That’s when I knew that I was doing the right thing. Maybe it was crazy, maybe it was foolish, maybe it was just plain wrong, talking to the son of the man I’d killed, but I couldn’t send Sebastian away.
I just couldn’t.
Finn and Fletcher would have been cold and calculating about things, would have seen this as an opportunity to subtly pump Sebastian for any information that he might have about the investigation into his father’s death. Maybe I saw things that way too. But I also hoped that it was a chance to soothe his heartache, in whatever small way that I could.
I just hoped that Sebastian never found out what kind of man his father had truly been and how he’d hurt Charlotte again and again. That sort of cruel knowledge would cause him even more pain.
“How is Charlotte?” I asked, after Sebastian had eaten about half of his food.
He sighed and pushed his burger away, as though he’d lost his appetite. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. She’s devastated by our father’s death. She’s been hiding in her room for most of the week. I’ve tried to be there for her as much as I can, but given all the funeral arrangements and the business deals that my father had going on . . .” His voice trailed off.
The helpless expression on his face made me reach across the counter and put my hand on top of his. “I’m sure she understands. It’s hard when you lose someone . . . the way that you did. There are so many details to see to. She’ll realize that you’re doing the best that you can, for her and your father too, given the situation.”
“I hope so.”
I squeezed his hand. “Well, I know so.”
He looked at me. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
He gestured at his food. “I mean, the guy who stood you up shows up on your doorstep out of the blue, and you end up fixing him the best damn burger he’s ever had. Are you sure that your name is Gin? Maybe it should be something else, something like . . . like . . . Genevieve.” He snapped his fingers together. “There’s a Saint Genevieve, you know.”
My breath caught in my throat in surprise and wonderment. If only he knew that Genevieve was my real name. If only he knew who I really was, a girl who’d lost her family. If only he knew how much I could relate to his pain.
If only he knew that I’d killed his father.
That last thought squashed the yearning in my chest. “I’m no saint,” I muttered. “More like a sinner.”
Understatement of the century.
But Sebastian didn’t seem to notice the dark murmur in my voice. He stood up, his hand still on mine. He hesitated, then drew his hand away and walked around the counter, coming to a stop beside the cash register so that we were standing face-to-face. He was several inches taller than I was, so I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest in a way that it never had before. He stared back at me, his eyes smoldering like hot coals in his face, his features tight, and his body tense with need, want, guilt, grief, and desire.
Sebastian hesitated a moment longer, then pulled me into his arms and lowered his lips to mine.
The kiss was everything that I’d thought it would be, everything that I’d secretly dreamed it would be—soft, sweet, and utterly breathtaking. Sebastian Vaughn might be a rich guy who could have his pick of girls, but he was surprisingly gentle with me. His lips skimmed mine, his tongue slowly delving into my mouth before retreating. His fingers trailed down my arms before his hands settled on my waist, pulling me a little closer, but that was as far as he went.
His kiss and touch might have been sweet, but hot, liquid desire thrummed through my body in response, more electric than any I’d ever felt before. Sebastian was hurting because of me, and I wanted to do whatever I could to ease that hurt, to take away that pain, if only for a few moments.
But more than that, I wanted him.
Oh, I’d tried to deny it, tried to ignore and forget about it, about him, but the truth was that I was desperately attracted to Sebastian. His wit, his charm, his smile, the easy way he teased me, but most important, the way he actually seemed to respond to me. For some reason, it seemed like Sebastian could see the real me, the real Gin Blanco, lurking beneath all the many masks that I presented to the world. I’d never had that sort of intense, immediate connection with someone before.
Finally, the kiss ended, although my heart continued to pound, its quick tempo matching the emotions surging through me. Desire. Attraction. Hope. Longing.
Sebastian dropped his hands from my waist. “I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair and mussing the smooth locks, making him look even sexier. “I had no right to do that. It’s just . . . the way you were looking at me . . . I couldn’t help but kiss you.”
“Don’t worry about it. What girl wouldn’t want to be kissed by a gorgeous guy?”
He smiled. “So I’m gorgeous again, huh?”
“After that kiss? Definitely.”
We stared at each other. Sebastian’s face clouded over, as if he was going to apologize again, but I cut him off by moving forward, standing on my tiptoes, and lightly pressing my lips to his again. He hesitated, then kissed me back.
I didn’t want to, but this time, I broke it off. Because if I didn’t, I knew that I was in danger of leading him into the back of the restaurant and making out with him until the sun came up, along with other, more intimate things—things that would rock me far more than a few lip-locks had.
I smoothed down his tie, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my trembling fingers and all of the emotions that he stirred in me. Finally, I raised my eyes to his again.
“Come on, now,” I said, making my voice light and teasing once more. “Your food’s getting cold. Go sit down and finish the rest of your burger.”
Sebastian grinned, then gave me a mock salute with his hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
13
Sebastian finished his food, seeming a little happier than before.
