Deceptions: A Cainsville Novel (6 page)

I
am so sorry,” I said as we dismounted outside Gabriel’s office.

“For what?”

“Umm . . . my crazy ex ambushing us having sex and proceeding to insult you.”

Ricky took my helmet and fastened it to the bike. “His craziness has nothing to do with you. Admittedly, I can imagine that a guy would not be pleased if you left him, and I could certainly understand that he’d want to get you back. But that means doing his damnedest to
woo
you back and, if that fails, taking the hint and parting amicably. Stalking you and sending armed deprogrammers doesn’t say, ‘I love you.’ It says, ‘I’m a psycho son of a bitch.’”

“He wasn’t always like that.”

“Obviously, or you’d have left him long ago. It’s the leaving that brought out the crazy. There is absolutely no need to apologize. It comes down to this. I have you. He doesn’t. He’s not going to be complimentary. Insulting my intelligence? My age? My lack of a criminal record? Not exactly wounding me to the core, Liv.”

“He also said you were pretty.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

We went inside and found Gabriel leaning over Lydia, hands planted on her desk. When I rapped at the open door, he frowned and checked his watch.

“I am exactly on time,” I said.

“We need to talk,” Ricky said to Gabriel.

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, I know. When are your classes done for the day?”

“I mean now. Same topic, but the situation is deteriorating.” He turned to me. “And yeah, I mean James. That’s what I meant last night, too. I just didn’t want to spoil your mood with the reminder. While you don’t want us solving your problems for you, in this case . . . ?”

He was right. I hated sitting back and letting them handle it. But I’d been absolutely clear with James that it was over, and I’d exhausted my know-how for dealing with the situation.

“You’re welcome to sit in,” Ricky continued. “But again, while I’d never suggest you let us take over . . .”

“I would,” Gabriel said. “Strongly.”

I wanted to at least listen in, but I wouldn’t be able to without squirming and worrying that, whatever they planned, James didn’t deserve it. How many women had I met at the shelter, abused by their partners, who refused to call the police?
He’s not a bad person. He’s under a lot of stress. He doesn’t mean it.
I wouldn’t be that woman.

“I’ll do a coffee run,” I said.

The moment the words left my mouth, they both stiffened.

I can’t even walk down the street alone to grab a coffee. Goddamn it, James. I know I hurt you, but I do not deserve this.

“Why don’t we both go,” Lydia offered quickly.

Gabriel’s gaze dropped to my purse in silent question. I gave him a look and said, “Of course,” meaning that I had my gun. He nodded and waved Ricky into the meeting room.

—

Lydia and I hung out at the coffee shop for almost a half hour. We didn’t talk about work, which was a first. It was easier outside the office for conversation to turn to the personal, and I discovered that Lydia was a widowed mother of two, with three grandkids, and was long-distance dating a record label exec from Sacramento who planned to retire to Chicago because, apparently, Lydia herself had no plans to stop working anytime soon.

When Ricky texted me an all-clear, we returned to find him waiting on his bike to say goodbye. I didn’t ask him what they’d decided to do about James. Nor did I ask Gabriel when I went inside. I had to trust them.

As Gabriel had warned, the police did want to talk to us about our prison visit to Chandler. We also had to answer more questions about the death of Macy Shaw.

I’m sure someone had connected us to both incidents, but the detective didn’t seem particularly suspicious. I was the daughter of convicted serial killers. It was almost as if no one was surprised that I’d morphed into the angel of death. As long as there were no indications that I’d killed anyone myself—and there weren’t—well, I was bound to attract some serious crazy.

We visited the station. We gave our statements. That was it.

—

Next we went to see Jon Childs, who hadn’t replied to my initial message, or to the two calls I’d made since.

Childs lived in a corner-unit town house in University Village. Older building. Quiet, tree-lined street. No sign to show that he ran a business out of his place. In this neighborhood they’d frown on that, and given his income, I doubted he needed to advertise for clients.

His condo was dark and the mailbox overflowed with flyers. Gabriel and I were sitting in the car discussing our next move when an older woman marched over from next door and emptied Childs’s mailbox.

I arrived at his front step just as the neighbor was coming down.

“Sorry to bother you. My husband”—I waved at the rental Jag—“and I were trying to figure out if Mr. Childs was home. I guess that”—I nodded at her armload of mail and flyers—“answers our question. When do you expect him back?”

“I didn’t expect him to be
gone
,” she said. “I always tell him, I’m home all day, just let me know when you’ll be away and I’ll collect the mail. It doesn’t look good when it piles up. Attracts the wrong kind of attention.” She gestured at a couple of kids across the road—clean-shaven college boys wearing two-hundred-dollar sneakers.

