Which meant that Johnson was the thief. A fifty-something, heavyset thief who drove a late-model Audi and dressed like a stockbroker.
Even as I thought that, I imagined Gabriel's snort. Gabriel, who knew how to pick a lock and wasn't afraid to commit a little B&E in search of answers. Gabriel, who drove a late-model Jaguar and wore custom-made suits.
The car and the suit meant nothing. Maybe Johnson was screwing the guy's wife. Maybe he was committing corporate espionage. Hell, maybe he earned that car and suit through his career as a thief.
So why was I hesitating? Did I look at this man and imagine Gabriel in his place, ripped apart by hounds because he'd broken into a house for information?
Except that wasn't this man's crime. Unlike me, Gabriel carried neither gun nor knife. He accepted the risk for committing a crime, and killing a homeowner to avoid arrest would never occur to him. While Gabriel didn't particularly care about the death of anyone outside his very narrow sphere, his own moral code stated that an innocent person should never die at the hands of someone committing a crime.
Keith Johnson had killed a homeowner while committing a crime. The deceased had fae blood. Therefore, Johnson earned this death, whether he knew it or not. Much like he would have "earned" a bullet from the homeowner if the man had been armed.
It was justified...if that's how it happened.
"Run," Ioan said, his voice startling me from my thoughts.
"What?" Johnson said.
"You heard me. Run."
"I haven't done anything--"
A growl from Brenin cut Johnson short. The big hound feinted...and Johnson ran. The cwns gave chase, and Ricky followed. Rhyddhad danced beneath me, eager to be off but sensing my hesitation.
Ioan rode up alongside me. "You can skip this part, Liv."
The other Huntsmen thundered past in breathtaking blurs of fire and shadow.
"Your part is done," Ioan said.
"Pretty sure I haven't actually done anything yet."
His lips twitched. "Perhaps it wasn't quite as active a role as you're accustomed to, but it was enough. You rode with us. You heard the pronouncement. While normally Matilda leads..."
"I let Ricky. Just this once."
I smiled when I said it, but he studied me, knowing there was more to it. A reticence that did not become Matilda.
I straightened in my saddle and looked toward the baying of the hounds. "I'll lead next time. For now, I'd like to finish."
"You don't need to."
I glanced at him. "Is that a subtle way of telling me not to?"
Now he did smile. "No, just pointing out your options." He peered at me again and then nodded. "You're right. You should finish. Onward then. Let's see if you can catch up."
Five
Gabriel
Gabriel reached Cainsville just after eleven. He parked in front of Rose's house but then strode across the street to a three-story walkup instead, the only apartment building in the small town. Olivia used to live there. In fact, he'd first met her on the path beside it, last year when--
Last year.
It was almost exactly a year, wasn't it? He flipped through a mental calendar. Yes, it would be a year next week. He should get her something for the anniversary. Maybe a scone from the diner. Put it on her breakfast plate, and she'd arch her brows, and he'd say, "I owe you that."
It might take her a few minutes to figure out, but when she did, she'd laugh. They met in that passage when he'd waylaid her, trying to persuade her to sue for a portion of Pamela's book earnings. Olivia had shot him down. Then he'd pickpocketed the scone from her--a scone for her landlord, Grace--and presented to Grace as a gift.
So he owed Olivia a scone.