Deceptions

by Kelley Armstrong

  I stopped and pressed my palms to my eyes.

  I have to stay in the real world. Gabriel's there.

  I heard the shouts of construction workers and smelled the stink of fresh asphalt, and when I opened my eyes, I was on the street. I searched for a sign.

  Nothing. Even the owl was gone. I spun back to Gwrach y Rhibyn, but in her place was an ordinary woman hanging out her laundry.

  I raced across the road, ignoring the honk of a passing truck driver. I was almost back to the lane when I heard a psst, like a child trying to get my attention. It was indeed a child. A little blond girl, one I'd seen before and one who was as out of place in this world as Gwrach y Rhibyn. Unlike the crone, she looked as if she belonged--a girl in a pale green sundress and neon-green jelly sandals. In one hand she carried a stuffed animal, so old I couldn't even tell what it was. Her other fist was clenched, but I knew what it held: black and white stones.

  I'd seen her before, in my dreams. I'd been her in an earlier vision of Gwrach y Rhibyn. Seeing her here, though, made the ground seem to shift under my feet.

  "I have a story," she said. "Do you want to hear it?"

  "I want to find Gabriel."

  She wrinkled her nose. "Gwynn is fine."

  "No, Gabriel."

  "I said he's fine. You need to hear my story. It's important."

  My heart pounded faster. It's a trap. She's stalling. Where is he?

  As soon as I thought that, the distant baying of hounds sounded and my breath caught.

  "Do you hear that?" I asked.

  She smiled. "The hounds. The Hunt. Isn't it wonderful?"

  "No, it's--"

  The world flickered and suddenly I was in the night forest, and I heard the hounds and felt the ground vibrating under the horses' hooves, and it was wonderful. Like the night in the forest with Ricky, when we'd heard them.

  Then the scene evaporated, and I was back in the city, dread coursing through me, my face heating now as I started to sweat.

  "Back and forth," the girl said as she fingered her stones. "Black and white. This and that. Night and day. Hunt and fae. So it will always be."

  "What will always be?"

  "Us," she said.

  She put out her hand, with just two stones, one black and one white. Then she made a fist. When she opened her hand, there was only one stone, black and white swirling through it.

  "There's no escape," she said. "Only balance."

  The hounds bayed again, closer, and I stiffened, my heart hammering now.

  "They won't hurt you," she said.

  "It's Gabriel I'm worried about."

  "They won't hurt you," she repeated.

  I started down the lane.

  "You really should hear my story," she called after me.

  "I need to find him."

  She sighed, like a gust of wind, and I swear I felt it rush past. Then she was beside me.

  "This way," she said.

  She headed to the side alley.

  "Wait," she said.

  A horse neighed. Its scent wafted past on the breeze and sweat dribbled down my cheek as I strained to catch some sign of Gabriel.

  "Wait," she said. "He will . . ."

  She trailed off, and when I looked, she was gone.

  "Olivia?" Gabriel called.

  "See?" the little girl's voice whispered in my ear. "I said they wouldn't hurt you."

  Gabriel stepped into the intersection of the alley. Relief flickered over his face, quickly swallowed by annoyance.

  "I asked you to stay where you were."

  My mouth was dry and my heart seemed to short out, as if unable to find a proper rhythm after pounding for so long. "I did," I said. "You . . . you took off."

  "Took off?" The annoyance crackled as he came toward me. "I found a dead end, turned around, and you were gone and--"

  He stopped short and stared at me. I took a step toward him. My knees wobbled. He grabbed me just as I regained my balance.

  "I'm okay," I said.

  "No, you're burning up." His hand shot to my forehead, smacking it hard enough to make me wince. "The fever is back."

  I pushed his hand away. "I'm fine, just . . ." I took a step and my knees wobbled again. "A little weak."

  He tried to put his arm around me, hand braced under my armpit. That was awkward, and not just because of the height difference. Gabriel isn't accustomed to supporting others, physically or otherwise. I took his elbow instead.

  "So what happened when you went around the corner?" I asked.

  "I didn't go around it. I merely glanced around it. When I turned back, you were gone. Then I went looking for you."

  "Huh. Well, my experience was a little stranger," I said, and then explained.

