“You won’t get away with this!” he hissed. “I’m the best lawyer this town has ever seen! I’ll find a way to beat the charges! You know I will!”
“You’re exactly right. I have no doubt that you’ll find some way to wiggle out from underneath the long arm of the law,” I said. “But I don’t think even you can weasel away from every bad guy in town who’ll be screaming for your blood. Enjoy the rest of your short, short life, Jonah.”
I turned and headed toward the front door once again.
“Blanco! You can’t do this to me! Blanco! Blanco!”
I grinned and walked outside, McAllister’s screams ringing in my ears like the sweetest symphony.
* * *
I ambled down the driveway, through the open gate, and across the street. I opened the door on an Aston Martin parked at the curb and slid into the passenger’s seat.
“How did it go?” Finn asked. “Did he cry? Please, please, please tell me that he cried. Or at least begged for his life.”
“You should know,” I replied. “You were listening.”
I reached into a pocket on my vest and pulled out the digital recorder and microphone than Finn had outfitted me with. He took the device and plugged it into his laptop.
“Of course I was listening—and watching too, thanks to that spy camera we added to your vest,” he said. “But I wanted to get your eye-witness take on things.”
I rolled my eyes, but I watched as Finn checked that both the sound and the video recordings were okay and made several backup copies of them.
“I wonder if McAllister realized that you were getting him to confess for Bria,” Finn said.
I shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter now, since he sang his heart out.”
That had been the plan I’d worked out with Finn, my sister, and Xavier. I’d told the two cops all about my suspicions that McAllister had hired Clementine and her crew and the information that Finn had dug up on the lawyer’s embezzlement. But Bria had pointed out that she couldn’t use any of the information—not legally—so I’d decided to get McAllister to confess to the whole scheme for her. That’s why I’d broken into his house and confronted him tonight, and it had worked like a charm. Bria got to close the museum case, and I got to feed McAllister to the wolves. Win-win and then some.
Finn looked at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Maybe you should have just killed him after all.”
“Maybe,” I said, leaning forward so I could stare past him out the driver’s-side window.
Across the street, Bria perp-walked McAllister out of his fancy house and handed him off to Xavier, who stuffed the lawyer into the back of their sedan. McAllister was still screaming, although his voice was muffled at this distance.
Finn turned his head to watch the show. His grin matched the one that stretched across my face. We sat there until Bria started the sedan, and she and Xavier steered out of the driveway. Finn cranked the engine on his car and fell in line behind them. It was after one in the morning now, and the streets were quiet as we cruised over to the station.
“Well, that was certainly satisfying to watch,” Finn admitted. “But I still think you should have just gone ahead and killed him. He’s certainly caused you enough trouble.”
“I know. But there’s still a chance McAllister could be useful.”
“Because of this mystery person Mab left everything to?” he said. “McAllister said he didn’t know who it was, not even if it was a he or a she.”
“I know. And I actually think he was telling the truth about that.”
“But?”
“But if Mab actually had some family left, why weren’t they here with her in Ashland?” I asked. “Why didn’t they live with her? Or in some other mansion in Northtown?”
Finn shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t get along. Maybe this other person hated her. I certainly wouldn’t want to claim Mab Monroe as any sort of kin. Would you?”
“No,” I replied. “But I would think that Mab would want to keep an eye on her family. There are only a few reasons I can think of for her not to have kept this person close. One, they are either too young or too old to be of any use to her. Then there’s the other, more troubling reason.”
“And that would be?”
“That this person was simply too dangerous to have around—too much of a threat to Mab herself.”
Finn eyed me. “You think there’s another Mab out there running around? Someone with the same sort of Fire magic she had? Someone as strong as her?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Or at least strong enough to make Mab think twice about having them hanging around in Ashland, scheming to take her out, to have everything all to himself or herself.”
He let out a low whistle. “Another Mab. Imagine that.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t tell him that I’d imagined that in my dreams—in my nightmares—a thousand times. That the thought—the sheer possibility—kept me awake for hours on end, worrying in the darkness. That I’d even started scouring through Fletcher’s files, going through every single one, every single photo and piece of paper, to see if there was any mention of Mab’s mysterious relative and any clue to what kind of magic, if any, he or she might have.
Maybe there was another reason, a perfectly innocent reason, that Mab had kept this relative a secret from everyone, even McAllister. Maybe they just didn’t get along, like Finn said.
Or maybe there was a whole new generation of trouble headed my way.
“We could speculate forever about Mab’s relative,” I said. “But if this person is anything like Mab, he or she will be plenty pissed to find out that McAllister was stealing from Mab—from them both—all these years. Maybe even pissed enough to come to Ashland and take care of him.”
That was my hope anyway. I couldn’t deal with a danger I didn’t know about, and I was hoping that by using McAllister as bait—as another stalking horse—I could lure Mab’s heir to the city. Maybe this person would just take Mab’s money and run—or maybe he or she would be just as dangerous as the Fire elemental had been. Maybe the heir would thank me for killing her—or maybe he or she would come after me, wanting to avenge her death. Either way, I was going to get out in front of this person, instead of sitting around and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m on it,” Finn said. “I’ve already spread money around to all the right people. We’ll know everyone McAllister talks to, everyone he calls, even everyone he bends over for in the shower.”
