Deceptions: A Cainsville Novel (19 page)

I
was still asleep. I had to be.

I had no doubt Ricky was capable of violence. He’d put a man in the hospital two weeks ago. Like Gabriel, he’d grown up in a world where that was a reasonable way to solve your problems and, indeed, sometimes it was the only way.

My mother taught me that there was never any excuse for violence. I remember her horror when my private school principal called after I slugged a fellow third-grader because he tripped me on purpose. And I remember my father taking the phone and saying he sure as hell hoped the boy’s parents had gotten the first call, and that if someone lashed out at me, I had the right to hit back. Guess whose words I took to heart?

But now Ricky stood there saying he thought he’d killed James, and I was one hundred percent certain I was still asleep in the police station. Whatever Ricky was capable of, it didn’t include murdering James. It just didn’t.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited to drift out of this nightmare.

“Liv?” Ricky’s voice at my ear. “Can I explain? I know there’s no excuse, but just hear me out. Then you can go. I won’t stop you.”

I was still holding his hands, which were trembling now. When I looked, he was right there, his hazel eyes bright with panic, and I knew this wasn’t a dream.

I ran my fingertips over his knuckles and felt the scabs there. Scabs from the scrapes I’d seen Wednesday morning. After James died. They were still there, his knuckles rough.

James had been beaten. I hadn’t more than briefly noted that, because what mattered were those bruises around his neck and the symbols carved into . . .

My head jerked up. “He’d been strangled—like the other victims. And he had the marks. The ones my parents—”

“No,” he said emphatically. “Absolutely not. I didn’t do any of that.”

“But the beating,” I said. “That was you?”

He nodded and shifted his weight. “After the blowout with my dad, I went to Gabriel’s place to see you, and James was there. I just . . . I’d had enough. He was still stalking you, and I decided I was going to show him why that was a very bad idea.”

“So you called him out?”

A short, humorless laugh. “You don’t call out guys like James Morgan. They’ll walk away and phone the cops. He drove off. I followed. I decided I’d wait until he got someplace quiet, cut him off, and confront him. Except I didn’t need to. He drove to an empty building and went inside. The place was up for demolition and reconstruction. Something to do with tech, so I figured it was his project.”

“You followed him inside.”

“Followed him. Confronted him. Told him that if I caught him within five hundred feet of you, his hospital stay would be a lot longer than it had been when he mixed it up with Gabriel. He came at me. I knocked him around a little. That’s all I planned. But he . . .”

Ricky exhaled, hissing through his teeth, shifting his weight again. “I’m not used to guys who don’t fight back, Liv. I know that’s no excuse. And, yeah, he started it, but he had no idea what he was doing. What he did do, though, was talk. About you. Insulting you. Saying he was getting you back no matter what. Saying . . .” He shook his head. “I won’t repeat what he said, because words are no excuse for what I did. I’ll just say that he threatened you. And I saw red, like I did with that other guy. Except there wasn’t anyone to pull me off this time. I kept hitting him until he was out cold on the floor.”

He stepped back, lifting our hands so I could pull away without resistance. He looked down at his bruised and scabbed knuckles. “I hit him until he shut up.”

“And then?”

“I left him there, in that empty building, on the floor.”

“Did you strangle him?”

He shook his head. “But I don’t think he woke up after I knocked him out. He’d obviously been summoned there by his killer, who came in after me . . . and finished it. He never had the chance to fight. Which means even if I didn’t stop his heart from beating, I still killed him.”

I could argue, but Ricky didn’t want excuses. He had done something that led to James’s death, and he took responsibility.

I wanted to reach out for him. Hug him. Tell him I didn’t care. That no matter how horrible I felt over James’s death, whatever role Ricky played in it, I understood his intention had been only to stop whatever mad and hell-bent course James had been on.

But he wasn’t looking for absolution. He just wanted me to know what had happened.

“You’ve talked to Gabriel about this, haven’t you?” I said. “If you know the legal cause of death . . .”

He nodded. “I told Gabriel that night. I realized I’d fucked up, and I figured James would call the cops. So I drove back to the condo, and I was a block away when I saw Gabriel.”

