“And he realized that you were with Slater against your will.”
Roslyn nodded. Weariness made her features sag. “And so here we are.”
“Here we are,” I murmured.
Silence.
I stared at Roslyn, who kept her gaze on the tabletop. The vamp had spilled her guts to me, held nothing back, but there was still one more thing I wanted to know.
“That first time when Elliot Slater came to question you about the party invitation, why didn’t you tell him that it was me?” I asked. “Why didn’t you give me up? Why did you really keep quiet?”
Roslyn lifted her eyes up to stare at me. “I didn’t tell Elliot it was you because I made a promise to you, Gin. I opened my mouth about what you do once before, and Fletcher Lane died as a result of it. Finn told me how Alexis James tortured Fletcher before he died. Finn was sick over it. So were you. I know that’s why you threatened me the way you did at Fletcher’s funeral. He was a good man, and once I’d realized what I’d done, how I’d helped cause his death, I was sick over it too.”
“Still,” I persisted, not quite ready to let the matter lie. “If you’d told Slater, they would have come after me. They might have even gotten to me before I figured out what was going on. Then at least our arrangement would have been at an end.”
Roslyn shrugged. “Finn and I have had some nice times together, and I know how important you are to him. How much like a sister you are to him. Call me sentimental, but I didn’t want to hurt Finn again.”
Finn and Roslyn were what I referred to as good-time buddies. They often got together for a little evening delight when they were between relationships—or when their current paramour was off doing something else. But more than that, Finn and Roslyn had a real friendship besides the sex. They genuinely cared about each other, much to my amazement.
“So I’ve answered your questions.” Roslyn hesitated. “I know—I know I don’t have the right to ask it, not after what happened to Fletcher. But I don’t have anyone else to turn to, Gin. I thought maybe if I just put up with Slater for a little while, that he’d get bored with me and move on. But he hasn’t. And he won’t. Not until he kills me.”
Tears gathered in Roslyn’s eyes again, but she blinked them back. “I don’t care so much about myself and what Slater will do to me. But I’m worried about Catherine and Lisa, what will happen to them if I’m not around to protect them. Lisa looks a lot like me, and Slater, he… he might…”
Roslyn’s voice faded away as she thought about what the giant might do to her younger sister, Lisa, and Lisa’s daughter, Catherine. The vamp clasped her hands together, trying to contain her emotions, trying to stop the tremors that shook her body and present her usual calm facade.
I didn’t ask Roslyn if she’d gone to the cops about what Elliot Slater was doing to her. She knew as well as I did that the large majority of the Ashland po-po could be bought for a song. Since Slater worked for Mab Monroe, his pockets were a lot deeper than Roslyn’s to start with. Not to mention the fact that the giant could just use the Fire elemental’s influence and connections to get everyone to look the other way. Unless someone decided to stand up to him. Unless someone decided to stop him.
Unless I stopped him.
This was it. The moment of truth. Up until now, all my talk about getting even with Mab Monroe for murdering my family had been just that—talk. I hadn’t taken any concrete action against the Fire elemental. Hell, I still didn’t even really know why Mab had murdered my mother and older sister in the first place—other than the fact that she enjoyed that sort of thing.
But if I went after Elliot Slater, if I killed the giant for what he was doing to Roslyn, there would be no going back. Offing Slater would be the same as declaring war on Mab and her organization. And then it would be me against the most powerful woman in Ashland. There was only one way that was going to end—with one of us dead. Mab Monroe was rumored to have more magic, more raw Fire power, than any elemental born in the last five hundred years. So I wasn’t too optimistic about living through any confrontation with her.
But really, there was only one thing I could do now. Sometimes I wondered if it had all been set the night Mab had murdered my family. If I was like one of the heroes in mythology books I constantly read. Like Oedipus, destined and inevitably drawing closer to doing the thing I was trying so very hard to avoid in the first place.
