Venom Page 22

  I scooted off the desk and got to my feet. Owen stepped back and watched me finger-comb my hair and put my dress back into its proper position.

  “Duty calls,” he murmured. “Even for an assassin.”

  I gave him a tight smile. “Sadly, yes.”

  Owen Grayson escorted me to the front door and opened it. Sure enough, Finn stood outside leaning against the doorjamb, his Aston Martin parked in the driveway behind Owen’s Mercedes.

  Finn’s green eyes took in my flushed faced and red lips. A sly smile filled his face. “I do hate to interrupt,” he said. “But we have work to do, Gin.”

  “I know.”

  I turned to Owen. “Sorry to cut the evening short. Rain check?”

  His violet eyes glittered with a hot promise. “Definitely.”

  Owen grabbed my hand, his thumb tracing over the spider rune scar on my palm. I enjoyed the sensation for a moment, before squeezing his hand and slipping mine free.

  I didn’t look back as I slid into Finn’s car, but I could feel Owen’s eyes on me as I got inside and buckled up. Finn hopped into the driver’s seat, cranked the engine, and roared down the driveway away from the gray stone house.

  “Well, I see someone ended the evening on a high note,” Finn said as he drove through the iron gate that ringed Owen’s property.

  “Not really. You rang the bell before I could get mine done,” I sniped.

  “Sarcasm does not become you, Gin,” he replied. “So I take it Owen took the news well? What exactly did you tell him?”

  “Just about everything.”

  Finn looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why would you go and do something like that?”

  I shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to do. He knew I was involved with Tobias Dawson’s death, and he had his suspicions about me killing Jake McAllister at Mab Monroe’s party. He would have put it all together anyway when Slater’s body turns up cold and rotting somewhere in the next few days.”

  “Do you think he’ll talk?” Finn asked in a low voice.

  I thought about Owen’s confession that he’d wanted to kill Jake McAllister himself. About the other men that he had hurt and killed to protect Eva and himself. About what he thought he owed me for giving him food that night all those years ago. About the hard, passionate way he’d kissed me even after I’d told him exactly who and what I was.

  “No,” I replied. “Owen has his own reasons for keeping his mouth shut.”

  I told Finn what Owen had said about living on the streets and how Fletcher Lane had gotten him his first job as a blacksmith.

  “Dad helped Owen and Eva?” Finn asked. “I never knew about that.”

  “Me neither,” I muttered. “It would have been nice for Fletcher to mention his altruistic streak before he died.”

  Memories of Fletcher Lane flooded my mind. The knowing look in the old man’s green eyes. The way he so thoughtfully and carefully studied everyone and everything around him. My heart ached, the way it always did when I thought of all the things I wanted to say to him, all the things I wanted to ask him—and would never get to.

  Finn and I didn’t speak for a few minutes, but I could tell he was still thinking about Owen and the possible risk the businessman represented to us.

  “Don’t worry about Owen, Finn,” I finally said. “Besides our past history, he wants to fuck me now, remember? Spilling news of my secret identity is only going to get him a knife to the chest. He knows that. And I seriously doubt he wants Eva to finish growing up without big brother around to keep her safe and in line.”

  “And what happens if you’re wrong?” Finn asked.

  My stomach tightened, and I stared out into the darkness. “Then I’ll fuck him once, and when we’re done, I’ll stab him where he lies.”

  “That’s hard core, Gin,” Finn replied. “Very hard core. Kind of kinky too.”

  A grim smile tightened my lips. “That’s me. Gin Blanco. Hard core and kinky to the bitter end.”

  21

  Finn and I arrived at Jo-Jo’s about twenty minutes later.

  Jo-Jo Deveraux lived in one of the less pretentious parts of Northtown, as befitting someone of her Air elemental power, wealth, and social connections. Finn made the turn into a subdivision named Tara Heights, then coasted down Magnolia Lane and pulled into a long, sloping driveway. Jo-Jo’s three-story plantation house perched on top of a large hill, giving a clear, sweeping view of the other houses located on the street.

  It was after midnight now and normally, at this hour, only one or two lights would be on inside the dwarf’s house. Jo-Jo might be an Air elemental, but she needed her beauty sleep just like the rest of us. But not tonight. The whole first floor of the antebellum structure glowed, indicating that everyone inside was still wide awake. I doubted any of us would get much rest tonight.

