Visions

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Which I suppose explains Don's message asking me to phone him in the morning. You are both my clients, Olivia. I already warned you that any relationship--"

  "I'm not your client anymore."

  "You are my employee. Which is worse."

  "Can we discuss this later?" I said. "That girl's freaked out, and I really need to talk to her before she bolts."

  He looked at me. Then he glanced down, as if considering retreat.

  "Do you want to go?" I said. "I know this wasn't how you intended to spend your night, and I'm sorry you got dragged into it. Ricky and I can handle this."

  His gaze moved up to mine. "Would you like me to leave?"

  "No. As I said, I'm glad you're here. But I understand if you decide you don't need to be. I'm sure you have better things to do."

  That cool stare. "It's four thirty in the morning, Olivia. What else would I have to do?"

  "Sleep. Which is infinitely better than crawling through an abandoned psych hospital."

  I forced a smile. He didn't buy it, only watching me, assessing. Then he grunted, "Move," and waved me back so he could finish his climb. By the time he hauled himself through the hatch, I was staring up at the messages on the ceiling, above the restraint chair.

  Before I could look away, Gabriel said, "What do you see?"

  I told him and then added, "You don't see anything, right?"

  "I don't."

  "Neither did Ricky. There were other things, too. Visions, hallucinations . . ."

  "You'll tell me later?"

  "I will."

  "And you didn't tell Ricky about any of it?"

  "No. I wouldn't have brought him into this at all, but he overheard the phone call, so I couldn't exactly slip out and handle it myself."

  "Which I would hope you'd never consider doing alone. Whether it's a legal matter or not, you should call me, Olivia. I would think you'd know that by now."

  "I wanted to. I just . . . I didn't want to overstep. Anyway, I had to tell him about finding Ciara in the car. He knows there's more, but he's not pushing for answers." I looked up at Gabriel. "I've never had the feeling I can't trust him."

  Gabriel hesitated, then said almost reluctantly, "You can."

  "I won't tell him anything I don't have to. For his own sake. The rest is between you and me."

  The ice thawed in his eyes. He nodded and waved me to the door. When I turned, he put his fingers lightly to my back, shepherding me along, as if he was the one who knew where we were going.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  On the walk to the room, I told Gabriel that Macy knew who I was and seemed to think I was going to axe-murder her.

  He snorted. "Twit."

  "That's Ricky's opinion, too, though he'd make it 'ungrateful twit.' He snapped at her, and now she's scared of us both. We should have handled it better, considering what she's been through."

  "She should have considered what you've both been through, coming after her here. Ricky is correct. She's an ungrateful twit. I'm surprised you didn't stuff her back in the box."

  "Ricky threatened to."

  "Hmm, well, sadly, that would be considered forcible confinement, so I'd have to advise against it."

  I felt a little sorry for Macy. She really deserved nicer rescuers. More sympathetic ones, at least.

  "Well, it's not boding well for polite conversation," I said. "Which I need to have with her. That Tristan guy suggested she's not a random victim. She has answers even if she doesn't realize it. Maybe you can play good cop."

  He turned his cool gaze on me.

  "Or not." I rapped on the door and called, "It's us," then walked in.

  Ricky was standing there, waiting. Macy was huddled against the wall. When she saw Gabriel, she pressed against it, her eyes rounding.

  "Wh-who's that?" she asked.

  "Our lawyer," I said.

  She tried to glare at me, though it was about as intimidating as a kitten's snarl. "That's not funny."

  "Because it isn't a joke." Gabriel turned to Ricky. "Have you done anything to her?"

  "Besides rescuing her ass?"

  "It's not an unreasonable question, considering you've obviously been involved in an altercation."

  Ricky touched his split lip. "Right. Separate incident."

  "It's been a long and interesting night," I said.

  Gabriel turned to Macy. "You will agree, then, that they have done nothing to you? And that your unfounded fear is simply a by-product of your captivity?"

  She stared at him as if he were speaking Greek. "I-I want to go home."

  "We will escort you out."

  Ricky started to protest, but Gabriel said, "We don't want to detain the young woman against her will," in a tone that warned that, too, would be forcible confinement.

