Rough Justice

by Kelley Armstrong

  A crafty look lit her blue eyes. "So you were in the city?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you weren't with her. Is it over then? You've dumped the little--"

  "I am still with Olivia. Very happily with Olivia. She is away this evening, so I was working late."

  "I don't like--"

  "Yes, you've made that perfectly clear."

  "She's a spoiled bit--"

  "I am well aware of your opinion of Olivia, and you are well aware that if you continue in this manner, I will leave."

  His mother grumbled.

  She saved your life.

  He wished he could tell Seanna that. Wished he could tell her everything.

  Olivia hated you--the old you--for what you did to me. She said she hated you the way she'd never hated anyone in her life. But when Pamela tried to kill you, it was Olivia who stopped her. The only person who cared enough to stop her. I didn't. That is the woman you despise, Seanna. Your guardian angel.

  And that was why he couldn't tell Olivia about these visits.

  She had saved Seanna for him. Because she knew that while in that moment he hadn't cared if his mother died, he also hadn't fully processed the news that she bore the mark of the sluagh. If he had turned his thumb down--voted for death and withdrawn from the room--he would have regretted it.

  When it became possible to remove the mark, Olivia had supported this course of action. Take away the mark, return Seanna's soul and let her live out her days in a fae-drugged state.

  "You don't ever have to visit her, Gabriel."

  "Rose should not be saddled--"

  "She won't be. I'll help out. So will the elders. They owe us."

  "We'll see how it goes."

  In the beginning, it played out as they anticipated. Seanna would wake, and Rose would tend to her. Gabriel and Olivia would visit, like visiting an infirm relative, one not entirely in her right mind. Some days were better than others, but mostly Seanna behaved herself. She took tea with them. Listened to them talk. Seemed to know who they were from visit to visit but occasionally needed Rose's reminder.

  Then the night waking began.

  If Olivia knew about these visits, she would realize why Gabriel sometimes woke not quite himself. Quiet and subdued, as if struggling with something, telling her it was simply a case weighing on his mind. Olivia would insist on witnessing these visits, and she would not sit there, like Rose, anxiously watching for signs that Gabriel was uncomfortable. One glance at his face and she'd know exactly how he felt.

  "Do you remember when we used to go to the park?" Seanna said. "You loved going to the park."

  He looked over, startled from his thoughts. Then he replayed her words and tried not to blanch.

  Yes, I remember going to the park. I remember that you would drop me off and leave me for hours. More than once, you left me there all night. I believe that started when I was...four? Yes. Four or five, I believe.

  "What did we do at the park, Gabriel?" Seanna asked. "I can't quite remember... There were swings, weren't there?"

  "Seanna, maybe we should--" Rose began.

  "Yes," Gabriel said, unhinging his jaw. "I went on the swings."

  He did. He didn't actually swing on them, though. He never understood the attraction--Seanna didn't waste money on toys or waste time encouraging play. He did read, though, quite a lot, and that's what he'd do on those swings.

  Gabriel could feel Rose's gaze on him. She knew Seanna wouldn't have played with him in the park, but she might accept the possibility that his mother had watched him play while she conducted business.

  Olivia was the only person who knew the truth.

  Seanna continued to prattle about parks, and deep in a corner of Gabriel's psyche, he could not help but wonder whether she was taunting him.

  They had hypothesized that when Seanna regained her conscience, she would also regain her memories but that those memories would be weak, ephemeral. That did indeed seem to be the case. Seanna knew Gabriel was her son and that they'd been separated when he was a young man. She recalled wisps of their lives together, but if she remembered any of what she'd done to him, she seemed to dismiss it as nightmare. Her damaged mind playing tricks on her. Rose had told Seanna that she'd been in an accident. A terrible one that robbed her of her memories.

  And so, to protect what remained of her sanity, it appeared that Seanna willfully chose what she would and would not remember. What she would and would not believe about her past. Instead of remembering that she'd abandoned Gabriel at fifteen, she seemed to think that Gabriel went off to college, and she'd taken a job in another state, and they'd drifted apart.

