Spider's Bite

by Jennifer Estep

  But Fletcher was right. It was stupid to daydream about having any sort of relationship with Sebastian. Someone had hired me to kill his father. Not exactly the sort of thing that you looked for in a potential girlfriend.

  Girlfriend? I snorted. What was I thinking? I’d never had that sort of relationship with any guy. I’d accused Sebastian of being a love-’em-and-leave-’em type, but the truth was that I was that way too. I had to be, as the Spider. And not just because I didn’t want to end up dead or in jail for my many crimes. Because what kind of guy would ever really be okay with his girlfriend being a coldhearted assassin?

  Still, as I left the bathroom, put on my pajamas, and slid into bed, I couldn’t help but think back to the warm interest in Sebastian’s eyes, his teasing grins, and all the sly, saucy winks he’d given me during dinner. For once, I let myself remember. Not only that, but I reveled in the memories, replaying them over and over again in my mind.

  Even though nothing would ever come of it, even though nothing could ever come of it, it was still nice to be noticed, to be admired, to be wanted, if only for an evening.

  I went to sleep with a smile on my lips.

  8

  Over the next few days, I plotted the best way to kill Cesar Vaughn.

  Where to do the job, how to get close to him, how to actually kill him and then slip away after the fact. I reviewed all of the information that Fletcher had given me, then went out and collected my own, discreetly following Vaughn as he went about his days, seeing what his routines were, how much security he had, and what his vices were, if he even had any. I wanted to go to his home the night after the dinner party and kill him, but Fletcher put his foot down, talking about “procedure” and “caution.” Whatever. I gave in, if only because I knew that he would cancel the hit entirely if I didn’t, and I wanted to protect Charlotte from her father.

  But Vaughn was indeed the upstanding, hardworking, hands-on businessman that he appeared to be. After a quick visit to his office in the morning, he spent most of the day driving around Ashland, going from one construction site to the next and checking on his crews and their progress, before grabbing a quick lunch somewhere on the road.

  This was the third day that I was following him, and I didn’t think anything of it when he parked his car on one of the downtown streets, got out, and started ambling along the sidewalk. It was lunchtime, so he was probably on the prowl for some sort of vittles before going to the next job site. But as he walked by restaurant after restaurant, passing up everything from Mexican to Italian to Thai food, my unease slowly cranked up notch by notch by notch. Because Vaughn was rapidly running out of dining options in this part of town, unless he was in the mood for one thing in particular.

  Barbecue.

  Sure enough, he headed straight for the Pork Pit, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  I was so surprised that I stopped cold in the middle of the sidewalk and would have stayed that way if someone hadn’t bumped my shoulder, snapping me out of my shock. I hurried out of the flow of traffic on the sidewalk, but I stayed outside the restaurant, pretending to be talking on my cell phone, when I was really peering in through the storefront windows, wondering if I’d somehow been made, if Vaughn had figured out that I was following him, who I was, where I worked, and that I had plans to kill him as soon as I could.

  My heart pounded, and a bit of nervous sweat gathered at the nape of my neck as I watched him walk to the back of the restaurant and take a seat at the counter, three stools down from where Fletcher was sitting behind the cash register.

  Vaughn leaned over toward Fletcher, as though he were going to talk to him.

  I tensed up a little more. This was bad, so very, very bad. . . .

  He stretched his hand out toward Fletcher as though he were trying to get the old man’s attention.

  I sucked in a worried breath, wondering what I could do to get us out of this situation. . . .

  Vaughn grabbed a menu that someone had left on the counter and leaned back, away from Fletcher.

  I collapsed against the window in relief.

  Fletcher must have seen Vaughn reach for the menu, because he looked up from his battered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows, which he’d had for as long as I could remember and which he read at least once a year. Fletcher started to go back to his story but did a double take when he recognized Vaughn. His gaze lingered on the other man a moment before cutting over to the windows. Fletcher spotted me lurking outside and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. I winced and then shrugged. As far as I could tell, Vaughn had a hankering for barbecue—nothing else. Otherwise, he would have confronted Fletcher already. Or called the cops. Or both.

