I shook my head. He reached for the passenger-door handle.
"Olivia!"
When I heard that voice, I froze.
"Go on," Ricky murmured, the door open. "Get in and we'll take off."
I wanted to. But if I'd come to pay my respects to James, there was no way I could turn my back on the woman making her way toward me through the crowd.
Even before I started dating her son, Maura Morgan had barely tolerated me at family gatherings. "Poor Lena," I'd heard her whisper when I was twelve. "That girl of hers is . . . well, she's a little odd, don't you think? Too headstrong by far. It's her father's influence. Arthur's a smart businessman, but his manners leave something to be desired."
When James and I got together, you would have thought he'd taken up with the town whore. Give it a few months, she must have thought, and he'd be done with his fling and settle down. When he decided to settle down with the unsuitable girl, Maura decided I wasn't a whore after all. I was a gold digger.
I'd never let her drag me into a fight, but I had always stood up to her. Nothing she could do or say would change how James felt about me, and I'd reminded myself that, after her divorce, her son was all she had left. I was a threat to that relationship. So I felt sorry for her, which was particularly satisfying, knowing how much she'd loathe my pity.
But now, when I saw her, I froze like the proverbial headlight-stricken doe. On the outside I might be holding up, but inside I was a seething mass of panic, anxiety, and confusion over Gabriel's arrest.
My mouth opened, no words coming out until she was right in front of me and I managed to squeak, "Maura."
Her hand flew up and I flinched, bracing for the blow. Instead, I heard a soft gasp and opened my eyes to see Ricky holding her wrist.
"No," he said, locking eyes with her.
"Who are . . . ?" she sputtered, trailing off as her gaze traveled up him, taking in the boots, the worn jeans, the leather jacket, and finally his face. Then she recognized him, and yanked her hand away fast.
"Maura," I said. "I--"
"You brought your--?" She stared at Ricky, struggling to speak. "You brought a--? To my son's--?"
"No," Ricky said, his voice calm. He waved at his clothes. "Obviously, she did not bring me here. She came with Gabriel, to pay her respects. I was on the other side of the cemetery, in case some people"--a slow glower around the crowd--"didn't let the fact it's a funeral stop them from pursuing her. But I would like to offer my condolences--"
"Don't you dare." She enunciated each word like spitting glass.
"I offer them anyway, and I apologize for grabbing your wrist. You're understandably distraught, and I wanted to prevent you from providing a photo op that I don't think your son would have appreciated."
Despite all the times I've stood up to Maura, I've never been able to render her speechless. Ricky did. All around us, cameras snapped, recording the spectacle of the society grande dame having her manners shown up by a biker a third her age.
Ricky was right. This was a photo op that James would not have appreciated. So I didn't relish the moment. I reached over and embraced her--too quick to be thrown off--and I said, "I'm so sorry." I know maybe having that picture in the papers would be worse for her, but it's the one James would have wanted. I let her go; then I turned and climbed into the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
We were leaving the cemetery when I said, "You need to go back for your bike."
"I will."
"I know the club rules. You can't leave it there. I'd prefer you got it now, so you don't need to take off when we reach the police station."
I dropped him off, and he caught up before I reached the station. As we walked in, he went over how the process differed from the assault charge, where bail was set automatically. Gabriel would be kept in a holding cell for up to forty-eight hours, pending the arraignment, where the charges would be read and a plea entered. Bail would be set at that hearing.
"Everything will be okay. I'll handle this." He struggled for a smile. "Yeah, handling homicide charges is not my usual gig. Last time we had a member charged with murder, I was in high school. I'll call my dad and see what we need to do. Gabriel will handle the legal stuff, though. I'm just saying . . ." He paused and met my gaze. "Gabriel didn't do this."
"I know."
"I'm sure you don't
suspect he did, but I absolutely know he did not. Beyond any doubt. I guarantee this will be resolved."
He couldn't guarantee that at all, and part of me wished he wouldn't say that. It felt like patting me on the head during a tornado and telling me everything would be all right. But when I looked at him, I didn't see a hint of condescension. Just resolve plastered over panic.