Looking for You (15 page)

But no Rick.

She forced her smile to stay affixed
on her face, but it was difficult. Why wasn't he here?

She hadn't seen him in
days—since that night he'd comforted her. He'd slipped out in the night,
leaving a note for her saying he was going to be busy this week.

That was it.

Too busy to call her? Or text?

Since that night, she'd been useless.
All she'd done all week was listen to sappy love songs and smell the pillow
he'd slept on.

She was so pathetic.

"Congratulations, Gwen."
Eve thrust a glass of champagne in her hand and then gave her a quick half-hug.

Gwen blinked at all the people and
the decorations. "You didn't have to do this."

"Of course we did. We're proud
of you." Eve leaned in and whispered. "I made those chocolate
pastries you like so much, but don't worry if you don't get enough. I saved a
batch for you to take home."

She laughed. "Thank you."

"You deserve this and so much
more," Olivia said as she joined them. She gave Gwen a big squeeze.
"We wanted to celebrate with you."

"I couldn't have asked for a
better surprise." Except maybe if Rick were here too, she amended
silently.

"I only wish I could have
remembered that reporter's name. I'd have invited her to cover this, too. I'm
so spacey these days." Olivia touched her stomach. "Hormones gone
wild."

Gwen stared at her friend's belly,
not understanding. Then she saw the sparkling water in Olivia's hand and
gasped. "Are you pregnant?"

Beaming, Olivia held her stomach
protectively. "Yes. Four months. And he's healthy."

She grabbed her friend in a hug. A
long time ago, Olivia had miscarried a baby and she'd blamed herself for the
loss. Gwen knew this had to be both triumphant and scary.

Just then the front door burst open
and Olivia's husband Michael stormed in. He walked straight to his wife, eyes
only for her. He kissed her hello, touching her belly reverently.

Gwen backed away, feeling like an
intruder.

A jealous intruder.

If only Rick looked at her like that.
If only Rick had shown up.

Having her glass topped off, she
wandered through the small crowd, stopping to thank everyone who congratulated
her, making her way to the back patio. She needed air—a moment to gather
herself so she could be appropriately grateful for the party instead of pouty
that one man hadn't come.

Gwen loved Eve's patio. It was so
like her friend: to the point, practical, yet delightful. Lush plants
surrounded wooden benches and tables. Half the patio was covered to protect
against the fog that invariably crept in most afternoons. Tonight, the tiny
white lights were on, making it look like a place where fairies lived. Magical.
Romantic. The kind of place you'd want your lover to kiss you.

If he were there.

"Are you hiding out here?"

She whirled around, relaxing when she
saw it was Treat. "It's a good hiding place."

"Eve would still find you."
He gave her that slow, sexy grin he had.

And, oddly, it wasn't nearly as
affecting as Rick's smug smirk. She frowned. She would
not
ask about Rick, even if Treat was his best friend and was
likely to know where he was.

"Rick would find you too,"
Treat said as if reading her mind.

She shook her head. "I don't
know about that."

"Rick and I have been friends
since college," he said after a moment. "Rick's always been around
the baser part of humanity. Cheating husbands and wives and swindling people.
But at least he had his parents as an example of love. At the core, even if
he's skeptical, he believes it exists. He values truth and honesty above
all."

And she was a liar, because she
couldn't tell him the truth of her background, and that brought her down.
"Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you know why." He
smiled gently at her. "You know you can trust him."

Could she?

Yes. The answer came strong and
without question. She nodded and then impulsively hugged Treat. "Thank
you."

"For the record, I've known him
a long time, and I've never seen him so disturbed by a woman. He loves a
puzzle, and usually he's figured out a person in no time. It's not often
someone keeps him guessing." Treat chucked her under her chin. "Keep
up the good work."

Except that keeping him guessing
meant keeping up the lies.

But then she heard her grandmother's
voice in her head:
Trust love, Geneviève
.
Love will always prevail
.

Her grandmother had always been
right. Gwen just had to trust that Rick cared enough to stick with her after he
knew all her secrets.

"Son," Rick's father Duncan
yelled into the receiver, "your mother is driving me crazy. You still have
a futon at your office?"

Rick tried to imagine his dad, who
was just as tall but twice as wide, fitting onto the futon in the other room.
"How do you feel about your feet dangling?"

"If it'll save my marriage I'm
all for it."

"What did you do this
time?"

His dad blustered and bellowed, but
everyone knew he was all bark and no bite. "Why are you accusing
me
? That woman is the problem here. I
was just watching Elsie Harding's window out of professional curiosity. I can't
help if the woman traipses in her house
au
naturel
."

Rick shook his head. Ever since his
dad retired a couple years ago, it'd sparked strife at home. Not so much that
Rick worried about his parents' marriage, but he wouldn't be surprised if his
mom chased the old man with a cast iron pan. "You know you're welcome here
any time, Dad, but shouldn't you work on the basic problem and do some part
time work?"

Duncan sighed. "I promised your
mother I'd take her to St. John. But I do miss the thrill of the chase."

He decided not to point out that most
of a private detective's time was spent waiting and watching. There was no
thrill. If you wanted excitement, you had to get it someplace else.

He'd found it with Gwendolyn.

He snorted. Did he ever. She had
enough money to buy a small country, housed in her freezer. That was pretty
exciting.

"Son," his dad barked.
"Where's your head? I asked you about your cases three times."

"Sorry. I was thinking."

"Humph." There was silence
on the other end.

Silence where his father was
concerned was never a good idea. "Dad—"

"You met a girl."

"Why do you automatically go
there? What if it's a client that's giving me trouble?"

"No, this is woman trouble. You
want to know how I deduce this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

His dad ignored him.
"One—"

Sighing, Rick leaned back in his
chair and propped his feet on the desk.

