Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [27]
She shrugged. “My dad owns all sorts of properties. I’m sure he rents to some unsavory characters.”
Gabe laughed. “Okay.”
“But I don’t think he owns any whorehouses.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t. Don’t ask him about it.”
“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“It would be a very bad idea.” He pointed to the rest of the Balance Bar. “Eat.”
Yasmine took a small bite. “So what’s the piano music?”
“Piano music?”
“For the concert on Saturday.”
“Oh yeah.” The conversation was meandering all over the place. “Paul’s playing a piano concerto called ‘Africa Fantasie.’ It’s not particularly hard but I happen to like it a lot. And I like to show support.”
“I’ve never heard it.”
“It’s a good one. Several versions are on YouTube.”
“So . . . like what time are you going?”
Gabe regarded her. “The bus leaves at one. That puts you into SC at around two-fifteen, two-thirty.”
She nodded. “How much are the tickets?”
“Not much. Like fifteen, twenty bucks. I’ll buy you one. If you show up, fine. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. No pressure. But if you do want to come, you can’t be late. I’m not waiting around.”
“Understood.” She sat back and closed her eyes. “This day was magical . . . just magical.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Gabe said. “You should probably buy your friend something for covering for you.”
“Ariella?” Yasmine smiled. “I’ve covered for her like a zillion times. This doesn’t even make a dent in the list. Now that girl is a real sneak.”
“So you’re the good girl?”
She shrugged.
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Gabe said. “You’ll do fine.”
“I’m sure somewhere out there is a perfect twenty-four-year-old Persian Jew just waiting until I grow up.” She looked at him. “Persian girls tend to marry older guys. I mean, not always, but that’s the tradition. My oldest sister is engaged to a thirty-one-year-old. She’s twenty-three.”
Gabe nodded. “Interesting.”
They rode the remaining time in silence, Yasmine nodding off until she slumped to the side and slept with her head on his shoulder. Her face was turned upward, her full lips slighted parted. He could feel her breath warm against his neck. Her hair tickled his face.
He was tired as well, but he couldn’t tear himself away from watching her sleep.
A real cutie. Too bad.
A few minutes before their bus stop, he gently shook her awake. She inhaled a deep breath and let it out, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. “I fell asleep?”
“It happens.” He got up and pulled the string. A moment later, the bus lurched to a stop. “Let’s go.”
It was a moonless night—cold and dark.
“I owe you money for the cab.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I insist.”
“I won’t take it. C’mon. I’ll walk you home . . . or a few houses away from home, I guess.”
“I’m supposed to be at Ariella’s.”
“Where does she live?”
“Just right around the corner, so I’m fine.”
“I’ll walk you to the house. She’s covering for you anyway, so she must know about me, right?”
“Sort of.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“More like mysterious.” Yasmine started walking . . . very slowly. She didn’t want the night to end. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
They strolled for a few moments in silence, the only sound made by her clacking heels.
“No, really thanks.” Yasmine stopped. “It was the most wonderful, special day of my life. I’ll never, ever forget it.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, running away and disappearing up a sidewalk, her heels clapping against the pavement until he could hear a door open and close.
Then all was still.
Gabe stood for just a few seconds, then turned around and started home, his cheek still burning with the feel of her lips.
Chapter Nine
From a detective’s standpoint, suicide was a strange crime. There was a victim, but the perpetrator wore many faces: depression, psychosis, humiliation, overwhelming debt, rage, self-loathing, or that tragic combination of teenage angst paired with a firearm. Reconstructing Gregory Hesse’s mind at the moment of impact was impossible. All Decker was