Betrayals Read online

  It was not surprising that Olivia had needed to get away after that. But it hadn't felt as if she was fleeing Pamela as much as fleeing him. Getting him out of her sight after he'd abandoned her when she needed him most.

  It was a mistake.

  Except it hadn't been. Not really. The mistake had been that he hadn't listened to her messages and known she was in trouble. But the reason he hadn't been listening? That was no mistake.

  Tristan had just told Gabriel that he was Gwynn, and he'd refused to believe it. Matilda's jealous lover? The man who'd betrayed both her and Arawn? Dishonored their friendships? The man who'd brought about Matilda's death through his own selfishness and blindness and arrogance? Gabriel was not that man.

  He'd rejected the idea. And then he'd rejected Olivia. He'd laughed at her suggestion that they were friends. Left her standing by the roadside in one of Chicago's worst neighborhoods. Told her not to come into work the next day.

  Later, when Ricky had come by the office, trying to set things right, Gabriel had sent him away.

  A few nights before that, Olivia had woken from a nightmare vision of being alone and trapped and needing Gabriel and he would not come, and he had said he'd never do that. He would be there for her. Always. And when she called, alone and trapped and needing him, where had he been? In his bed, ignoring her calls, wallowing in a pit of jealousy and selfishness and arrogance.

  No, he was not Gwynn at all.

  His hand tightened on the glass. He looked down, swirled it, considered. Squeezed his eyes shut and saw Olivia that morning before she left. Showing Lydia her new tattoo. A moon for Ricky. A moon for Arawn.

  Gabriel had followed her out the door and thought, I won't let her leave. I'll say something. Then his gaze had dropped to her ankle, where her boots covered the tattoo.

  She's made her choice. Branded it on her skin. And it's the right choice. The one that makes her happy.

  The trip had lasted exactly as long as it was supposed to, and when it ended, she'd come back to work with him, as it had been.

  Only not as it had been.

  He'd started losing her when he'd laughed at the notion they were friends. When he left her on that roadside. Then he'd sealed the loss when she'd called and called and, yes, he did come--came running as soon as he heard her messages--but it'd been too little, too late.

  He'd spent the intervening months telling himself it was better this way. What was the alternative? That he keep jealously consuming her time and attention with no intention of taking more, of giving more?

  In that moment, at the office, as she'd been leaving and he'd wanted to speak, it wasn't just the tattoo that stopped him. He'd wanted to say, "Stay," and nothing more, because he didn't know what more to say.

  I don't want you to go. I want...I want to try...

  I want to go back to the beach. Before Tristan came. I want that moment again, and I want more than that. I want you to tell Ricky goodbye. Be free of him so I can try to make this more. But I can't guarantee anything. I can't guarantee it'll work or that I'm capable of more, capable of being anything you need, capable of knowing what you need, of making you happy. I probably can't.

  I'll try and I'll make a mess of it, and you'll leave for good, finally say "Enough" and walk out.

  Gabriel had never had a relationship with a woman that lasted beyond a night. No person had ever gotten as close to him as Olivia already was, and he'd screwed that up time after time, which proved he really wasn't cut out for more, was deluding himself if he thought otherwise.

  But the bigger delusion? The past four months of telling himself this distance was for the best.

  He was right to leave her with Ricky. To not interfere. That wasn't easy--Gabriel was accustomed to getting what he wanted, and having admitted that he wanted Olivia, doing nothing about it went against everything in his nature. But if he cared about her, then he could do that. He had to.

  If he was being honest, it was not so much selflessness as an exercise in delayed gratification, a concept he was more familiar with: working toward a goal with systematic forethought. He was not saying he'd leave her with Ricky forever. He was stepping back to reassess and determine exactly how to win her.

  To that end, he'd accepted the fact that he was not happy about this schism between them. No, let's be honest. To say he was "not happy" understated the matter entirely. He'd had something and he'd lost it and he wanted it back, even if "it" was only more of that evening on the beach, the feeling that he could stay in that moment forever, like a peasant caught in a fae dance, not caring if the rest of the world continued on without him. For now, that would be enough. To get back what they had.