“The first thing you need to do is send your sister and niece out of town,” I said to Roslyn. “Treat them to a trip to Myrtle Beach or something. Make them pack enough clothes and cash for at least two weeks. And tell them to keep quiet about where they’re going.”
Roslyn stared at me. For the first time, an emotion crept back into her dull gaze. Hope. The one damn thing that made sticking my knives out for others worthwhile. She slowly nodded.
“And you need to pack your bags and go with them.”
Instead of nodding her agreement once more, Roslyn shook her head. “No.”
I looked at her. “No?”
“No,” she said, bitterness coloring her tone. “I know how these things work, Gin. Slater’s men know what he’s been doing to me. If I leave town, and he’s suddenly murdered, how’s it going to look? The police will come knocking on my door first thing, if Mab Monroe doesn’t beat them to me. No, I have to stay here in Ashland. I have to keep playing along with him.”
Roslyn was right, of course. That was exactly what would happen, but I was more concerned about getting her away from Slater right now. Yet I could tell by the hard slant of her mouth and the determination flaring in her eyes that Roslyn wasn’t going to leave town.
“You sure you want to do that?” I asked in a soft voice, giving her one more chance to back out. “Are you sure you can handle that?”
Roslyn shuddered, but she nodded her head again. “I can do it. I can… stand it a few more days. Besides, I want to be here. I need to be here.”
In other words, the vamp wanted to be around when I killed the giant so she could make sure he was good and dead. That he would never hurt her again. Couldn’t blame her for that.
“All right,” I said. “You can stay. But you’re going to have to do exactly what I say when I say it. Xavier too. No matter how strange or hard it seems. With no questions and no hesitation. Can you do that? And get him to do the same?”
“I can do it.” Her voice was a little stronger now.
“Good,” I replied. “We’ll start working on it today. Stick to your normal routine, but keep your cell phone with you at all times. You might not see much of Finn and me, but we’ll be watching you and Slater.”
Roslyn bit her lip. Suddenly, the vamp lurched over the table and grabbed my hand. Her fingers felt like ice against my own. “Thank you, Gin,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her cold fingers, then drew my hand away. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t killed the bastard yet.”
Once Roslyn and I squared away the details, I went to the back of the restaurant and told Xavier and Finn that they could return to the storefront. The two were more than happy to stop working for Sophia. The Goth dwarf had the pair rearranging bottles of mayonnaise and defrosting the blood stains out of the freezers.
I told Finn and Xavier what Roslyn and I had agreed to. To my surprise, the giant leaned down and enveloped me in a gentle hug.
“Thank you, Gin,” Xavier rumbled in my ear.
All these thank-yous and sentiment were making me uncomfortable. You’d think I’d just promised to lasso the moon or something the way Roslyn and Xavier were carrying on. Instead of just dragging out the deadly skill set I’d perfected over the years.
I stared at Finn, who grinned and shrugged. So I patted what I could reach of Xavier’s back, and the giant pulled away. We said our good-byes, I unlocked the front door, and Roslyn and Xavier left the restaurant.
I watched them walk down the street, and Finn moved to stand beside me.
“What are you thinking about?” he
asked.
“Nothing much,” I replied. “I’m just wondering how exactly I went from being the Spider to the Robin fucking Hood of the greater Ashland area. Three months ago, I was killing people for money. Lots of money. Buckets of it. Now, tell me a good sob story instead and I’ll take care of all your problems for free. Instead of stealing from the rich, I’m stabbing them to death for the poor.”
“Well, we are going to have to work on the pro bono part,” Finn admitted. “But there’s nothing wrong with helping people. Dad used to do it from time to time.”
I looked at Finn, with his walnut hair, ruddy skin, and green eyes that always reminded me so much of Fletcher. “Maybe, but the old man’s little hobby was something neither one of you ever shared with me.”
Finn shrugged. “Dad never told me much about it, either.”
“Probably because he knew you wouldn’t approve of the free part.”
Finn grimaced and clutched his chest. “Please, Gin. You know how the word free pains me.”
