Lost Souls, Page 2

  Oh, look, another drive-by shooting.

  In desperation, Gabriel had resorted to a tactic he hadn't used since he first hung out his shingle: monitoring the police scanners. He didn't necessarily need a terrible crime. In fact, it would be better if it weren't. Olivia was the daughter of a serial killer, and like Gabriel, she had fae blood--both of which meant she was not particularly altruistic. But she wasn't cold-hearted, either. The ideal case for her was more mind-twisting than gut-wrenching. A puzzle rather than a tragedy.

  But the only intriguing case on last night's scanner came from a man who'd reported a disappearing hitchhiker. A preposterous story from someone who failed to recognize a hoary urban legend. Yet that was the part that intrigued Gabriel. He'd picked up enough from the scanner conversation to know the man seemed to be a sober middle-aged professional. Why on earth would he risk his reputation reporting an obviously fabricated story?

  Intriguing, yes, but it wouldn't be enough for Olivia. He needed--

  "Good morning, Gabriel."

  His office door swung open. In walked a man who looked about Olivia's age. Dark hair, worn somewhere between hipster and bohemian. Sharp eyes, sharp cheekbones, sharp chin. He bore a broad grin and two cardboard cups of coffee, the latter of which he deposited on Gabriel's desk, along with a creamer, milk, sugar and sweetener.

  "Someday, you're going to tell me how you like your coffee," Patrick said.

  "Delivered by my admin assistant." Gabriel shot a glower out the open door.

  "Lydia's not there. She slipped out to turn off her car alarm. Seems to be on the fritz."

  "You set off her car alarm so you could sneak into my office?"

  "I wouldn't need to if you'd tell her that I'm welcome to visit anytime I like." Patrick thumped into a chair. "That would be the wise thing to do, Gabriel. I'm on my best behavior with her, for your sake. That won't last, and then I'll be forced to resort to type."

  By "type" he meant fae type. Patrick was a bocan. Better known as a hobgoblin, though Patrick hated the term. It conjured up images of twisted goblin-like creatures. A bocan was a fae trickster, and like all tricksters, Patrick had an air of the passive-aggressive about him. Treat him well, and he'd return the favor. Mistreat him--or fail to pay him his perceived due--and one would see his less generous side.

  Gabriel wasn't worried about offending Patrick. Following Olivia's example, he'd learned how far he could push while taking advantage of the fact that Patrick liked to be on their good side. As for why Patrick wanted to be there, that situation was at the root of Gabriel's fractured relationship with Olivia and therefore not something he wished to consider. Suffice to say the circumstances made Gabriel a valuable ally for Patrick. So he took the coffee and said, "I appreciate you stopping by, Patrick, but I'm very busy--"

  "So I see."

  "It's eight-thirty in the morning. My appointments begin at nine--"

  "Then you have a half an hour for me. And I'm teasing you about not being busy, Gabriel. I know you are. Particularly with Liv jaunting off with biker-boy."

  "His name is Ricky. Please show him some respect."

  "I find it hard to respect anyone who goes by Ricky."

  Gabriel walked to the door. "I'll see you out."

  "Fine, I won't insult young Mr. Gallagher. You do realize he's the competition, right?"

  Gabriel tensed. "Olivia and I are not--"

  "I wasn't talking about Liv. But, since that's where your mind went, let's follow it. That conversation is well overdue, and I'm glad to hear you acknowledge that you do see Ricky as a rival in that regard."

  "I believe I was saying he is not."

  "Because he's no competition for you? Agreed. Ricky and Liv, while a darling couple--"

  "I have work to do. If you'll excuse me..."

  Patrick sighed. "Fine. We'll drop the subject and move on to the point of my visit."

  "There's a point?" Gabriel murmured. "That's new."

  "Ouch, you've been hanging around Liv too long. There has been a reason for all my recent visits, Gabriel. We call it socializing."

  "To which I do not see a purpose. But you said there was an actual point to this particular visit?"

  "I've brought you a case."

  "The very thing I do not need, having just said that my roster is full."

