"I suppose you're wondering how I let it happen," she said.

"No, Evans told me Gabriel didn't let on Seanna had disappeared, and when you found out, he ran. He kept going until he was over eighteen. Too old for anyone to put him in foster care. Presumably you wouldn't have gotten custody. That's what Evans said."

"I wouldn't. I have a criminal record." She glanced over, as if gauging my reaction. When I gave none, she continued, "I was also living with a woman at the time. I'd have given her up in a heartbeat for Gabriel, but the fact remains that I would not have been deemed a suitable parent. As for Seanna, I knew she wasn't making an honest living, but for a Walsh, I'd have been more shocked if she was. There'd been drugs in her youth, but she told me she gave that up when Gabriel was born, and she hid the signs from me. I only knew she was not a good mother. She neglected him. Yet even there, I couldn't prove anything. There was no obvious physical abuse or anything like that. She was just a lousy parent, and there are plenty of those."

She fussed with the blinds before continuing. "Gabriel certainly wouldn't give me more ammunition. He was as stubborn as a child as he is now. If I interfered, Seanna would refuse me access to him. So I told myself that being a good aunt was enough, that taking him when I could was enough. After she disappeared, I learned the rest, from the police. The addictions-to drugs, to alcohol, to men. And the disappearances. By the time she left, she'd been taking off for weeks at a time. Even now, Gabriel won't confirm that. He doesn't talk about it. Refuses. Push and I'll stop hearing from him for a while."

"So about this ... confirming her death. I shouldn't push?"

"No, he has to do it, which means he'll need a push. You might be the only person who can get away with it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

I expected my diner shift to be stressful, given that I'd found the body of a former resident the night before. The elders did speak to me about it, expressing their horror and grief in whispers, along with sympathy that I'd had to go through that. The others didn't mention it. I supposed that wasn't so shocking. Chief Burton had said Ciara's body would be transferred to the city for the autopsy. That meant the news wouldn't hit the Chicago papers until tomorrow. Apparently, the elders weren't breaking the news until the city did.

Gabriel presumed the CPD would want more than the statement I gave Burton, but he was their contact, and he was in court all day, so I heard nothing.

When three o'clock came, I was in the back with Susie for our shift change. The idea is to update the evening server for a smooth handoff, but there's usually nothing to say, so Susie tells me about her day. One of her kids had won the school spelling bee-they still have spelling bees?-and I was listening to her story of the victory when the diner doorbell jingled. There wasn't any need to cut her short for that-it's a "seat yourself" kind of place.

When the bell dinged, the diner had been buzzing with the tea-hour crowd. Now it went silent. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor.

"Can we help you?" I heard Ida ask.

"Is Liv around?"

I recognized the voice but stood there for a second, trying to figure out why Ricky was here.

Because I'd invited him.

s.h.i.t. I'd totally forgotten. Normally we texted a few times a day, but he'd had a full schedule. Susie was still talking, and I didn't want to interrupt. The elders would make him feel welcome.

"How do you know Olivia?" It was Walter ... and his tone was not welcoming.

"Don't you read the papers?" Patrick cut in. "There was a nice photo of them in the Post yesterday. Rick Gallagher, isn't it?"

"Yes..." Ricky said warily as I mentally willed Susie to hurry up with her story.

"He's one of Gabriel's clients," Patrick said. "A Satan's Saints biker. See the patch on his jacket? That says he's a certified motorcycle gang member. Excuse the old folks, Rick. We don't get many bikers in Cainsville."

Patrick's tone was breezy, but he had to know he was being offensive.

"Is Olivia here?" Ricky asked again.

"In the back," Patrick said. "Have a seat. So where'd you park your bike?"

Susie was close enough to being done that I was able to blurt a quick "That's so great. Tell her I said congrats," before racing out.

Ricky stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, responding to Patrick's needling with clipped answers. If he was nicer, he'd look like a fool. If he got p.i.s.sy, he'd seem to be overreacting. So he stayed neutral, but I could tell by the set of his jaw it was a struggle.

