Web of Lies

15

Now I knew whom the sedan outside belonged to. It had cop car written all over it. I just didn’t realize it belonged to my cop.

The two men turned at the sound of my footsteps on the worn floor. Warren T. Fox frowned. Surprise filled Donovan Caine’s golden eyes.

“Gin?” the detective asked. “What are you doing here?”

“You know her?” Warren Fox asked. His voice was high, thin, reedy, like someone whistling through a broken flute.

“Yeah,” Caine said in a low voice. “You might say I know her.”

Well enough to sleep with me. Well enough to want to do the same again. Despite the fact I’d killed his former partner.

I opened my mouth to respond when Finn and Violet entered the store behind me. The girl walked around me, went straight to her grandfather, leaned across the wooden counter, and hugged his neck tight.

The old man’s face softened for a moment, and the sheen of moisture dampened his eyes. Then he scowled and pulled away from the younger woman.

“Where have you been?” he snapped. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

Violet sighed. “I called you last night, Grandpa, remember? I told you I was staying with Eva.”

The old man’s brown eyes narrowed. “Yes, you called, and you sounded peculiar. But I wasn’t really worried until Eva called here this morning. She said you two were supposed to have breakfast, and you didn’t show.”

Violet’s face pinched up into an oh-shit-I’ve-just-beencaught look.

“I tried your cell phone to clarify the matter,” Warren continued. “No answer.”

“The battery died,” Violet said in a soft, desperate voice.

I didn’t know why she was still trying to stick to her story. The truth was going to come out in the next minute, two tops. I supposed Violet just wanted to spare her grandfather the ugly details about what had been done to her last night. Most people tended to block out things like that. Sometimes I wished I could do the same, instead of dwelling on the past the way I always did.

“I called the college, Eva again, and all your other friends I could remember. Nobody had seen you since last night,” Warren replied in a curt tone. “Do you know how worried I was about you? With everything that’s been going on? So I called Donovan to report you missing.”

I eyed Caine. So that’s what the detective was doing here. And from Warren’s use of his first name, it sounded like the two of them knew each other. The detective saw me looking and shrugged his lean shoulders.

Violet cringed again, and Warren opened his mouth to tear into his granddaughter some more for worrying him.

But I cut him off.

“Enough. Violet didn’t come home last night because someone tried to kill her.”

That shut him up. Warren’s mouth fell open, and he just stared at me. So did Donovan Caine. Violet shifted on her feet. Finn leaned against one of the coolers.

Amusement filled his bright green eyes.

“Now that I have your attention,” I said. “Let me tell you exactly what happened last night.”

——

The five of us ended up on the store’s wide front porch. I sat on the porch railing and leaned against one of the columns that supported the sloping tin roof. Finn was in a similar position across from me. Donovan Caine slouched on the steps between us, while Warren T. Fox and Violet rocked back and forth in two of the old-fashioned chairs.

“And there you have it,” I said, wrapping up my tale.

“That’s why Violet didn’t come home last night. Because she was a little busy getting her face put back together by an Air elemental. Her name’s Jo-Jo Deveraux. You might know her.”

Warren stared at me, his dark eyes narrowed and thoughtful. His gaze cut to Finn, then back to me. Thinking about something — or rather someone. Fletcher Lane.

“Let me get this straight, Gin,” Donovan Caine said.

“Violet went to the restaurant looking for some guy who called himself the Tin Man. Then someone shot up the Pork Pit, but you backtracked the shooter and realized he was aiming at Violet. So you used her credit card receipt to hack into her personal information and find her at Ashland Community College.

“Actually, that was me, detective,” Finn said. “The only thing Gin knows how to hack into is warm bodies.”

I shot him a dirty look. I hadn’t exactly told Warren and Violet what I used to do, but I was sure the old coot had guessed. After all, he’d known Fletcher.

Donovan shook his head, ignoring Finn’s remark. “You guys go to the college and see a dwarf attack Violet. Gin intervenes, and the two of you cart her off to some healer you know. Did I get it right?”

“More or less,” Finn replied. “Although you left out the part where I helped Gin subdue the assailant.”

“You and a monster truck,” I sniped. “I did all the hard, dirty work, if you’ll remember.”

Finn grinned at me.

At the sight, Warren Fox made a deep sound in his throat, almost like a choking cough. He stared at Finn.

“You’re the spitting image of your father when you smile like that.”

Some of the cheer drained out Finn’s green eyes.

“That’s what people tell me. He’s dead, you know. Two months now.”

Warren rocked back in his chair and nodded. “I know. Saw the obit in the newspaper.” The old man stared at Finn a moment longer, then turned to me. “And you’re Fletcher’s girl, aren’t you? The one he took in off the streets all those years ago?”

I frowned. “Yeah, I am. How do you know about that?”

Warren shrugged his stooped shoulders. “Fletcher and I might have had a falling out, but I kept tabs on him.”

Nobody said anything. But Donovan Caine looked at me, questions in his golden eyes. Despite our having slept together, the detective didn’t know about my time living on the streets — or that my family had been brutally murdered by a Fire elemental when I was thirteen. That I’d been tortured by the sadistic bitch and barely escaped with my life.

I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know. Pity was the last thing I wanted from the detective — or from anyone else.

Violet reached over, put her young, smooth hand on top of Warren’s brown, speckled one, and stopped his rocking. “Gin came here to help us, Grandfather.”

“Did she now?” Warren muttered.

Donovan frowned. “Help you with what, Warren?”

The old man resumed his rocking. “It’s nothing. Just that bastard Tobias Dawson.”

The detective’s frown deepened. “Tobias Dawson? The dwarven mine owner?”

