Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [97]
Forever and ever.
Until her mom finds out.
After she hung up the phone, Marge got up and knocked on Decker’s open door.
He looked up. “Come on in.”
“I called Kevin Stanger.” Marge spoke as she leaned against the door frame. “I was hoping he would name names with regard to the gun. But he doesn’t want to talk to us. Furthermore, his mother won’t let us talk to him.”
Decker beckoned her in with a crooked finger. “Can you come in? You’re giving me a crick in my neck.”
She sat across from his desk. “I can’t pry anything more out of these boys. Without names, we’re sunk. I’m open to suggestions.”
“Too bad, because I’ve run out of them,” Decker said. “As much as I hate to admit it, it may be time to close the books on Gregory Hesse and Myra Gelb.”
“Don’t fret,” Marge said. “We still have Gregory Hesse’s stolen computer as an open file. If we get evidence against Dylan or any of his gang, we can always reopen either suicide. Then you can say I told you so.”
Decker said, “I’m aghast that you’d think I’d be out for revenge.”
“You know what they say,” Marge told him. “Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.”
“Hmm . . .” Decker mused. “I have a feeling that if I ate cold revenge, all I’d come away with would be a massive case of reflux.”
With a jaunty step in his walk and his portfolio case tucked under his arm, Gabe felt spiffy in a patch-pocket, brown corduroy coat, white button-down shirt, black jeans, and three-inch snake boots. He especially liked the added height that put him at six three—one inch shorter than his father’s size in stocking feet. He was nicely dressed, casual enough, but not sloppy. He reached up to adjust his glasses.
Then it dawned on him: he shouldn’t be wearing glasses.
The audition today was an important one—people from some prestigious recording label in New York—and Nick told him to look his best. He reversed directions and jogged back home just as dawn was breaking. Yasmine had to be up by now, but she probably hadn’t left the house. He thought about texting her, but then he thought since she was always late, he’d wait for her to text him.
For once, he’d be the late one. He knew she’d tease him about it. It made him smile.
They hadn’t seen each other for two days and the anticipation of meeting with her drove him wild with excitement. Although they had been texting words of love and lust, it paled in comparison to a live person: touching her cheek and stroking her hair, his lips against hers, their tongues intertwined, his hand sneaking up under her skirt.
Shit, he was getting hard again.
Made it hard to run.
The detour and the switch from glasses to contacts took about fifteen minutes. When he was on the road again, he texted her.
gonna be a little l8. don’t say a word or i’ll spank u.
He waited for his phone to jump. When a minute passed and she didn’t respond, Gabe texted.
r u there?
Another minute ticked by.
Weird.
Maybe her phone was acting up. Funny because it was fine last night.
His heart began to beat rapidly. As usual he was probably overreacting as he did to everything. No matter, he said to himself. He was just a few minutes away from their trysting place, better known as Coffee Bean.
Maybe he’d actually beat her there even with his being twenty minutes late.
And sure enough when he got there, she was nowhere to be found. The place had just opened, and he was the only patron around. It was still early. But after five minutes passed and she still didn’t show, he began to get a strange perception. He even checked both bathrooms, feeling like a pervert.
Nothing.
His gut kept telling him something wasn’t right.
“Hey, Gabe.”
He turned around. The counter was being manned by Joe today. He and Yasmine had come here so often, the staff knew them by name. “Hey, Joe. Have you seen Yasmine this morning?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
It was approaching six-thirty. A few patrons had come and gone. By now, she usually deigned to make an appearance.
He stepped outside and looked down the empty streets.
He felt an ominous throbbing in his chest.