“Have you found out anything else about M. M. Monroe?”
Bria shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve scoured the main house and the building where Grimes actually stored his guns, but I haven’t come up with anything. No pieces of paper with that name on them, no cell-phone numbers, no other indication that the guns were for M. M. Monroe. In fact, I haven’t found so much as a date book or even an old-fashioned ledger of who bought guns from him. Say what you will about him, Grimes protected his clients’ identities.”
“Finn hasn’t been able to find out anything on M.M. either,” I said. “He’s still horrified that Grimes did everything face-to-face and that he didn’t even own a computer, much less use e-mail.”
Bria chuckled and shook her head. Then she reached down under the table and rifled through the backpack that she’d been carrying with her back and forth from the camp. She came up with a couple of towels and handed them over to me.
“I found a few things I thought you might like to have back.”
I unrolled one of the towels to find a silverstone knife nestled inside, one of the extra weapons that I’d used to fight the men on the ridge. “Thanks. I am glad to see them again. You can never have too many knives.”
Bria smiled a little, but then her face turned serious. “There’s something else.”
This time, she pulled a brown envelope out of her backpack and slid it over to me.
“I also took the liberty of going through Grimes’s house and removing all those creepy pictures of Sophia that he had,” she said in a soft voice. “I figured that nobody needed to know about Sophia except for us.”
I nodded and pulled the envelope over to my side of the table. “I appreciate that, and I’m sure that she and Jo-Jo will too.”
“How is Sophia? I’ve been so busy up here that I haven’t had a chance to drop by the salon and see her or Jo-Jo.”
“It’s hard to tell with her. She keeps everything to herself.”
Bria gave me a wry grin. “That sounds like someone else I know.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, but I couldn’t refute her words, because they were all too true. And I had my own nightmares about Grimes and his camp.
More than once in the past few days, I’d dreamed of being down in the pit, clutching Sophia’s shovel, and seeing nothing but tombstones looming over me. All the stones had been covered with my spider rune, drawn in my own blood.
Every time, I’d woken up in a cold sweat, thrashing against the sheets, gasping for breath, my skin stinging as though I’d been cut a hundred times with my own knives. I could only imagine how much worse Sophia’s nightmares were.
“I think that Sophia will be okay,” I said, finally answering Bria’s question. “It’ll just take some time, like everything does. The good news is that Jo-Jo finally has her strength back. She looked at her hair in the mirror yesterday morning and about had a heart attack. The next thing I knew, she was yelling at me to go get the car and take her to the salon so she could get the right kind of highlights to put on her hair.”
Bria’s grin widened. “Ah, the joys of having house-guests.”
Sophia, Jo-Jo, and Rosco were staying with me at Fletcher’s until we could fix the damage that had been done to their home. It was a little strange having them with me when it had just been me in the house for the past several months, but I didn’t mind the company. In fact, it was rather nice, even if Sophia did stay up until all hours of the night watching old movies on TV, Jo-Jo muttered under her breath about the fact that I only had one kind of shampoo and conditioner, and Rosco kept scratching at the door to Fletcher’s office, wanting to see what was in there and if he could eat any of it.
A bell rang, signaling that the lunch break was over and it was time for the latest shift to hike back up to the camp. Xavier had Sophia wrap up his cheeseburger to go, while Bria reluctantly got up and threw her paper plates away before coming back over to me. I got to my feet too.
“Duty calls,” she said.
“What will happen to the camp now?”
She shrugged. “There’s been some talk by the forest service of renovating the camp and turning it into some sort of nature center. Maybe even establishing it as a getaway for folks hiking through the mountains.”
“Do the forest guys really think that people will want to stay in a place where so many bodies have been found?”
Bria shrugged again. “Technically, it is their land, after all. I guess they can try, at the very least.”
The thought of Grimes’s camp made me think of another empty residence in Ashland: Mab’s mansion. Now that M. M. Monroe was back in Ashland, or had at least turned his or her attention in this direction, the logical thing would be to take up residence there, since it belonged to him or her. But so far, the mansion remained empty, at least according to Finn’s spies.
Like Bria, Finn hadn’t been able to find out anything else about M. M. Monroe and what this person might be up to. But like we’d figured, it couldn’t be anything good, not with M.M. buying so much ordnance. At least we’d thwarted that part of the scheme. I’d kept all the weapons and ammo that had been in Grimes’s trunk and the other vehicles, moving them into the underground tunnel below Fletcher’s house for safekeeping, and the po-po had seized all of the weapons that they’d found at the camp itself. So M.M. would have to get his or her guns somewhere else. A small inconvenience, more than anything else, but I was hoping that it would at least give Finn enough time to track this person down and figure out what he or she was really up to in Ashland.
That bell chimed again, telling folks to get their butts in gear, or else.
Bria hugged me and told me that she would call later if there were any updates or if she found anything else interesting at Grimes’s camp. She went over to speak to Xavier, and then the two of them shouldered their gear and fell into step with the others. Bria waved at me a final time, then headed into the woods.
