Visions (Cainsville #2)(77)

“Ricky . . .” I shifted to kneel beside him. “You were having a bad dream.”

He shook his head, sweat-soaked hair lashing as I gripped his shoulder. “No. I remembered. It’s important. It’s so important.”

I leaned in. “You’re still half asleep. It’s okay. It was just—”

“No! You need to know.”

He pushed me away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it caught me off guard and I fell back.

“Fuck!” His eyes rounded as he grabbed my arms, steadying me. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine.” I reached out, ran my hand through his wet hair, and leaned over to brush my lips across his cheek. “You’re having a bad dream.”

He nodded and took deep, shuddering breaths. His arms went around me, pulling me against him, and I fell into them. He held me tight, still shaking, as I rubbed his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.” I nuzzled his neck, kissing him. “It was a nightmare.”

His head shook against my shoulder. “Not a nightmare. Well, yes, kind of. But more like a dream. I knew what the writing on the tusk meant, and I had to tell you. It was so important to tell you, and . . .” He took deep breaths. “And it was just a dream.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck.” He pulled back, looking abashed. “It seemed so real. I had to tell you, but part of me didn’t want to, like I’d lose you if I told you, but you needed to know, and . . .”

Sharp breaths now, and I could feel him shivering as the dream passed and the sweat dried, leaving him cold and confused. I pushed him back on the bed and crawled in beside him, tugging the covers over us.

“Stay with me,” he said.

“It was only a dream,” I whispered as I curled up against him.

“I know. Just . . . stay with me.”

“I will.”





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


Despite the events of the night before, I had little trouble waking up at the crack of dawn. I’ll credit Ricky with that. His methods of waking me were much nicer than any alarm clock. The fact that he felt guilty over disturbing my sleep last night only made him that much more determined to ease my waking.

There wasn’t much to pack—you can’t fit a lot in saddlebags. Then homeward bound. Ricky dropped me at my apartment and zoomed off to make his morning class.

I showered and changed and fed TC, who was peeved and ignoring me. Then I took off to the city.

“Good morning,” I said, handing Lydia a tea as I walked in. I heard voices in the meeting room and lowered mine. “Still in his appointment?”

“No, he had to cancel it. A more urgent one came up. You didn’t get his message, I take it?”

Shit. I’d checked for messages over breakfast, when I had cell service, but only had e-mail, which I’d ignored. Ricky’d had a call from his dad. Some problem with a member of the gang. Nothing urgent, just asking him to phone later. Now that I could catch the voices from the meeting room, I knew who was in there with Gabriel.

“Olivia?”

Gabriel opened the meeting room door. Don Gallagher stood behind him. Another man sat across the room.

Gabriel walked out. “You didn’t get my message?”

“No, sorry. I didn’t check e-mail this morning.”

I felt Don’s gaze on me. Thinking that his son had also been out of touch last night? Shit.

“I could use you in here.” Gabriel glanced at Don. “Is that all right? Olivia’s getting a crash course in law, and this seems a good case for her. She’s signed a confidentiality waiver, of course.”

Should I be involved in a case regarding Ricky’s gang? I hesitated. Don noticed. Shit.

As Gabriel asked Lydia to bring coffee for the clients, I quickly texted Ricky.

At office. Your dad’s here.

The answer came back in seconds. Yeah, I know. Didn’t want to warn you. Better if you were honestly surprised.

Except I missed Gabriel’s message. So your dad knows I was out of contact last night. Like you.

Fuck. I’ll fix this tonight. Sorry.

I signed off as we settled into the room. I thought no one had noticed me texting, but I looked up to see Don watching me.

“How are you doing, Olivia?” Don asked.

“Fine. Apologies for the disruption. I’m not used to having a job where I need to check e-mail.”

He nodded. It was a pleasant nod, just as the inquiry had been pleasant. Civil and warm. No hint of suspicion, but I felt like a mouse squirming under a tiger’s gaze. I suspect a lot of people feel like that around Don Gallagher. There’s no mistaking he’s Ricky’s father—same blond hair, same dark eyes, same chiseled features, softer in Don. Those looks were the only softer part about him, though. Ricky could find his edge when it suited him; with Don, that edge never went away. It didn’t matter if Don looked as if he belonged at the country club, with his clean-shaven good looks, golf shirt, and pressed trousers. You saw the set of his jaw and the glint in his eye and the biceps straining the sleeves of that shirt and you knew this was a guy you did not want to piss off. Shit.

Gabriel brought me up to speed. The other guy in the room was Chad Sullivan, who naturally went by Sully. He was a big bruiser with a ponytail, beard, and tats. A stereotypical biker, which was actually the minority in the Saints.