She continued. “But he just takes off and leaves me to collect his mail, and when he comes for it, I barely get a thank-you. He tells me I don’t need to bother with it. Well, someone has to care about this neighborhood.”

I nodded in sympathy. “I can’t say I know Mr. Childs. I’m a friend of his sister, Amy. Have you met her?”

“I never knew he had a sister.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’d hoped he was close to Amy. She certainly spoke highly of him, and she needs all the help she can get right now. With the . . .” I lowered my voice. “Cancer.”

The old woman blinked. “Cancer?”

“They did a mastectomy, but it didn’t catch it all and— I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get into it. I’m just very concerned about her. With the medical bills . . . Well, she has insurance, but it’s never enough, is it?”

The woman harrumphed in agreement.

“Amy had to sell her condo,” I said. “Which is right down the road from us. She was going to get in touch once she got settled, but it’s been almost a month and I haven’t heard from her. I was hoping maybe her brother had.” I exhaled. “Sorry for the long story.”

“No, not at all.” Her voice softened, all traces of annoyance gone. “I completely understand. You’re a good friend.” A glare at Childs’s door. “A better friend than some blood relations, I’ll bet. I don’t know when he’s coming back, but he’s never gone for long. I could give you his number . . .”

“I have it,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve called a few times. I guess he’s really been busy.”

Another glare at her invisible neighbor. “No, he just doesn’t have a lick of manners. Tell you what, hon. Give me your number and I’ll call you when he gets back.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

T
ristan sat at the dining room table, watching Eden climb into the vehicle where Gabriel waited. A rental car apparently, not surprising given what Macy had done to his old one. Tristan was not accustomed to emotions, but at that moment he experienced a surge of what might be called anger. The stupid girl could have killed Eden with that stunt. Even killing Gabriel would have been problematic. He’d have incurred the wrath of the Cainsville Tylwyth Teg for that. One had to be careful playing these old games of power. Particularly if you weren’t on either team but, rather, hoping to sneak in from the sidelines and snatch the ball from the field.

Macy had been a poor play. That was the problem with the
boinne-fala
. They were unpredictable, easily swayed by ego and emotion. They didn’t understand the meaning of loyalty. He’d offered Macy the one thing she’d wanted most, and she’d betrayed him. Why? Because a small part of the plan hadn’t gone exactly as he’d hoped, and she hadn’t trusted him on the rest.

He should have foreseen that. Macy was pure human, without a hint of the old blood. When he’d seen how she’d envied Ciara Conway, he should have known she’d turn that envy on Eden, like a child seeing another girl get all the best treats. She’d stomped her feet and wailed, “Why her?” and then aimed all of her small fury at her supposed competitor and . . . been incinerated by it. Which was just as well, because if she’d survived that battle of wits with Eden and Gabriel, Tristan would have had to kill her himself. Not that there’d been much chance of her surviving it. Poor Macy. So terribly outclassed.

He was chuckling to himself when Alis came in the back door. She piled his mail and flyers on the counter and dropped a ripped sheet of notepaper in front of him.

“Her phone number.”

“I already have it.”

He continued watching through the drawn sheers as the car pulled away.

“She told quite a story,” Alis said as she fixed herself a tea. “Did you know you have a sister with cancer?”

“Do I? How tragic. Remind me to send a card.”

“She’s quite remarkable. Naturally charming and an accomplished liar. Some worried that living with those
boinne-fala
parents would hamper her blood, but she’s inherited gifts from both sides.”

“As befits Mallt-y-Nos.”

Alis walked over to him. She’d shed her “elderly neighbor” glamour and reverted to her usual form. It wasn’t her true form—no one used those anymore. Not only dangerous but pointless. Their true form was close enough to human that they were comfortable looking like them.

Alis appeared as a young woman, perhaps a little older than Eden. Dark-haired, slightly built, pretty but not head-turning. A perfectly ordinary form, not unlike his own.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” she asked.

She didn’t ask what he had planned next. Like most of their kind, she was content to leave such matters in the hands of one she trusted to see to her interests. He would win the prize and share the rewards, and there was no risk he’d use and discard her. That’s what Macy hadn’t understood. Of course, as far as Macy knew, she had been dealing with ordinary people. And, if he was being honest, the codes of loyalty that bound him and Alis did not extend to Macy. The
boinne-fala
existed to be manipulated and used, as they always had. The difference was that he’d given his word to Macy.

“Tristan?” Alis prompted when he didn’t reply.

“I’m thinking,” he said.

Edgar Chandler had set Eden on him, under his Jon Childs alias. The question was: Why? For answers? For help? For revenge? Any of the three was equally possible, but since the Cwn Annwn had silenced Chandler, he wasn’t about to find out. The equally pressing—and more disturbing—question was whether the Huntsmen knew Chandler had set Eden on him. If their hounds came sniffing around, his game was in serious jeopardy.

