Visions (Cainsville #2)(83)

When I finished, Ricky just kept driving, despite me telling him to make a left. He got turned around and back on course before speaking.

“So someone put this girl’s body in your car, wearing your clothes, dressed as you.”

“And then, while I was inside waiting for Gabriel, the killer took away all the evidence. Which sounds completely crazy, so you can’t blame him for thinking I was imagining things.”

Ricky glanced over. “I’m sure Gabriel knew you weren’t. I’m sure he told you to keep it quiet. I completely agree, and I’d expect him to do the same as my lawyer. I’ll buy whatever story you sell me, Liv.”

“I—”

“I know there’s more to it. There are things about my life I can’t share, either, because they could put you in jeopardy. I have secrets; you have secrets. I’m here for anything you want to tell me, but I’ll never push. Fair enough?”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“So clearly that corpse was a warning. Clearly Gabriel is concerned, which explains him getting you that security system. But if you were in serious danger, something would have happened by now. Instead, it’s do as I say or this Macy girl ends up like Ciara. Meaning he needs something from you. Something you can’t give if you’re dead.”

“Presumably.” I looked out the window. “Any idea where we are?”

“You’re the one with the GPS.”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen a landmark for almost ten minutes.”

We were in the countryside. That much was obvious. On a dark, empty secondary highway. About a half hour outside Chicago, if I’d calculated the distance properly.

“There’s a town ahead,” Ricky said. “Big one, judging by that glow.”

I checked my phone GPS. “Looks like we’re going to turn off before we reach it. Take the next right. We’re getting close.”

Two more turns and we were there. Wherever “there” was. We passed a laneway leading into a golf course. It wasn’t one I recognized. I’m not much of a golfer, but James is, and this didn’t look like a course we would have played. It was meant for locals who wanted to knock a few balls around a half-dozen times a year. At three in the morning, it was pitch-black.

The GPS led us past it to a laneway with gates. Huge gates, adorned with Keep Out and Private Property and Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. Also, massive padlocks.

“Let me out here,” I said.

Ricky did. I went up and checked the gates. Chains looped them shut, but the locks were unfastened. I peered through. The lane led to a group of dark buildings surrounded by empty fields. Hell of a place to drive into. Anyone watching would see us coming for a quarter mile.

I jangled the chains, then called back to Ricky, louder than necessary, “Seems to be locked tight.”

He could see damn well that the chains weren’t secured, but he said, “Think the call was a prank?”

“Maybe.” I made a show of squinting through the gates again. “Let’s drive around.”

I climbed back into the car.

“It’s too open,” I said as he backed onto the road. “But if Macy’s captor is listening, which I presume he is, I didn’t want him to think we were taking off.”

“You’re pretty good at this stuff.”

“It’s in my genes,” I said. “And I have Gabriel for a teacher.”

“No shit, huh?”

As Macy had said, a cemetery bordered the property. Cemetery on one side, golf course on the other. Both dark and silent and empty. Two routes to choose from.

We parked at the golf course, looped around, and walked in through the cemetery. We’d dressed dark. Ricky wore a light T-shirt but had zipped his leather jacket over it. Remembering our game in the cabin woods, I let him take the lead. He walked silently, as if knowing where to step to avoid cracking twigs and crunching stones. As we moved, I could practically feel the low strum of energy vibrating from him, that dark and delicious mix of tension and adrenaline. When he’d glance back to check on me, his eyes glittered, as they had in the woods.

We reached the cemetery. It was a modern one, no weathered headstones and moss-laden mausoleums. Just row after row of death. We cut our way through as if the gravestones were merely obstacles. If there was anything frightening about a cemetery at night, it was lost on me. Always had been.

A strip of woods separated the cemetery and the abandoned buildings. Ricky stopped at the edge. He glanced back to make sure I had my gun out. He nodded, took something from his jacket, and palmed it. When I leaned in to see what it was, he opened his fist to show a metal cylinder. He pressed a button. A knife shot out.

“Switchblade,” I said. “Nice. I could use one of those.”

“That’s not enough?” he whispered, pointing at my gun.

“It does the job, if the job is to kill. I need a backup that’s not always so lethal.”

“You could try getting yourself into fewer situations where you need a weapon.”

“I suspect that’s not happening anytime soon.”

A short laugh and he nodded as we carried on.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE


We reached the middle of the strip of forest, which was so thin we could see the fields on either side. When I heard an almost soundless whoosh-whoosh, I looked up to see an owl passing overhead. It was huge, like the ones I’d seen in Cainsville a month ago, a pair that had ripped apart a raven. I found myself looking for a second one. I knew this couldn’t be the same owl, and I was sure they hunted alone. Yet when I looked, I saw another in a tree just ahead. The first lighted in the same one, and they sat there, watching us silently.