Part 24 (1/2)

”I'm so sorry,” I said. ”This isn't the time. I just- So, about the Meade case-”

”I haven't had a chance to see the photos,” he said, lowering his mug. ”I need to, obviously, and I will.”

”I'll go with you,” I said. ”Whenever you're ready.”

At that, he met my gaze and he smiled. It wasn't more than a wry twist of the lips, but it reached his eyes, warming them, as if I'd just volunteered to do a year's worth of research free of charge. Even when the look vanished, the smile lingered as he nodded.

”It's simply a matter of finding time.” He leaned back in his seat. ”I should make time, I suppose. It's not going to magically manufacture itself. Let me know when you're ready and we'll go.”

”Whenever you are.”

”What's your s.h.i.+ft tomorrow? Yes, I know, it's Sunday, but if you're free...”

He'd decided to do this thing, and if we didn't arrange a time, he'd find an excuse to postpone.

”I have tomorrow off,” I said. ”I can meet you anytime.”

”I'll pick you up.”

”No, that's fine. I-”

”You're doing this for me. I'll pick you up. I might even let you drive.”

He smiled then, a real smile, and I couldn't do anything but agree ... to a time late enough for me to get my a.s.s home from Ricky's.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

I drove Gabriel back to his office. I'm sure there was no way in h.e.l.l a few ounces of wine could legally intoxicate a guy over two hundred pounds, but it was definitely more than he was used to. Besides, I was happy for any excuse to get into the driver's seat. I took the long way and told myself I was just making sure he was sober, windows down, fresh air rus.h.i.+ng in. He wasn't in any hurry, either, and we sat outside his office talking for almost an hour before I remembered he really needed his sleep. For once, he seemed relaxed enough to actually get it. So I said goodbye, grabbed the key Ricky had left behind my tire, and headed for his place.

Ricky's apartment was in a graduate housing complex on East Hyde Park. He lived with his dad, but he wanted a place for when he had cla.s.ses. Technically, being a part-time student, I suspect he shouldn't have gotten into graduate housing at all, but I wasn't surprised that he'd managed it. Between Ricky's charm and persuasion and Gabriel's lock picking and sleight of hand, if I took enough lessons, I could become a first-rate private eye. Or a master criminal.

The building was quiet. Not a lot of students around in June. The floor layout was an odd C shape, with the elevator depositing me on the far side. I had to round a corner, then another- I stopped. Ricky's apartment was two doors down. I could see the number. But someone was trying the doork.n.o.b. My hand went to my purse, sliding inside to where my gun rested. Even as I reacted, I chastised myself. Going for my gun because a drunk student had the wrong apartment? But my gut told me it wasn't a drunk student, and when I caught a glimpse of his profile, I jerked back around the corner, heart pounding.

It was the guy from the motel a month ago. The guy whose attack made me flee to Cainsville. A random motel clerk obsessed with my parents. And now he was here? Breaking into Ricky's apartment? How did that make sense?

I peeked around the corner and realized it wasn't the same man. He had a similar build-tall and wiry-but this guy was younger, had lighter hair, and bore only a pa.s.sing resemblance to my attacker. Yet I couldn't seem to shake the a.s.sociation. I moved my gun into my jacket pocket before I rounded the corner.

”Can I help you?” I said.

He was taking something long and silver from his pocket. A lock pick? When I spoke, he jumped and turned, dropping the object back into his coat.

I double-checked the number on the door, confirming it was Ricky's.

”Are you looking for someone?” I said.

He paused. ”Rick Gallagher,” he said finally. ”Is this his place?”

”Is he expecting you?” I asked.

”Olivia Taylor-Jones,” he said, snapping his fingers. ”I knew I recognized you. So you're coming to see Rick?”

”How do you know him?”

”Are you expecting him back soon?”

I sized him up. A reporter? From a school paper or blog? I'd been worried about that when the picture hit the Post. Ricky hadn't. While he didn't advertise who he was, he didn't hide it, either. Professors and students who knew his background presumed he was trying to ”break the cycle.” He didn't disillusion them.

”You should leave now,” I said.

A brief smile. ”Should I?”

I met his gaze. ”Yes.”

”When do you expect Rick back?”

”Do you want to leave a name and number? I'll tell him you dropped by.”

He held my gaze, easing closer as my fingers tightened around the gun in my pocket. ”Why don't I come inside and wait with you.”

I sputtered a laugh. That seemed to surprise him. Had he really expected me to agree? He stood there, eyes locked on mine, as if he could ... I don't know, hypnotize me? When I just smiled and shook my head, he looked honestly baffled.

”I think you should let me come inside with you,” he said.

”I think you should haul a.s.s back to the elevator before I call the police.”

He blinked, finally breaking eye contact. One last look at me with that perplexed frown. Then he walked past, so close his jacket brushed me. I stood my ground.

”Shall I tell him who called?” I said.

He kept going. I waited until the elevator dinged, then I hurried to the stairwell. I zoomed down the flights and made it to the first floor just as he was walking through the front door.

I could see him outside, but the reflection of the lights against the gla.s.s made him seem to disappear as he walked. Not vanish or fade, but blend into his surroundings.

He pa.s.sed a parked light gray car, and his jeans and jacket seemed to lighten to match, leaving a gray blur. Obviously a trick of the darkness and the reflection of light. As soon as he was far enough away, I opened the door to see better, but once I did, I lost track of him completely.

He must have darted between parked cars. I went out and looked around. No sign of him.

I spent another few minutes looking. I wanted to see where he would go, what he drove, maybe get a license number. But I'd waited too long before stepping outside, and now he was gone. After one last look, I retreated inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

Ricky's apartment was what I'd expect for student housing-a place the size of mine, with a bedroom, bath, and all-purpose living and dining area. About as tidy as mine, too, which meant not spotless but not noticeably messy. Casual and lived in. I got comfortable on the bed while I did some work for Gabriel.