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While I pulled on my clothes, he propped himself up to watch. I had my own view to enjoy. As fine as Ricky Gallagher looks in clothes, he's even better without them. He had his jeans still on, pulled up now but unbuttoned, his shirt off as he reclined on his elbows, his sweaty chest glistening in the sunlight.
He smiled. "You keep staring at me like that and I'll put you on the bike and spirit you off to the cabin early."
"Spirit away," I said, bringing back two cups of coffee. "I have the day off."
He buttoned his jeans. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. A gift from Gabriel, though I suspect he wants me out of his hair so he can get some actual work done. If you have things to do, you can drop me at the office and Lydia will play bodyguard until--"
"My day's plan was killing time until you're free."
"So you want to head up early?"
"Hell, yeah."
"Anytime you're ready, then."
"Not so fast." He caught my arm as I began to get up. "I want to hear about last night first."
He sat, and I leaned against his shoulder.
"When I first went to visit Pamela, I prepared myself to see a killer. Someone who'd done terrible things . . . and who'd given birth to me and raised me and was a part of my life while she did those terrible things. I knew that would be difficult to reconcile, but I think my greater fear was that I'd walk into that room and be unable to see a killer. That I'd remember my mother and I'd think, 'No, she didn't do it.'"
"And?"
"I tried to hold her crimes in my head, like a barrier. It took effort to keep that wall up, but I managed it, and I came to accept that she could have been a good mother and a murderer. When I found out she wasn't responsible for the deaths of Jan and Peter, it was . . ." I trailed off, trying to find the right words. "It was a relief," I said after a moment. "A sign that maybe she could be innocent. But I also knew that I had to steel myself against the possibility that if Gabriel and I keep digging, I'll find out she killed six people." I looked at him. "I can't do that with Todd."
"Can't do what?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Keep the wall up. I can't . . . Damn it." Tears pricked my eyes. "I can't find that wall, Ricky. I couldn't even look at him right away. When he walked in, I was ready to flee, and then I heard his voice and there was no doubt. Everything in me said, 'This is my father. And my father is not a killer.'"
"You don't want to think that way."
"No, I don't. It makes me feel like a gullible fool. But when I walked out of that visiting room yesterday, all I could think was that we've got to move faster on this case, forget everything else and focus on proving them innocent."
"What did Gabriel say about that?"
"I never told him. The rest of the evening was . . . not exactly conducive to conversation."
"The bar."
I looked over.
"I texted him," he said. "I know you said you were fine, but I wanted to be sure. I asked him to give me a call and when he did, I could hear the music. Not a chance of talking in that place."
"You spoke to him?"
"Sure. He insisted you were fine, which I suspected you weren't, but . . . he thought you were doing okay, and I didn't feel right running over if you'd rather I didn't."
Gabriel had told Ricky he shouldn't come? After I had made it clear--very clear--that I wanted to see him?
"Liv?"
I pushed down the rising anger. "Sorry, just . . . Goddamn it, Gabriel!"
Ricky chuckled. "I'm guessing he missed a few cues that you weren't fine."
"Just a few."