“I don’t think we need to be quite that detailed,” I drawled.
He smirked. “Anything worth doing is worth doing right. Don’t you remember Dad telling us that?”
I snorted. “Sure, I remember that particular pearl of wisdom. But I don’t think Fletcher intended that to mean getting the lowdown on McAllister’s prison lovers.”
Finn laughed.
We rode the rest of the way to the police station in silence, although I was still thinking about McAllister, Mab, and her long-lost heir. But there was nothing I could do about any of that tonight, so I pushed my worries aside and decided to make the best of the situation. After all, you usually only got to see your nemesis carted off to jail once.
Finn parked in front of the police station in a primo spot that gave us a clear view of the entrance. He’d tipped off his contacts at the local newspaper, TV stations, and radio stations, so there was already a passel of reporters waiting on the steps. The cameras started clicking and flashing before Bria even got the sedan parked. The media feeding frenzy reached a fever pitch as Xavier hauled McAllister out of the back of the sedan and led him toward the steps. Finn rolled down the car windows so we could hear the reporters’ barrage of questions.
“Jonah! Jonah! Are the charges true?”
“Did you arrange the attempted robbery at the Briartop museum?”
“Why was Mab Monroe’s will among the contents taken from the vault?”
McAllister winced and ducked his head, cringin
g against the sudden onslaught of light, noise, sound, and fury, but he clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut. He knew that the court of public opinion could be the most damning. No doubt, he was already thinking about how he could spin things to his advantage. Let him try. It wouldn’t save him. Not this time.
Finn pulled out his phone. “The newspaper’s already posted it as breaking news on its website. It’ll go viral in a few minutes. Come morning, this place will be swarming with press from all over.”
“Good,” I said. “So unless Mab’s heir is hiding under a rock, he or she should see the story sometime in the next few days.”
“That’s the plan,” he said. “Your plan. I would have just gone ahead and killed him.”
“I know, I know. But I can always kill him later. This way, at least we get to humiliate him first.”
Finn eyed me. “Sometimes I think you’re even more devious, twisted, and vicious than I am.”
I grinned. “You only wish you could be as ruthless as me.”
“Absolutely.”
We sat there and watched the flashes and lights of the cameras explode in McAllister’s face over and over again, brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July. Xavier got halfway up the steps, then dramatically paused and turned so that he and the lawyer were facing out toward the crowd of reporters. Bria stepped to one side, making sure that all of the reporters, photographers, and camera people got a good, long look at the lawyer. For his part, McAllister kept squinting into the glare. He seemed more shocked and frozen than a possum caught by a pair of headlights on a dark country road. I’d waited a long, long time to see that cringing, beaten, vulnerable look on his face, and I savored every single second of it.
After another minute, Bria grabbed McAllister’s arm and led him up the rest of the steps and into the police station. Xavier stayed on the steps, holding his hands out wide and keeping the media vultures from storming inside.
“Now what?” Finn asked.
“Now we wait for Bria to take McAllister to booking,” I said. “Maybe if we ask nicely, Bria will send us a copy of McAllister’s mug shot. I think that would look marvelous matted, framed, and mounted on one of the walls in Fletcher’s office or maybe even at the Pork Pit. Don’t you?”
33
Life more or less went back to normal, although Jonah McAllister’s arrest and alleged involvement in the Briartop heist dominated the news. The media didn’t exactly convict the lawyer, but they raised enough questions to get all the crime bosses good and interested in exactly what had gone down that night and who had hired Clementine and her giants.
McAllister put some of Mab’s embezzled money to use to pay his three-million-dollar bail. I saw him on the news a few times, giving press conferences where he proclaimed his innocence before quickly ducking back into his house. The lawyer looked pale, thin, and shaken, and even his thick coif of silver hair had lost its normal shiny luster. Even when the cameras were fixed on him, his eyes always darted back and forth, as if he expected a hail of gunfire to ring out at any second and put him down for the count.
Good. Let the bastard sweat. He deserved it. Actually, he deserved worse, but this would do—for now. Like I’d told Finn, if McAllister managed somehow to wiggle out of my trap, I could always come up with a more permanent solution. I sort of hoped he would, just so I could finally kill him myself. Time would tell.
Three days after McAllister’s arrest, I was in the Pork Pit, chowing down on a cheeseburger that I’d made for my own supper, when the bell over the door chimed, and Bria stepped into the restaurant. She glanced around the storefront, looking over the diners. It was four in the afternoon. Too late for lunch and not quite time for the dinner rush to start, so there were only a few people sitting in the blue and pink vinyl booths next to the windows. The waitresses were in the back, taking a break, although Sophia Deveraux, Jo-Jo’s sister and the head cook at the Pit, was standing at the counter that ran along the back wall, slicing sourdough buns for the rest of the day’s sandwiches.