  "This one's different. This one is interesting."

  Gabriel hesitated just a heartbeat. Then he picked up a file folder and leafed through the contents. "Yes, well, given that I have quite enough--"

  "You're bored."

  "I am far too busy to be bored."

  "Nope, you're not. Liv's gone, and you're bored."

  "With Olivia gone, I believe the proper word would be resting."

  "Ha. No, sorry. After she left, I bet you had exactly twelve hours of mild relief that the rollercoaster had stopped. Then boredom settled in. You're missing her, too, but it's easier to say you're bored, so we'll go with that. I have brought you a case. A ghost story."

  Gabriel closed the folder and laid his fingertips on it.

  "Ah, that got your attention," Patrick said.

  "Only because I cannot imagine how a ghost could pay my rates."

  Patrick sipped his coffee and settled in his chair. "Picture the scene. It's a dark and stormy night."

  "If that's how you start your stories, it's a wonder you sell any books at all."

  "It's not how I start them, which you would know if you read my books."

  "I scarcely have time to eat, let alone read."

  "Oh? I seem to recall a boy who would eat while reading. And walk while reading. It's a miracle you survived childhood without getting hit by a car, your nose stuck in some book. You can't tell me you don't read fiction."

  "Not the sort you write," Gabriel murmered.

  "Ouch."

  "If you have a story to tell, please provide me the CliffsNotes version. My first client arrives in fifteen minutes."

  "Fine. Dark and stormy night, yada yada. Guy picks up a hitchhiker by the side of the road and--"

  "And she disappears. Whereupon the man returns home to discover his wife drying their wet dog in the microwave, except it isn't a Chihuahua at all, but a giant rat."

  "You know your urban legends."

  "As should you, given that you are a writer of supernatural fiction and a scholar of folklore. Yes, I heard that story on the police scanner last night. It is remarkable only for its sheer ridiculousness. I suppose she was wearing white, too."

  "Actually, yes. But--"

  "And asked to be dropped off near a cemetery?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Then this ghost lacks proper appreciation for the lore. I am disappointed."

  "That sounds remarkably like sarcasm."

  "Never." Gabriel took the folder to the cabinet and exchanged it for another. "Even if there were a mystery here, Patrick, there is not a case. Not a paying client. Except, perhaps, work for a good divorce attorney."

  "Divorce attorney?"

  Gabriel set the new file on the desk and opened it. "A middle-aged man in a luxury vehicle picks up a presumably attractive young woman on a rainy night? Drives her well off the beaten track? That's almost a cliche in itself. If he has a wife, she should be in the market for a divorce lawyer, which I am not. I wouldn't say she even requires a particularly good lawyer, considering her husband was foolish enough to report the encounter. That alone suggests--"

  "Supernatural forces at work?"

  "I was going to say 'abject stupidity.'"

  Patrick rose and perched on the desk instead. "You have a point, though. A very good one. Why would he report it? He is married, by the way. And the hitchhiker was young and, as you say, presumably attractive. Any man with a lick of sense would make up some story about getting lost in the rain and leave it at that."

  "Which only means he has not a lick of sense."

  "He's a partner at one of the city's leading architectural firms. He has his master's in that plus an MBA to man
age the business end. Two post-grad degrees. Not a stupid man. His wife is a surgeon. Not a stupid woman, and not one who'd fail to miss the implications of his hitchhiker escapade. So we have a mystery. As for the client, that'd be me. This story has sparked a future book plot, and I'd like to hire you to help me with the research."

  "Olivia is the investigator."

  "Until you hired her, you did all your investigating yourself. You enjoy it."

  "What I enjoy is having an actual client, which is about more than money. A case for me must pay well and foster my reputation."

  "And interest you."

  "That's hardly a factor--"

  "Liar. You don't need the money. You don't need the rep boost. What you need is what has been lacking for nearly two weeks. Something you've grown very accustomed to having in your life."

  Gabriel started leafing through the file. "Olivia will be back in a couple of days."