  Ricky nodded.

  Gabriel waved her to the door. "Macy, is it?"

  "Y-yes." She skirted wide around him.

  "And that would be Ms. . . . ?"

  She didn't answer.

  Once we'd descended the ladder, he continued, "I have not yet telephoned the police. I'm presuming you'd like that done now? I would offer to drive you to the station, but I suspect you would prefer a police escort."

  "I can't call the police. My--my brother. There's a warrant out for him, and if I report this to the police and they come to our house . . ."

  "Yes, I can see how that could be problematic."

  Gabriel could have pointed out that the police didn't need to come to her house. But she wasn't paying him for legal advice. And calling in the police would be problematic. For us.

  "You should report it," he said. "However, you have no legal obligation to do so. Be aware, though, that the chances of being believed if you report it later decrease significantly."

  She nodded. As soon as Gabriel walked outside, Macy bolted past him. I lunged forward. Gabriel's arm shot out, practically smacking me in the face as he stopped me and stepped into Ricky's path.

  "She's getting--" Ricky began.

  "I know. And as your lawyer, I would suggest you do not pursue her. Even if you manage to catch her, you'd need to hold her, which is a felony."

  "But we haven't questioned her," I said. "We don't know where to find her. All we have is a first name and--"

  Gabriel handed me a plastic rectangle. It was Macy's driver's license.

  "How the hell--?" I began. "That's why you so kindly helped her down the ladder. I should have known you were up to something."

  "Yes, you should have," he said, taking no offense.

  "You knew she was going to run."

  "We made her nervous. I have no idea why."

  I snorted and shone my flashlight on Macy's card and squinted at the photo. "Does she look familiar to you?"

  "Yes, she bears a striking resemblance to the young woman who just fled."

  Ricky laughed.

  I glared at both of them. "I couldn't see her very well inside. Besides the lack of light, she was filthy and disheveled. This photo, though . . ." I looked again and shook my head. "Never mind. I'll figure it out later. So now what?"

  "Now we get ourselves looking less filthy and disheveled," Ricky said. "Whose place is closer? Gabriel?"

  Gabriel hesitated. Last month, during another long night, he'd been about to stop at his apartment. Then I suggested I wouldn't mind using his bathroom and suddenly his place was no longer on our route.

  I was sure he had an apartment. A very nice one, given that he'd had no qualms about taking me as far as the building. I now suspected it was a matter of privacy. That was his home. Private and off-limits.

  "Your place is closer," I said to Ricky.

  Gabriel acknowledged my save with a nod of thanks.

  "I'm parked over there," Gabriel said. "I presume you're elsewhere?"

  "At the golf course," I said. "Can you give us a lift?"

  He waved us to his car.

  --

  "Well, I guess we didn't hide it as well as we thought," I said, sta
nding beside my car, looking down at the slashed tire.

  "Got a spare?" Ricky asked. "I can change it."

  "So can I. Unfortunately, I noticed last week that the tire isn't in the trunk. It must be at my parents' house."

  "No problem. A couple of our garages have twenty-four-hour service. I'll get one to fix it." He looked at Gabriel, still in his Jag, window down. "That okay? You can give us a lift?"

  "Of course."

  --

  We decided to wash up at Ricky's and then discuss the situation over breakfast. "I've got class at nine," Ricky said as we headed down the hall to his apartment. "You two?"

  "I don't have any appointments," Gabriel said. "But yes, I should be at the office by nine. Olivia can join me."

  "Thanks," I said.

  He nodded, missing the sarcasm.

  "Liv?" Ricky said as he unlocked his door. "You take the shower first. I'll--" He stopped. "Hey."

  I glanced past Ricky to see Don rising from the couch, blinking, as if he'd been dozing there.

  "I came over after you took off," Don said. "I tried calling, but you weren't . . ." He noticed me. "Oh, Olivia. I didn't see you--Gabriel?" He rubbed his eyes and double-checked, then frowned. "You're covered in . . ."

  "Dust. And cobwebs. It's a long story." I turned to Ricky. "Gabriel and I will go for breakfast at the diner up the road. We'll hold a seat if you can make it, but it's fine if you can't. Just give me two minutes in the bathroom first."

