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?"
"Because you'll never change. Not really."
"Oh no?"
"No," he replied in a firm voice. "Think about it. We find out what Tobias Dawson's doing, and what's the first thing out of your mouth? You talking about killing him. You don't consider any other options, you don't consider anything. You decided you wanted Dawson dead, and you made it happen."
"I did what needed to be done," I said in a cold voice.
"Nothing more, nothing less. And there were no other options, detective. Because the police in this town are a joke, and we both know it. The only law, the only justice, in Ashland is what people make for themselves."
Donovan flinched at my harsh words, but he didn't dispute them. "I just - I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, Gin. But this thing with us, it's over."
"So you're leaving town to get away from me?" I snapped.
Donovan lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Yes. No. I don't know. It's not all about you. Part of it is the department. There's so much corruption there. I'm just... tired of it all. Of getting up every single fucking morning and knowing that I'm fighting a losing battle. I'm on the edge here, Gin. Close to becoming just like all the other crooked cops in this city. Letting you go after Alexis James was one thing. She came after both of us first. But Tobias Dawson, that was different. If it had been anyone but you, I would have cuffed your ass and dragged you down to headquarters before you got anywhere near Dawson. But I didn't. And I regret it. More than you'll ever know. I'm sorry, Gin. I want you to know that. I really am sorry."
"No," I said. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I wasted my time on you. Face it, Donovan. You're not leaving town because I killed Dawson. You're leaving town because you didn't stop me from doing it. Because you didn't have the strength to. Because even now, despite everything, you still want to fuck me. You're running away because your morals are more important to you than anything else, including what you could have with me."
Donovan flinched, but he didn't deny the truth of my words. It was too late for that. Now the detective just looked weary. His resignation only made me angrier. For a moment, the rage surged through me, hard and cold and bitter as bile. I wanted to throw something, break something. I wanted to break him. Palm my knife, step forward, and slash his throat with it. Hurt him like he was hurting me.
But I drew in a breath. I might wound Donovan with words, but nothing else. I might be a former assassin, but I was better than that. I'd never killed out of passion, and I wasn't going to start now. The detective wasn't worth it.
"You turned your back on me at the mine because you were glad I was dead," I said. "Because the choice to be with me had been taken out of your hands, and your precious morals were still intact. And then I popped up again, still alive. And you were right back to square one. That's the real truth, isn't it?"
He didn't say anything. And I finally let myself acknowledge something I'd known all along. Donovan Caine wanted me, but he wasn't strong enough to accept me. Not my past, not my strength, not the woman I was. Bitter disappointment filled me, replacing my rage, but I forced myself to ask the final question I wanted an answer to.
"Where are you going?"
He shook his head. "I think it's better if you don't know that, Gin."
I nodded. Maybe it was.
"I also came here to warn you," Donovan said in a soft tone. "Jonah McAllister is out for blood for whoever killed his son. He won't stop until he finds the person responsible. One of my sources says he's looking into everyone Jake had a problem with - including you. And Mab Monroe doesn't think you died in the mine with Dawson. My captain got a call from her the other day wanting to know if we'd found any more bodies in the rubble. So watch your back."
"Why tell me all this?" I said. "It's not like you care. Not really."
Not enough to stay. That's what I wanted to say, to scream at him. But I didn't.
Donovan shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I felt I owed it to you. The department's already replaced me."
"With who?" I said it more to say something than out of any real curiosity.
He shrugged again. "Some hotshot from Savannah named Coolidge. That's all I know. A woman. Supposed to be a real go-getter. Just like you."
Donovan stared at me again. His gold eyes burned into mine. Emotions flashed in his gaze. Longing. Fear.
Regret. Determination. For once, I softened my face and let him see what I really felt for him. Surprise flickered in his eyes, and for a moment, I thought it might be enough to change his mind. But then his face hardened, and I knew I'd lost him. I hoped Donovan Caine's morals kept him warm at night because I never would again.
Not now.
There was nothing left to say. The detective nodded at me a final time, stared into my eyes a moment longer.
Then he turned and walked out of the Pork Pit, leaving my gin joint, my heart, cold and empty and aching.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I gave Violet and Eva their promised milkshakes, then kicked them out and closed down the restaurant for the night. Thirty minutes later, I was just about to leave when the phone rang. On a whim I picked it up, half-hoping that it might be Donovan Caine, calling to apologize or - something. Anything.
"Pork Pit."
"Hello, Gin."
Owen Grayson's deep voice flooded the line. A pleasant sound, but I couldn't hold back my disappointed sigh.
"Owen."
"You don't seem overjoyed about hearing from me," he said.
"What do you want?" Maybe I should have been nicer, maybe I would have been nicer if not for Donovan Caine.
"I just wanted to talk to you, see how you were, since you haven't returned any of my messages," he said in a mild voice.
My hand tightened around the phone. Since the incident at the mine, Owen Grayson had called the Pork Pit and left me a few messages, none of which I'd returned.
Mainly because I hadn't known where things had stood with me and Donovan Caine. Well, now I did. But I didn't need Owen Grayson to swoop in and pick up the pieces. I could do that all by my lonesome. Been doing it for years.
"I've been busy."
"Seeing Donovan Caine?" he said. "Eva called and told me he stopped by the restaurant tonight and that things were tense between the two of you."
My gray eyes narrowed. "Eva's very chatty, isn't she?"
Owen let out a laugh. Somehow the low sound lightened my mood the tiniest bit. "Don't blame her. I asked her to play the part of spy."
"And why is that?"
"Because my offer still stands," he replied. "About wanting to get to know the real Gin Blanco."