  "Again, I wasn't talking about Liv. Interesting how your mind keeps going there." Patrick held up a hand against Gabriel's protest. "I was going to say that you've grown accustomed to having exciting cases. But, now that you mention it, there is someone who likes this type of case even more than you do."

  Gabriel glanced up from the file.

  "Ah, there we go," Patrick said. "I have your attention now."

  "No, you have less than five minutes of my time now."

  "Liv comes back in what, two, three days? I'm sure you know the hours, too, but we won't get into that. Point is, she'd love this case. You know she would. Investigating the report of an urban legend? It'd amuse the hell out of her."

  "I really don't have time," Gabriel said, but even he could hear the lack of conviction in his voice. He thought of telling Olivia about this case.

  Hitchhiking ghost? Seriously?

  Yes, it's ridiculous. I know.

  Ridiculously awesome. Let me at it.

  Patrick hopped off the desk. "When do you finish work?"

  "I--"

  "Let me rephrase that. When do your office hours conclude, and you begin the portion of the day we call 'quitting time' and you call 'more-work time'?"

  "Five, but--"

  "Then I will return at five with details. I'll play Liv for you today. I'll gather everything I can find online, and we'll discuss it over dinner. This case isn't going away. I'll do the scut work, and you can have a package ready for Liv when she returns."

  TWO

  PATRICK

  Liv was the key. Liv was always the key, and Patrick smacked himself upside the head for not realizing that would be the way to get his son on the case.

  This wasn't about research. No, it was about father-son bonding time. Thirty years late, to be sure, and yes, it was a little tougher when Gabriel didn't realize he was Patrick's son, but that would change soon enough. Liv had figured it out. And she'd been furious. Marvelously, majestically furious. Which should not make Patrick nearly so happy, being the recipient of that fury, but it did because she was furious on Gabriel's behalf.

  That was what his son lacked most in his remarkable life: someone firmly and unwaveringly on his side. Patrick himself had played that role, but not in the right way. He realized that now. The silent cheerleader had its place, but his son had never needed that. What he needed was Liv.

  Liv hadn't told Gabriel that Patrick was his father. She was protecting him, as always. But Gabriel's parentage could not remain a secret, and as soon as Liv realized Gabriel was in danger of finding out, she'd break it to him herself.

  Patrick's job now was to establish enough of a relationship to soften the blow. He'd lost Gabriel before. Lost him as a baby when Seanna stole him away. Lost him as a teen when Seanna took off and Gabriel disappeared onto the streets. Lost him twice; he would not lose him again.

  A few weeks ago, Gabriel had come to Patrick. Of his own accord, for the first time ever. Admittedly, it'd been for information--fae lore to help Liv. And that, Patrick realized, was the key to establishing a relationship with Gabriel.

  Quid pro quo.

  The unwritten motto of the bocan. Give and take. A proper offering had to be something of value, naturally. What did Gabriel value? He would say money, but that was just the tangible representation of a deeper need for security, to feel he would never again be that teenage boy, alone on the streets.

  Or never again be that child who might as well have been alone on the streets, saddled with a mother who expected him to earn his keep picking pockets. Gabriel had suffered that while his father lived in comfort and ease. A father who would see him every few weeks in Cainsville when Seanna dumped Gabriel at her aunt Rose's place. A father who thought talking to the boy--paying attention to him, buying him a soda--was all he needed, really.

  Patrick pushed aside the old regrets. There was work to be done. Work that would not undo the damage but which acknowledged that damage had been done.

  Patrick walked to the cafe counter and placed his order. Just a coffee, and not because he needed it, but because it gave him a table to work at and access to the Internet. Also, admittedly, a change of scenery was always welcome. The scenery here was certainly fine, a young barista adding plenty of eye contact to her conversation, taking longer than necessary to serve his coffee, telling him refills were on the house. More than refills were being offered, he suspected, and he appreciated that, even if he was too busy to pursue the flirtation. He put a five in the tip cup in thanks for the flattery of her attention. Quid pro quo.

  Coffee obtained. Ego bump achieved. Time to dive into the research trenches. Patrick had a story to construct. A ghost story for his son.