“
Saw
him?”

Ricky nodded. “I think that’s one of the reasons he’s been charged. The condo security tapes must have caught him leaving the building.”

I remembered Pamela asking if I knew for certain Gabriel had been inside all night. Whoever had accused him knew he hadn’t been.

“He’d gone out for a walk,” Ricky continued. “I didn’t ask why. I was just relieved to see him. We walked and talked. I left over an hour later. Which puts it past the time of death, meaning I’m Gabriel’s alibi. I can testify, beyond a doubt, that he couldn’t have killed James. That’s what I’ll do, if these charges aren’t dropped. I can prove he’s innocent.”

“By admitting you’re the one who beat James.”

“What’s the alternative, Liv? Let him go to jail?”

I felt as if someone had nailed me in the gut. If it was anyone else, I would not want Ricky turning himself in. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Gabriel.

My stomach heaved.

“It’s okay,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

I pushed him away. “You
absolutely
should have mentioned it.”

“I mean planning to confess. I know I had to tell you what I did to James, as much as Gabriel didn’t want me to.”

“And I mean planning to turn yourself in. You need to talk to Gabriel first. We need to see how serious this is, how big the risk is, before you do anything.”

“I know. I wasn’t planning to walk in there and confess tonight, Liv. I’m not that selfless, or that stupid. It comes down to this: I won’t let him go to jail. If it looks like that’s going to happen, then I’ll do whatever I have to.”

I reached over and pulled him into a kiss. He went slow at first, as if braced for me to pull away. I only kissed him harder, held him tighter, and the kiss turned hungry, rough, with an edge of desperation.

“We’re okay?” he said, as if he had to check, no matter how clear that seemed.

“I’m just sorry,” I said. “I’m so damned sorry—”

He cut me off with a hard kiss, then said, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Nothing to be sorry for.
But I did, didn’t I? As inadvertent as our roles were, we still felt the weight of them, the guilt of them, and anything we could do to divert our thoughts from that, if only for a few minutes, we seized on it, losing ourselves in the moment, banishing the rest into the night.

T
he next morning, Gabriel was arraigned on charges of second-degree murder. While I’d held out some hope that wouldn’t happen, the arraignment was simply a formality, a chance for Gabriel to enter his official plea. Not guilty, of course. That’s all he got to say.

Next came the bail hearing. That’s where I got nervous. Gabriel wasn’t exactly a popular lawyer. In court, he could be an arrogant, condescending asshole. But Ricky reminded me that he was careful never to be arrogant or condescending or asshole enough to turn judges against him, because that’s like intentionally pissing off the referee. Gabriel balanced his belligerence with perfect self-control and a dead-on grasp of the law.

While the state’s attorney tried arguing against granting bail, that was difficult when they’d decided on second-degree instead of first. Gabriel put forward his case for bail clearly and succinctly. No previous record. No passport. Established and successful local businessman with ties to the community.

Bail was set at one million. By noon, Gabriel was free.

—

“Your car is in the lot,” I said as we walked out, jogging to keep up with Gabriel’s long strides. “I’ll drive you back to your place. I’m sure you want a shower and a nap. Hell, I’m sure you want to spend the rest of the day holed up by yourself.”

“I’ve had quite enough solitary confinement, thank you.”

“You know what I mean. That couldn’t have been a restful night—”

“I convinced them to give me my own holding cell by suggesting I might otherwise give my fellow inmates free legal advice. While it was not quite the accommodations I’m accustomed to, I’ve had worse.”

He said it offhandedly, but with him it didn’t mean the bed in his college dorm had been lumpy. He’d slept on the streets.

“Well, you’ll want a shower at least,” I said.

“Stop fussing, Olivia.”

“I’m just—”

He looked down at me. “Stop fussing.”

There was no annoyance in his words. But I still fell back. Ricky took my hand, squeezing it and mouthing, “It’s all right.” After a few steps he called up to Gabriel, “We’ll let you do your thing, then. If you need us today, just call.”

Gabriel glanced over, and then I
did
see annoyance, irritation that we weren’t beside him.