There was a reason Finnegan Lane was one of the best investment bankers in Ashland—he loved money. The feel of it, the smell, manipulating it, watching it grow, and, of course, all the pretty things he could buy with it.
“But as much as it hurts me to say it, I hardly think we can charge Roslyn for this job,” Finn said.
“You mean since I’m the one who brought Elliot Slater down on her to start with? That Roslyn’s situation is all my fault? That her pain and everything—everything—she’s had to endure is all my fault?”
Finn grimaced again. “I didn’t say that, Gin.”
“No, but we both know it’s true. So let’s get to work.”
Finn squeezed my shoulder and moved off to get a refill of his chicory coffee. I stood in front of one of the storefront windows. Roslyn and Xavier had long since disappeared, but I peered through the glass and brooded about my latest assignment.
Fucking pro bono work. Going to get me killed one day.
Maybe even today.
9
“Are you sure he’s in there?” I asked.
Finn grinned. “Baby, would I lie?”
I stared at him.
“Okay, frequently,” he admitted. “But you can trust me on this. Elliot Slater’s in that restaurant, along with Jonah McAllister and Mab Monroe. According to my sources, they’re having their weekly powwow. Talking business, counting their money, discussing the latest body count.”
“The usual, then,” I murmured.
I stared through the window of Finn’s silver Aston Martin. It was just after eleven, and we sat parked across and down the street from Underwood’s, Ashland’s most exclusive and expensive restaurant. Underwood’s was the kind of place where a glass of tap water cost ten bucks. More, if you wanted ice. The restaurant was located in one of the city’s older brick buildings, a classy, three-story affair in the financial district. Much of the stone had been stripped from the top floor and replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the restaurant’s patrons an impressive view of the Aneirin River that curved through this part of downtown. A crimson awning bearing the eatery’s name stretched out into the street, and valets hurried forward to open the doors on the steady stream of limos that pulled up to the curb.
Finn reached over and tapped the manila folder on my lap. “According to my info, the Three Musketeers should be ordering dessert about now. Tiramisu for Mab Monroe, pear cheesecake for Jonah McAllister, and a whole chocolate fudge pie for Elliot Slater.”
I opened the folder and flipped through the sheets of paper. As soon as Roslyn and Xavier had left the Pork Pit, Finn and I had gone to work. I’d left the restaurant in Sophia Deveraux’s capable hands for the rest of the afternoon, while Finn had fired up his laptop, reached out to his many sources, and started compiling all the information he could on Elliot Slater and the best and quickest way I could kill him.
Just like Fletcher Lane would have done, if the old man had still been alive. Finn even used the same type of plain-Jane folders that Fletcher had. Made me all nostalgic.
Nothing obvious had jumped out of the file, so we’d decided to tail the giant to see if we could spot any potential weaknesses. A bar he liked to frequent, a bookie he did business with, a mistress tucked away somewhere. It was one thing to just walk up to Slater and stab him to death. I could do that easily enough. It would be quite another to make his death look like a random bit of violence on the mean streets of Ashland and not have it traced back to me or Roslyn Phillips.
After Finn had worked his computer magic, we’d swung by Fletcher’s house to pick up some supplies for the evening. More silverstone knives for me, an extra laptop battery for Finn, and ski masks and dark, anonymous clothes for both of us. Normally I didn’t care if my targets saw my face before they died. It wasn’t like they were going to blab about my real identity where they were going. But I wasn’t taking any chances with Elliot Slater. Especially since he already knew me as Gin Blanco. It would be just my bad luck to get interrupted before he died and then have him point the finger back at me before he took his last, blood-soaked breath.
I closed the file, placed it on the floor, and leaned my head back against the seat.
“Speaking of files,” Finn said. “Did you ever look at that info on Bria that I compiled for you?”
“No.”
Finn stared at me with his bright green eyes. “Why not? I thought you’d be eager to see what your long-lost baby sister has been up to the past seventeen years.”
I sighed. “Part of me is. But part of me wonders if I should even bother.”