I snorted. I didn't think Owen would like the real Gin Blanco and her silverstone knife collection. Then again, he hadn't flinched that night at Mab Monroe's party when I'd been pretending to be a hooker. Which was more consideration than Donovan Caine had ever shown me. Still, I wasn't ready to jump into something new. Not with Owen Grayson, whose real motives were still a mystery to me. Despite the desire I'd seen in his violet eyes.
"Sorry, Owen, but I'm just not in the mood right now," I said in a kinder tone. "I don't think I will be for the foreseeable future."
"No worries," Owen replied in a smooth tone. "I'm nothing if not patient. I just wanted to call and remind you that you had other options, Gin."
"Well, I'll keep those other options in mind," I drawled. "But right now, I've had a long day, and I plan to go home - alone."
"Don't let me keep you then," he murmured.
"Don't worry. I won't."
He let out another laugh, and I found myself smiling back, despite my mood.
"Good night, Gin," he rumbled.
Good night, Owen."
And just like that, he was gone. But unlike Donovan Caine, I knew that Owen Grayson would be back. For some reason, that thought comforted me, standing in the darkness of the restaurant.
After Owen's call, I drove home to Fletcher's. Checked the gravel in the driveway, then the granite around the door. Once I was satisfied there was no one lurking around, I went inside and headed straight to the kitchen. I poured myself a tall glass of gin, dropped some Ice cubes in it, then plopped down on the sofa in the den. I leaned my head back, stared into space, and brooded.
Donovan fucking Caine. He was all I could think about right now. I couldn't believe the detective was actually leaving Ashland. That he was leaving me. That we were never going to get the chance to fully explore this sizzling attraction between us. All that promise tossed aside. And for what? So the detective could rest easy at night, his idealistic morals and outdated code of justice still intact? Pointless, all of it.
I took a long pull of my gin, relishing the cold burn of the alcohol. For a moment, I considered retrieving the bottle out of the cabinet and getting sloshed. But it wouldn't do me a damn bit of good. I'd just wake up with a hangover tomorrow. Donovan Caine would still be leaving, if he hadn't already gone. He'd just broken up, more or less, with a former assassin. Not the kind of person you wanted knowing your whereabouts.
I could go after Donovan, of course. Talk to him again, plead my case, ruthlessly seduce him into giving us another chance. Into staying in Ashland. I'd thought about nothing else on the drive home.
But I couldn't do that. Because I still wanted what I'd always wanted - Donovan Caine to desire me, to want to be with me, Gin Blanco, the former assassin who called herself the Spider. But he didn't, and he never would. His code of justice wouldn't let him, any more than mine would let me forget about all the bad things I'd done in my life, all the people I'd killed. Or pretend that I wouldn't do it all over again, if it became necessary.
"Warren, you old coot, you were right after all." I raised my glass in a toast, then took another sip of gin.
I plunked my glass down on the battered coffee table, and my eyes landed on the folder - the one that contained the information on my murdered family. That was something else I'd been thinking about a lot these past few weeks. For the first time, I think I realized why Fletcher Lane had left it for me. He'd regretted his past with Warren T. Fox, for not making amends with his old friend. Fletcher had had some fifty years to do it, and he'd never gotten around to it. He didn't want me to have those same kinds of regrets, so the old man had given me a choice, given me the information I needed to make a choice. And I knew what I was going to do. I'd known ever since the night of Mab Monroe's party.
Ever since I'd realized she was the Fire elemental who'd murdered my family.
Maybe it had been her smell, jasmine mixed with smoke. Maybe it had been her silky voice. Or even that brief laugh she'd let out while she'd been standing over me, discussing my impending demise with Tobias Dawson.
But it had brought all of my memories of that night back to the surface. I hadn't seen the Fire elemental's face when she'd tortured me. But I'd heard her voice, her laugh.
And they were identical to Mab's.
I was sure of it now. Or maybe I'd known all along but just hadn't wanted to admit it to myself. That's why Fletcher had written Mab's name down in the folder to start with. To make me look in her direction and figure it out for myself.
I knew the who; now I wanted to know the why. Why had Mab killed my mother and older sister? Why had she tortured me? Why had she demanded to know where Bria was? When I found out the why, I'd have the final piece of the puzzle.
And then I'd kill the bitch.
Oh, I knew it wasn't going to be easy. That I could die in the process. That I probably would die. But Mab Monroe had murdered my family, made me think I'd killed my baby sister for seventeen years. I'd lived on the streets and eaten garbage because of her. Hidden from junkies and vampire pimps and all the other Southtown trash. Been scared and weak and frightened because of her. But not anymore. And mine wasn't the only family she'd ruined over the years. The Snow family was hardly a footnote compared to all the horrid things Mab Monroe had done.
And then there was Bria. My eyes traced over the picture of my baby sister. Blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, the primrose rune around her neck. She was out there somewhere, waiting for me.
"I'm going to find you, baby sister," I whispered. "One way or another."
My eyes flicked up to the rune drawings propped on the mantel. I stared at the image of the Pork Pit that I'd drawn, of the sign over the front door. Fletcher's rune, as I thought of it. I raised my glass in another toast.
"Here's to you, Fletcher Lane," I said. "I hope I'll make you proud."
Only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall broke the silence. I tossed back the gin and set my glass aside. Then I picked up the folder, ready to go through all the information again. And again and again if necessary.
Until I found all the answers I was looking for.
Donovan Caine had been right about one thing. Part of me would always be the Spider - and it was time to put my skills to good use. To do the things that needed to be done.
Find Bria.
Figure out why Mab Monroe had murdered my family.
Kill Mab.
"The good ole days are back again," I said.