“I need to speak to Olivia about all this,” he said. “You and I need to speak, too. I would rather have both conversations at my apartment, for privacy.” He turned to me. “With Ricky, it’s a business matter. Confidential. I’ll have you stop by the office for a few files while we—”

“I told her everything,” Ricky said.

Now that hard look turned on Ricky.

“I know you advised me not to,” Ricky said.

“Strongly and unequivocally advised—”

“It was still advice. Which I was free to take or ignore.” Ricky kept his tone casual, but steel crept in. “I agreed with that advice before you were arrested, because I’d only be confessing to unburden myself, which wasn’t fair to Liv. But with all this, she had to know. Now she does.”

Gabriel glanced down at my hand, which was still holding Ricky’s, and he resumed walking.

“You’ll both come back to my apartment, then,” he said. “Olivia, ride with me. We’ll stop to pick up those files.”

“I’ll grab lunch,” Ricky said.

—

We returned to Gabriel’s condo. I could tell he didn’t like having Ricky there. For a moment, I thought he was going to start hyperventilating. But Ricky had been up during the police search. The bridge had been crossed, and there was no sense retreating now.

We got comfortable—or Ricky and I did—and the three of us started to talk. Gabriel would learn the nature of the evidence against him shortly. From his brief talks with the police and assistant SA, Gabriel had figured out his apparent motive. They knew his recent history with James, of course, given those outstanding assault charges. They would argue that on the night of James’s murder, Gabriel had gone after James again, following their public disagreement in James’s office the day before. They believed Gabriel had intended only to frighten James into withdrawing charges—hence second-degree murder instead of first—but the beating had gotten out of hand. When James died, Gabriel had seen an opportunity. He could stage the body to look like one of the Larsens’ victims, and then use it as further proof that Pamela and Todd were innocent.

I think Gabriel was more offended by the stupidity of that scenario than by the actual charge of murder.

The security tapes from his condo building showed him leaving and returning over an hour later. He would say that was proof he hadn’t gone out with criminal intent—he knew the cameras were there and how to avoid them. Besides, the ones in the garage showed his rental car had never left. Even if he’d found an alternate vehicle, an hour wasn’t enough time to kill James, take his body to the Villa, and return home.

“This is where I come in,” Ricky said. “Because I know where you were during that hour and what you were doing.”

“Which remains between the three of us.”

“Unless it looks as if you’re in danger of—”

“I won’t be. Even if I was, I hardly see the point in being set free only to have your father kill me for getting
you
locked up in my place.”

Ricky’s lips twitched in a smile. “Then you’d need to give me a really good defense.”

“I’ll give it to myself and save the trouble. The point is, the charges against me are false, and I can prove that.” He met Ricky’s gaze. “Even if I have difficulty, which I do not expect, no confession will be forthcoming. Under any circumstances. Is that clear?”

“It is.”

Which only meant that Ricky understood Gabriel’s stance on the issue, not that he planned to go along with it.

“What were you doing out that night?” I asked Gabriel.

“Walking.”

He seemed prepared to leave it at that, but when I kept watching him, he said, “I rearmed the security system and locked the doors, and I didn’t intend to be gone as long as I was—”

“I’m not asking why you left me alone, Gabriel. So you went for a walk. That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“While I understand that simple answers are best on the witness stand, if you say you randomly decided to go out for a walk at one
A.M
.—”

“I do that,” he said abruptly, as if blurting out some embarrassing confession. “If I can’t sleep, I walk. That night, I was going to speak to James, but decided a walk was safer.”

“So you’ve walked like that before?”

Gabriel turned a cool look on me. “I wasn’t aware I was on the stand
now
.”

“More than once a month?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then the security cameras will show it’s an established pattern. There’s nothing unusual about getting fresh air and exercise when you can’t sleep. If you can get access to any street cameras to prove—”

“—that I was indeed walking . . . with Ricky?”

“Right. Okay. Well, the building cameras should do, then, establishing that you regularly walk at night.”

“Thank you, counselor. Anything more?”

“You had motive and opportunity. The third part is means. You’re big enough to overpower James, and you only needed your hands to strangle him. Finding the knife used to inflict the postmortem wounds isn’t necessary, is it?”