  Finn parked his car in the driveway, and I scanned the shadows around the house and its long, wraparound porch. Elliot Slater shouldn’t have been able to track Roslyn Phillips to Jo-Jo’s, but the giant had gotten away from me twice now, and I wanted to be prepared for anything. But nothing moved or stirred in the darkness, not even a lone bullfrog bellowing despite the December cold.

  Finn headed for the front door, but I stood where I was and took a moment to listen to the murmurs of the white cobblestones that paved the driveway. Searching for even the slightest hint of trouble, the smallest note of worry or alarm. But the stones only whispered of the wind and frost and cold. Slater and his goons hadn’t found Roslyn—yet.

  We stepped up onto the porch, and Finn banged the cloud-shaped knocker against the front door. Heavy footsteps sounded, and Sophia Deveraux opened the door. The Goth dwarf wore a pair of black sweatpants, topped with a sweatshirt that had bloody, broken hearts all over it. For once, Sophia wasn’t wearing one of her leather collars, and her black hair was mussed, like she’d been asleep at some point during the evening. She carried a long length of metal pipe, perfect for dealing with any unwanted visitors who might darken the doorstep this late at night.

  I eyed the sturdy weapon. “Nice to see you too, Sophia.”

  “Hmph.” Her usual noncommittal grunt.

  Sophia stepped back, letting Finn and me inside the house. “Kitchen,” she rasped and closed and locked the door behind us.

  I walked down the hallway in that direction, with Finn behind me, and Sophia bringing up the rear. I reached the doorway to the long, skinny room and stopped. Roslyn Phillips sat tall and upright on a stool at the rectangular, butcher’s block table that took up the middle of the kitchen. Her back couldn’t have been any straighter than if she’d had a board attached to it. The vamp still wore her crimson party dress, although the fabric now seemed drab, crumpled, lifeless. Even the sequins that dotted the dress were muted, as though the events of the evening had robbed them of all their sparkle. Roslyn had been crying again since I’d seen her last, her eyes almost as red as her dress, her usually flawless face a mess of smeared makeup and dried tears.

  Xavier perched on a stool next to her, not quite touching her, but clearly aching to do so. The giant kept his dark eyes on the vampire, who stared at the tabletop in front of her. Neither one spoke or moved. They looked frozen, like they were figures in a painting that had somehow been propped up among the pastel-colored appliances.

  “About time you got here,” Jo-Jo Deveraux drawled.

  The dwarf stood at the stove on the other side of the table, waiting for a teakettle to whistle its piping note. Old-fashioned sponge rollers ringed Jo-Jo’s head like rows of plastic pink soldiers. The dwarf wore one of her flowered pink housecoats, and her usual string of pearls gleamed around her neck, despite the late hour.

  “I had things to do,” I replied, sitting down on a stool across from Roslyn.

  “More like people,” Finn said in a low voice.

  I shot him a dirty look, but Roslyn and Xavier didn’t seem to notice. The vamp kept staring at the table, and the giant kept looking at her.

 
; “Did they tell you what happened tonight?” I asked Jo-Jo.

  The dwarf nodded and opened her mouth to respond. But before she could say anything, the teakettle shrieked that it was ready. Jo-Jo rushed to pick it up to cut off the noise, but the pot chirped out another high-pitched whistle. The harsh, unexpected sound made Roslyn flinch, as though someone had slapped her. Xavier reached over and put his massive hand on top of hers. That made the vamp flinch too. Xavier froze and slowly drew his hand away.

  Jo-Jo poured hot water into several cups and added some tea bags. The cups went onto an antique sterling silver serving tray, along with milk, sugar, cream, and a plate of blackberry muffins that I’d baked yesterday at the Pork Pit. When everything was arranged to her satisfaction, Jo-Jo set the tray on the table in front of Roslyn.

  “Have some tea, darling,” the dwarf said in her light, warm voice. “It will make you feel better.”

  Roslyn automatically reached for a cup and took a polite sip, going through the motions. But after a moment, the vamp’s shoulders eased down, and her face relaxed. Roslyn let out a long breath. My nose twitched. I knew alcohol when I smelled it. I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, a half-empty Mason jar of what looked like home-grown moonshine sat on the counter next to the cloud-covered cloth that hid the toaster. I looked at Jo-Jo, who winked, gave me a small smile, and handed me my own cup of tea. I shrugged and took it from her.