  "I'll also need--" Gabriel began.

  "You look fine. We cleared the cobwebs for you." I nodded at Don and managed what I hoped was a friendly smile. "Sorry about all this. We'll be gone in two minutes."

  "You don't have to--" Ricky began.

  I caught his gaze and he nodded, mouthing, "Thanks," then saying, "I'll catch up. Go ahead and order."

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Gabriel and I didn't get five steps out of the apartment before he started.

  "They argued last night, I presume? After Ricky told him about you?"

  I nodded.

  "And Ricky took off? Didn't answer Don's calls?"

  "I guess so. He was pretty shaken up." I turned onto the sidewalk. "He'll work it out."

  "I've known the Gallaghers for almost four years, Olivia. I have never seen them argue. They simply don't."

  "I'm not trying to cause problems."

  "But you obviously are."

  I stiffened. "Yes, obviously, because I chased poor innocent Ricky down and seduced him."

  "I am well aware of who did the chasing. For whatever reason, he wanted you, and--"

  "For whatever reason?"

  A pause. I didn't look up, but I swore I could sense him searching for a path out of the quagmire.

  "I meant that he found you attractive, for whatever--"

  He managed to stop himself. I still scowled at him.

  "The point I'm making is that he pursued you," Gabriel said. "I realize that. But he's made a mistake. You both have. It may seem unfair to put the onus on you for recognizing that, but he's young--"

  "He's twenty-two, not twelve. There's no mistake here. We're involved in a perfectly functional relationship--"

  "Functional?" His brows arched. "That sounds romantic."

  "I'm putting it in language you'll understand, because if I did make it sound romantic, you'd mock me. I know your opinion on the subject."

  "If you think you're in love, you're suffering the emotional fallout from your breakup with James. I can understand that you'd be looking for that sort of thing again--"

  "Umm, no. I'm not looking for that."

  He looked relieved. "Good. Then you will have no problem breaking it off--"

  "I mean I'm not wildly and blindly infatuated, not that I don't care about him. I know you're concerned, but Ricky doesn't discuss club business with me and I wouldn't discuss your legal business with him. You can keep me off any Saints cases, if that helps."

  Gabriel grabbed the diner door and held it for me. "That's not the problem."

  "Then what is?"

  He didn't reply until we were seated at the table. He opened his mouth, and the server appeared, coffeepot in hand.

  "She'll have some," Gabriel said.

  I smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the server as she filled our mugs while Gabriel looked increasingly impatient at the entire ten seconds the process took.

  "It's the commingling of professional and personal relationships that makes both Don and me uncomfortable," Gabriel said after she left. "The Saints are my primary clients, Olivia, and many of my other clients come through them directly or through my association with them. I cannot afford to muddy these waters."

  "Then fire me."

  He pulled back. "Is that what you want?"

  "No. If I did, I'd quit. The issue is not that you or Don see an actual problem. You see the potential for problems. But this isn't about either of you. If you're going to threaten me with dismissal, get it over with."

  "I'm not the one who mentioned it."

  "Because I beat you to it."

  The server approached with her order pad. Gabriel waved her off. I gave her a five-minute sign.

  He shifted forward. "You say it's not serious, but you're willing to risk a good job for him. A lucrative job that you enjoy. You'll give that up for a man you have no future with. You realize that, don't you? Ricky isn't James. You won't get that life from him."

  "I don't want another James. That's the point."

  "I don't understand."

  "You're comfortable with who you are, right?"

  A slight frown, confused. "Of course."

  "I've spent my life feeling like a cuckoo raised by robins. I grew up pretending to fit into my mother's world, and the whole time I felt suffocated. Then I went to Cainsville, and everything changed. I met people who know who I am and don't give a shit. Who don't expect me to be anything other than what I am. For me, that's huge. Being with Ricky is part of that. I have my own life. I have my own secrets. He doesn't care. He takes what I can give, and he's happy with it, and I'm happy with him. He's exactly what I need right now."

