As they pulled up to a large multistoried house with a paved driveway and a three-deep carport, Hunter caught his breath at the sight of a midsized man in semiprofessional dress training two large dogs in the front yard. He was holding a clicker and issuing commands, and the dogs were moving with the precision of competition field marchers.
“Well,” Grace mumbled, watching what were possibly English mastiffs as they massacred an attack dummy, “they’re not Dobermans.”
“If Chuck survives, he’ll be disappointed to hear that,” Josh murmured, and Grace had a moment to feel for his friend. Chuck’s survival was on his shoulders, even if Chuck had been the one who’d thought of getting out of the vehicle so he could reconnoiter. Josh tapped his earbud, and they all heard him as he murmured, “Ginormous fucking dogs close to the house, Chuck. Trained to kill.”
“Good,” Chuck said, cheerfully undeterred. “I brought bacon!”
“Roger that,” Josh murmured and tapped his earbud again. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s impressive.”
“He didn’t smell like bacon,” Grace observed as they pulled into a parking spot obviously reserved for visitors.
“Maybe he kept it in a plastic bag,” Hunter said, and Grace flashed him a relieved smile, because apparently Hunter got him.
“Recycled,” Josh said, and Grace had one of those sudden shafts of realization.
He was loved. These people understood him, and no matter what horrors Gabriel Hu held for him, he could do this.
They got out of the SUV and headed up the stone-paved walk toward the front door. The house had been built probably seventy-five years ago or so. Sturdy multicolored brick, covered in ivy, it stood three stories with a basement, probably. The white trim around the windows looked almost severe against all that brick-and-ivy tradition, and all of the draperies were dark colors too. No bright florals for those windows—not even in late spring.
The man who opened to Josh’s knock was thin to the point of gauntness and may have been handsome once. He certainly had striking cheekbones, and his sunken eyes were probably a tarnished gold, but his hair was thinning, and he had the sallow complexion of someone with liver or kidney problems. There was an air of desperation about the man, and the decided odor of smoke, probably vaped in some way.
It wasn’t until he said, “I’m sorry. Did you come to see me or my father?” that Grace recognized Gabriel Hu.
He gaped for a moment, while Josh stepped in smoothly. “Well, we came to visit your father,” Josh said, “but it’s good to see you, Gabe.”
Gabriel squinted at Josh and then widened his eyes. He took in Grace, and something terrible—dismay? anger? remorse?—flitted across his face so quickly it was like the shadow of a bird.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asked. “Dylan? What in the hell?”
“We need to talk to your father,” Josh said softly. “It’s business. Don’t worry—we don’t mean him any harm. We just need to ask him a few questions.”
Gabe’s brows drew together. “Business? You mean gem cutting? He’s got his workshop in the atrium upstairs—he likes to channel natural light through the skylight mirrors. He should be down for lunch in a few minutes.” For a moment he seemed supremely lost, and then he recovered himself. “Would you, uhm, like to join us for lunch?”
Josh had his mouth open to say “No, thank you”—Grace could tell—but Grace suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of being alone with this new, quiet, wasted Gabriel without a dining room table between them.
“Absolutely,” he said, jumping in, Josh’s upset stomach be damned.
“Let me go tell the cook,” Gabriel said, and with that he excused himself and simply drifted away.
“Are you kidding?” Josh asked, looking a little ill. “Lunch?”
“I’m hungry,” Grace lied.
“No you’re not,” Hunter said, irritated. “You signed us all up for the bulimia express just so you didn’t have to distract Gabe by talking to him.”
“Maybe,” Grace lied again.
“Definitely!” Josh growled. “Dammit, Grace, if Hunter has to pull over so I can puke, I’m going to rip off your dick and shove it up your nose, and when I’m done there, I’ll—”
The sounds of footsteps stopped him from more dire threats, but the look he shot Grace was eloquent.
“Hello?” The man that emerged, walking steadily down the stairs, was in his early fifties and was as slender as a bamboo shoot. “I wasn’t aware we had guests. Gabe? Gabe, where did you go?”
Gabe came rushing into the foyer, looking as though the movement had cost him. “Sorry, Baba.