“Hold on to her number,” he said. “I may have you call her. Until then, I can handle things.”

W
hat’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?” I asked Gabriel as we drove off.

“Nothing until tonight.”

My hand gripped the armrest. “Todd.”

“I trust that’s still all right? We can reschedule for tomorrow, but they have evening visiting hours on Tuesdays, which seemed convenient.”

I forced myself to say tonight was fine. He studied me for a moment, then said, “We’ll head back to the office. There’s work to do, unrelated to Chandler or the Larsen case.”

“Real work. That job you have, which I keep distracting you from.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not in words, but it was clear from your tone. Apology suggests that you are keeping me from doing what I need to do, which implies I am somehow powerless to do otherwise. It’s a choice, Olivia.”

“I know.”

“Then I would appreciate it, when I mention other cases, that you refrain from experiencing any twinge of guilt.”

“How can I refrain from
experiencing
something?”

“You simply need to put your mind to it.”

—

Dinner passed far too quickly, and before I knew it I was back at the office, in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Will my father recognize me?

It was a silly question. My picture had been in every Illinois paper and plenty beyond. There was no way Todd Larsen hadn’t seen it. But that wasn’t what I meant.

Will he look at me and see a stranger?

I could tell myself I was going to see my biological father, a man with no more connection to me than DNA. But it was complete and utter bullshit. For twenty-two years of my life, I’d forgotten Todd Larsen. But I hadn’t forgotten
him
. My first dad.

I barely swung to the toilet before losing my dinner.

Well, I guess, as similes go, that one was about perfect.

I knelt on the floor, gasping and gagging.

“Olivia?”

“I’m fine.”

I gasped and gagged more quietly.

“My hearing is quite functional. Open the door.”

“I’m okay.”

“If you pass out from fever again—”

“I’m puking, Gabriel. It’s not a fever.” I struggled to my feet. “Allow me the dignity of cleaning up in private, okay? Go to the car. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

A long pause. I could still sense him there, looming.

“I really think you should open—”

“Gabriel!” I took a deep breath, gripped the edge of the sink, and stared at my reflection, my eye makeup smudged, giving me a hollow, haunted look. “I am fine,” I said slowly. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Pause. “All right. But I’m staying right here.”

I opened my mouth, then bit my tongue. “Okay.”

“There’s mouthwash under the sink.”

I shook my head and grabbed a washcloth.

—

I don’t chew gum. I suspect that’s my mother’s influence—she thought it was unladylike. But as I was leaving the office, my gaze fell on a pack of spearmint gum sitting on Lydia’s desk.

“Take it,” Gabriel said. “We can replace it later.”

“No, I—”

“It’ll help settle your stomach.” He shoved the package into my hand.

The flavor ran out before we left the city, so I spit the piece into a tissue and pulled out another. Chewed it. Spit it out. Took another. The whole way to the jail, I chewed gum, and it had nothing to do with settling my stomach. It was about giving my nerves something to latch on to.

By the time we reached the prison doors, I’d gone through the whole package. When I reached for another and found it empty, Gabriel didn’t say a word, but his look made me feel as if I’d stumbled over my own feet. Clumsy and lost, desperate for stability and comfort.

I stopped walking.

“You’re this close, Olivia.” I caught the faint sigh in his voice, and it cut through me.

“I’m going in. I just . . .” I looked up at him. “I’ll do this alone.”

“What?”

I straightened, crumpling the empty gum package and pitching it into the trash can.

“I’m going to see him alone,” I said. “If you want to come inside, okay. If you’d rather wait in the car, that’s fine, too.”

When I looked up, his face was impassive. Another five seconds went by before he said, “Why?”

“I think I need to.”

He seemed to chew a stick of gum himself, his jaw working. Then, his shades still on, he met my gaze. “Have I done something wrong, Olivia?”

I don’t want to break down in front of you. I feel like you’re already disappointed in my weakness. You expect better of me. I can’t give you better. Not with this. So I’d like you to stay outside.

“I just think I should handle this on my own.”

His chin jerked up, lips tightening.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “If I’d realized this in Chicago, I’d have caught a cab. I didn’t mean to have you chauffeur me out here—”

“I didn’t chauffeur you. I wouldn’t have let you come on your own. Not until this other matter is settled.” He adjusted his cuffs. “I’ll escort you in, then, and ensure all the proper arrangements have been made. Is that suitable?”

I could hear the chill in his voice.
Damn it, Gabriel. This is not the time to get your back up.

“I’m sor—”

“No need. I understand.”

He pulled open the door and ushered me through.