  Still, my nerves were frayed, and I tapped my fingers on the brick wall, like a junkie in need of a fix, as I watched Sophia whip up my target’s barbecue pork sandwich, potato salad, onion rings, and lemonade. If I knew that he would come back for lunch one day soon, I could always slip something into his food, then let nature take its course. Poison wasn’t my favorite method of execution. In fact, I thought it was rather sneaky, low-down, and cowardly, but you went with what worked. But there wasn’t any pattern to Vaughn’s lunch habits that I could see, so I couldn’t count on him returning to the restaurant.

  Besides, poison was too good a death for someone who enjoyed hurting his own daughter.

  Either way, I was infinitely relieved when Vaughn finished his meal and left the Pork Pit without incident. I knew that I’d dodged a bullet, which was rather ironic, since I was the assassin here, not him.

  After that, Vaughn spent the afternoon touring more job sites before heading back to his office. He never left work before eight at night, and he was always back by nine the next morning to start again. And it was rinse and repeat, with the same general routine every day that I watched him.

  So I formulated my approach, secured my supplies, and made sure that my knives were good and sharp. I also reviewed my plan with Fletcher, who offered some suggestions, the biggest of which was that we postpone the job, at least until he figured out exactly who the client was.

  “Seriously, what are we waiting for?” I asked him when he told me that one night at home.

  I’d spent the day wasting time and watching Vaughn again, instead of moving in and finishing things. So I was in a bit of a mood.

  “I’m trying to be smart about things,” Fletcher replied, his voice far more even than mine was. “You should too, Gin.”

  I threw my hands up and stalked from one side of the den to the other. “I’ve been watching the man for days now. Trust me. Everything’s fine, and everything will be even better once I do the job. I know what I’m doing. Can’t you just trust me?”

  Fletcher pressed his lips together, as though he wanted to say something but was holding back his words.

  Well, I supposed that answered my question about trust. Hurt shot through me, along with more than a little anger, and I slapped my hands on my hips.

  “Forget about the money and who the client is for a second. Do you want to see Charlotte’s obituary in the newspaper?” I snapped. “Because I sure don’t. But that could happen any day. As long as Vaughn is alive, she’s in danger. So let’s do this so she is at least safe. Okay?”

  Yeah, it was a low blow, throwing Charlotte in his face like that, and I’d basically admitted that she was the reason that I wanted to do the job, but I didn’t care. Fletcher might not trust me, but I would protect Charlotte, with or without his blessing.

  Fletcher sighed, but he finally gave one sharp nod of his head.

  I nodded back, already planning the hit for tomorrow.

  • • •

  It was three in the afternoon the next day, and I was working my usual shift at the Pork Pit as though I weren’t planning on murdering someone that night. That was another thing Fletcher had taught me. Stick to your regular routines as much and for as long as possible, especially if you knew that you were going to be up to no good later on. Hard for the co
ps to connect the waitress who’d casually gone about her work with a cold-blooded assassin. A good cover took years to build, and I had too much invested in Gin Blanco to do anything stupid enough to attract more attention to her than absolutely necessary.

  I had finished clearing away the dirty dishes and was wiping down the counter from my latest customers when the bell over the front door chimed. I plastered a smile on my face and looked up, ready to greet the newcomers. But my smile froze, then plummeted off my lips like an icicle cracking off a roof, as I realized exactly who had walked through the door.

  Sebastian.

  He was even more gorgeous than I remembered, even though he was dressed down in a pair of expensive jeans, boots, and a short-sleeved black polo shirt that brought out the beautiful tan color of his skin. The shirt was tucked into his jeans, showing off his lean waist and trim, muscled figure.