  --

  I don't keep anything from Gabriel, no matter how weird it gets. And no matter how weird it gets, he never so much as quirks an eyebrow. This time we'd both experienced some perception or reality shift, and I don't know if it merely separated us long enough for us to wander our separate ways or if I hadn't been here at all. Not in this world or this plane.

  Last week I'd been inside the empty Cainsville house that originally belonged to my great-great-grandmother. I'd stepped into an inlaid triskelion of an owl that had triggered a vision of the girl and the bean nighe. To have that same thing happen on a city street was disconcerting to say the least.

  "I blame the Cwn Annwn," Gabriel said. "They were close enough to cause it."

  He steered me into a dodgy corner store and bought me a Dr Pepper and a bag of ice.

  "I'll take the pop," I said. "But I don't really need the--"

  "Humor me."

  We returned to the car, and I put the ice bag against my forehead, which seemed to be what he expected.

  We sat in the parking lot for a while, so I could rest. Gabriel checked his messages and so did I. The curse of modern communications--spend a couple of hours separated from your cell and you'll spend another twenty minutes catching up.

  I went to my texts first. Gabriel said, "Ricky?"

  My smile must have given it away. "He's coming home early. Which means you won't have to babysit me tonight."

  Gabriel gave a grunt that I interpreted as "Good."

  "I'll surprise him at the airport," I said. "He can drop me at the office in the morning."

  Another grunt. I looked up to see him engrossed in his e-mail. I stopped talking and texted with Ricky. When I finished, Gabriel was sitting with his phone on his leg, his hand engulfing it.

  "Everything okay?" I asked.

  "Edgar Chandler is dead."

  "What?"

  "He killed himself shortly after returning to his cell. Cyanide, it seems."

  "Ransom must have slipped it to him. He warned Chandler that the hounds were coming and gave him a way out. That's why I heard them. They were coming for Chandler." I exhaled. "Shit."

  "There will be an investigation," Gabriel said. "As his final visitors, we'll be questioned. We may also be suspected."

  "Of giving him the pill? But we never touched him and the guard can confirm . . . Except the guard wasn't a guard at all."

  "There were security cameras. As well as the second guard. I doubt we'd be seriously considered as suspects."

  "Okay, so what about Jon Childs? The guy Chandler wanted you to kill."

  "I had no intention of actually--"

  I cut him off with a look. "I know that. You just wanted to get his name and find out why Chandler wants him dead."

  He nodded, pleased that I'd figured it out and relieved that I'd known he wouldn't kill a man--at least, not one who didn't present an immediate lethal threat.

  "So let's find Jon Childs," I said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  While neither Jon nor Childs is a particularly uncommon name, when you put the two together you get fewer than twenty adult males in the country. And exactly one in the Greater Chicago area.

  The Chicago Jon Childs was a thirty-six-year-old self-employed equities trad
er. Successful, according to his tax records. Yes, we had access to his tax records. Or Lydia did. Not necessarily legally. She'd spent most of her working life as the executive assistant to Chicago's Field Office Special Agent in Charge. That would be the CIA field office.

  Before I met Lydia, I'd presumed that husky voice on the phone belonged to some hot young thing. When we did meet, I realized my unforgivable lapse in reasoning. There was no way in hell Gabriel would hire eye candy to manage his office when he could get someone like Lydia for the same salary, given she was past retirement age and just looking for an interesting way to spend her time. Working for Gabriel was nothing if not interesting.

  According to Lydia's research, Childs was a graduate of Portland State who'd moved to Chicago ten years ago, immediately opening his own business and attracting a decent clientele. Never married. No kids. No affiliation with any known political party or other group. In other words, a guy without ties. Not unlike the man I worked for. A lack of ties meant a lack of accountability and, well, let's face it, a lack of witnesses.

  Childs worked from home, which made it difficult to stake him out. Problem number two? We could find absolutely no photographic record of him. No passport. No driver's license.

  The only alternative was to call him up, express interest in his services, and persuade him to meet with me. Except Childs wasn't home, and he didn't seem to have an admin assistant. I left a message with my cell number.

  --

  Lydia was on the phone as we were walking past her desk. She flagged me down and covered the receiver.