“No,” Ricky said. “But
some
form of evidence is. That’s the wild card.”

As they continued talking, I withdrew into my thoughts. I’d still hoped this was just a trumped-up case that would shatter on impact. But this wasn’t some small town where the sheriff could throw you in the drunk tank for being a smart-ass. This was Chicago, and the guy being charged was a crackerjack defense attorney. The SA’s office would never have accused him without concrete evidence. Which meant someone was framing Gabriel.

I now believed that James had been compelled to stalk me. Compulsion meant Tylwyth Teg or Cwn Annwn. In other words, whoever set James on Gabriel was very much determined to separate us . . . and might have the ability to conjure up evidence.

No matter how determined I might be to stay away from the fae and the Huntsmen, others were equally determined to pull me in. At any cost. Including getting rid of anyone who stood in their way. In the end, maybe all that would really protect them was to do exactly what Pamela said.

“Maybe if I go somewhere, this will stop,” I said.

Gabriel turned those cool blue eyes on me and said, “It’s a little late for that.”

I blanched.

“He doesn’t mean—” Ricky began.

“Of course I do,” Gabriel said. “What good would it do her to leave now? This isn’t a civil suit. The charges can’t be withdrawn.”

“I—I’m going to step out,” I said, getting to my feet. “I need some air.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ricky said.

“No. Please. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Gabriel said, “You shouldn’t be wandering about on your own.”

“Why not?” I said. “No one’s stalking me now. James is dead.”

I shoved my chair aside and made my escape.

—

I sat in the coffee shop with an untouched black coffee, lost in my thoughts.

“You said a few minutes. I gave you twenty.” Ricky leaned forward to look in my mug as he sat. “They don’t have mocha?”

“I didn’t feel like one.”

He nodded and left and returned with a coffee and a cookie. He put the cookie in the middle of the table. “For whenever you do feel like it.”

I looked at him, at the smile on his lips belying the worry in his eyes, and I thought,
How did I get so lucky?
Also,
How the hell can I keep screwing up the life of a guy like this?

“Your dad was right to be worried,” I said. “He thought I’d be trouble for you, and I am. I should go away for a while. The situation keeps getting worse—”

“I pursued you, knowing your life isn’t exactly sunshine and roses right now. I wasn’t coerced or seduced, and I’m insulted at the insinuation I’m not mature enough to make my own choices. No one made me go after James that night. I’m responsible for what happened. Fucking harsh lesson, but it’s still mine to learn.”

“I—”

“Yeah, you don’t need this shit when you’re already kicking yourself. But that’s exactly why you need it. Reassurances aren’t helping. So I’ll be a dick and say that if you run off to protect me, we’re through. Also, I love you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yes, I know, it
seems
like a completely inappropriate time to say it. But if I say it before sex or after sex or, worse, during sex, then it could seem like I’m caught up in the moment. Endorphins and all that shit. If I say it now, when I’m pissed off, obviously I mean it.”

“Unless you’re saying it so I’d feel even worse if I did leave.”

“There’s that, too.”

I laughed. He pulled his chair in so that our knees touched as he leaned across the table.

“Both Gabriel and I are grown men, capable of making our own choices. Plus, Gabriel is an asshole.”

I choked on another laugh.

“He isn’t accustomed to considering how his words sound,” Ricky said. “Or giving a shit. What he said back there was exactly what you’re afraid of: that he’s stuck and he blames you. I told him so, and he had no idea what I was talking about because he never
said
that. He only meant there’s no point in you leaving now. As for the part about him not
wanting
you to leave, that should go without saying.” Ricky leaned back. “And he needs your help with his case. Our help. I want in.”

I went still.

“I may not be a PI,” he continued. “But I have killer research skills plus extensive criminal contacts. I’ll work for free, and I’m highly motivated: if we don’t discover who killed James, I could go to jail.”

“The help would be wonderful. But . . . there are . . .”
Damn it, how do I word this?
“There have been things going on, intertwined with this and linked to my parents—to the Larsens—that I haven’t told you about.”

“Ah. Confidentiality issues. That could be tricky. Do you want me to talk to Gabriel?”

“No, I will.”