  But now they'd been reunited. Mother and son. And she could not be happier.

  "Did you bring me anything?" she asked.

  He opened his mouth to say no. To make it very clear that she should not expect more than his presence. And perhaps to subtly hint that she did not deserve more. He had no desire to force Seanna to remember how she'd treated him--he saw no point in it--but he also saw no harm in distancing himself, in suggesting that their past relationship had been...strained.

  Strained. There was nothing wrong with that. His relationship with Patrick was occasionally strained and always complicated, yet just because Gabriel would never truly consider Patrick his father did not mean they didn't have a relationship, even a decent one...at least for the time being.

  Yes, a past strained relationship seemed the perfect way to resolve this problem. You were not the best mother in the world, Seanna, but I'm here now, and I will support you. I am willing to come and to talk to you, and I believe that should be sufficient.

  Yet the moment he opened his mouth to say no, he had not brought her anything, Rose said, "Gabriel brought you a candy bar," and produced a Snickers from her purse. "Your favorite kind."

  He had not, of course, brought it. Rose kept a stash of Snickers at home and always carried one in her purse, for just this occasion. He also suspected she sometimes gave Seanna one when Gabriel was not there, saying he'd left it for her.

  "You don't need to do that," he said after the first time.

  "It's a small thing, and it makes her happy."

  He'd tried to pay for the bars. Of course, she wouldn't take the money. What he really wanted, though, was to tell her to stop.

  Stop trying to make this all right, Rose.

  I know you feel guilty. Guilty for what happened to Seanna, guilty for what happened to me. But you aren't. You didn't see what she became. I hid the worst of it from you.

  He'd hidden the worst, and now he paid that price because Rose had no idea how deep the scars ran.

  His phone rang. A bouncy little tune that made him smile every time he heard it. Smile inwardly, at least. Outwardly, it only made him grab his phone fast enough that Seanna noticed, and her eyes slit, jealousy oozing.

  "Don't answer that," she said.

  "Gabriel will answer it," Rose said firmly. "Don't speak to him like that."

  "It's her. I know it is."

  "It's not," he lied. "It's a client, and it must be urgent if he's calling at this hour. I'll take it in the hall."

  He got up and strode out before she could respond.

  Eight

  Olivia

  Ricky held the door as I walked into the bar. Gabriel wanted to pick me up rather than having Ricky drive me to Cainsville. I wasn't sure how much more convenient that was for anyone, but Gabriel had insisted. So we needed to kill time, and booze seemed like a very fine way to kill it.

  We found a local bar on a local highway. Which meant it was full of locals, and I swore every guy under forty sat up straighter when Ricky walked though wearing his leather jacket with its distinctive Satan's Saints emblem. In the city, most people figured the jacket was just a fashion statement. At a bar like this, they knew better.

  It wasn't just the guys who noticed him, either. Ricky was twenty-two, gorgeous and wearing a biker jacket. Add in the fact that he was funny, sweet and had an MBA, and
he was the most ridiculously over-the-top romance hero come to life. Although, I suppose, in the book version, he wouldn't actually be a biker. He'd be an undercover cop posing as one. Either that or he wouldn't be such a nice guy. Depended on your taste in romance heroes.

  I took the chair facing the wall, knowing Ricky needed his back to it, in case one of the guys in here thought he could impress his date by getting the jump on a biker. No one had made a move when we walked in, though. They just looked. Assessed. Took in the fact that he was with a woman. Ricky wasn't looking for trouble, so no one seemed inclined to change that.

  A few people did whisper to their companions as we passed. It had been a year since my picture was first in the newspaper, the socialite heir to the landmark Mills & Jones department store, who turned out to be adopted, her birth parents Chicago's most notorious serial killers. I hadn't exactly lain low since then. I'd meant to. But then I met Gabriel, and our adventures found me in the paper far more often than I liked.

  After we'd ordered, I checked my phone. "Gabriel will be here in about twenty minutes. Again, sorry about this."

  "He can tell that whatever happened freaked you out, so he wants to come get you. You're upset."

