I had to bite my cheek at that.
Ricky turned to me. "The Cwn Annwn will take care of Ciro's body. I'm handling the hound. You have to get rid of those clothes. And you and Gabriel need to talk about what Ciro said. I'll catch up once the hound is situated."
"Actually," Ioan said, "Liv should accompany you. The hound obviously trusts her as well."
"No," Ricky said. "She should go with Gabriel."
Ioan's lips tightened, but Ricky only walked over and gave me a hug before we left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
We stopped at Ricky's place. I kept extra clothes there, so Gabriel had me shower and change and then he disposed of what I'd been wearing.
An hour later, we were in Gabriel's apartment. He poured us both a Scotch and we settled on the sofa, which we'd moved in front of the window.
"You should leave it here," I said. "I know an interior designer would have a fit..."
"Yes, that was my concern. That I'd horrify all the interior designers I invite up here."
I smiled and tucked my feet up under me as I sat sideways on the sofa. He attempted to get comfortable, which for Gabriel meant facing forward and slouching an entire quarter of an inch.
"You need a bigger couch."
"I don't believe they come much bigger. Not if they'll fit through my door."
"Get one with two recliners. Then we can sit and stretch out and...talk to the window. Huh. I don't suppose they come with the recliners on an angle, so we can partially face each other while still looking out the window."
"I believe they would call that two separate recliners. Which can be placed at any angle you desire."
I made a face. "I want a sofa."
"I will refrain from pointing out that it's actually my apartment."
"Oh, I know, how about one of those big circular ones? It's very seventies, but it looks comfortable. And if I doze off, you can just leave me there."
"I already do that. On this couch."
"Which isn't uncomfortable."
"There's also the floor."
I slid down to it. "Not bad."
"I meant for sleeping."
I pulled down two pillows, arranged them on the floor, and settled in. Gabriel gave a deep sigh, and lowered himself beside me.
"Okay, this works," I said. "Now what you need is a fireplace."
He laughed. A deep laugh that echoed through the room, and it was wonderful to hear, and I curled up, feeling the warmth of it, like hot cocoa on a cold day.
"Right there." I pointed in front of us. "But it has to be really low to the floor, so it doesn't interfere with the view. Nothing can interfere with the view."
"Of course."
"And just think, I haven't even started drinking yet."
He smiled at me, a smile as real as his laugh. His unabashed I-forgot-I'm-not-supposed-to-do-this smile, the one I usually only got after he'd had a glass of wine, the one that fades his eyes to the warmest blue imaginable. Winning that smile is like acing my SATs and running a marathon all in the same day.
I sipped my Scotch, and he did the same, and we sat, staring out the window and drinking, letting the night settle on us, until the alcohol worked its way into my system, tugging my mood down just enough that I said, "I shouldn't be joking around tonight, should I?"
"Hmm?"
"After what happened. With Ciro. I shouldn't joke and goof off."
"If you're feeling bad about not feeling bad enough, I do believe you're talking to the wrong person."
"What do you fee--?" I cut myself off sharply and put my glass down with a click against the hardwood. "Sorry. That was rude. I'll blame the booze and apologize."
"No need. It is, I realize, considered a nonintrusive question from a friend." He eased back against the sofa, long legs stretching, and then looked my way, his head reclining against the cushions, eyes bright. "I understand concepts even if I don't embrace them."
I nodded and sipped my drink.
"As for any concern over your reaction to Ciro Halloran's death, it is, I believe, invalid. I would say 'ludicrous,' but I suspect that would be rude."
"You just said it."
"With a somewhat sincere disclaimer attached. The point is that I know you worry about your lack of altruism. Which is ridiculous. You're not investigating the lamiae murders for personal profit. You aren't concerned about the disappearance of Aunika Madole because she owes you money. You didn't try to save Ciro Halloran from the hound because there was a reward in it. As for trying to save him at all, I would like to think it was a spontaneous impulse and that you would not have put yourself in danger for him if you'd considered the matter. But that is, in part, a projection of my own feelings--I don't want to see you take risks for strangers."
