach, beyond their care.

It was 8 a.m. on Wednesday. Almost thirty hours since Liv had been rushed to the hospital. Twenty-four since they’d been allowed into her room. Ricky had checked in on her at seven and then went out to get breakfast for himself and Gabriel. Liv had not regained consciousness. Gabriel had not left her side. Which meant Ricky had spent the night in his apartment, because there was only one bedside chair.

Did he resent that, just a little? Yes, he did. But it was only a little, and ultimately as pointless as … well, as trying to kick
Gabriel out of her life. Worse than pointless. Dangerous.

When Ricky first made his play for Liv, he’d made sure Gabriel wasn’t interested in her and then told himself he believed Gabriel’s denials. But that was bullshit. He could tell there’d been more growing between them. Ricky was not an idiot. Nor, however, was he stupidly noble or generous. He wanted Liv, and Liv wanted him, and Gabriel wasn’t stepping up to the plate, so … batter out.

Except it wasn’t that simple, a fact he hadn’t acknowledged until he got the Gwynn–Matilda–Arawn story. But even that only came as confirmation of what he’d suspected: that he didn’t have Liv to himself. That he couldn’t have her to himself. That, maybe most importantly, he
shouldn’t.
Because that way lay misery and tragedy and endless grief for all of them.

Grace had asked if Ricky knew Arawn’s mistake. He did. It was exactly that: Arawn thought he could have Matilda to himself.

It was easy to blame Gwynn for what happened. Gwynn broke their pledge, and he made Matilda keep their betrothal secret and persuaded her that Arawn would be happy for them. Gwynn was, indeed, at fault for that betrayal. But when Arawn learned the truth, did he realize Matilda loved Gwynn and back off? Hell, no. His sin, then, was as grave as Gwynn’s, his betrayal of Matilda as deep.

Arawn tried to force Matilda to love him. If she came to him the night before her wedding, she’d lose Gwynn and have no choice but to be Arawn’s. Ricky fervently hoped that if Matilda had lived, she’d have told the asshole where to stick his so-called love and walked out of his life forever. Liv certainly would.

Ricky would not make the same mistake. He knew he couldn’t have Liv to himself, and railing against that would be like blaming a tree for blocking his path. It was there first. He saw it there. He chose to take that particular route. Deal with it.

Ricky
loved Liv, and she loved him back, and whatever happened, that’s what he didn’t want to lose. Her love. Their bond. He just happened to be enjoying the rest while he could get it. Because he knew that one day, hopefully not too soon, he wouldn’t be getting it, and he hoped to hell he handled that the same way he’d handled ceding his hospital bedside spot to Gabriel: with understanding and dignity.

“Breakfast,” he said as he walked in, bag raised in one hand, coffee tray in the other.

If Gabriel had slept in the last thirty hours, there was no sign of it. Yesterday Ricky had brought clean clothes from Gabriel’s apartment, but he still wore the borrowed jeans and T-shirt.

Ricky reached over and cleared away the late-night snack he’d left—chips, a candy bar, a coffee, and a can of Coke. There was a bite taken from the bar and a few sips from the coffee. Ricky tossed them and set out a fresh coffee, juice box, muffin, apple, yogurt, and foil-wrapped breakfast burrito. The variety, as with the snack, wasn’t because Gabriel had eclectic food tastes but because he seemed to have no tastes at all. In the four years Ricky had known Gabriel, he’d seen him served coffee with every variation of fixings and watched him drink it without reaction. If asked, he’d say, “Black,” but Ricky hadn’t decided if that was because he preferred it black or if it was just the most efficient way to make it.

Ricky set out the breakfast and then stood there, watching, as Gabriel sat with his gaze fixed on Liv’s sleeping form. Ricky picked up the coffee and put it in Gabriel’s hand. He got a head shake for that, but Gabriel did take a sip. Then Ricky replaced it with the juice. Now came that cool glance that said,
You are beginning to annoy me.

“Drink,” Ricky said. “At the risk of nagging, you don’t want
the first thing she sees to be you … passed out from low blood sugar.”

The look chilled. “I’m not trying to be the first thing—”

“I know.”

“I’m here so I may explain what happened.”

“Confess, you mean. And you can stop giving me that look, unless you’re trying to cool down your coffee, because it doesn’t work on me.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

“Nope,” Ricky said. “Keep trying, though. You might be able to scare off the rest of the nurses.”

A snort that, from Gabriel, was a laugh, and he settled back into his chair.

“You’re allowed to use the shower in here,” Ricky said. “Apropos of nothing.”

Gabriel looked at him.

“Since it’s a private room, you can use it,” Ricky said. “In fact, the staff were very eager for me to tell you that.”

Gabriel returned to watching Liv. Ricky sighed and held out a bag from the pharmacy downstairs. Gabriel glanced in and grunted.

“Yes, deodorant. Again, apropos of nothing.”

Gabriel took the bag, rose, and headed into the bathroom. Two minutes later he returned, having washed up, run his hands through his hair, and presumably used the deodorant, which he tossed aside. He then took the apple, chomped half of it in one bite, and arched a brow at Ricky.

“Yes, I’m happy. I’ll stop nagging. Sit. Scowl. Just try to be in a slightly better mood when she wakes up.”

Gabriel grunted. Ricky didn’t add
and she will wake up.
The doctors all said this was only temporary, as her body healed itself.
Gabriel seemed to accept that. He was here for the same reason Liv had spent the night in a police station when Gabriel had been arrested for James’s murder. Because that’s where they wanted to be. Where they needed to be.

As Ricky looked at Gabriel watching Liv, he knew that as much as he himself loved her, it wasn’t like this, couldn’t be like this. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what
this
was. He only knew he couldn’t touch it, and sure as hell couldn’t duplicate it.

Gabriel finished the apple. Then he reached for the juice, and when he didn’t find it, hand stretching out blindly, he turned. That’s when Liv moved. Just her fingers uncurling, as if stretching.

Ricky started forward. Then he stopped.

“Hmm?” Gabriel said as he turned back to Liv, juice in hand.