  He turned and held out his hand, as though he were about to pull someone inside with him. A date, most likely. My heart sank even quicker than my smile had at the thought that he had brought another girl here, especially after he’d teased me about taking me out.

  A girl did step inside the restaurant with him, but it wasn’t the sweet blond thing I expected—it was Charlotte.

  She was even prettier in person than in the photos in Fletcher’s file. Long black hair pulled up into pigtails, tan skin, and big, beautiful brown eyes. At thirteen, she was adorable. In a few more years, she’d be a real heartbreaker.

  Still, Charlotte’s gaze was dark and wary as she looked around the restaurant, as if she expected something bad to happen amid the clusters of booths, tables, and chairs. Even more than that, I sensed an aching sadness in her, as if she’d already seen so many terrible things in her young life that she’d never, ever be able to get over them. As if she’d already suffered so many horrible hurts that nothing could ever soothe them.

  I knew those feelings all too well.

  Sebastian glanced around the restaurant, as though he was looking for someone. Could it be possible . . . could he be here . . . could he actually have kept his promise to come find me? My heart spiraled up at the thought, even as I tried to quiet the sudden, fierce longing that I felt for it to be true.

  But sure enough, Sebastian’s eyes locked with mine, and a wide smile split his face. He gave me a cheery wave before tugging Charlotte in my direction.

  “Who’s that schmuck?” a voice grumbled. “And why is he waving at you?”

  I glanced at Finn, who was sitting on the stool closest to the cash register. He’d finally come to the Pork Pit for lunch, like he’d promised Fletcher, although the old man had decided to take the afternoon off and go fishing, since business had been so slow. Fletcher had left fifteen minutes ago. He’d asked Finn to go with him, but Finn had said no. The disappointment in the old man’s face had made me want to smack the stupid out of Finn for taking his father for granted again.

  “Is he here to see you?” Finn sniped again. “Is that your new boyfriend or something?”

  “Shut up,” I hissed. “He is not my boyfriend.”

  Finn gave me an assessing look, his green eyes bright and knowing. “Oh . . . but you’d like him to be, wouldn’t you?”

  All I could do was stand there and fume, giving Finn his answer.

  “Well, well, well, things just got a lot more interesting around here,” he drawled. “Think I’ll stick around and see the splendor of young love.”

  I glared at him. “If you mess this up for me, you will wish that you had gone fishing with Fletcher. You should have gone anyway. All he wanted was to spend some time with you.”

  Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me what to do about the old man, Gin. Not when you’re so hot and bothered to move out of his house and start your life of grand adventure.”

  I opened my mouth to snap at him again, but Sebastian stepped up to the counter, along with Charlotte. I ignored Finn and plastered a smile on my face, as though I didn’t want to reach across the counter and strangle him with my bare hands.

  “Surprised?” Sebastian grinned back at me. “I told you that I’d track you down, Gin.”

  Instead of letting him see my pleasure and surprise, I arched an eyebrow. “Yes, you did. And you actually followed through with it.”

  He gave a modest shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I got the event planner for the dinner party to ask around. She heard from a waitress who heard from a cook who heard from another cook who said that you mentioned some barbecue place. I’ve heard my dad talk about how good the food is here, so I thought that I’d take a chance and see if this was you.”

  I had to keep myself from grimacing. I had made some offhand remark to one of the cooks that the Pork Pit was the best barbecue joint in Ashland, and Sebastian had connected the dots. Probably all he’d had to do to get Meredith to ferret out the information was smile at her the way he was smiling at me right now. Sloppy, Gin.

  “Well, good for you,” I drawled. “If I had a gold star, I’d stick one on your shirt.”

  He let out a low, throaty laugh that made my heart sputter and my anger evaporate. “And I see you’re as sassy as ever.”