As he ate, I finished shutting down the restaurant, forcing myself to calm down and rein in my racing heart and raging hormones. I’d never considered myself the kind of person to be swept away by either pure emotion or physical attraction, much less give in to either one of them—unlike Finn and his constant, endless, shameless parade of girls—but I’d been in real danger of doing that with Sebastian. It was a bit troubling, how much he affected me. And how much I longed to just give in and enjoy everything he could offer me.
When he was done, I gathered up the dirty plates and stuck them into one of the sinks to wash in the morning. Sebastian insisted on paying me for the meal, and I tucked his money into a slot under the cash register.
Then we stood by the counter, not sure what to do.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said. “For everything, but especially for listening.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “With my dad and everything that’s been going on, I’ve just felt . . . numb the last few days. Lost, alone, adrift. I wanted to feel, I needed to feel something tonight. Like somebody cared about me and what I was going through.”
“And you came here? Why?”
He looked at me. “Because I had more fun talking with you at that dinner and then here again at the restaurant than I can remember having with anyone in a long time. I think it’s your smile. When you look at me, it feels like . . . your smile just lights up something inside me.”
My heart swelled with pleasure at his words—even as my stomach clenched with guilt.
“I know tonight wasn’t what either one of us had in mind—” he began.
“It was perfect,” I cut in. “Absolutely perfect.”
Sebastian’s eyes crinkled with warmth and gratitude. He nodded at me, then dropped his gaze from mine and cleared his throat, as if he was feeling all of the same emotions that I was.
Well, all of them except the guilt.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’d still like to take you out on that date. If you’ll have me.”
Once again, my mou
th gaped open in surprise. He was hurting, he was grieving, and he was still considerate enough to think about a promise that he’d made to me, a girl he barely knew. More emotion surged through me, even softer, warmer, and more intense than what I’d felt when we’d kissed. Because that sort of thoughtfulness was rare, something to be admired and treasured.
There were so many reasons I should say no to him. So many reasons I should have shown him the door the second he’d arrived. So many reasons I shouldn’t have kissed him. But none of them seemed to matter right now—nothing did but the hope shining in Sebastian’s eyes.
“A date would be great,” I said in a soft voice.
He sighed in relief, as if there had been some doubt about my answer. “Great. Pick you up here Monday night at seven? Just like we planned before?”
I nodded, too unsure of myself to say anything.
He reached out and squeezed my hand. “It’s a date, then. But right now, I should be getting home. Charlotte’s probably wondering what’s happened to me.”
“Of course.”
He tightened his grip on my hand. “But there’s one more thing I need to do before I go.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“This.”
Sebastian grinned and drew me into his arms for another kiss.
• • •
I didn’t get home until late that night, and I couldn’t keep the small, silly grin off my face or quiet my soft, nonsensical hums of happiness as I parked my car in the driveway, got out, and headed for the porch. After we’d kissed again, Sebastian had left the restaurant, promising to pick me up Monday evening for our date. I couldn’t wait to see him again.
All I had to do in the meantime was sell Fletcher on the idea.
Seeing the house rising up out of the dark and knowing the battle that waited for me inside finally dampened my good mood. The front door was stuck again because of the humidity, annoying me even more, and I had to put my shoulder into it to shove it open. The resulting screech made me wince. Maybe Fletcher should replace the door with that black granite one he wanted. It would be worth it not to blast my own eardrums every time I tried to get inside.
I locked the door behind me, dropped my keys into a crystal bowl on a table inside the foyer, and toed off my boots. Then I headed to the back of the house, where a couple of lights burned. Looked like Fletcher had waited up for me. I sighed. More often than not, he wouldn’t go to bed until I was home, despite the fact that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself—and killing anyone who was stupid enough to try to rob me when I was working late at the restaurant.
Sure enough, I found Fletcher sitting on the sofa in the den, with his blue work clothes still on and his white-socked feet stretched out on the battered coffee table in front of him. He was reading a book, although the TV was also on, tuned to some old western that he’d turned the volume down low on.
I plopped down onto one of the recliners. Fletcher kept right on reading his book. For the better part of a minute, the only sound was the steady creak-creak-creak of my chair, punctuated by an occasional crack-crack-crack of gunfire from the cowboys on TV. But for once, I didn’t mind waiting for him to speak. It gave me time to shore up my own arguments.
“You’re late,” Fletcher finally said, and turned another page in his book. “I thought you’d be here an hour ago.”
I drew in a breath, ready to spin my story. “Sebastian came into the restaurant right as I was closing up.”
That was enough to make him look up from his book. “What did he want?”
“To say that he was sorry that he didn’t keep our date last night.”
I told Fletcher everything that Sebastian had said, from his talk of his father’s funeral to trying to make sure that Charlotte was okay to his need to escape from all of the mourners who had gathered at the Vaughn mansion. The only thing I edited out was the fact that Sebastian and I had kissed. The old man definitely did not need to know about that. He’d claim that I was getting too emotionally involved with Sebastian. Maybe I was, but I could handle it.