"Hey," I called as I walked in. "When did you get here?"

Ricky relaxed. "Just arrived," he said as he strolled over. "Ready to go?"

"I am."

As I turned toward the door, I caught Ida's disapproving frown. I stifled the urge to stiffen. Really? This was where they pa.s.sed judgment?

I ignored her and the looks from the others, and let Ricky hold the door for me as we left.

"Not having coffee there, I take it?" he said.

"I am so sorry," I said. "If I had any idea they'd do that-"

"It's fine. I'm used to it. They aren't as much concerned about me as they're concerned for you, and I can't argue with that. Good to live in a place where people give a s.h.i.t. I just hope I didn't cause you any trouble."

"Never," I said emphatically.

He smiled. "Good. So where to?"

We walked and talked. I showed him the park and the gargoyles, because he seemed genuinely interested. Then I told him what had happened to me last night, because it was going to be in the papers. I skipped the part about the triskelion and the vision, of course. And the part about finding Ciara's head in my bed earlier.

One thing we didn't talk about? My breakup. What if I said, "I ended it with James," and he said, "That's nice," and we continued on as we were?

When he suggested we grab dinner, I said I had to get home-work to do for Gabriel. He escorted me to my apartment. Grace was on the front stoop. She did a double take when I walked up with Ricky. Really, it wasn't as if he looked like a biker. Sure, the leather-jacket-in-June could be a giveaway, but he'd slung it over his arm as soon as we'd set out.

Ricky said goodbye at the sidewalk. As I climbed the steps, Grace said, "Who's that?"

"A friend," I said, and walked inside.

As the door closed behind me, I stopped.

A friend ... Did I want more than that? h.e.l.l, yes. Was I really questioning whether Ricky wanted more? No. He'd been clear about that from the start.

The truth, G.o.d help me, was that Rose was right. To a point, that is. She'd said my Ricky-versus-James conflict was l.u.s.t versus duty. That oversimplified it, but there was an element of truth there. I felt a duty to James. Incredible guilt, too. More than that, I felt shame. I had loved him. I had wanted to spend my life with him. How does that evaporate in a month? What does that say about me? Nothing I want to say, that's for sure. So I'd kept trying to find that spark again, certain it was there.

I used to say-though never aloud-that I'd started dating James when I discovered he wasn't nearly as boring as I'd expected. But given where I came from, that bar was set pretty low. Society guys weren't to my taste. Even the rebels were boringly predictable in their rebellion. I don't think I really understood how constrained my world was until I left it. I met Rose and Patrick and Grace, and others who intrigued me because they were so far from my norm. And then there was Gabriel and, yes, Ricky, and compared with them-G.o.d, how I hate to say this-the light that had drawn me to James had faded into a barely noticeable glow. They were complex and fascinating and original and real. So vibrantly real. And there was the guilt, because James was a good man. A good, solid man I'd loved. Who now bored me to tears.

Then there was Ricky. l.u.s.t? My dreams called me a liar if I denied that. I wanted him. Wanted him bad. But not just as a lover. I wanted to be with him. To get to know him. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had made me feel the way Ricky did. Like I was just as fascinating and complex and real as he was.

So why had I said no to dinner? Because I was an idiot. I was feeling skittish and unsettled and spooked by everything that was happening in my life. There was only one person who made me feel like my feet were firmly on the ground. And I'd let him walk away.

I hurried out the door.

Halfway to Main Street, I heard the roar of Ricky's bike and broke into a jog. I reached the corner just as he was zooming past. He saw me and cut a U-turn, revving back to where I waited on the corner.

"I-" I began.

He motioned for me to wait while he pulled off his helmet. My heart tripped, willing him to hurry and get the d.a.m.ned thing off before I lost my nerve.

"Yes to dinner," I said. "And a ride. Yes. I want to."