“Why?”
“Because Bria’s a cop, Finn,” I replied. “A real straight arrow, just like Donovan Caine was. I don’t think she’d be too thrilled to learn that her big sister has killed more people than the common cold.”
Finn looked at me for a moment. “Once again, you underestimate yourself. If Bria can’t understand why you’ve done the things you’ve done, then she doesn’t deserve to know you. Just like Donovan Caine didn’t deserve you.”
I tried to smile, but I don’t think it came off very well. “Sweet of you to say, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we? I can’t blame Donovan for leaving, not really. It’s one thing for a guy to want to sleep with me. But hanging around long-term with a former assassin? That’s not the kind of thing that makes a man rest easier at night, especially when he’s in bed next to me and I’ve got a knife tucked under my pillow and another one on top of the nightstand.”
Finn opened his mouth, probably to argue with me some more, but a movement across the street caught my eye. One of the valets hurried to open the door, and Mab Monroe strolled out into the dark night. The Fire elemental wore a stylish black trench coat, and her coppery hair glistened like wet blood against the dark fabric. Jonah McAllister exited next, followed by Elliot Slater. Both men wore suits, somber ties, and wingtips. I could see the gleam of their shoes even across the street.
Elliot Slater jerked his thumb at the two valets on duty. The kids paled, then hurried around the corner to retrieve someone’s car. Slater rejoined Mab and Jonah McAllister, and the Three Musketeers, as Finn had dubbed them, stood on the sidewalk talking. Finn rolled down his window to see if we could hear any of their conversation.
“… don’t care about the consequences. Just get it done,” Mab snapped to the other two.
“Perhaps you’re being a bit hasty…” McAllister began in a fainter voice. He turned around to watch Mab pace back and forth on the sidewalk, and the rest of his words were lost to me.
Mab whirled around on her heel and glared at the silver-haired attorney. “I’m never hasty, Jonah. Elliot and his men need to take care of it. Tonight. Am I understood?”
McAllister nodded his head. So did Slater.
A limo pulled to a stop at the curb in front of them. Mab said something else to her two flunkies, but the rumble of the engine drowned out her voice. The Fire elemental slid into the back of the limo, and a m
oment later it sped away into the night. One of the valets brought another car around, a late-model Mercedes. Jonah McAllister slipped into the driver’s seat, whipped a U-turn, and raced away in the opposite direction.
That left just Elliot Slater standing on the sidewalk. The giant pulled a slim cigar case out of his jacket pocket and lit up a Cuban with the help of a heavy silver lighter. Slater leaned against the brick of the restaurant and puffed away. The giant enjoyed two more cigars in rapid succession, but he made no move to leave.
“What is he waiting for?” I murmured. “Christmas?”
“I don’t know,” Finn replied.
We sat there and watched Slater smoke. About five minutes later, a black Hummer stopped in front of the restaurant. Slater crushed out his cigar and climbed into the back of the vehicle. Finn and I slid lower in our seats as the Hummer roared down the street past us.
Finn let the driver get a block away before sitting up and cranking the Aston’s engine. He turned to me and grinned. “Care to follow the white rabbit down his hole?”
“Sure,” I replied. “Let’s see what kind of late-night errand the giant is doing for Mab Monroe—and how we can fuck it up.”
* * *
Finn hung back at a discreet distance, and we followed the Hummer through the downtown district. The vehicle took one of the on ramps to the interstate, so Finn was able to blend in with the rest of the evening’s traffic.
“Looks like they’re headed for Northtown,” Finn murmured.
Ashland might sprawl over the mountainous region where Tennessee, Virginia, and North Carolina met, but the city was really divided into two sections—Northtown and Southtown. The Pork Pit and Ashland Community College lay close to Southtown, which was home to the disenfranchised, down-on-their-luck, and dregs of society. Junkies, vampire hookers, and homeless bums wandered the Southtown streets, along with menial, blue collar workers barely eking out a living.