I could handle anything as the Spider.
“He asked me out again,” I finished up. “For Monday night.”
Now came the tricky part. “I thought that I would go out with him, just to see if I can find out what he knows about the police investigation into his father’s murder and to make sure there’s nothing that can lead back to us. But I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
A half-truth, at best. I would carefully nose around and see what information I could get out of Sebastian about the investigation, just to make sure that Fletcher and I were in the clear. But sometime between leaving the Pork Pit and walking into the den, I’d decided that I was seeing Sebastian again, with or without Fletcher’s approval. I wanted to make sure that Sebastian was okay. I wanted to see him smile and laugh. But most of all, I wanted him to look at me again the way he had right before he’d kissed me tonight, like he was as desperately consumed by this bright flare of attraction between us as I was.
Still, I kept my face schooled into a calm, bland mask, as though it didn’t matter to me whether I went out with Sebastian. Even though it very much did.
Instead of looking at me, Fletcher dropped his green gaze to his book. Thinking. I curled my hands into loose fists, pressing my fingers against the spider rune scars in my palms, to keep from fidgeting. The marks might be the symbol for patience, but having them branded into my hands didn’t automatically give me that particular skill. Not even close.
Being patient was something that I still struggled with, whether it was as Gin Blanco, waiting on a customer to finally make up his mind about his order in the Pork Pit, or as the Spider, holding my position until my target was in exactly the right spot. It was probably the thing that Fletcher and I argued about the most. He said that patience was one of the most important skills for an assassin to have, and he was always telling me to slow down, wait, and let events unfold in my favor, to be absolutely sure of what I was doing before I went all in and committed myself wholeheartedly.
Well, I was sure now, so I dug my nails into the silverstone in my skin and held my tongue, waiting for him to say his piece.
After about three minutes, Fletcher finally nodded. “That might be a smart idea,” he said. “You going out with Sebastian and seeing what he knows.”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say—not at all. I’d thought that he would warn me to keep my distance from Sebastian. Maybe Fletcher finally realized that I could keep my emotions in check. Maybe he was finally fully trusting me to see a job through to the end, despite the unexpected complications that had come up. Maybe the old man finally understood that I was all grown up and capable of making my own decisions. That I was my own person now and not just the lost little girl he’d trained in his own image.
“Especially since I still haven’t been able to find out what was in that file that cop gave Vaughn,” Fletcher finished his thought. “I got my hands on a copy of the evidence logs, but there’s no mention of it being in the safe at Vaughn’s office or of the police cataloging it as part of their investigation. In fact, there wasn’t any mention of anything being in the safe. It’s like the file just . . . disappeared.”
Ah, so that’s what he was up to. His sources hadn’t been able to come up with the information he wanted, so he was willing to let me see if I could get it from Sebastian instead. Nothing bothered Fletcher more than loose ends and unanswered questions. I might not be as patient as he thought I should be, but he was more curious than a basket full of kittens exploring the world for the very first time. Still, I didn’t mind him wanting me to track down the file, since I was going to use it as an excuse to see Sebastian again.
“But you found the cop, right?” I asked. “The one who gave Vaughn the file? Can’t you just bribe him and ask him what he found?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t too hard to locate him, since you got his first name and his
hometown, but I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. The cop, Harry Coolidge, isn’t from around here. He works down in a town called Blue Marsh, near Savannah. From what I know, Coolidge is a smart, honest, decent cop. He won’t take any sort of bribe, and he’d start asking questions about how I even knew about the file. So that option is out.”
Fletcher hesitated, as if he was choosing his next words carefully.
“Coolidge has a reputation for being thorough and tenacious, a good investigator who can find clues that others miss. If Vaughn hired him to look into the terrace collapse, maybe even someone who was involved in the construction, it’s because that person was dirty—and clever enough to hide whatever he’d done.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll find a way to see if Sebastian has any information about the file. Maybe the cops let him go ahead and empty out the safe since he was next of kin. He might have the file buried in a stack somewhere and not even know it.”
“Maybe.”
Fletcher’s lips puckered, his nose scrunched up, and his eyes grew dark and distant, as if he was working through some sort of mental jigsaw puzzle and trying to make the pieces fit together in his head. But he shook off his thoughts and focused his attention on me again.
“All right. Feel Sebastian out during your date, and see if he knows anything about the file, where it is, or what Coolidge was looking into for Cesar. I’ll keep digging with my own sources.”
“You got it.”
His green gaze locked with my gray one. “But be careful, Gin. There’s something about this whole situation that’s still not sitting right with me. This thing could still go sideways on us.”
“Always.”
Satisfied for now, Fletcher went back to his book. Our powwow complete, I got to my feet and headed toward the hallway, ready to go upstairs, take a shower, and slip into bed. I reached the doorway and stopped, wondering if I should tell him that I had more than a casual interest in Sebastian, that finding out what he knew about his father’s file wasn’t the only reason that I wanted to see him again.
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