Elemental Assassin 02 - Web of Lies (40 page)

I curled my hands into fists, hiding the scars from sight, and tried to ignore the shiver that shook my body.

———

I spent the rest of the night at the Foxes’, resting up, and Finn came to get me the next day just before the crack of noon, as was his style. I was sitting on the front porch of Country Daze in some of Violet Fox’s borrowed clothes when he pulled up in his Cadillac Escalade. I’d already said my good-byes to Warren T. Fox, who was still inside with Jo-Jo Deveraux. Sophia was coming up later to pick up her older sister, who wanted to spend a few more hours gossiping with Warren.

Finn got out of the car and walked over to me. He slid his designer sunglasses down so he could peer over the top of the lenses. “Nice clothes.”

“Lovely to see you too, Finn,” I replied in a wry tone.

But I got up and hugged my foster brother anyway. He hugged me back as tight as he could.

“You ready to leave?” Finn asked.

I looked up at the tin sign mounted over the front door. Country Daze. Yeah,
dazed
was one way of putting everything I’d gone through the last few days. I stared at the gleaming sign a moment longer, then turned and smiled at Finn. “Let’s blow this gin joint. Take me home. Take me to the Pork Pit.”

34

The incident at the coal mine played out for the next week. Folks worked around the clock for days, digging, moving, and hauling earth and stone out of the way before they finally recovered Tobias Dawson’s body, along with those of his two giant workers. The coroner said both the giants and Dawson died of blunt force trauma.

Yeah, the cave-in had taken out the giants, but Dawson had died from those Ice daggers I’d launched into his torso. Too bad the evidence had melted away—just like always. Something I was grateful for.

After the rescue workers recovered the bodies, there wasn’t much else to do. So they closed down the mine and went home. A couple of days later, Finn showed me a business article in the
Ashland Trumpet
that said Owen Grayson had bought Tobias Dawson’s company for a song—lock, stock, and barrel. No plans had been announced about what would happen to the collapsed mine, and Grayson was quoted as saying he wasn’t in a rush to make a decision. Either way, I’d destroyed the diamonds in the cavern, so no one would be sniffing around there anytime soon. Which meant Warren T. Fox, his granddaughter, Violet, and their store, land, and house were safe for now and the foreseeable future.

I was glad I’d been able to help the Foxes, glad I’d been able to do something for someone who had once meant so much to Fletcher Lane. I thought the old man would have approved of me helping Warren, even if the two of them had parted on bad terms all those years ago.

As for me, I lapsed gracefully back into retirement. Auditing classes at Ashland Community College. Reading.

Cooking. Running the Pork Pit.

That last one was easier now, since Jake McAllister was out of the picture. The incident at the mine shaft had dominated the news, of course, but there was a small mention about Jake and the fact he’d been found dead at his father’s home. The coroner blamed it on natural causes caused by an undetected heart defect—or some such nonsense. There was no mention of Jake being at the party at Mab Monroe’s house, and no mention of him being found stabbed to death in one of the bathrooms.

But with Jake dead, his father, Jonah McAllister, had no real reason to squeeze me anymore. At least, not about the robbery and pressing charges again his son. Oh, I imagined Jonah was still angry at me over what had happened the day he had come to the restaurant and that he’d get back around to harassing me sooner or later, if only because he enjoyed that sort of thing. But for now, the Pork Pit was back up to its regular flow of customers. Still, I kept an eye out for trouble. If Jonah McAllister ever connected me with the blond hooker who’d been at Mab’s party, he’d get his giants, come to the Pork Pit, and raze the restaurant to the ground—with me inside it.

Which is why I had Finn make some discreet inquiries into the matter. Jonah McAllister was said to be seething with rage over the murder of his son—and the fact the incident had taken place at Mab Monroe’s mansion. McAllister had vowed to find his son’s killer and take care of her himself—with his bare hands. Mab Monroe was also said to be livid at the fact someone had dared to murder her lawyer’s son in her own home.