  He'd known it would take effort. He had lost Olivia before, so he knew how to proceed, with care and caution. Yet this time, none of that was working.

  He brought her mochas, made exactly the way she liked them, and they'd sit barely touched on her desk. He'd offered to take her to the lessons required for her concealed carry permit, but she'd gone with Ricky instead. He'd convinced her to start driving her father's Maserati and then hinted at taking rides along the coast, teased that he could get her out of speeding tickets, but she'd only laughed. He would take her to lunch at her favorite restaurants and they'd talk nothing but business. He'd make dinner reservations at "their" steakhouse, but she was always too busy, seemed annoyed by his presumption.

  Olivia didn't appear to be actively blocking him. Simply oblivious.

  No, simply uninterested.

  He'd been about to make his most desperate play: suggest they visit the Carew house. It was her great-great-grandmother's home, and the site of most of Olivia's visions, and while that made him nervous, the house fascinated her as few things did. He would find some excuse and they'd go back and maybe there they'd recapture something they'd lost.

  Then came the call tonight, and with it he'd seen another way. A mystery to be solved, Ricky was in danger, Olivia would rely on Gabriel to help her save him. They'd spend the night investigating this threat and, for the first time in months, they'd work together as partners. Instead, she'd stayed in Ricky's apartment and sent Gabriel a text saying they could talk tomorrow. He read that text and he knew what it really said. That this break could not be repaired. He'd lost her trust, and he would not get it back this time.

  He swirled the Scotch again. Gabriel did not drink. A conscious decision, made with full forethought and understanding. The understanding being that he came from a family prone to addiction, apparently a by-product of human blood mingled with fae. He'd grown up with a mother who'd lost herself to those demons.

  No, lost implied there'd been a fight. He'd seen a woman who gave herself over with glee to the bottle and the needle, her young son a distraction to be suffered as little as possible.

  So he did not drink. Never recalled even feeling the urge until the night after Olivia left, and he'd realized it wasn't strength that kept him from imbibing: it was the simple fact he'd never felt any need to. He hadn't had pain to dull.

  He went to bed shortly after that. Or, that is, he went to the couch, setting aside the untouched drink and stretching out to rest before he got to work, certain there would be no sleep that night. The next thing he knew, he was waking to his phone, and the moment he heard Liv's jaunty little ring tone, his heart rammed into his throat as he thought, I've done it again. She called, and I didn't answer--

  The phone stopped. He looked down and realized it hadn't been ringing at all. It was just a text message.

  Call me.

  She'd changed her mind. She hadn't been able to sleep and--His fingers paused on the keys as he looked to see dawn seeping through the darkness. Not night, then. But it was early. Very early.

  He hit her number. She answered on the second ring.

  "That was fast," she said. "Did you even go to bed?"

  "I heard the text."

  "Ah, sorry. I was trying not to disturb you. I...uh, I've been doing some research. Not really turning up anything,
but I thought...maybe we could talk? We didn't get a chance last night and--"

  "Yes."

  "Perfect. I know it's Saturday. Do you plan to go by the office? It's not urgent, so I'm not rushing you."

  "Come to the apartment. I'll make breakfast."

  When she hesitated, he pushed on. "You're going to want to speak to Rose about the fae in your vision, particularly with the connection to Ricky's situation. There's no sense going to the office only to leave again. We can talk here and then drive to Cainsville."

  Still she didn't answer, and as the seconds ticked past, he waited for her to come up with an excuse.

  "That makes sense," she said finally. "Ricky can drive me over. What time?"

  "As soon as you can get here." He felt the compulsion to make an excuse for that, to say that he had a busy day and therefore had to get this interruption over with. A few months ago, that's exactly what he would have done so she didn't think he was eager to see her. Now he held his tongue and let the words hang there.

  "Give me thirty," she said, and signed off.

  There. Thirty minutes. He only had to wait thirty more minutes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  By nine, Gabriel and I were pulling into town. My town. Cainsville. Founded by Tylwyth Teg, Welsh fae.