  Finn skipped the tea and poured himself some chicory coffee from the pot that Jo-Jo always kept on for him. Sophia leaned against the doorway and stared at Roslyn. For once, emotions flashed in the Goth dwarf’s dark eyes, but I was too tired to try to figure out what they were.

  The six of us sat in silence for several minutes. Jo-Jo kept refilling Roslyn’s tea cup, urging the vamp to eat one of the muffins that she’d set out. Finally, Roslyn agreed, breaking the muffin apart with her hands and chewing one small bite at a time. But the spiked tea and the sugary confection revived her a bit. Her cheeks flushed and lost some of their pallor, and her body slowly unwound into a more normal position.

  “Feeling better?” Jo-Jo asked in a soft voice.

  Roslyn looked up and gave the dwarf a small smile. “A little. Thank you.”

  Jo-Jo waved her hand. “You’re more than welcome, darling.”

  The vamp gave Jo-Jo another smile and dropped her eyes. Everyone stilled once more, giving Roslyn the time she needed—

  The muted chirp of a cell phone broke the silence. I turned my head. The sound came from a bench that hugged the back wall of the kitchen. I spotted a small red purse sitting among several coats that had been thrown over the low wooden bench.

  I looked at Jo-Jo, who shook her head.

  “That’s my phone,” Roslyn said, answering my silent question. “Elliot’s calling me. He’s been calling ever since I left the riverboat.”

  “Tell me you haven’t answered him,” I said.

  “No,” Roslyn whispered. “I haven’t answered him.”

  “Good.”

  After five rings, the sound stopped—only to start again a few seconds later. Despite the alcohol that she’d drunk, Roslyn’s face tightened once more, and tears filled her eyes.

  “Why won’t he stop?” she asked in a shaky voice. “Why won’t he just stop?”

  I leaned over, grabbed the vamp’s cold hand, and squeezed it. “He’s going to stop, Roslyn. Elliot Slater is never going to bother you again. I promise.”

  The vamp stared at me and shook her head. “Even if you kill Slater now, everyone will know it was me. That I had something to do with it. I’m never going to be free of him. Never.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  I looked at her, feeling small and helpless for the first time in many years. Roslyn was right. As soon as Slater’s body turned up, Mab Monroe would start asking questions—and Roslyn would be the first person the Fire elemental would interrogate.

  Unless I could think of some way to stop it.

  Roslyn was done for the night—physically, mentally, emotionally—so Jo-Jo led the vamp upstairs so she could shower, put on some more comfortable clothes, and crash in one of the guest beds. Finn, Sophia, Xavier, and I stayed in the kitchen. I didn’t speak until I was sure that Roslyn was out of earshot.

  “I’m going to need some help to pull this off,” I said in a soft voice. “A place for Roslyn to stay, someone to watch over her while I take care of business. Will you guys help me? Please?”

  “Of course, Gin,” Finn replied. “Whatever you need, anywhere, anytime. You know that. That’s what families do for each other. And we’re all family here.”

  Sophia murmured her agreement as well.

  I nodded my head in gratitude, then looked at Sophia first. “Roslyn stays here until I deal with Elliot Slater. You take the night shift guarding her. Jo-Jo can keep an eye on her during the day. Roslyn doesn’t go out, she doesn’t talk to or see or call anyone. Okay?”

  The Goth dwarf nodded. She knew the drill.

  “Good. I’m also going to need you to come down to the Pork Pit and work your usual shift tomorrow. I’ll be there too.”

  Xavier frowned. “You’re going to have the restaurant open tomorrow? Why? You should be busy plotting how to get to Slater, not serving up barbecue.”

  I looked at the giant. “Don’t worry, I will be. But everyone involved in this thing needs to stick to their normal routines. Go to work, go home, whatever. Be seen by other folks. That way, when Slater’s body turns up and Mab Monroe starts asking questions, we all have some plausible deniability. We were far too busy being normal to even think about killing the giant. It might just save our asses.”

  Xavier shook his head. “That might work for the rest of us, but it won’t for Roslyn. Not if she’s cooped up here the whole time.”