Mab was also said to be quietly searching for a blond hooker who’d attended her party and had been seen leaving with Tobias Dawson. According to Finn, the Fire elemental had sent Elliot Slater and a couple of his giant goons to question Roslyn Phillips about the mysterious hooker. But Slater had eventually been satisfied that the invitation and rune necklace had been stolen from Northern Aggression without Roslyn’s knowledge. Still, I had Finn wire Roslyn a significant amount of money to help make up for what I was sure had been a forceful interview.

And I still wondered about that night at the party and why Mab hadn’t just killed me herself when I’d been knocked out cold on the ground in front of her. It would have been easy enough for her to do. Why make Dawson do it? Why make him take me somewhere else? Had Mab known he would take me to the mine? Maybe she’d thought I’d kill Dawson for her, and she could step in and have all the diamonds for herself. It wouldn’t have been a bad plan, if I hadn’t collapsed the whole mountain in the process.

I didn’t know the Fire elemental’s reasoning, and I’d never believed much in luck. But I knew that I’d dodged my own death that night. But now she was actively searching for me, and I had no illusions about what would happen if she ever discovered my real identity.

The fact was I’d have to be more careful for the foreseeable future—at least until someone else caught Mab Monroe’s interest.

———

Two weeks after the incident at the mine, I perched on my stool at the Pork Pit reading
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
by Mark Twain. Fletcher’s copy of
Where the Red Fern Grows
adorned the wall beside the cash register, of course, but it had been joined by something new—the picture of him and Warren T. Fox. I think Fletcher would have liked having it in the restaurant.

It was a Monday night again and quiet except for my two customers—Eva Grayson and Violet Fox. The two college girls sat at the counter, slurping down chocolate milkshakes and studying. Their books covered a good portion of the countertop. Eva and Violet had started coming into the Pork Pit at least once a week when they had an hour or two to kill between classes. Sometimes, Cassidy, Eva’s other friend, joined them. But more often than not it was just the two girls.

“So when are you going to go out with my big brother?”

Eva said, pushing aside her empty milkshake glass.

I looked up from my book. “Why do you ask?”

Eva stared at me. “Because every time I mention I’ve been in here, he asks me how you are, Gin. Why don’t you give the poor guy a break?”

I raised my eyebrow. “If your big brother wants to ask me out, he can come down here and do it himself, instead of getting his little sister to plead his case to me.”

Eva waved her hand. “I’m just filling you in on Owen’s good qualities. Not pleading his case.”

“What was it you told me you were majoring in again?”

“Marketing,” Eva replied with a grin.

“I rest my case.”

Violet just laughed and took another swig of her own milkshake.

The front door opened, causing the bell to chime. I looked up, ready to greet a potential customer.

And he walked into the restaurant.

Detective Donovan Caine. Black hair, golden eyes, bronze skin. The Hispanic detective looked the same as I remembered, except for the lines on his face. For once, they seemed to have smoothed out, as though some great weight had been lifted off his lean shoulders. As though he’d made some decision that had finally brought him a measure of peace. I wondered what it could be, but I had a funny feeling it had something to do with me. Maybe everything to do with me.

The detective came over and rested his hands on the counter. Hands that had done such wonderful things to my body. “Gin.”

“Detective.”

“Can we talk?” he asked in a low voice.

I hadn’t seen the detective since that afternoon I’d waved to him from the ridge, and he hadn’t made any effort to contact me. People always talked about the stages of grief you went through when something traumatic happened. Hah. I’d pretty much moved from hurt to just plain pissed, with no stops in between. Still, I was curious as to why Donovan had come, what he wanted to say to me now, two weeks too late. Fucking curiosity. Just wouldn’t let me be.

“Sure. Let’s chat.” I turned my gray eyes to Violet and Eva. “Why don’t you girls go in the back for a few minutes and convince Sophia to make you some fresh milkshakes? On the house.”

Violet shrugged and walked around the far end of the counter. Eva Grayson studied Donovan Caine with open interest. She sniffed, clearly telling me she didn’t think the detective had anything on her big brother. Then she folowed Violet.

I waited until the two college girls had disappeared through the swinging doors and were out of earshot before I looked back at the detective. “I saw you on TV at the coal mine. Looked like you had your hands full recovering Tobias Dawson’s body.”

