My mouth opened, no words coming out until she was right in front of me and I managed to squeak, “Maura.”

Her hand flew up and I flinched, bracing for the blow. Instead, I heard a soft gasp and opened my eyes to see Ricky holding her wrist.

“No,” he said, locking eyes with her.

“Who are . . . ?” she sputtered, trailing off as her gaze traveled up him, taking in the boots, the worn jeans, the leather jacket, and finally his face. Then she recognized him, and yanked her hand away fast.

“Maura,” I said. “I—”

“You brought your—?” She stared at Ricky, struggling to speak. “You brought a—? To my son’s—?”

“No,” Ricky said, his voice calm. He waved at his clothes. “Obviously, she did not bring me here. She came with Gabriel, to pay her respects. I was on the other side of the cemetery, in case some people”—a slow glower around the crowd—“didn’t let the fact it’s a funeral stop them from pursuing her. But I would like to offer my condolences—”

“Don’t you dare.” She enunciated each word like spitting glass.

“I offer them anyway, and I apologize for grabbing your wrist. You’re understandably distraught, and I wanted to prevent you from providing a photo op that I don’t think your son would have appreciated.”

Despite all the times I’ve stood up to Maura, I’ve never been able to render her speechless. Ricky did. All around us, cameras snapped, recording the spectacle of the society grande dame having her manners shown up by a biker a third her age.

Ricky was right. This was a photo op that James would not have appreciated. So I didn’t relish the moment. I reached over and embraced her—too quick to be thrown off—and I said, “I’m so sorry.” I know maybe having that picture in the papers would be worse for her, but it’s the one James would have wanted. I let her go; then I turned and climbed into the car.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

We were leaving the cemetery when I said, “You need to go back for your bike.”

“I will.”

“I know the club rules. You can’t leave it there. I’d prefer you got it now, so you don’t need to take off when we reach the police station.”

I dropped him off, and he caught up before I reached the station. As we walked in, he went over how the process differed from the assault charge, where bail was set automatically. Gabriel would be kept in a holding cell for up to forty-eight hours, pending the arraignment, where the charges would be read and a plea entered. Bail would be set at that hearing.

“Everything will be okay. I’ll handle this.” He struggled for a smile. “Yeah, handling homicide charges is not my usual gig. Last time we had a member charged with murder, I was in high school. I’ll call my dad and see what we need to do. Gabriel will handle the legal stuff, though. I’m just saying . . .” He paused and met my gaze. “Gabriel didn’t do this.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you don’t suspect he did, but I absolutely know he did not. Beyond any doubt. I guarantee this will be resolved.”

He couldn’t guarantee that at all, and part of me wished he wouldn’t say that. It felt like patting me on the head during a tornado and telling me everything would be all right. But when I looked at him, I didn’t see a hint of condescension. Just resolve plastered over panic.

I hugged him, and we headed inside.

—

Ricky had warned I wouldn’t be able to speak to Gabriel. I still tried. Tried damn hard, with Ricky beside me, both of us arguing with as much determination and eloquence—and as little animosity—as possible. I think the desk sergeant was impressed in spite of herself. That didn’t mean we were getting a visit, though. So I parked my ass in the visitors’ room, where I’d sit for as long as it took, either until I got to see him or until he was arraigned.

Gabriel had managed to send me further instructions from the back of the police car. He asked that Lydia be present for his office search and Ricky for his condo, because both were familiar enough with the process to stop the police from digging beyond the scope of the warrant. If Gabriel was concerned about having his office and condo searched, he gave no sign of it. I still fretted. Ricky reassured me that Gabriel was a defense attorney. If he had a nosebleed, he probably incinerated his shirt that night, just to be safe.

At around seven, I got word that the arraignment was set for noon the next day. I thanked the officer and told him I’d wait.

Ricky returned with dinner. After we ate, he started getting calls from his father. There was a club meeting that night, and I knew that, short of illness or imprisonment, Ricky was supposed to attend. He joked that he was near a prison. I made him go anyway.

Rose showed up shortly after Ricky left, likely after a call from him. She brought tea and cookies. We talked. I sent her home when the clock ticked near eleven.

Once Rose left, the night shift desk clerk came in to inform me that I absolutely could not stay. I pointed out that the station was open all night. If they wanted to make an issue of it, they could toss me in an empty cell on charges of being a pain in the ass. The clerk shook his head and left me alone.

At 11:45, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and held off answering until it was just about to switch to voice mail. Then I picked up.

“Olivia, you are not spending the night in the police station waiting room.” It was Gabriel. “Ricky has my apartment keys. You can both stay there for the night. Arm the alarm and lock the doors. I’m not convinced his apartment is secure. My arraignment is at nine tomorrow—”