Jennifer Estep: The Spider

“I wanted to let you know that I was okay,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “And I suppose that I wanted to say thank you, since I never did before.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said, my voice harsh and raspy with guilt and regret. “I killed your father, Charlotte. Like I said before, you have every right to hate me. Truth be told, I half expected a couple of cops to be waiting in here tonight, ready to finally arrest me for what I did to him.”

Actually, part of me had been expecting it for years, but it had never come to pass.

“I suppose that I do hate you for that,” she said. “And I thought about telling the police what you did so many times.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I am thankful every single day that you killed Sebastian, that you saved me from him.”

“But it’s not an even trade,” I said in a gentle voice. “Your father was a million times the man Sebastian was. Killing Cesar is one of the many regrets that I have, one that still hurts, one that will always hurt. If I could have gone back then and changed things, I would have. If I could do it now, I would in a heartbeat.”

Charlotte blinked and blinked, but she couldn’t quite keep two tears from streaking down her face. “I know,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. “I know.”

She wiped the tears off her face and slowly regained her composure. She sat back in her chair and gestured with her drink at the library around us.

“As you can see, now that I have control of my family home again, I’m working to rebuild it, restore it. And I’m starting up Vaughn Construction again. I’m going to continue on with the legacy that my father started.”

“Good for you,” I said, and meant it.

“So I’m okay now. You don’t have to keep looking out for me anymore. I can fight my own battles from here on out.”

I reached into my vest and drew out a manila folder. I tossed it onto the table between us. “Then you should take a look at that. Because your new boyfriend is only interested in your money, according to what he’s been telling his friends when they go out for drinks at Northern Aggression. And the woman you’re thinking about hiring as your CFO plans to start skimming as soon as you give her access to your business accounts.”

For a moment, Charlotte looked decidedly unsettled, but she recovered quickly, and a wry grin lifted her lips. “Still watching out for me, Gin?”

I shrugged. “Just keeping my ear to the ground. That’s all.”

“As an assassin,” she said. “As the Spider.”

“Yes, as the Spider.”

She didn’t say anything else. I didn’t know what was left to say. It certainly hadn’t been the evening I’d expected, and it would take me some time to process it. Still, there was one more thing I wanted to tell her.

“You know, you should give Bria Coolidge a call sometime.”

Charlotte blinked. “Bria? I haven’t thought about her in years. Not since . . . the night of my birthday party.”

“But you were friends with her once, and I’m sure she would love to hear from you again. She’s a cop now, just like her dad, Harry, was. She’s here in Ashland. Xavier too.”

Charlotte gave me a guarded look. “How the hell do you know about Bria and Harry Coolidge?”

“I didn’t know Harry, not really.” I grinned at her. “But I know all about Bria. She’s my baby sister.”

She gaped at me.

“I thought that Bria was dead for a long time,” I said in a quiet voice. “But I was lucky enough to find her again. I can’t give you your father back, but I can maybe return some of your friends to you. So give her a call. I put her card on the desk, next to the cake.”

Charlotte kept staring at me, blinking and blinking, as if she were trying to process everything. Yeah, I knew how that felt.

I gave her a wink and my best, most mysterious smile. “See you around, Charlotte.”

Then I raised my glass to her in a toast, drained the rest of my gin, and left the library.

Like her father before her, Charlotte didn’t employ any guards. Something that I’d have to speak to her about some other night. I wouldn’t want just anyone to waltz in here on her.

I walked out the front door of the mansion, ambled down the long driveway, and headed for the iron gate at the front of the estate. It was closed, but I had no problems scaling the stone wall and dropping down on the far side. After all, it was the same way I’d come in a couple of hours ago.

And just like all those years before, a car was waiting for me on the other side.

A momentary pang of loss shot through me that it wasn’t an old, battered white van but instead a flashy silver sports car, the latest Aston Martin. I opened the door and slid into the passenger’s seat.

“How did it go?” Finn asked.

I looked at my foster brother, with his green eyes, his walnut-colored hair, and his features that were so much like Fletcher’s. Once again, I felt that pang in my heart, but it was softer now, more sweet than bitter.

“Charlotte and I agreed to keep each other’s secrets.”

He sighed, then rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Gin, could you be any more cryptic?”

“ ‘And no matter what, you should never, ever tell someone all of your secrets,’ ” I said. “Do you remember that?”

Finn gave me a blank look. “Not particularly. Should I?”

“Yeah. You said it to me ten years ago about Sebastian.”

His chest puffed up. “Well, then, I was totally right.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Seriously, though, what happened?”

I shrugged again. “Charlotte wanted to talk.”

“About Sebastian? Or her father?”

“Both. And a lot of other things too.” I hesitated. “She figured out that I’ve been keeping tabs on her all these years. She knows about the money you set up in that trust fund for her.”

“Is she going to talk?” Finn asked, a worried look creasing his features.

“No. She’s not going to talk. Not about any of it. She actually wanted to thank me.”

Finn nodded. “I can understand that.”

He stared through the gates at the estate. “All of this . . . it reminds me of that night with Dad, when Sebastian’s giants busted into the house.”

“Yeah.”

Finn looked at me. “He’d be so proud of you, Gin. He was always proud of you, but never more so than after what happened with Sebastian.”

“Do you really think so?”

He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I know so.”

I stared into the dark of the night, thinking about Fletcher and all the lessons he’d taught me. “Yeah,” I said. “I think you’re right.”

“Are you kidding?” Finn scoffed. “I’m always right.”

I laughed at his never-ending confidence.

“Now, the night is still fairly young. You want to go get a drink at Northern Aggression?”

“Sure,” I said. “I had plans to meet Owen there after . . . this.”

“Then allow me to be your chariot,” Finn said. “And chauffeur service.”

He threw the car into gear and zoomed away from the curb.

I took one last look through the gate toward the Vaughn estate, my gaze settling on the lights that burned in the library. Despite everything, Charlotte had survived—and so had I.

Because that’s what the Spider did.