The detective nodded. “I did. But Owen Grayson was a tremendous help with that. So were all the other emergency and disaster workers.”

We could have been talking about the weather for as interesting as the conversation was. But the detective’s hands gripped the edge of the counter like he wanted to break it off. He was upset about something. I had no idea what it could be. Because he was the one who’d turned his back on me that day at the mine, not the other way around. So I decided to get to the heart of the matter.

“Why did you come here, Donovan?” I asked. “What do you want?”

The detective stared at me, his golden eyes tracing over my face. “I’m leaving Ashland, Gin. I thought you should know. I thought I should tell you in person.”

For a moment I was stunned. Simply stunned. Of all the things he could have said, I wasn’t expecting that—and the emotions it stirred up in me. Hurt. Anger. Sadness.

“You’re leaving town? Why?”

Donovan ran his hands through his black hair. “A lot of reasons. Too many to get into right now.”

“Well, let’s get into the only one that matters, the real reason you’re here. Me,” I snapped. “You’re leaving town because of me, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” The detective tried to smile. It didn’t come off very well.

“Why?” I asked. “You turned your back on me at the mine that day. I got the message. For some reason, you don’t want to have anything to do with me. Not anymore. You don’t have to leave town to accomplish that, detective. I’m not the sort who runs after a man, begging him not to leave her.”

My voice dripped with acid. So did my heart, but I kept my face calm, cold, remote. I wasn’t going to let Donovan Caine know how much he’d hurt me that day—how much he was hurting me now. I’d thought we could have something together, a real relationship. That maybe Donovan was someone I could share my heart and life with, dark though they were. But that hope had burned up and crumbled to ash, like so many other things in my life. Hope. A wasted emotion, more often than not.

“I came here to explain,” Donovan said in a low voice.

“Can you please just let me do that?”

“Fine,” I snarled. “Explain.”

Donovan drew in a deep breath. “I’ve thought about you every day, Gin. Ever since that first night we met at the orchestra house. The night Gordon Giles was murdered. I’ve replayed that scene over and over in my head. And not just that one. That night at Northern Aggression. The time we spent together at the country club. Then, in my car a few weeks ago. That night in the rain. I can’t get you out of my head. Your voice, your smell, your laugh, the way you feel against me.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” I asked. “We’re attracted to each other. That’s what people do when they’re attracted to each other.”

Donovan stared at me. “It’s a bad thing because of who you are and what you used to do.”

I’d expected the words, but they still stung. I sighed.

“If this is still about Cliff Ingles—”

He shook his head. “It’s not about Cliff, not anymore. I know why you killed him. Like I told you before, I might have done it myself, if I’d had the chance. No, this is about me.”

I just looked at him.

Donovan drew in a breath. “Do you know why I didn’t come see about you at the mine?”

“Not really.”

“After that night we were together on my car, I felt like maybe there could be something between us,” he said in a low voice. “But then you said you were going after Tobias Dawson. To kill him. And I let you. I
let
you. I just stood by in the background while you went after another man—to murder him. I did the very thing I’d always sworn not to do—I looked the other way. Not because Dawson was a bad guy, but because of
you
. I compromised myself because of you, Gin, and what I feel for you.”

Guilt, grief, and disappointment flashed in his golden eyes. And I thought back to what Warren T. Fox had told me.
He’s not the one for you,
the old man’s voice whispered in my head. Somehow I pushed my hurt aside, trying to be calm and rational about this. Trying to get Donovan Caine to change his mind. To stay. To give us a fucking
chance
.

“You know as well as I do that Tobias Dawson was never going to leave the Foxes alone. That he was in deep with Mab Monroe and both of them—
both
of them—would have done everything in their power to get their hands on those diamonds. Dawson dying was the only way to save Warren and Violet.”

Donovan shook his head. “I just can’t bring myself to believe that, to accept it.”

This was the same old argument we’d had so many times now. Too many to count. It wouldn’t go anywhere, so I decided to try another tactic. “Why is feeling something for me so terrible? Why can’t you just accept the fact I used to be an assassin and that I’m trying to change?”