I was sitting on a stool behind the cash register, and Bria took a seat close to mine on the other side of the counter. Bria waved at Sophia, who grunted and waved back. The motion made the tiny silverstone skulls on the black leather collar around Sophia’s neck tinkle together. Unlike Jo-Jo, who was the epitome of a sweet southern lady, Sophia had fashion tastes that ran more toward Goth. Today she had on black boots, jeans, and a black T-shirt embossed with a white rose dripping scarlet blood from its thorns. The silver glitter on the T-shirt matched the streaks in her black hair.
In between bites of my cheeseburger, sweet-potato fries, and sweet iced blackberry tea, I’d also been reading through my latest book, as I so often did during lulls at the restaurant. In honor of the Briartop heist, I’d decided on Plunder Squad by Richard Stark. I grabbed a credit-card slip from underneath the cash register and used it to mark my place in the book before I set it to the side.
“Hey there, baby sister,” I said, pushing away the remains of my burger and fries.
“Hey there yourself.” Bria read the title on the spine. “What’s that about?”
“An art heist.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Okay . . . Is that our next book-club selection?”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m reading this one just for me. Besides, it’s Roslyn’s turn to pick something, remember?”
A few weeks ago, Bria and Roslyn had both read Little Women, which I had been reading at the time. In an effort to cheer me up and take my mind off my breakup with Owen, they’d shown up at Fletcher’s house one night, books in hand, along with some wine, cheese, and gourmet chocolates. The three of us had stayed up late drinking, eating, and talking about the book, along with everything else that was going on in our lives. We’d all had such a good time that we’d decided to make it into a monthly get-together.
Bria nodded. “I remember. Although next month, it’s my turn. I already know what I’m going to have us read.”
“And what would that be?”
“The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett.”
“A detective novel, huh? Looks like I’m not the only one in an ironic mood. I approve.”
She grinned. “I thought you might. And I thought it was appropriate, given what happened at the museum. You know, Clementine going after something that wasn’t quite what it seemed, everyone’s plans spiraling out of control.”
I had to laugh. “Well, that’s one way of putting things, I suppose.”
Bria swiveled around on her stool and gazed out over the restaurant once again. “So how are things here? I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately, but I’ve been busy dealing with McAllister.”
“I know. I’ve seen you on TV more than once.”
She blanched. “I hate dealing with all those reporters. Sometimes I think they’re more vicious and bloodthirsty than the criminals.”
“Actually, to answer your question, the past few days have been quite relaxing,” I said. “No one’s come in and tried to kill me this week.”
“They’re all focused on McAllister right now,” Bria said. “And with good reason. No matter how many times I listen to his confession, I still can’t quite believe he arranged the museum heist and that he almost got away with it. That he would have gotten away with it, if you hadn’t been there.”
“And if Jillian hadn’t been wearing the same dress as I was,” I said in a soft voice.
Jillian’s face flashed in front of my eyes the way it had so often in the past few days. Her warm eyes, her easy laugh, her soft smile. All gone forever—because of me.
“Yeah,” Bria said. “That too. How are you doing with that?”
I shrugged. “Fletcher always taught me to avoid collateral damage. To focus on my target, hit that person, and not involve anyone else before, during, or after my crime. I know that Jillian dying wasn’t my fault—not really—but I still can’t help but feel responsible for it all the same.”
She nodded. “I can understand
that. But this is Ashland, Gin. People get hurt all the time in this city. You can’t save everyone.”
I’d told myself that more than once, but it still didn’t keep me from waking up in the middle of the night, the image of Jillian’s shattered face fresh in my mind, and me fighting the sheets twisted around my body, as if I could save her if only I could get free of them.
“McAllister would have still hired Clementine to rob the museum whether you’d been there or not,” Bria continued. “Maybe Jillian would have gotten caught in the crossfire and still died. Maybe it would have been someone else. There’s no way of knowing.”
“Or maybe nobody would have died,” I countered. “Maybe if I’d realized what Clementine and the others were up to, I could have stopped them before things got so out of hand.”
Bria reached over and squeezed my fingers, telling me that she understood my troubled, turbulent thoughts. We were silent for a few moments, then she let go of my fingers and leaned back. She gestured at the cake stand that featured the dessert of the day: a peach pie.
“Is there any chance of me getting a slice of that?” she asked. “And maybe a few other vittles to whet my whistle with?”
I grinned. Bria knew that cooking always helped take my mind off my troubles, and asking for the food was her way of trying to lighten my mood. “Sure thing, baby sister. One fine meal, coming right up.”
Bria ordered a burger topped with spicy chili and sharp cheddar cheese, onion rings, potato salad, and a vanilla bean milkshake to go with her slice of peach pie. I moved back and forth behind the counter, grilling the burger and dropping the batter-dipped Vidalia onions into the french fryer to crisp up. Sophia stopped slicing buns long enough to put the ice cream, milk, and a splash of vanilla syrup into the blender to make the shake.
A few minutes later, I set Bria’s plates in front of her, and she dug into her meal. As she ate, she caught me up on the latest developments regarding McAllister.
“I still can’t believe they let him out on bail,” Bria said. “Even if it was three million dollars. At least the judge agreed to make him wear a tracking anklet so there’s less chance of him skipping town before his trial. It’s been set for later this year.”
Deadly Sting Page 28