"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."