  I made a face. "I wish I'd known I could ruin a Hunt."

  "Ioan should have told you. I understand that he thought a demonstration would be more effective, and he doesn't seem concerned about Johnson escaping, but he should have warned you. He knew you had doubts."

  The server dropped off Ricky's beer and my Scotch.

  He took a long drink and then said, "But Gabriel isn't the only one fretting lately. What's going on with you guys?"

  "It's nothing," I said.

  Ricky leaned over the table. "I'm not looking for signs of trouble, Liv."

  "I wasn't--"

  "And I'm just reassuring you. If something did happen, I'd be the first trying to get you two back together. You guys work. That's the way it is. The way it was always supposed to be. If I'm trying to get you to talk about a problem, it's because I'm hoping to help resolve it before it gets bigger."

  He leaned back. "I know, that's silly of me. It's not like you guys ever tie yourselves up in knots worrying about things you shouldn't have done, things you should have said..."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "Which is ninety percent Gabriel's fault. Watching him navigate personal relationships of any kind is painful." He paused. "Kind of amusing, too. But mostly painful."

  "He's sneaking out at night."

  Ricky's brows shot up.

  "It's not that," I said.

  "You mean he isn't sleepwalking? Because that was the first thing I thought. As for any other kind of 'sneaking around,' this is Gabriel we're talking about. One of the best things about being with you is that he doesn't have to go through all the trouble of figuring out how to get sex with zero personal involvement."

  "Glad I'm good for something."

  "You are, and he appreciates it."

  I rolled my eyes and then sipped my Scotch. "I know he's not cheating on me. But I don't know what he is doing. He's getting up and apparently going out for a walk. It just started in the last couple of months, which means it isn't chronic insomnia. Even during the day, I walk into the room sometimes, and I can tell he's a million miles away--and wherever he is, he's not happy. He snaps back to himself as soon as I say anything. And then nothing's bothering him. Nope, nothing at all. Just lost in thought."

  "Is it a case?"

  "He says that if I ask, but cases don't bother Gabriel. If he's losing, that just means he needs to do better. Even if he loses, well, a perfect track record is an impossible goal, and therefore a loss is merely a warning to avoid complacency." I ran my finger down the glass. "I think it's Seanna. Visiting her."

  "Does she say anything to him?"

  "Not really. It's like visiting a very quiet five-year-old. Seanna sits there. I talk. Rose talks. Gabriel sips his tea. Afterward, he seems fine. He really does. But then there are these night walks, and I don't see any clear correspondence between the timing of those and our visits to Seanna, so I just..." I shrugged. "I don't know."

  "You could follow him. You are a detective."

  I shook my head. "If he needs time to himself, I don't want to be the nagging girlfriend, who bugs him to tell me what's wrong and then follows him to see where he goes."

  "You're never that girlfriend, Liv. Have you tried waking up when he's leaving? Asking him what he's doing?"

  "I did once. He just said he was going downstairs to work. And then he went downstairs and worked."

  "So--" Ricky stopped and raised a hand, and I turned to see Gabriel.

  He'd hesitated inside the doorway, as if fearing he might be in the wrong place. He looked like he was--not many people here in suits--but seeing that hesitation made my heart thud. Gabriel could stride into a biker bar or a frat kegger or a society cocktail party without batting an eye.

  He caught my wave, and he made his way over just as the server brought our nachos.

  "Look at you," I said as he took the seat beside me. "Two bars in one night. That must be a record."

  "Seven," he said, shrugging off his jacket. "I believe my record is seven bars in one night."

  Ricky arched his brows. "And how many drinks?"

  "None, of course. One cannot pick pockets with unsteady fingers. The advantage to a bar is that one cannot protect one's wallet nearly as well with an unsteady mind."

  He set mine on the table.

  "How did you--?" I stopped and shook my head. "I don't want to know."

  "Actually, you do. The problem is that you left your purse open when you last checked your phone. I'd suggest you return that and zip it."

  "Speaking of picking pockets, did you get anything from Ms. Assistant State's Attorney."