"—you're distracted. Not
in a work-related way," his father interjected quickly, "but in an
I've-got-the-blues sort of way. And you're moping."

"I'm not moping," he
protested.

"Do I look like an idiot? And
you better not ask your mother that." He continued. "Two, you've been
busy the past couple months. I call you at home and you're not there."

"How do you know?"

"Because if you were, you'd
answer the phone."

Rick couldn't deny that. "And
three?"

"Three,
you
called
me
. The only
time you ever call me is when you have trouble with a case or with a woman, and
if it's a case you mention that right off." His dad laughed, sounding
triumphant at having solved a puzzle.

"I'm glad you're so gleeful
about this, Dad." He shook his head, wishing he could find the hilarity in
that too. But he had the image of that money burned in his mind. Add to that
Olivia's pissed voice in his head, telling him he was a jerk for missing Gwen's
party, and it left him distinctly humorless.

And—the most absurd part of
this all—he
missed
her. He
missed her strange logic and funky curls. He missed the bright light in her
eyes and the way she blazed through life. He missed the feel of her in his
arms, talking to him.

Telling him lies.

"What's going on, son? Maybe I
can help you."

Frustrated, he sat up. "It's
just there are things about herself she hasn't told me."

"Have you asked?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Have. You.
Asked
?" his dad said slowly, like he was slow.

And maybe he was. "Actually, I
haven't."

"But you've pried and poked and
theorized behind her back." Duncan hummed. "That's our way, but
remember one of the cardinal rules of getting information is asking for what
you want. It's the easier route, and eight times out of ten you'll get
it."

"Dad, your intellect is
underrated."

"Tell your mother that. Now go
get your girl."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

~

Rick all but raced to Outta My Gourd.
On the way, he made a mental list of all the things he was going to ask
her—the freezer-full of money at the very top. He burst into the store,
slightly out of breath but determined.

Gwendolyn came running from the back,
her big eyes even wider. When she saw him, she put a hand to her chest.
"You scared me. I thought I was being raided."

He walked straight to her, hauled her
in his arms, and kissed her. It wasn't in his script, but his gut told him it
was the right way to go.

She melted against his body
instantly, even though he got the sense she didn't want to.

He couldn't blame her. Raising his
head, he lifted her chin and said, "First of all, I'm sorry I missed your
party. Olivia's told me I'm a bastard, but it wasn't something I hadn't
realized on my own."

She nodded solemnly, but her eyes
lightened a little. "Thank you."

"I was angry at you, because
we've been seeing each other for weeks and I feel like I don't know you."
He thought about the money in the refrigerator. "You hide yourself away
from me. The only time you're really honest is in bed, like that night you told
me about your grandmother."

Gwendolyn glanced away. A long time
elapsed, and he started to feel disappointment deep in his chest. She wasn't
going to trust him.

Then she nodded. "You're
right."

He shook his head. He must have
misunderstood. "Excuse me?"

"You're right," she said
more surely. She took his hand, her chin determined. "Are you free
now?"

"Yes."

"I
have something I want to show you."

Was she going to show him how she
robbed a bank? But he knew better than to let his sarcasm taint the moment so
he simply let her lock up the shop and direct him where to go.

Which
turned out to be the Mission. Specifically, the Purple Elephant: A Creative
Place for Kids.

He frowned
at the entrance. Was the money in her refrigerator tied to this place?

Gwendolyn
faced him before they entered. She looked up at him with clarity that was
honest. "This is a small place to start, but it's close to my heart. I
began this charity with the help of a few people I'd met over the years. It was
actually the reason I came to San Francisco in the first place. I started it
because—"

"You
thought all kids should learn to paint happy little trees?" he asked.

She smiled.
"Precisely."

"I
read on the website that you were one of the founders." At her shocked
look, he shrugged. "That was before we declared a détente."

"It
better have been." She gave him a look that meant business and then
sashayed ahead of him into the building.

It was
exactly how he'd have expected it to be, knowing Gwendolyn. Bright, busy, and
loud with laughter. She took his arm and pointed. "Over there is a sketch class.
Next to it, where you see the easels, is what we call free painting. We set up
the easels and an assortment of different mediums and let them at it. In the
other corner, we have what I call tactile arts."

"Which
is...?"

"Clay.
Yarn, for knitting or whatever. Fabric and stuff if someone wants to sew.
Materials for building models." She shrugged. "That sort of
thing."

"Are
these all underprivileged kids?"

"Not
at all." He curls bounced she shook her head so vigorously. "We don't
discriminate. Especially against economic standing. Everyone should have a
chance to create, if they want, regardless of where he or she comes from.
Sometimes the more money you have, the more stifled you become."

He faced
her. "Who stifled you as a kid? And did you steal his money?"

She stepped
back on a gasp, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

He closed
the gap, lowering his head to softly say, "I saw the money in your
freezer, Princess."

Her eyes
narrowed, and she grabbed him by his jacket to yank him close. Her voice was an
outraged hiss. "You
snooped
?"

"No, I
was getting ice." He shook his head. "I almost wish I didn't see it,
but I can't forget it exists. Tell me you didn't do anything illegal."

"Of
course I didn't, you idiot." She glared at him. "How could you even
think that?"

He leaned
in and whispered, aware of the looks they were getting. "How could I think
otherwise? You never tell me anything about yourself. You're one big, blank
canvas. You could be anything. That's what I was saying."

She looked
like she wanted to argue, but then she deflated. "You're right."

"I
am?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes."
She stared him straight in the eye. "I promise it's not illegally gained,
that every cent of it's mine, and I'll explain where it came from. Where
I
came from. But not today."

"When?"

She winced.
"I've been guarding it for a long time. I'm afraid if I talk about it,
that if it leaves my mouth the wrong ears will hear."