  Gabriel sat there, saying nothing. I could tell myself he was processing, but in his eyes I saw anxiety and discomfort, as if he'd spent the entire monologue wishing I'd just shut up.

  Damn it. I'd only wanted him to understand. It was so hard to figure out where the boundaries lay. Mostly because he set them, quietly and secretly, in places I could never quite discern. Interfering with my personal relationships? That was fine. Listening to me talk about how I felt? Hell, no. Keep that shit to yourself. Please.

  "I'm sorry," I said after thirty more seconds of silence. "I only wanted to explain--"

  "No, that's fine." His gaze traveled to the door as if measuring the distance to the escape hatch. He shifted. Adjusted his cuffs. Glanced around again. "All right. I think you're making a mistake, and I fear it will be a problem, but if it's what you want . . ." He seemed to choke on the words before saying, "I won't interfere."

  "If it does become a problem--a real one--tell me," I said. "I want to keep my job, and I don't want to make trouble for you."

  He nodded and waved the server over. As he was ordering, I got a text from Ricky, saying he was on his way and Don was coming with him. They'd worked it out. As I put down my phone, I was thinking of what had happened tonight and my cuckoo analogy, the two rubbing together until . . . click.

  "Can I see Macy's license?" I said as I typed in a search on my phone's browser.

  Gabriel passed it over. I took another look at it, then zoomed in on a photo on my screen. I passed both over.

  "See a resemblance?"

  "Yes, but if you're saying they're the same person--"

  "Obviously not. There's at least twenty years between them. But could this woman--Mrs. Conway--be Macy's mother?" I didn't wait for an answer, instead flipping to Ciara's photo. "More than it could be her mother?"

  "You think they were . . ." He hesitated. "Switc
hed?"

  "The guy who took Macy told me she was connected to Ciara. That she was 'more wronged' than Ciara by that connection. That what happened to them is connected to Cainsville. And to me. Somehow, it's all connected to me."

  "We'll look into it. What else--"

  He looked up as a hand squeezed my shoulder, and Ricky said, "Hey."

  I pushed back the chair beside mine. He took it. I smiled at Don. I won't say he exactly beamed back, but his smile seemed genuine enough.

  As we ate, I could feel Don's gaze on me, especially whenever Ricky and I were talking or teasing. He was taking the measure of our relationship, but even more, he was taking my measure. Would I treat Ricky well? Was I good enough for him? If the answer to either was no . . . well, then I suspected I'd see the real leader of the Saints.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  When we walked into the office, Lydia stared at us. It took me a moment to realize why. I'd become so accustomed to having Gabriel around at any hour that I'd forgotten how it looked if his car stayed outside my apartment all night or we walked into the office, already deep in conversation, at seven thirty in the morning.

  "Hey," I said with a wry smile. "I'm causing trouble early today. I got a flat tire, and Gabriel had to give me a ride--"

  Gabriel cut me off with an impatient wave toward his office and a look that asked Why the hell are you telling her that?

  I rolled my eyes for Lydia and followed him into his office. He closed the door behind me.

  "We need to talk about Cainsville," he said. "I was thinking that the other day, when you discovered the history of that house. First, Chandler said there was a connection. And now this Tristan fellow says the same. Ciara Conway and your mother are both linked to the town. I don't see a connection between Ms. Conway and your parents' alleged crimes, but . . ."

  "It does seem overly coincidental. All roads lead to Cainsville, yet I somehow refuse to follow them." I pulled over the extra chair. "I think that's what those messages meant tonight. We are imprisoned by the truth we dare not see. We are imprisoned by the questions we dare not ask. For weeks now, I've been seeing visions of corpses without eyes, and I keep presuming it's some ritualistic thing connected to my parents' crimes. But I think it's another type of omen. A message I refuse to see. Now I'm hallucinating a woman without a tongue. Which means even when I admit that I do see, I won't go to Cainsville and ask questions about the connections."

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming the desk, and there was a moment where I thought I'd lost him, as if he'd gotten bored with my speech and was mentally compiling the day's to-do list. But after a few seconds he said, "You aren't the only one who's seen those roads and refuses to follow them. As for why . . ."