  "I did. It was quite a successful meeting."

  "Not so successful for her, I'm guessing?" I said.

  "In any way," Ricky said with a chuckle.

  Gabriel shook his head. "I'm quite certain she wasn't expecting that. She simply hoped that I'd be eager enough for that to check my caution at the door. She gave me what I did want, though. More on that later. Tell me about the Hunt."

  I did. As I spoke, his expression didn't change. Gabriel's expression rarely changes. It's all in those ice-blue eyes, which cooled with every sentence I spoke.

  "That is unacceptable," Gabriel said when I finished.

  "Exactly what I told her," Ricky said. "I'm going to have a talk with Ioan. He did this because he knows Liv won't accept anything on faith. She needs to see it, experience it."

  "Hey, I can believe what someone tells me," I said.

  They both turned to look at me.

  "What? I can."

  "Give an example," Ricky said.

  "Last week, you had to cancel dinner because your dad needed you. Did I question that?"

  "Not the same thing...at all. My point is that Ioan was trying to accommodate you. I get that. But the very fact that you question everything means you were never going to take him at his word when he said that guy deserved his fate."

  "I trust Ioan. He's earned it."

  "I don't mean you think he's lying--I mean you aren't completely convinced that the Cwn Annwn method of determining justice is foolproof. He should have insisted that you check out the case beforehand."

  "Agreed," Gabriel said. "Now, not only has he upset you, but you're going to need to do more than just 'check out' the case. You'll want to conduct a full investigation. On your own time, with no expectation of compensation. That is unfair."

  "Lack of compensation isn't exactly my main concern."

  His grumble said it should be. Then he asked, "What do you know about the case?"

  "A guy named Keith Johnson broke into a house and killed the homeowner. That's all I have. Oh, and a license number for Johnson."

  When Ricky looked over in surprise, I said, "I made a note of it."

  "Proving that you planned to investigate,"
Gabriel said. "I will refrain from pointing out that I suggested you do this beforehand."

  "Refrain," I murmured. "I do not think that word means what you think it does."

  "As much as I dislike the way Ioan has handled this, I suppose it is better than having you investigate after Johnson is dead, which you were clearly planning to do."

  "Look it up. Not investigate."

  "You memorized his license plate, Olivia."

  "Oh, I also have the victim's name. Not to change the subject."

  "Totally changing the subject," Ricky said.

  "Victim was Alan Nansen." I took a notepad from my purse and jotted it down.

  "Home invasion, you said?" Gabriel frowned.

  "Right."

  Ricky stopped, his hand over the nachos. "You know the case?"

  "I was asked to represent the defendant."

  "Keith Johnson?" I said.

  "No, Nansen's wife."

  "That's some luck," Ricky said. "Well, for Liv, not the poor guy's wife. Though, all things considered, it's good for her, too. I'd snatch up that case if I were you. Might be the first time you represent someone who's innocent."

  "All of my clients are innocent." Gabriel paused. "Except the bikers."

  Ricky grinned. "Touche. Okay, some of your clients are innocent. But this is a case where you know it from the start." He looked at me. "Yeah, you have doubts. But I don't. When I looked at that guy, I just..." He shrugged and took a nacho chip.

  "You can tell?"

  Ricky shrugged again, conveniently munching on the snack so he wouldn't need to answer. In other words, he had felt that Johnson was guilty. The gut-level awareness that the Huntsmen had. He just wasn't going to press the point and make me feel worse than I already did about spoiling the Hunt.

  Not just spoiling the Hunt.

  Letting a killer walk free. Which I'd done before--deciding guilt and innocence was not my job. So why did it bother me to let Keith Johnson walk free?

  Because stopping him was my job.

  My job as Matilda.

  "Olivia?" Gabriel said.

  I reached for a nacho. "Ricky's right. You should take the case. The Cwn Annwn believe Johnson murdered this guy, so the odds are in our favor. Strongly. Plus, it means I wouldn't be working for free."

  "I turned it down last week."

  "The fact that you never even came to me for a preliminary assessment means you rejected it out of hand."

  "Yes."