"But it's true, too," I said. "If I'd thought it through, given what he'd done...I might not have."
"Good. That's what I want to hear. However, it's not entirely true, because in the moment that you took to decide whether to give chase, you would have realized you wanted him alive for questioning and taken the risk for that reason. If you really did only want to save Ciro out of the goodness of your heart? I could not comprehend that."
He took another, longer drink and then said, "You asked what I feel. The answer is nothing. That is, I hurry to qualify, on this particular topic. The face that I present is not a false face, but I am capable of emotion."
"I know."
He nodded, not looking over. "The truth is that, in the matter of the lamiae, when I said that I wanted to get them into Cainsville so they'd be out of our way, that wasn't me putting a logical slant on the matter. That is me. It's what I feel. Or do not feel, as the case may be."
Another sip of the Scotch, his gaze still on the window. "People wonder how I represent the clients I do. Do I not feel empathy for the victims and their families? No, I don't. I think about them, though. I think that their loss is a tragedy, and I think of how their lives were affected, and I think that what happened to them was unfair. But the world does not promise fair, and if my client is indeed guilty, then let the court decide that. Perhaps the greater sin is that I realize I feel nothing for strangers, and I still do not care."
I was formulating an answer, desperately searching for the right words, when he downed the rest of his glass in a single gulp, shut his eyes for a moment, and then opened them and said, still facing forward, "Does that bother you?"
"Hmm?"
He looked my way, yet not directly at me. "Does it bother you that I cannot look at those lamiae and take pity?"
"I have spent enough time with you, Gabriel, to understand what you are and what you aren't, and if I had a problem with that, you'd know it."
It seemed an honest and positive answer, but his gaze slid away, and he lifted the empty glass to his lips, and when he realized it was empty and I said, "More?" he shook his head, but there was a hesitation there.
"I'm having more," I said, and poured myself a finger and took the bottle over to him, and he didn't hesitate to lift his glass.
When I sat again, he said, "My lack of caring doesn't apply to you. I hope you understand that."
"I know." I pulled my knees up as I turned to face him. "For me, it's a stretch to feel what others do naturally. Like with Ciro. I wanted to stop the hound from killing him, but then I was back here, joking around, and I had to stop and think, 'Oh, right, I watched a guy die tonight.' So I do understand, and I'm sorry if that wasn't clear."
"It was." He sipped at his drink. "But you said you understand what I am not. You accept it." His gaze lifted to mine. "You don't need to accept it." He lowered the glass. "I don't mean the lack of altruism. That won't change. But there are other things you don't have to accept. You don't need to apologize for asking me how I felt earlier. You don't need to avoid displaying emotional pain around me. Yes, I am uncomfortable with that. Yes, when you do it, I have the urge to run, as fast as I can. But not because I don't want to help. Because I don't know how." His eyes widened, and he m
urmured a rare curse. "And with that, I have definitely had too much to drink. I'm sorry. I don't--"
"It's okay."
"I just--"
"Gabriel?" I leaned toward him. "It's okay. I know you don't like to admit anything like that." I lowered my voice to a mock whisper. "But it's not inappropriate, and I promise I won't hold it against you."
He hesitated. Then he snorted a laugh. "Yes. Sorry." He sipped the Scotch. "What I'm saying is that I know sometimes you feel you're walking on eggshells with me. I've made you feel that way. But that is my inexperience with a relationship that is neither familial nor business in nature. I make mistakes." Another quick drink. "I've made a lot of mistakes, and I just want to say that you can expect better. I am past the point where I'm going to bolt and slam the door behind me." He glanced around. "Which is good, considering it's my apartment."
"Mmm, no. If you bolt, I get the condo. That's the deal."
A faint smile. "Is it?"
"Yep. You need stakes. Run away from me and you lose your apartment."