  "I can finally get you in to see Todd," she said.

  I froze mid-step. Gabriel turned to me. "You'd rather not?"

  "No, I--"

  "Let me rephrase that. I know you'd rather not. I'm going to leave this ball in your court, Olivia. If you wish to visit Todd at some juncture, let Lydia know and--"

  "Tuesday."

  He hesitated.

  "I'll go Tuesday," I said.

  "That's tomorrow."

  "Oh, right. Maybe . . ." I took a deep breath and turned to Lydia. "I'd like to go tomorrow if you can make the arrangements, please."

  She nodded, and Gabriel led me out the door.

  --

  I showered and changed at Gabriel's, and I planned to grab a taxi, presuming Ricky would have his bike at the airport. Gabriel was having none of that. He would deliver me to the doors of the appropriate terminal, where he would watch until I was safely inside. I could say he was overreacting, but given the events of the last few days, he really wasn't.

  I stood with the usual crowd of friends and family at the bottom of the baggage claim escalators and tried not to bounce on my toes like an excited kid. As I spotted Ricky at the top, a young woman beside me whispered to her friend, "Who's that?" They began speculating--musician, actor, model . . .

  When I first met Ricky, I thought he looked like Hollywood's version of a biker. Six feet, well-built, tousled blond hair to his collar, hazel eyes, and a cleft chin when he shaved. What bolstered the whispering, though, were the two Satan's Saints who stood on the escalator step behind him. To his left was CJ, who looked pretty much exactly like you'd expect from an aging biker. Big guy, late forties, slight paunch, graying beard, stringy ponytail, and shit-kicker boots. The other was Wallace, sergeant-at-arms--Don Gallagher's right-hand man and main enforcer. Wallace is clean-cut and almost as tall as Gabriel, with an extra twenty pounds of muscle. Both men could pass for roadies or bodyguards, and that's what the girls obviously mistook them for.

  Ricky was staring straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. Wallace said something and as Ricky looked over, he noticed me and gave a blast of a grin that had the girls beside me twittering. He jogged down the rest of the steps, strode over, and scooped me up in a soldier-on-furlough kiss.

  Whispers snaked around us. I'd caught a few earlier, but that kiss made people take a closer look. They recognized me and Ricky from a Chicago Post photo a few weeks ago. I heard my name and "biker," and I'm sure Ricky did, too, but he just kept grinning down at me.

  "I didn't expect this," he said. "Thank you."

  Wallace and CJ walked over.

  "Hey, Miz Jones," CJ said.

  "Hey, guys." I asked how their flight was as we headed to the baggage carousel. Then I said to Ricky, "I know you thought you'd be clear tonight. Does that still stand? Or does your dad need you?"

  Ricky would have texted me if our plans had changed. I was saying this for Wallace and CJ's benefit. My relationship with Ricky didn't thrill Don Gallagher. He seemed to like me well enough. What he didn't like is the Gabriel-me-Ricky dynamic. While Gabriel has made it clear he has no romantic interest in me, Don would rather Ricky kept his distance, just to be safe. Don values Gabriel's legal expertise too much to rock that boat.

  "Nope, it's all good," Ricky said. "I checked in with him before I invited you over."

  "Ah. Well, in that case . . ." I glanced meaningfully at a sign for the airport Hilton. "It's a long drive back to the city, and I'm sure you had a tiring flight."

  His eyes glinted, sending a familiar lick of heat through me.

  "Go on," CJ said. "We'll grab your bag."

  "Thanks." Ricky put his arm around my shoulders and we walked away.

  "Was that okay?" I said when we were out of earshot.

  "My girlfriend surprises me at the airport and drags me off to a hotel? I don't think my rep will ever recover. I definitely owe you."

  "I'm looking forward to repayment. It was a very long three days."

  "Damn straight."

  He tugged me around as he backed up. Next thing I knew, we were in a short service hall, partially blocked by a massive cardboard standee. He propelled me to the end and then pulled me into a kiss. If the one at the escalator had started reminding me how much I'd missed him, this one cemented it.