“He wants the land the store sits on,” Violet explained in a quiet voice. “He’s always wanted it, but he’s become more and more insistent in the last two months.”

“It’s nothing,” Warren muttered again. “Just his usual threats and bluster. He knows he’ll never get the store or the land until I’m spinning in my grave.”

“Or until your granddaughter’s untimely rape and death puts you there,” Finn pointed out. “Whatever Tobias Dawson’s done in the past, he’s decided to play hardball now — starting with Violet.”

The college girl’s fingers crept up to her face, and her nose twitched, as if she was reliving the pain she’d suffered last night. She shivered.

Donovan noticed Violet’s reaction, and a sad, sick look filled his eyes. As a detective, Donovan had seen his share of victims. He knew how badly Violet had been hurt, how an innocent piece of her had been stripped away that she’d never get back. Anger and helplessness tightened Donovan’s rough features. Because he also knew how hard it could be to get justice for victims like Violet.

Especially in Ashland.

Warren noticed Violet’s shiver as well. His wrinkled face tightened, and rage flashed like black lightning in his eyes.

He reached over and patted his granddaughter’s hand.

“Don’t think about it, honey,” Warren said. “Don’t you ever think about what happened last night again. Because Tobias Dawson and his men will never lay another hand on you. I promise. No matter what I have to do to stop them.” He muttered the last few words.

“You should have told me,” Donovan Caine cut in. “I could help you with Dawson. Get him to back off.”

Finn snorted his disbelief. The detective glared at him.

“Please,” Finn scoffed. “Most of the Ashland po-po couldn’t get a puppy to give up a chew toy, much less manage someone like Tobias Dawson. You know he’s friends with Mab Monroe, right? You giving Dawson the hard cop stare isn’t going to cause him indigestion, much less get him to back off.”

“So what do you suggest?” the detective snapped.

“Well,” I drawled. “There was a reason I drove up here today.”

Donovan turned his golden eyes to me. Disappointment shimmered in his gaze. “To offer your services to Warren, right? To take care of Tobias Dawson in your own special way?”

“Something like that.”

Disgust filled the detective’s rugged face. “Once an assassin, always an assassin.”

Violet let out a soft gasp.

Warren stared at me. “So you do what Fletcher Lane, what the Tin Man did.”

“I used to. I’m retired now.”

Warren peered at me with his shiny brown eyes. “And what did he call you?”

I met his gaze with a flat stare. “The Spider.” The rune scars on my hand itched at the sound of my former assassin moniker. My mouth twisted. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

Warren gave a curt nod of his head. “I have.”

Nobody said anything. A bit of wind gusted down off the mountaintop overhead and stirred up dust in the gravel parking lot. The breeze swept on, and the tiny whirlwinds died down.

“I want to thank you for saving my granddaughter’s life,” Warren said. “But why did you really come here? Why do you want to stick your neck out for two people you don’t even know? Why do you want to tangle with somebody like Tobias Dawson? Like your friend said, he’s not someone whose bad side you want to get on.”

“Yeah,” Donovan chimed in. “I thought you’d retired.”

I stared at the detective. Our eyes met and held, and the familiar heat warmed the pit of my stomach. Answering warmth sparked in Donovan’s eyes, although he tried to smother it with cool indifference.

I held the detective’s gaze a moment longer, then turned my attention to Warren T. Fox, who’d stopped his rocking. His wrinkled face was blank and free of emotion, as though he couldn’t care less about my answer, but his fingers dug into the arms of his chair. Warren needed me, and he knew it — even if Donovan Caine didn’t.

“You’re right,” I said in a quiet voice. “I don’t know you and your granddaughter, don’t care about you. Why am I here? Because you once told your granddaughter a story about the Tin Man, about how he helped people with problems. You and Fletcher Lane might not have spoken in decades, but you still cared enough, thought enough, about him to tell Violet that story. So I’m here because of Fletcher. Because the two of you were like brothers once upon a time. Because if Fletcher were still alive, he’d be sitting right here, whether you wanted him to or not.”

There was more to it than that, of course. Much more.

Like the fact that I felt this peculiar kinship with the Foxes. That in a weird way, seeing Violet and Warren together was like looking at a sweeter, more innocent version of Fletcher Lane and myself. What we might have been, if circumstances had been different. Maybe it was crazy, but I wanted the Foxes to stay just the way they were. To keep on loving and fighting. To keep what was left of their innocence, especially Violet.

My mouth twisted again. “Besides, my retirement’s been pretty boring. Last night was the most excitement I’ve had in ages. And I find myself interested in why somebody like Tobias Dawson wants to get his hands on your land so badly he’d be willing to kill for it. I don’t care much for bullies like that.”

“A curious sort, huh?” Warren asked.

I smiled. “It’s a trait I got from Fletcher. So what do you say? Shall I poke around and see what I can come up with? Or should Finn and I get in his car and go back to the Pork Pit? It’s your choice, Warren.”

The old man stared at me, that thoughtful look in his eyes once again. As though he knew something about me that I didn’t even know myself. But Warren didn’t get a chance to answer.

On the highway, a black SUV slowed. Instead of passing by like all the other cars and trucks, it pulled into the gravel lot. For a moment, I thought the Foxes were going to get their first customer of the day. Then I saw the white banner on the car door. The one that read Dawson Mining Company. The two is in Mining had been changed to resemble a rune — a lit stick of dynamite. The same rune the dwarf who’d attacked Violet had had tattooed on his bicep.

Finn noticed the writing and rune as well and glanced at me. “Trouble,” he said in a low voice.

“You think?” I asked, already reaching for one of my knives.