Jennifer Estep: Web of Lies

He jerked his head, and I followed him to the far side of the restaurant, out of earshot of everyone else.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked in a low voice.

“You want to tell me why you’re here?” I countered.

“Detectives don’t usually come out for Southtown robberies, especially those that are thwarted.”

Donovan stared at me. “All right. I asked dispatch to let me know if there were any incidents at the Pork Pit.”

“Why? Afraid I might take to killing people in my own place of business? You must not have gotten the memo, but I’ve retired, detective.”

His black eyebrows drew together in surprise. “Retired?”

I nodded. “Retired. Now I spend my days here at the Pork Pit serving up the best barbecue, cole slaw, and blackberry iced tea in Ashland.”

Some emotion flared in his amber eyes. It might have been relief or even hope, but it was gone before I could decipher it. “Well, good for you, I suppose.”

I shrugged. My quitting the assassin business wasn’t good or bad. Fletcher Lane had been after me to retire for months before his murder. After his death, I’d decided to honor the old man’s final wish. Nothing more, nothing less. But as my eyes slid down Donovan Caine’s body, I couldn’t help but wonder if my revelation would be enough to get the detective back into my bed. Certainly couldn’t hurt.

Donovan dug a pen and notepad out of his hip pocket.

“So tell me about it.”

I recapped the events of the last hour. After I finished, Caine stilled, his pen frozen on his notepad, turning over something in his mind. Then he raised his golden eyes to me.

“Why didn’t you kill them?” he asked in a soft voice.

“We both know you could have.”

“Easily,” I agreed. “But one of the girls was on the floor next to me.”

“And you didn’t want her to see you do it?”

I shrugged. “Witnesses are bad, detective. I’ve told you that before.”

He snorted. “And here I thought you were developing a heart.”

Disappointment tinged his words. I ignored the longing the sound stirred in me.

“Oh, I’ve always had a heart, detective,” I replied in a breezy tone. “I just don’t let it keep me from doing what needs to be done. That would be weak, and I’m not weak. Haven’t been in a long time.”

“No, weak is one thing you’re definitely not.” Donovan eyed me. “You may be retired, but you really haven’t changed at all, have you, Gin?”

“That depends on your definition of change . Am I suddenly going to morph into a soccer mom or a bleeding heart who lets people walk all over her? No, and I don’t want to. But I’ve reevaluated my life, my priorities, and I’ve decided to change them accordingly. That being said, if somebody pushes me, comes at me like those two clowns did, I’m going to push back — three times as hard. Being an assassin has been my way of life since I was thirteen, detective. I’m not going to forget what I did for the last seventeen years just because I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I see.”

This time, the disappointment was as sharp as one of the silverstone knives hidden up my sleeves. Donovan Caine still wanted me, but he wanted his conscience to be clear about it too. I wasn’t the only one who needed to change.

Caine cleared his throat. “You know who the blond kid is?”

“Jake McAllister. Jonah McAllister’s nearest and dearest. The giant cop told me — then asked if I still wanted to press charges.”

Donovan looked at the cop, who could be seen standing on the sidewalk through the storefront windows.

“Xavier? He’s a good guy. Probably thought he was doing you a favor, letting you know about the kid and his connections. Because Jonah McAllister isn’t going to like this. He could cause a lot of trouble for you.”

“If he does, I’ll handle it the way I always do. Quickly. Efficiently. Permanently.”

“The way you always do? I thought you were trying to change.”

“I am,” I replied. “But white trash is still white trash, detective. Nobody comes into my restaurant, tries to hold up the place, and threatens my customers. I don’t care who his daddy is.”

We stared at each other. Not for the first time, I longed to draw the detective close, to pull his lips down to mine and see if the sex would be as hot and hard and good as it had been before. We’d certainly have more room to maneuver on one of the tables than we’d had in the supply closet. Mmm.

But I wasn’t going to make the first move. I’d done that before. If the detective wanted me, he could let me know.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Donovan Caine stared at me, his eyes tracing over my features, as if he was memorizing them. As if he was never planning on seeing me again. Maybe he wasn’t.

The idea made my stomach twist, but I kept my face smooth and expressionless. I hadn’t survived this long by wearing my heart on my sleeve. I didn’t plan on doing it now. Not even for him.

Finally, Donovan held out his hand. I took it. His fingers felt hard, strong, capable against my own, and the heat from him warmed my whole body. Donovan dropped my hand like it burned him. Maybe it did, to want me so much, the woman who’d killed his partner.

I’d heard the detective say once that you didn’t fuck your partner’s murderer. But he’d done it — twice — and enjoyed it. And he still hated himself for it.

“Take care, Gin.”

“You too, detective. You too.”

Donovan Caine nodded at me a final time. Then the detective turned on his heel and walked out the door, leaving my gin joint and heart a little emptier and colder than they had been before.

Barely a minute passed before the front door opened once more, making the bell chime. I looked up, wondering if the detective had changed his mind about, well, anything.

Everything.

But the man who strode into the Pork Pit wasn’t Donovan Caine or another cop. His suit was much too nice for that. The black fabric draped off his shoulders, highlighting a frame that was compact, sturdy, strong. Given his body structure, I would have thought him a dwarf.

But at six foot one, he was much too tall for that. He had a thick head of hair that was a glossy blue-black, while his eyes were a light violet. A white, thin scar slashed diagonally across his chin. It offset the crooked tilt of his nose.

Those were the only two flaws in his chiseled features, which somehow added even more character to his face, rather than detracting from his good looks.

He cut an impressive figure. Striking, confident, aggressive, forceful. Someone who demanded attention.

Someone worth watching. Especially since he looked vaguely familiar to me.

I half-expected a couple of giant guards to follow the man into the Pork Pit. Most of the rich folks in Ashland employed at least a couple, and this guy was definitely wealthy, judging by his swanky suit and confident demeanor.

But the man entered alone. His light eyes swept over the interior of the restaurant, pausing at the blood spatters on the floor. After a moment, his gaze moved on and settled on the two girls, who were packing up their books to leave.

“Eva,” he said in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

“Are you all right?”

Eva zipped up her backpack. “I’m fine, Owen.”

The man moved to stand beside her. He walked stiffly but with purpose, like a bulldozer plowing through dandelions.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I said I was fine,” she repeated in an irritated voice, as though they’d had this argument many times before. “I also told you there was no need to come down here. You never listen to me.”

“I’m your big brother,” he said. “I’m supposed to watch out for you.”