  THREE

  GABRIEL

  The sun was dropping when Gabriel arrived at the spot where Robert Lambert's SUV had given up the ghost...in more ways than one, apparently. While it might seem inopportune--reaching the scene just when he'd need a flashlight to examine it--his timing was intentional.

  Thirty minutes from now placed him at the exact time of day when Lambert had stood on this spot and seen his passenger disappear. Gabriel sought to reconstruct the scene as precisely as possible. Rain would help, but it had stopped before Lambert reached this point. Despite Patrick's hyperbole, it had not been a dark and stormy night. Simply growing dark after a rather mundane rain shower, according to the report.

  "They gave you the police report?" Patrick had said. "I'd have thought the Chicago Police Department wasn't exactly your biggest fan."

  True. But this was outside the CPD's jurisdiction. The state police were not terribly fond of him either, but whether city or state, Gabriel could always find officers and support staff open-minded enough to value monetary reward over petty prejudice.

  "You bribed someone for it," Patrick had said.

  "A bribe requires subterfuge, which would become tiresome in an extended relationship. I expressed an interest in the case. My contact offered to send me the report. I will pay him for his time. Or, I should say, you will, as the client in this case."

  "How much will I pay?"

  "You were generous, as one should be with those who devote their lives to keeping our streets safe."

  "Again with the sarcasm."

  "It's your imagination. That's what comes with being a writer of fiction."

  Gabriel hadn't told Patrick that he intended to visit the scene. The bocan might have tried to accompany him.

  Gabriel looked back at his Jag, parked on the road over a hundred feet away. There was no way he could have driven it back here. He wasn't even sure how Lambert's SUV had managed it.

  As he bent to examine the tire tracks, his phone sounded with a tone that had him scrambling to answer, imagining the greeting, as familiar and jaunty as that ring, a singsong "Hey, it's me."

  Or that's what he used to get. Now, Olivia's, "Hey," thudded between them, leaden and dull.

  "Got your message," she continued. "This isn't too late, is it?"

  "Of course not."

  "Good. Sorry I didn't call sooner. Long day of riding. Ricky n
eeds to be home by the weekend, and we were already running behind from that thing in Cape Breton."

  That thing.

  An adventure Gabriel had missed.

  He felt a twinge, which he suspected strongly resembled the emotional reaction of a child being reminded of a birthday party to which he had not received an invitation. A new sensation for him. Not because he'd ever been invited to parties, but because he'd never given a damn. Now he did. He'd missed an adventure, and while he could hardly be expected to join them a thousand miles away, it illogically felt the same. A very uncomfortable sensation. Which summed up emotional responses in general.

  "Gabriel?"

  "Yes, I lost the connection for a moment. I'm out of doors. Pursuing a new case."

  Oh? Something new? Something fun?

  She would say the last with a lilt in her voice, teasing, almost self-mocking, acknowledging her own predilection for adventure and finding it somewhat childish.

  He waited...and Olivia said nothing. Now he was the one prompting her, as if he had indeed lost the connection.

  "I'm here," she said. "So, is this a bad time, then?"

  He picked his way over the uneven ground. "Not at all. In fact--" The words caught in his throat. He shouldn't tell her about the case. Shouldn't risk admitting that he thought she'd find it interesting, only to discover he was mistaken and look foolish.

  Which was how he'd gotten himself into trouble, wasn't it? Hubris. Pride. Fear of humiliation. Like acknowledging that one considers a person a friend only to have that person laugh in your face.

  "This case might..." he said. "That is, it seems..."

  Get the words out. Tell her it's interesting.

  "It's somewhat intriguing," he said finally.

  Well, that's close.

  He gave Olivia a brief summary.

  "A hitchhiking ghost?" she said when he finished. And her tone was not what he'd hoped for. Not at all. "I know you aren't exactly a pop-culture junkie, Gabriel, but that's--"

  "An urban legend."

  A soft chuckle, more Olivia-like. "You know your modern folklore, then. Good."

  "Which is what I found mildly intriguing."

  He went on to explain more of the circumstances.