But she wasn’t the only one. The coroner also gave me another jaunty wave before he followed her up the trail.
I grinned and waved back. What could I say? I was starting to like that guy.
* * *
The esteemed members of the po-po trudged back up to Grimes’s camp, leaving Sophia and me behind to pack up the leftovers. We put the remaining food in the ice-filled coolers that we’d brought along, then moved through the picnic area, picking up the used paper plates, cups, and utensils and throwing everything into the trash bins.
We were about to grab the coolers and walk down the steps to our cars when I touched Sophia’s arm and handed her the envelope that Bria had given to me.
“Bria found these at Grimes’s camp,” I said. “She said that they were all over his house and that she took them down before anyone else saw them. I thought that you might want them.”
Sophia’s fingers curled around the envelope, and she hefted it in her hand, as though it weighed more than it actually did. Or maybe that was because of all the bad memories associated with what was inside.
Sophia sat down at one of the picnic tables, opened the envelope, and flipped through the photos, but I didn’t join her. This was her pain, not mine, and I figured that she might want a few moments to herself. So I busied myself by going through the area one more time and making sure that we hadn’t forgotten anything. Every once in a while, I would glance over to see how she was doing. Her expression was flat as she looked at first one picture, then the next, but I could see the pain shimmering in her eyes.
Finally, after she’d gone through them all, Sophia grabbed the photos and the envelope, got to her feet, and went over to one of the trash cans. She drew a long, thin lighter out of her jeans pocket, the one she’d used to light the sterno cans that warmed the baked beans and other food. She flicked the lighter on and held it up to the edge of one of the photos. She watched as the flames licked at the paper, then tossed it down into the trash can with the other garbage. I stood by, still and silent, and watched her.
One by
one, Sophia burned all of the photos, until flames flickered out of the top of the trash can. The smell of burning paper filled the air, along with bits of ash.
Finally, Sophia got down to the last photo in the envelope, the one of her wearing that white dress that had been on Grimes’s desk. She started to toss it in on top of the rest of the burning mess, but she hesitated. Instead, she stared at the photo for a long while, before finally sliding it back into the envelope.
Sophia noticed me watching her. “To remember,” she rasped.
I nodded. I understood that sentiment all too well. It was why I had so many rune drawings on the mantel at Fletcher’s house.
We stood there and watched the rest of the photos curl and burn, until there was nothing left of them but ash—and the memories, which weren’t nearly as easy to get rid of.
32
A little more than a week after Harley Grimes had first stormed into Jo-Jo’s house, I found myself back in the salon. Only this time, I wasn’t getting my nails done. Instead, I was the one painting.
I stepped back, my eyes tracing over the wall and making sure that I hadn’t missed any spots. Since the salon had been so damaged during Grimes’s attack, Jo-Jo had decided to do a little remodeling. That meant a fresh coat of white paint everywhere.
However, not everyone was happy about being on paint duty instead of being pampered, like we’d first planned.
“Oh, sure,” Finn muttered, dabbing his brush at the wall a few feet away from me. “Now you let me come. Now that there’s work to be done and not just sitting around in your pajamas, drinking mimosas, and eating bon-bons.”
I gave him an amused look. “Less whining, more painting. Jo-Jo wants to reopen the salon next week, remember?”
Finn let out another huff, but he leaned forward and started some trim work around the doorframe.
“Well, I agree with Finn,” Owen drawled from the opposite side of the salon, where he was working on another wall. “I could do with less painting and more pampering myself.”
Beside him, Bria snorted. “Men. And they think that we’re the weaker sex. At least we don’t whine about every little thing, now, do we?”
Finn turned around and stabbed his paintbrush toward her. “I will have you know that I don’t whine about every little thing. I only whine about the important things, my own comfort being chief among those.”
Bria snorted again. I grinned and went back to my own painting.
Among the four of us, it didn’t take long to finish painting the salon. Once we were done, I led everyone into the kitchen. While they settled themselves around the butcher-block table, I rustled around in the cabinets, coming up with plates, forks, napkins, and a large knife. Then I reached into the fridge and pulled out the key lime pie that I’d made early that morning.
Finn’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t tell me that there was pie.”
“You would have quit painting and come in here.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed, grabbing the knife off the table and using it to cut into the dessert. “Why paint when you can eat pie instead?”
“Well, I can think of some things that are better than painting or eating pie,” Owen rumbled.
He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me back against his chest. That old, familiar electricity arched through my body, and my heart thrummed with desire—and love. Owen pressed a kiss to the side of my neck before stepping away from me. With everything that had been going on the past few days, we hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time together, but the moments that we had shared had been wonderful. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but I’d felt that we’d finally turned a corner and that we would come out stronger on the other side.
I turned around and tapped him on the nose. “Well, you’ll have to tell me all about these mysterious activities later. Perhaps even give me a demonstration.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he agreed in a husky voice.
“Mine too,” I murmured back. “But for right now, be a good boy, and eat your pie.”
Owen made a face, but he took the plate that I offered him. I laughed.