  “That’s where Finn comes in.”

  I turned to face Finn, who was pouring himself yet another cup of chicory coffee. The warm caffeine fumes flooded the kitchen, reminding me once again of Fletcher Lane. The old man had drunk the same coffee that his son did. It might have been nothing more than silly sentiment, but the smell comforted me, even during this long, tense night. Not for the first time, I wished the old man were still alive. Fletcher Lane had been a master tactician. He’d know exactly the best way to handle Elliot Slater—and get away clean afterward. Instead of fumbling around with things like I was doing. Like I’d been doing for days now.

  But Fletcher was gone, and I was here. It didn’t much matter what happened to me after the fact—only that the others were clear. And if I had to die to make sure they were, well, at least I’d seen Bria again before I kicked off to hell.

  I breathed in once more, enjoying the rich aroma a final time, before pushing all thought of Bria and the old man away. “Finn, I need you to get busy constructing an alibi for Roslyn.”

  “Alibi?” Sophia rasped in her ruined voice.

  I nodded. “Alibi. Back when this whole thing started, Roslyn sent her sister and her niece down to Myrtle Beach to get them out of the way. Well, after the scene last night on the riverboat, Roslyn decided to get out of town and join them.”

  “Impromptu vacation?” Finn asked. “I can do that. Hotel bill, restaurant receipts, shitty souvenirs, sand in a suitcase. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to fake it all. I can even rig up some security footage from the hotel that Roslyn’s supposedly staying at if you want.”

  For a moment, I wondered exactly how Finn was going to get his hands on not only sand but tacky beach T-shirts and conch shell necklaces this close to midnight. But if there were any to be had in all of Ashland, Finnegan Lane would find them. Like me, Finn had many skills, most of which weren’t exactly legal.

  “Do the whole package,” I answered. “And make it look good. Very good. Enough to stand up to whatever scrutiny Mab Monroe might bring to bear. Or the police.”

  Finn toasted me with his coffee mug. “Consider it done.”

  “What about me?” Xavier asked in a low voice.

/>   Xavier had his elbows on the table, and his hands laid out flat in front of him. The giant’s arms were so long that he could have leaned forward and grabbed the opposite edge of the counter. The broad, coiled muscles of his back and biceps pressed against his white tuxedo jacket, threatening to split the material at the seams. Shadows darkened his black eyes, and his strong jaw clenched and unclenched. A vein throbbed on the top of Xavier’s shaved skull, the blue tint of his blood visible even through his ebony skin.

  I knew the signs and could read the rage in Xavier’s eyes like a pirate scanning a treasure map. X marked the spot. This was a man who wanted to rip into something, or rather someone—Elliot Slater—and slowly tear the skin from his bones, pound it back on, and start again. Couldn’t blame Xavier for that. Not after what the bastard had done to Roslyn. But it was my job to keep him in line, so I could take care of Slater once and for all. And so we could all walk away clean after the fact.

  “Your job is going to be the most difficult,” I said. “You need to go to Northern Aggression tomorrow and open the nightclub as usual. Work the door, keep an eye on the crowd, everything you usually do.”

  “Why is that going to be difficult?” Xavier growled.

  I stared at him. “Because sooner or later, Slater’s going to come by the club looking for Roslyn—and you’re going to have to deal with him.”

  Xavier’s hands curled into two massive fists. “I’ll deal with the bastard, all right.”

  “No,” I said in a sharp tone. “You will not fucking touch him, unless you want to get dead. Slater’s sure to have backup with him. Even if you took him out, one of his buddies would get you in the end.”

  Xavier’s face hardened, and his eyes glinted with rage. At Slater, mostly, but I wasn’t in the giant’s good graces right now, either.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m not questioning your skills or your strength or how much you care about Roslyn. We all know that you wish you could kill Slater yourself. And we all know that you can’t do that without dying, either there at the scene or later on, when Mab Monroe gets involved. We all want the same thing—Elliot Slater cold and rotting in the ground for what he’s done to Roslyn. But more importantly, we want everyone to be able to walk away after the fact. What’s it going to be, Xavier? You want to play the hero and die for your woman? Or you want to do things my way and live long enough to go spit on Elliot Slater’s grave? Decide. Right now.”