He gave a slow, s.e.xy grin that made my insides heat. Then he caught himself. "You sure? We can grab your car if you want. If you're fine with the bike, like I said before, there are no strings-"

"I'm okay with strings."

He still hesitated.

"I broke it off with James yesterday," I said. "He wanted me to stop seeing you. I wouldn't do that."

He leaned over and put his hand to the back of my neck, and I knew what was coming, but when he kissed me, I still started in surprise. It was like spending the day baking at the side of a pool then finally jumping in, that initial burst of exhilarating shock, followed by a slow, exquisite chill sliding through my body, making me wonder why the h.e.l.l I'd waited so long to take the plunge.

It was no quick kiss, either. It was long and deep and oh-so-delicious. It took a car pa.s.sing for both of us to realize we were making out on Main Street.

After a moment's pause to catch our breath, Ricky handed me his helmet. "Wear this. It'll be loose, but it's better than nothing."

"What about you?"

"By law, I don't have to wear one. It's a personal choice. I'll stick to back roads. Less traffic means a whole lot less chance I'll need it."

"You wear it, then. I'll be-"

He eased the helmet over my head. "There. Now hop on."

I looked down, realizing I was still in my work uniform-a blouse and skirt. I motioned to it. "Should I go back and change?"

His eyes sparked with mischief. "You can, but I sure as h.e.l.l won't complain if you don't. I'll keep the speed down so you won't get cold."

"Don't," I said. "Speed is good."

"All right, then. Let me get over to the curb so you can climb on without flashing."

I didn't understand what he meant until I had to hike my skirt up to get my leg over the seat. Then I had to keep it hiked up to wrap my legs around him, which explained his look when I'd asked about keeping the skirt on.

He reached back to grip my bare knee. "You need to hang on."

"Right." I felt down either side of the seat. "Where?"

He took both my hands and wrapped them around his waist.

"Oh," I said.

"Yep. Now scoot forward and get a good grip."

Getting that grip meant scooting all the way forward, against him, legs wrapped around him. When I fidgeted, he glanced back.

"Changing your mind?" he asked.

"No, just..." I closed any remaining gap between us and leaned against his back, my hands on his thighs. "This okay?"

He chuckled and looked back. "You need to ask?" he said, then revved the engine and pushed off.

TRESPa.s.s.

Patrick stood outside the diner and watched the motorcycle speed off.

"Are you going to say anything?" Ida demanded as she marched up beside him.

"It's a very nice bike."

She scowled.

"It is," he said. "I've often thought it would be fun to drive a motorcycle, and if I did, that's what I'd want. An understated Harley. Lots of power but not too flashy. I might even join a gang. I don't think his would take me, though."

"There was a Cn Annwn in Cainsville, Patrick."

"Mmm, technically no," he said. "The boy is no more cn than Gabriel is bcan. Less so, even. Disgynyddion not epil. Grandchild, I'd wager. He has the blood. Nothing more."

"He is still Cn Annwn," she said. "He does not belong here. We should have-"

"-killed a boinne-fala boy who obviously has no clue what he is and no idea of the trespa.s.s he's committing?" Patrick turned to her. "Kill him and insult his people? Cast the first spear in a war we don't dare start?"

"The bcan has a point."

It was Veronica, coming out of the diner to join them. She took a place beside Walter, who said nothing in his consort's defense, which suggested, more than any words, that he didn't agree with Ida. He just knew better than to say so.

"The boy doesn't know what he is," Veronica said. "No more than Gabriel or Olivia know what they are. He committed no intentional offense. We could complain, but if the Cn Annwn don't realize that one of their disgynyddion is acquainted with Olivia, I don't think it behooves us to tell them."

"It certainly does not," Walter said.

"Do you honestly think they don't know?" Ida turned on them. "They've hired him to seduce her. He is a criminal, after all."

"A biker, not a gigolo," Patrick said. "That's clever, don't you think? Cn Annwn running a motorcycle gang? It's so hard to ride a horse down the highway these days."