  There are no tiny winged creatures flitting about Cainsville. The fae look human, and while that's a glamour, I've seen some of their true forms. Most look like the supermodel version of humans--taller, thinner, with flawless symmetry of feature and form. There's also a glow, like a backlight, and I can be a smart-ass and call it pixie dust, but otherwise there's no resemblance to Tinker Bell.

  The Tylwyth Teg founded Cainsville centuries ago, as they escaped persecution and the dwindling wilderness in the old country. Here they built a town, surrounded by that wilderness, where they could coexist with humans. Part of coexisting means spreading their DNA through the local human population, allowing them the extra control of fae compulsion.

  Gabriel parked in front of Rose's tiny Victorian. There was another car in the drive. A client's, presumably. Rose is a psychic, though she uses her Walsh con artist skills as much as her actual second sight.

  I looked at the client's car. "Guess we should have called first."

  Gabriel checked his watch. Rose's sessions always started on the hour, meaning she'd be tied up until ten.

  "My place?" I said, and he nodded.

  My landlord, Grace, was sitting on the front stoop of my three-story walk-up, right across from Rose's house. Grace is a bogart, which is a type of fae connected to specific locations, especially homes. Or that's the theory. I think she must be at least part troll. She perches her wizened ass on that stoop and glowers at the world, daring them to cross her threshold without paying the toll. That morning, though, she was engaged in a stare-down with a small black cat sitting on the railing post.

  "Keep it up, TC," I said to the cat as I climbed the stairs. "You've almost got her beat."

  Grace turned her glower on me. "I never should have let you install that cat door."

  "But you did. And you can't change your mind now, because I have an official copy of my rental agreement stipulating that the door is permitted."

  "Only because someone"--that look swung to Gabriel--"blackmailed me into it."

  "Blackmail is a strong word," Gabriel said. "Also slanderous."

  She rolled her eyes, but there was no real resentment in it. Gabriel was the Tylwyth Teg's golden boy. While they'd prefer he didn't turn his more ruthless talents against them, they understood and valued those talents.

  "I'm guessing that's a client?" I said, waving at the car in Rose's drive.

  "Could be a new girlfriend, but she didn't look like Rose's type." Grace glanced at Gabriel. "Trouble with the boy?"

  That's what they called Ricky. The boy. The Cainsville elders rankled at the thought of a Cwn Annwn descendant riding in and out of their town whenever he pleased. With Grace, though, there was no condescension. She liked Ricky, at least as much as she liked anyone.

  "We're fine," I said. "He'll probably be around later."

  "Tell him to bring me one of those lemon scones from the city."

  "He always does."

  She gave a satisfied smirk and leaned back in her chair. Gabriel and I went inside, with TC trailing along after me. Yes, I have a cat. I refused to acknowledge it for a long time, even calling him TC as a short form for "the cat." But he's mine, as much as Cainsville is. As might be expected in Cainsville, he's not exactly an ordinary feline. As for what he is, I have no idea. Part of my bargain with the Tylwyth Teg is that they won't share any of Cainsville's secrets until they're allowed to court me to their side. They're hoping curiosity will break me. It won't. TC may not be the cuddliest cat in the world, but he watches out for me and he's not evil. Or no more evil than the average feline. That's all I need to know.

  Gabriel headed for my kitchen and started the coffee machine as the cat wound around his feet.

  "Can you feed him?" I asked. "I'm going to walk over to the diner, see if I can get one of the elders to talk about what I saw last night."

  "Do you think that's a good idea?"

  "I'm allowed to ask general fae questions. Just nothing Cainsville specific."

  "And you wish to do that alone."

  "Just so you can speak to Rose if I'm not back by ten. We'll divide the work and get you back to Chicago by lunchtime. I'm sure you have better things to do with your Saturday."

  He turned, his gaze cool. "If you would prefer to investigate alone, Olivia, I'd appreciate it if you'd say so. I'm hardly going to the gym to swim laps while one of my primary clients is under threat of arrest." He turned off the coffeemaker. "I would prefer to accompany you, but I won't insist. And yes, I'll feed your cat."