  Five seconds later, I had my back to the wall, arms around his neck, hands in his hair, his hands under my ass. By the time I broke the kiss, I wasn't even sure where we were anymore, and I looked around, blinking, before saying, "Hotel, five minutes, that way."

  He dropped his lips to my neck as he pressed against me. "So near and yet so far."

  I chuckled. "Well, if you don't want to wait . . ."

  "Tempting," he said as his lips moved up my throat.

  "I am wearing a skirt."

  "I noticed." His hands slid under it, cupping my ass again.

  "Did you notice what I'm not wearing?"

  His fingers checked, making sure I didn't just have on a thong. Then he groaned, pushing against me. "Now, that is a tease."

  "Between that sign blocking the hall, and the fact that no one has come this way since we arrived, I'd put our odds of not getting caught at about eighty percent."

  He kissed me so hard it left me gasping. "Tell me you're serious."

  "I am always serious," I said. "Even if someone looks in, it'll seem as if we're just making out, very enthusiastically."

  "Hell, yeah."

  He kissed me again, boosting me up to straddle him, which lowered our odds for discretion, but I wasn't arguing. That's when his phone rang, the tone playing "Big Boss Man." His father. He let out a curse and fumbled to hit Ignore.

  "Sorry. I texted him when I got off the plane. He's just saying hello. Lousy timing."

  I caught his shirtfront and pulled him back into a kiss. He turned off the ringer and stuffed the phone into his pocket, and within seconds we were where we'd been, my back against the wall, skirt hiked up around my hips. I felt his phone vibrate and let out a snorting laugh.

  "Ignore it," he said between kisses. "Please."

  More kissing, hotter and deeper now, the bulging crotch of his jeans pushing against me in just the right spot, exquisite teasing as I could feel exactly what I wanted. He reached down for his belt. I beat him to it, and he chuckled. I flipped open his belt and then the button on his jeans and--

  A shadow extended from behind the cardboard sign. Ricky turned his he
ad to follow my gaze, his eyes narrowed. Then he caught my chin in one hand, pulling my face back to his, kissing me again, and I could feel the determination there, the lust and the need and the resolve not to let anything get in our way. Except . . . well, while I'm not one to let the words "public place" stop me from having sex, I'm no exhibitionist, either, and neither was Ricky, and even as he kissed me, we'd both slowed, our attention pulled down that hallway.

  "I'll get this," he muttered.

  He fastened his belt with an angry snap of the leather and strode around the sign. Then, "What the fucking hell?"

  I smoothed my skirt and hurried after him as CJ said, "I think the hotel is that way."

  "No fucking--"

  "Your dad called," Wallace cut in as I caught up. They were both standing there, bags at their feet, as if patiently waiting for us to finish.

  "I know," Ricky said, his words brittle. "And since when am I not allowed ten fucking minutes to call him back?"

  "We weren't interrupting," CJ said. "We were going to give you time--"

  "He needs us at the clubhouse," Wallace said. "Something came up. Something urgent."

  Ricky's jaw worked until he finally looked Wallace in the eye and said, in a deceptively soft voice, "Is it urgent, Wallace? Is it really?"

  "That's what he said, and that's all he said. He called right after you left, so we came after you and saw you duck into the hallway here."

  "Oh, to be that young again." CJ thumped Ricky on the shoulder. "We can give you two a few minutes. We'll stand guard."

  "No," I murmured. "That's okay. Let's go."

  Spontaneous sex in an airport was one thing. An efficient quickie really wasn't the same.

  Ricky let CJ and Wallace lead the way.

  "I'm sorry," he said when they were out of earshot.

  "It's okay."

  "No, goddamn it, Liv, it's not. My father needed me to suddenly take his place on a trip to Miami, and I went, even though I knew damned well he was only testing to see if I'd complain about leaving you. Then yesterday, when you were sick, I checked to see if I could catch an earlier flight back and he said no. I didn't argue. Now this? There's no emergency. He's snapping my leash. Yes, he's not just my dad, he's my boss, and I've always respected that. I don't ask for special treatment or shirk my responsibilities--"

  "I know that. He knows that."

  "Then why--" He bit the sentence off with a shake of his head. "You don't need to hear me bitching ten minutes after I get back. I'm sorry."