“I did several friendly deals with Fletcher Lane over the years, and I inquired about your services from time to time. Besides, I like to stay on top of these things for professional reasons. Helps keep me young.”
Fletcher hadn’t told me about any deals he’d ever done with Mallory Parker, and had never mentioned anything regarding her asking about hiring me. Then again, the old man had never told me anything about Lorelei either.
Mallory noticed the surprise and suspicion on my face and let out a small, trilling laugh. “I might be old, but I’m not dead yet, sweetheart. At least, not until someone like you comes to visit me in the black of the night.”
I didn’t respond.
“I’ll arrange for you to receive the money any way you like. Cash, gold, bearer bonds.” She paused, then waggled her fingers again, showing off her rings. “Although I prefer diamonds myself. They are a girl’s best friend for a reason. Several, actually. Easy to transport, easy to fence. After all, you just never know when you might need the money to leave town in a hurry. I’ve found that it’s best to be prepared for anything, haven’t you?”
I still didn’t respond.
Mallory picked up her white hat and arranged it on top of her head before turning her steely blue eyes back to me. “Think about my offer, Ms. Blanco. It’s one of the most lucrative you will ever receive. I will expect an answer by the end of the day. Finnegan knows how to reach me. Until then. Ta-ta, y’all.”
She nodded at Lorelei and me, plastered another syrupy smile on her face, and moved off into the crowd to swim with all the other sharks.
* * *
Across the garden, Jo-Jo waved her hand to catch my attention. She tilted her head at Mallory, who was now holding court in the middle of a pack of society dames. I shook my head, telling Jo-Jo that nothing had been resolved. She nodded back, then turned and started talking to Roslyn.
“Well, well, well. Your pet dwarf and your nightclub madam,” Lorelei said in a snarky tone. “I see that the Gin Blanco gang is out in full force today.”
“Jo-Jo healed you at the cabin that day,” I snarked right back. “And you do business with Roslyn just like all the other bosses do. So shut your mouth about my friends before I shut it for you. Permanently.”
Lorelei leaned back in her chair, unconcerned by the cold threat of violence in my voice, although she kept one hand on the table, next to her clutch. “I guess you remember me now, huh? I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. Why, given all the hype surrounding the great Spider, I would have thought that you would have been knocking on my door long before now. But it’s been, what, two days? And you’re just now confronting me?” She clucked her tongue, mocking me. “Very disappointing, Gin. Mab Monroe would have
already resolved this whole situation.”
“I’m not Mab,” I said, in an even icier tone than before. “Something you should be extremely grateful for, sugar.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’d be dead, along with Mallory—and Raymond too. Mab never was very merciful to troublemakers or their targets.”
Lorelei scoffed. “Well, at least she would have killed him. And that is definitely something I could drink to.”
She dragged over the mint julep she’d been sipping before I’d sat down, raised it to her lips, and threw back the rest of it. Lorelei put the empty glass down and pushed it away so hard that it snagged on a wrinkle in the tablecloth and almost tipped over before slowly righting itself. The teetering motion made the ice inside the glass rattle around like dominoes.
“All these months, you’ve known that I was the Spider, all the times our paths have crossed, Mab’s funeral, that night at the Briartop art museum, the Monroe mansion a few weeks ago . . . Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?”
Lorelei gave me a flat look. “Tell you what, exactly? That my father abused me and my mom? That he basically kept us prisoners? That every time she tried to leave him, he only got more jealous, violent, and vicious? That he finally murdered her right in front of me? Forgive me for not bringing up my unhappy childhood.”
The longer I stared at her, the more anger tightened her face.
“Besides, I always thought you knew who I was,” she said in a harsh voice. “How could you have forgotten?”
Her words came out as a bitter accusation, one that made my stomach tense up with guilt and shame. Because I had forgotten—completely.