  "You don't have to," I said. "He'll just be less of a pain in the ass if you do."

  Gabriel didn't return my smile. He just headed to the cupboard and took out a can of cat food. As I opened the front door, TC raced out and nearly tripped me. Then he sat in my path and fixed me with a baleful stare.

  "The food is that way," I said, pointing.

  More staring. When I tried to walk around him, he darted into my path again and planted himself there.

  I sighed. "You want me to take Gabriel."

  TC lifted a paw, cleaning it, as if to say, Whatever do you mean? I'm just a cat.

  "Nice try," I said. "But I'm not snubbing him. I'm just..."

  I looked at the apartment door. Then I went back in, with TC trotting at my heels.

  "Okay, I lied," I said as I walked into the kitchen, where Gabriel was throwing out the cat food tin. I took it from the trash and rinsed it. "I want to talk to Patrick." I tossed the can into the recycling bin. "I want to look at his books. See if I can find the answer there."

  "The books that gave you visions the last time?"

  "Yes, and I didn't want you trying to stop me. Also, the last time we did this, you decked Patrick, which I suspect is a very bad idea."

  "So is asking to use his library, which puts you in his debt. As for the visions, while it's true that I don't like you encouraging them, I would hope that if you plan to do so, you would take along someone who might actually help you if you collapse unconscious on the floor again. Because Patrick will not."

  True. While Patrick wouldn't let me die of fever on his floor, if I fell and banged my head, he'd calmly observe the results and then wander off when that proved dull.

  "I think it's worth the risk." I paused and added, "And I'd like you to come."

  He set the cat's dish down and followed me out the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We found Patrick in the diner. He's almost always there, writing at a table, playing his role as Cainsville's resident novelist. He's been published in several genres, under multiple pen names. Currently, he's Patricia Rees, writing paranormal romance. I don't comment on that. I wouldn't know where to begin.

  The other Cainsville elders usual
ly affect the guise of, well, the elderly. There's a distinct advantage to that. One could grow up in Cainsville and never realize the elders weren't aging, which is exactly what Gabriel had done. They'd been old when he was a child; they were still old. He had never stopped to consider exactly how old they might be. I remember a teacher I hated in second grade. In my memory, she was ancient, and then I met her a few years ago and discovered she was only now nearing retirement.

  Presumably, the Cainsville elders will occasionally abandon their guise to live as younger residents. I suspect it's tough to seduce the local ladies when you look like you'd need a whole bottle of Viagra. But most times, they're seniors. The exception is Patrick, who appears somewhere between my age and Gabriel's. As for why no one notices that he doesn't age, chalk that up partly to fae compulsion and partly to the human brain's need to find explanations. Before we knew about the Tylwyth Teg, Gabriel had told me he remembered a man who'd taken an interest in him as a boy. In his memory, it was Patrick, but as an adult, Gabriel had realized that was impossible and decided the man must have been a relative of Patrick's instead.

  Patrick is a hobgoblin. I remember the first time Rose said the word, and I made the mistake of equating it with "goblin." She'd been quick to correct me. She said I should think of Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Which is exactly who Patrick reminds me of. An arrogant, self-serving trickster who isn't nearly as clever or as interesting or as charming as he thinks he is. Of course, I may be biased, having discovered a few months ago that Patrick is the father who abandoned Gabriel to his hellish life with Seanna.

  We got three steps into the diner before the place went silent, every aging pair of eyes turning our way.

  The first to react was Ida Clark, de facto leader of the Cainsville Tylwyth Teg. She rose to greet us, along with her consort, Walter.

  "Olivia," she said. "And Gabriel. We haven't seen either of you in a while."

  "And we haven't seen you together in even longer," said Veronica, beaming at us from her table.

  "We're together plenty," I said. "I work for him, remember? Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a case--"

  Walter perked up. "You're working on a case together?"

  "We are," I said. "Ricky's in trouble, and Gabriel's helping me fix it."