He glanced my way. "I don't need stakes to stop me from doing that. Losing you would be--" He stopped, horror filling his eyes, and he drained the rest of the glass as fast as he could.
"The floor is not comfortable."
"What?" he said, looking up sharply.
"I'm changing the subject before you really do bolt. Because, as much as I love your apartment, I'd rather keep you." I lifted my glass. "And thus ends our drunken sentimental exchange. So, the floor..."
"...is uncomfortable, and I would agree. I would also agree that I require comfortable permanent seating to take full advantage of the window view. Which I did intend to buy. I never got as far as walking into a furniture store. Once I was moved in, new furniture seemed..."
"Frivolous?"
"Exactly."
"I would point out that, given that no one actually comes here, the only person to judge you for such frivolity is yourself, but I know that's the opinion that counts. We will get you proper window-side seating."
His lips twitched in a smile. "And a fireplace?"
"Yes." I turned toward him. "On that topic, since I've passed the slightly drunk stage--and since you've given me permission to push--I'm going to ask a personal question."
"God forbid," he said, and then gave me a smile, as warm and relaxed as his earlier one.
"It's about fireplaces. Namely, the one in your office. Have you ever used it?"
"That's personal?"
"Sometimes, with you, I think 'Would you like fries with that?' is too personal."
He leaned back against the sofa, getting comfortable again. "To be honest, I've always found that question rather insulting. If I wanted fries, I would order them. The answer, by the way, is no. I do not--ever--want fries with that."
"Good to know."
"As for the fireplace, the answer is again no. I have never used it, and not because I don't want to. It's like window seating. I intended to take advantage of it and haven't."
"Was the office what you wanted, then? Or did you just get a good deal on it?"
Another twitch of the lips. "Had you asked me that six months ago, I'd have said I got a good deal. Which I did. Also, the proximity to the county jail is a distinct advantage. And that is what I told myself when I first leased it. But the truth?"
He eased down further, stretched out. "The truth is that the style reminded me of Rose's house, and there was comfort there. It also reminded me of the house I told you about, the one I dreamed of owning someday. I was, therefore, pre-inclined to appreciate a building of that era. And yet..." His lips pursed. "I walked into that office, and it was like something out of a novel, and somewhere in my head there was an image of what a lawyer's office should look like. I wanted that office, as I've wanted few things in my life. Although I did lease it at a very good price, given that the basement was being used as a meth lab."
"What?"
"I never told you that part?"
"Um, no. But you will now, right?"
"The man who originally owned the building was a former client who...allegedly ran a meth lab out of the basement. I used the main floor for my office on the condition I'd never come in past nightfall or before dawn and would provide free legal advice. After two years of this, if I wished to purchase the building, I could, at a very reasonable price, so he could relocate without the undue attention that might come with a normal resale."
"You own the building?"
"Did I not mention that?"
"You mention nothing, Gabriel. Ever. Okay, forget owning the whole damned building. Tell me about the meth-lab dude."
"He actually made an excellent landlord. All went perfectly fine until the day..."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I woke smelling something and leapt up swinging. Gabriel didn't miss a beat, just pulled the coffee out of striking range and waited patiently while I rubbed my eyes.
"You are sleeping on my floor," he said. "I would have moved you, but I fell asleep myself. And yes, the floor is terribly uncomfortable. But...coffee?"
He held it out again, and I sputtered a laugh.
"No comment on the fact that I nearly punched you?" I said.
"I would expect no less. Which is why I remained out of range."
"So I couldn't get you back for the first night you slept at my apartment. When I made the mistake of waking you and got clocked."
"We both have excellent reflexes."
"Or it's a sign that we're both paranoid and need to lead much less dangerous lives."
He shook his head and handed me my coffee.
"You have time to drink that and dress," he said. "Before Ricky picks you up for breakfast."
I grabbed my phone. "Did I miss--?"
"No, I contacted him this morning and told him to come."
"You told him to take me to breakfast?"
"We have a full day, and I know you'll want to see each other. I have a few things to do at the office, but I'd like you there by eleven so we can leave for Cainsville."