  His eyes met mine again, and I found myself admiring the bits of amber that shimmered in his dark brown gaze, the sparks and flashes of color so intense that they resembled flecks of pure, polished gold. Maybe it wasn’t such a disaster that he’d tracked me down after all—

  Finn snorted louder than a plow horse, breaking the spell. I dragged my attention away from Sebastian and focused on Charlotte, who was still holding on to her brother’s hand and standing slightly behind him. That was a little odd for a teenage girl.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I said. “My name’s Gin. What’s yours?”

  Charlotte didn’t answer, although she kept staring at me.

  Sebastian slung his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side. “Don’t mind Charlotte. My sister is just a little shy.”

  I gave the girl another smile. “Well, most folks are, including me. Why don’t y’all have a seat, and we’ll get you some food?”

  She studied me in that intense way that kids so often did, as if she could see all the secrets of my soul simply by staring into my eyes. After a moment, she slowly nodded.

  My heart clenched, but I flashed her another smile. I couldn’t change what had happened to Charlotte, how her own father had abused her, but I could make sure that she had a nice meal. Yeah, it wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things—it wasn’t anything, really—but it was all that I could do right now.

  I’d take care of the more pressing problem of her father tonight.

  Sebastian took a seat on one of the stools, while Charlotte hopped up onto the one next to Finn. Being the terrible flirt that he was, my foster brother fixed his attention on her. Finn didn’t care how young or old, or cute or not, someone was, but if she was female, then he felt this obsessive need to charm her into liking him.

  “How are you today, little lady?” he drawled.

  Charlotte stared at him, something almost like fear sparking in her eyes.

  “Don’t mind him,” I said, reaching across the counter to punch Finn on the shoulder. “He likes to tease all the pretty girls who come in.”

  Finn gave her a saucy wink. “And you’re as pretty as that peach pie in the cake stand over there.”

  Charlotte looked at him for a few seconds longer before her face abruptly crinkled into a delighted smile. A delicate blush tinted her cheeks. She ducked her head and started fiddling with the end of one of her long black pigtails, but her gaze kept sliding back to him, and I knew that Finnegan Lane had struck again. I shook my head. Sometimes I thought that Finn could make friends with a surly grizzly just by telling the creature how shiny its coat was.

  But Sebastian had a different reaction to Finn’s lighthearted banter. He put his arm around Charlotte’s shoulder, drawing her close to him again. She froze, her hand clamping around her own hair, and her smile vanished.

  �
�Are you a friend of Gin’s?” Sebastian asked, his voice tight with suspicion.

  Finn grinned, but there was no warmth in the expression, just a lot of teeth. “Not a friend—her brother.”

  I rolled my eyes. Finn always introduced himself that way to any guys I brought around Fletcher’s house or to the restaurant. I think he had some old-fashioned notion that giving guys the stink-eye would keep them from trying to get into my pants. Please. Finn wasn’t that scary.

  But I certainly was.

  “Oh.” Sebastian looked back and forth between the two of us, as if trying to see the familial resemblance. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sebastian Vaughn.”

  He held out his hand, which Finn shook a little too enthusiastically for my liking. Finn also held it longer than was necessary, squeezing Sebastian’s hand for all he was worth. Finn noticed me glaring at him again. I drew my finger in a subtle slash across my throat, telling him exactly what I was going to do to him if he didn’t cut out the overprotective bullshit act. Finn glared back at me, but he dropped Sebastian’s hand.

  “And I’m the one, the only Finnegan Lane.” Finn gave an overly elaborate flourish with his hand, indicating his own greatness, before propping his elbow up on the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Cesar Vaughn, would you? The big construction mogul?”

  Sebastian nodded. “I’m his son.”

  Finn gave me a pointed look, one that said that he knew all about my latest assignment. Fletcher must have told him.

  Before Finn could make some snide, thinly veiled remark to that effect, I whipped my order pad out of one of the back pockets of my jeans. “So what can I get for y’all?”

  Sebastian ordered a barbecue beef sandwich, baked beans, and some macaroni salad, along with a cheeseburger, fries, and a triple chocolate milkshake for Charlotte.