Oh, back when I was younger, I’d wondered what had happened to the girl and had constantly pestered Fletcher for updates about her. But all the old man had ever told me was that she was safe, so I’d slowly quit thinking and asking about her and had moved on to other things the way that kids, people, so often do. And I’d had plenty of other things to focus on. My assassin training, all the jobs I’d done, getting my revenge on Mab, all the other folks I’d gone up against over the past year. I doubted that I would have ever realized that Lorelei was that same girl, if not for Pike trying to bomb the Delta Queen.
But I wasn’t about to admit any of that to her, and I certainly wasn’t going to let her see my guilt over it. So I shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve killed a lot of people since then.”
“So have I,” she snapped. “Funny, though, how that one day is still branded in my mind, like it just happened yesterday.”
For the third time, magic rolled off her body, a mix of cold and hard power that confirmed my suspicions about her having both Ice and metal magic. The power cut off as quickly as it had before, but Lorelei couldn’t hide the slight sag of her shoulders, the twist of her mouth, or all the horrible memories that darkened her eyes, just like the blood and bruises that had blackened her face all those years ago. So her magic was tied to her emotions, and she only lost her grip on it and let it show when she was particularly upset.
Like now.
“Is that why you hate me so much?” I asked. “Because I didn’t remember you?”
Lorelei let out a bitter laugh. “Of course not. I’m not that petty.”
“Then why?”
“You really don’t know?”
I shook my head.
She leaned forward, anger glittering in her blue eyes. “I hate you because you’re Gin Blanco, the great assassin, the Spider. I hate you because you’re the head of the underworld now, a job that you are extremely ill suited for and obviously don’t want but lucked into anyway, just like you seemingly luck into everything else in life. Killing Mab Monroe, snagging Owen Grayson, becoming some sort of fucking folk hero to the downtrodden. Some of us have to work our asses off for every single thing we have in this life, but not you, not Gin Blanco. You are the luckiest damn person I’ve ever met. But most of all, I hate you because it should have been me that day.”
She stabbed her finger into her chest, right where her heart was. The diamonds in her rose-and-thorn rune ring winked accusingly at me. “It should have been me, not you. But you took that away from me without even trying.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? What did I take away from you?”
She huffed and gave me a sneering look like I was the dumbest person alive. “Forget it. The great Gin Blanco wouldn’t understand anyway.”
As much as I wanted to snap right back and tell her to cut out the cryptic shit, already, I tried to get my temper under control, struggling to find some common ground with her. Because Lorelei was hurting and had been for years, and I’d forgotten all about her.
“But why didn’t you at least tell me that the bomb on the Delta Queen was meant for you and not me? I am allegedly the head of the underworld. Those sorts of things are rather pertinent to me now.”
She snorted. “Please. You’re the big boss in name only. None of the heavyweights is going to come to you with anything important. Besides, I have my own plans for Raymond—and they don’t involve you.”
I stared her d
own. “My friends could have been killed on the riverboat. So I’m involved now, whether you like it or not.”
“Forget it,” she said, sneering. “And forget what my grandmother offered you. I don’t need your so-called protection, and I certainly don’t want your damn help. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“Is that why you keep touching that gun in your purse?”
Startled, Lorelei wrapped her hand around the black satin clutch on the table in front of her. It was just the right size to hold a phone, a compact, a lipstick, and a small pistol. The top of the bag was open, and I could see something glinting inside, although it seemed pale, even opaque, instead of the gunmetal-gray I would expect. But what was even stranger was the chill that radiated off the bag, as though it were full of ice cubes. Curious.
Lorelei had been touching the bag off and on ever since Mallory had left, as though she were thinking about pulling out whatever weapon was inside and going to town on me with it. But she must have realized how badly that would end for her, because she moved her hand away from the bag.
“Just stay away from Mallory and me.” Lorelei shoved her chair back, surged to her feet, and whirled around to storm away.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you—and your mother,” I said in a soft voice. “I know . . . how hard it is to lose someone you love. I know what’s it like to have them ripped away so brutally, so viciously. I know how helpless that can make you feel, how vulnerable, how victimized.”