"Cainsville?"
"You'll want to see how Melanie and Pepper's first night went. Also, you wanted to speak to Patrick about Cwn Annwn deals. And we should go talk to Pamela, but I would suggest we have more data before we take that step."
He walked into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of aspirin. "If you require it. I did wake with a slight headache from the alcohol."
I smiled and took the bottle.
--
Ricky had club duties that afternoon, so he dropped me at the office. After lunch, Gabriel and I headed to Cainsville. We visited the lamiae first, making sure that they were settled in.
Gabriel took us the long way to Patrick's because he allegedly wanted to show me a hidden gargoyle. Instead, he only led me near one and then told me to find it. When I couldn't, he said, "It's the wrong time of year," and I slugged him for that.
"So it can only be seen during a certain season?" I asked.
"One night, actually. Winter solstice."
"How the hell did you find it?"
His brows shot up. "Who says I did?"
"You found them all. Veronica told me." I paused, and then pushed on. "That means there's one more than when you found them. Your gargoyle."
I waited for him to tense, but his eyes stayed that same soft and mellow blue as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Perhaps."
"So where is it?"
"Do you really think I'd tell you?"
"Do I get a prize if I find it?"
"Perhaps." He pointed up at the town hall bell tower. "As for this one, that's where you'll see it on solstice night."
"In the bell tower? Like the Hunchback of Notre Dame?"
"Exactly what I said."
"And you just randomly found it?"
"Not entirely," he said as we resumed walking. "We are allowed hints for the last gargoyle. I said I didn't want them. Patrick gave me one anyway, in a roundabout way. He asked if I was coming for winter solst
ice. The most important day of the year for Cainsville. But an even more important night for gargoyle hunting."
"Ah, and you got the hint?"
"I did."
"Clever boy."
He smiled, and we continued on. So it was a good walk. Very good. Why, then, as we approached Patrick's house, did my breathing pick up, a pit of panic forming in my gut? Because talking about Patrick helping Gabriel find the gargoyle reminded me that I was keeping a secret from him. And the last time I'd done that had nearly cost me Gabriel's friendship.
--
"Dare I offer you refreshments?" Patrick asked as we sat on his sofa.
Gabriel said no for both of us. Patrick might insist that the old stories about fae food and drink don't apply to us, but we didn't take any chances.
"Gabriel says you have questions, Liv. Admittedly, I might hope that someday you'll visit for the pleasure of my company..."
"Then you would suspect we had an agenda," Gabriel said. "You would not appreciate the subterfuge. Also, a visit for merely social reasons would bore you as much as it would me."
Patrick said, "True..." He added something else, but I didn't catch it, because having Gabriel point out a similarity between them, however innocuous, was like a hammer blow to the spike already driving into my conscience.
"So...questions?" Patrick said.
Gabriel motioned for me to go ahead, but I shook my head and murmured that he could start, and I got a searching look for that.
"Is everything all right?" Gabriel asked, his voice low.
I nodded.
"Oh, something is definitely not all right," Patrick said. "You've barely said a word since you got here, and Gabriel is practically bouncy."
Gabriel turned a cool gaze on him. "I am hardly--"
"You're as close to bouncy as I've ever seen you. You didn't eat enchanted fortune cookies, did you?" When Gabriel frowned, Patrick said, "Freaky Friday? Body switch?" He sighed. "It's a sad day when the three-hundred-year-old bocan makes pop culture references that the thirty-year-old humans don't get."
"You're three hundred?" I said.
"There. Got your attention. Even in your lowest mood, your curiosity will get the better of you. Three hundred...give or take a few decades. After a while, one stops counting. Are you back with us, then, Olivia? Leaving the brooding to Gabriel?"
"Brooding and bouncing," Gabriel murmured. "I'm not sure which is worse."
"The bouncing is adorable," Patrick said. "It'll keep people on their toes, wondering what you're up to. The proverbial cat with the canary."
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