Once Bria had gotten a piece of her own, I took what was left, along with some more plates, forks, and napkins, and stepped out onto the front porch, where Jo-Jo and Sophia were.
Jo-Jo was perched in a rocking chair, going through a brown cardboard box that was full of makeup, with Rosco snoring in a patch of sunlight at her feet. Sophia was sitting on the steps, her right index finger moving back and forth in a steady, deliberate pattern, carefully using her Air magic to dissolve all of the blood that had spattered there—Jo-Jo’s blood.
“Y’all ready for a pie break?” I asked, and put everything down on a table next to Jo-Jo’s elbow.
Jo-Jo grinned at me. “I don’t know that I’ve done enough work to have earned myself dessert already, but I won’t pass it up.”
I grinned back at her. “Good. Because I made that key lime pie that you love so much.”
I cut her a big piece of the tart, tangy dessert. Sophia reached a stopping point and joined us, digging into her own slice. Rosco cracked open an eye, but when he realized that we weren’t going to share, he huffed and continued snoozing at Jo-Jo’s feet.
“You know,” Jo-Jo said, after she’d finished her slice, “I don’t think that Sophia and I ever said thank you for everything that you did on the mountain and everything that you’re doing here now too.”
I reached over and squeezed her soft, warm hand. “There’s no need for thanks. Family takes care of family. Simple as that.”
“Still, darling, you went above and beyond,” Jo-Jo said. “I don’t think that you know how much it means to Sophia and me.”
“So much,” Sophia rasped. “So very much.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand too. “Well, I don’t think that you know how much you guys mean to me. I’d take on Harley Grimes all over again for you—for both of you.”
Both of their faces darkened at the mention of the Fire elemental, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d ruined the day. Jo-Jo and Sophia hadn’t said much to me about Grimes, although more than once, I’d heard them whispering late into the night at Fletcher’s house.
But after a moment, Jo-Jo looked at Sophia. They both grinned, and the mood lightened once more.
“Actually, I’m glad that we’re finally getting started on fixing up the salon,” Jo-Jo said. “I just got in a new order of makeup that I’m dying to test out on all my regular customers.”
She bent over, rummaged through the cardboard box that was sitting at her feet, and came up with a bottle of scarlet nail polish, that deep, vibrant red that was so my color.
“It’s called ‘Heart’s Desire.’ Don’t you just love the shade?”
“I think that it’s just perfect,” I said, meaning it. “What other plans do you have in store for the salon besides new makeup?”
Jo-Jo grinned at me. “Well, darling, I’m glad you asked, because . . .”
I sat back in my rocking chair and took another bite of my pie, letting Jo-Jo’s words wash over me, enjoying the day and being with some of the people I loved most in the world.
My own heart’s desire.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in the Elemental Assassin series
THE SPIDER
by Jennifer Estep
A tale from Gin’s past, revealing how she became who she is: Ashland’s most notorious assassin, the Spider. . . .
Coming soon from Pocket Books
1
The day the box arrived started out like any other.
I opened up the Pork Pit, the barbecue restaurant that I ran in downtown Ashland, right on schedule. Turned on the appliances, tied a blue work apron on over my clothes, and flipped the sign on the front door over to Open. Then I spent the rest of the morning and into the afternoon cooking up burgers, baked beans, and the thick, hearty barbecue beef and pork sandwiches that my gin joint was so famous for. In between filling order
s, I chatted with the waitstaff, wiped down tables, and made sure that my customers had everything they needed to enjoy their hot, greasy meals.
All the while, though, I kept waiting for someone to try to kill me.
Not for the first time today, my gaze swept over the storefront, which featured an assortment of tables and chairs, along with blue and pink vinyl booths. Matching, faded, peeling pig tracks on the floor led to the men’s and women’s bathrooms, respectively. A long counter with padded stools ran along the back wall, separating the cooking area from the seated customers.
Since it was after six now, the dinner rush was on, and almost every seat was taken. The waitstaff bustled back and forth, taking orders, fetching food, and refilling drinks, and the clink-clank of dishes filled the restaurant, along with the steady scrape-scrape-scrape of forks, knives, and spoons on plates and bowls. Murmurs of more than a dozen different conversations added to the pleasant mix of sounds, while the rich, hearty smells of cumin, black pepper, and other cooking spices tickled my nose.
Everything was as it should be, but still I looked at first one diner, then another. A few folks swallowed and quickly glanced away when they realized I was watching them, not daring to meet my gaze for more than a second. But most were happily focused on their food and companions and paid me no more attention than they should have. They were just here for the Southern treats the restaurant served up—not to try to murder me and cash in on my reputation as the Spider, Ashland’s most notorious assassin.
“Gin?” A deep, male voice cut into my latest examination of the storefront and its occupants.
I looked over at the man perched on the stool closest to the old-fashioned cash register. Despite his slightly crooked nose and a scar that cut across his chin, he was ruggedly handsome, with intense violet eyes and black hair shot through with blue highlights. His navy business suit and white shirt highlighted the coiled strength in his chest and shoulders, and I wasn’t the only woman in the restaurant who paused to give him an admiring glance.
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