Her back stiffened. She paused, as if debating whether or not to respond, then stared at me over her shoulder, her pretty features hard and determined. “I’m nobody’s victim.” She spat out the words. “Not anymore. Never again.”
Lorelei whipped back around and hurried off without another word, making her way over to Mallory, Delilah, and the other society gals. She plastered a fake smile on her face, as though she didn’t have a care in the world, then grabbed another mint julep from a waitress and downed it in one gulp. I kept staring at her, comparing her with the girl I’d met so long ago.
She was right. The Lorelei Parker I knew was no victim. She was a criminal who made people shake in their shoes, and she ran her smuggling operations with brutal, ruthless efficiency, often taking care of her problems herself and making an example out of anyone who didn’t meet her expectations. According to Fletcher’s file, she’d dropped almost as many bodies in and around Ashland as I had. We were two sides of the same coin.
Lorelei didn’t need my protection. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she had Jack Corbin and a whole host of giant guards to help her do it. And it wasn’t like I needed or even wanted the fat payday Mallory had offered me.
Still, the longer I looked at Lorelei, the more acidic guilt bubbled up inside my chest, eating into the blackened shards of my heart.
Because, like it or not, everything that was happening to her now was partially my fault.
16
I needed some time to think, so I got to my feet and headed toward the large trellis that arched over the garden’s entrance and exit. Jo-Jo and Roslyn watched me go, their faces filled with concern, but I waved to them, letting them know that I was okay.
I left the Rose Garden and meandered along one of the white flagstone paths, admiring the contrast of the red, orange, and yellow leaves against the tropical vibrancy of the flowers below. The botanical gardens featured everything from an elaborate hedge maze to a rock garden, and I could have headed into the other themed areas, but I made a slow circuit around the perimeter of the Rose Garden instead.
This might have been the first formal garden soiree I’d ever attended, but I was well acquainted with all the winding paths, since I’d killed more than a couple of folks here. The botanical gardens were a popular party spot, especially in the spring and summer, and I’d skulked through the trees and hunkered down in the bushes more than once, waiting for someone to get within knife’s reach, so I could clamp my hand over his mouth, drag him back into the greenery, and cut his throat. Good times. Simpler times.
As I walked, I peered into the dancing, dappled shadows, remembering how easy it had been to slip from one section of the gardens to the next without anyone ever suspecting that I was watching them. It would be the perfect place for Pike to take out Lorelei.
My steps slowed, my eyes cutting left and right as I considered all the ways Pike could get close to his sister. Oh, he couldn’t enter the Rose Garden itself, not without attracting attention during the ladies-only fund-raiser, but there were plenty of spots where he could spy on the event and then raise his gun and put a bullet through Lorelei’s heart when the moment was right. Or, worse, watch while the bomb he’d planted earlier finally exploded . . .
My nose twitched, and I realized that another strong scent had intruded on all the heavy floral perfumes: smoke.
I stopped and drew in another breath, wondering if I’d just imagined the scent. One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four . . . I drew air deep down into my lungs again and again, turning in a slow circle, but all I could smell was the roses, lilies, and other blooms fighting for olfactory dominance. No smoke. I shook my head and started walking again. Sometimes my overly developed sense of paranoia surprised even me—
A gray spiral of smoke wafted up into the air off to my right.
I squinted in that direction, wondering if both my eyes and my nose were playing tricks on me. Another spiral of smoke curled up, and the scent swirled through my nose again, stronger than before. I picked up my skirt and hurried over, searching for the source of the smoke.
A cigar butt smoldered in the grass.
My stomach clenched, but I forced myself to scan the area and think things through. He must have taken one final drag off the cigar before tossing the butt aside and stepping off the path. I spotted a narrow trail of broken branches and fallen leaves a few feet away, where someone must have carelessly plowed through the row of bushes. A bit of silver also shimmered in the grass there, so I went over, crouched down, and brushed the leaves off the object.
A single nail gleamed in the black earth, confirming what I’d suspected and bringing another, more chilling thought with it.
Raymond Pike was here—and Jo-Jo and Roslyn were still at the garden party.
* * *
I surged to my feet, whipped around, and ran back the way I’d come. I could have followed Pike’s trail through the bushes, but there was no telling where he might have ended up, and I wanted to get back to the garden—and my friends—as fast as possible.
My stilettos click-click-clicked on the flagstones, making far too much noise, so I hopped on first one foot, then the other, until I could yank them off and toss them into the bushes. I lifted up the ridiculous, billowing skirt of my dress and grabbed one of the silverstone knives strapped to my thighs. Unlike Jo-Jo and Roslyn, I hadn’t brought a purse, and I was cursing that decision now. If I’d brought my phone, I could have called my friends to warn them.
The main entrance to the Rose Garden loomed up ahead, another white trellis with blood-red roses twining through the arch. As much as I wanted to barge into the middle of the party and tell everyone to run, I forced myself to slow down and scan my surroundings.
Waitresses moved in and out through the arch, leaving with empty trays and returning with fresh ones, and the murmur of conversation and faint trills of laughter floated over to me. Everyone else was still enjoying themselves at the party, which meant that Pike hadn’t struck.
Yet.
I had started to leave the path so I could hunt him down when a low tree branch snagged on the brim of my floppy black hat, yanking me backward. I cursed, reached up, ripped off the stupid hat, and tossed it aside. The wind picked it up, whipping the hat up into the air before neatly dropping it onto an arrow-shaped bronze trail marker that pointed in the direction of the rock garden. I couldn’t have done that if I’d
tried a million times. I huffed, stepped off the flagstone path, and wiggled my way through the thick clusters of rhododendron bushes that ringed the garden.
Normally, it wouldn’t have been a problem for me to move quickly and quietly through the dense foliage. But every single branch seemed determined to snag my oversize skirt, while broken twigs scraped and stabbed into the bottoms of my bare feet. I was going nowhere fast and sounding like a rampaging bull doing it. So I lifted my skirt again and used my knife to hack away the crinoline underneath. Once the stiffer, poofier fabric was gone, the skirt fell flat against my legs, allowing me to slip between the branches without getting caught. I also peeled off my black satin gloves and tossed them into the bushes so I could have a better grip on my knife. Twigs still stabbed my bare feet every third step or so, but I pushed the discomfort to the back of my mind. I’d be hurting a lot worse—we all would—if Pike went through with his latest devious plan.
Knife in hand, I skulked through the shadows, searching for him. Every few feet, I stopped and sniffed the air, but between the Southern belles and the flowers, there were too many floral perfumes for me to detect any cigar smoke that might be clinging to him.
Finally, I reached a break in the rhododendron bushes that let me peer into the Rose Garden. The party was still going strong, and everyone was drinking, gossiping, and moving from one clique to the next. Jo-Jo and Roslyn were talking to some women I didn’t recognize, while Lorelei was schmoozing with another group.
I crouched down, scanning everyone and everything in the garden and considering what I knew about Raymond Pike. Not much, just that he was a cruel, ruthless metal elemental who wanted to kill his half sister. Then again, what else did I really need to know?
A waitress carrying a silver champagne bucket walked in front of my hiding spot. My gaze locked on the bucket, wondering if it contained another bomb. But the waitress promptly carried it over to the bar area, pulled out the bottle, and popped it open.
My worry lingered. Given the bomb Pike had planted on the Delta Queen, it was entirely possible that he’d done the same thing here. I frowned. Why a bomb, though? When he’d murdered Smith at the hotel, Pike had proven that he had more than enough magic to take someone out face-to-face, given the spoon-turned-dagger that he’d thrown into Smith’s throat. So why go to all the trouble of building a bomb and killing Lorelei on the riverboat? Especially when he’d had a sniper rifle that he could have used to blow out her skull?
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