Sebastian squeezed my hand, then moved over to see what Porter wanted. The two of them stepped into the left part of the library, out of my line of sight, and started murmuring. Their words were too low for me to make out easily, so I wandered around the office, pretending to be fascinated by the models. In truth, I was fascinated by them, but they weren’t my focus right now—the desk was.
While Sebastian and Porter continued to speak in low tones, I made my way over to the desk, running my fingers over the smooth wood, as though I were admiring it, even as I scanned the surface. The computer monitor, mouse, and keyboard had been shoved to one side of the desk, along with the blocks of stone, as though someone had wanted them out of the way. Piles of papers squatted in the center, a high mound in the middle that tapered down like a snowdrift spreading across the rest of the wood. It looked like Sebastian had started going through his father’s files already. It didn’t surprise me. Just because a family member died didn’t mean that the world stopped turning. There were still things to do, people to contact, funeral arrangements to make, bills to pay. In Sebastian’s case, there was Vaughn Construction to run. Still, maybe the papers or something else tucked away in one of the desk drawers would tell me more about Vaughn’s meeting with his cop buddy, Harry Coolidge.
I glanced over my shoulder, but Sebastian and Porter were still talking in the other section of the library, so they couldn’t see me. I pulled the chair away from the desk so I could have better access to the drawers for my quick search—
A pink sneaker peeked out from underneath the edge of the wood.
I froze, wondering whose shoe it was, and then I remembered. I wondered if she realized what I’d been up to. I hoped not, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I rolled the chair out the rest of the way and bent down.
Charlotte Vaughn peered out at me from underneath the desk.
In addition to her pink sneakers, she was wearing pink shorts and a white T-shirt with a sparkly pink heart in the middle of it. Her long black hair was pulled back into a French braid, showing off her pretty face. Apparently, I’d startled her as much as she had surprised me, because she stared up at me with wide, worried eyes.
I crouched down so that my face was level with hers. “Hi there, sweetheart. Do you remember me? I’m Sebastian’s friend from the barbecue restaurant.”
Charlotte stared at me and slowly nodded, her fingers curling around a book that was lying on the floor next to her. I tilted my head so I could see the title on the spine.
“Redwall by Brian Jacques.” I nodded my head in approval. “That’s one of my favorites.”
She stared at me for several seconds. “Really?” Her voice was a low whisper.
“Really.” I gave her a small smile. “I like to read too.”
A hint of a smile tugged up her lips. But the spark of happiness fled just as quickly, and her face turned sad again as she dropped her gaze to the book and stroked her fingers over the cover.
“My papa gave it to me,” she said. “Last week. We were reading it together.”
Charlotte kept staring at her book, so she didn’t see the smile fall from my face or the guilt that took its place.
Footsteps sounded, and Charlotte scrunched down even further, like a turtle retreating back into the wooden shell of the desk. I glanced up at Sebastian, who had finished his business with Porter and come back into the office. He stepped to one side so he could see what I was looking at.
He sighed. “You’re supposed to be in your room for the night, Charlotte. I told you that I was having a guest over.”
Charlotte stared up at her big brother, her eyes dark and troubled. She brought her book up to her chest and cradled it tightly, the way some kids might hug a stuffed animal.
Sebastian hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but he shook his head and held his hand out to me again. “Let’s leave Charlotte to her book.”
“Of course.” I took his hand and let him help me to my feet before staring down at her. “ ’Bye, Charlotte.”
Her only response was to clutch her book even tighter.
“Come on, Gin,” Sebastian said.
I let him lead me away, although I glanced back over my shoulder. Charlotte was now standing behind the desk, still holding on to her book. For some reason, the look she gave me seemed even sadder than before, as though she knew some secret that I didn’t.
15
Sebastian escorted me out of the library and shut the doors behind him.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Charlotte’s been having a . . . hard time dealing with our father’s death. More often than not, I find her hiding under his desk, almost like she thinks he’s going to come back at any second. I don’t think she really understands that he’s gone yet.”
I frowned. Charlotte was thirteen, hardly a little girl anymore. I’d known all about death, grief, and people not coming back at that age. But Sebastian was talking about her as though she couldn’t understand anything that was going on around her.
He didn’t say anything else, and I didn’t volunteer a response. Instead, he whirled around and hurried away from the closed doors, as though he wanted to get away from the library and all the memories that it raised. I followed him, giving him the space he needed.
Eventually, Sebastian led me through another door, down a set of stairs, and out onto the south lawn. His pace slowed back down to a more normal level, as though he’d left his father’s ghost behind inside the mansion.
The estate grounds were just as immaculate as the mansion. Acres of grass rolled out like a thick, lush carpet before giving way to patches of brown woods in the distance. Clusters of trees dotted the lawn, their limbs arching out like canopies and providing shade for the bright summer flowers blooming in the rich beds of black earth below.
Tennis courts, an Olympic-size swimming pool, an outdoor hot tub with its own stone deck. We passed all that and more. And just like inside the house, everything was perfect, from the freshly painted lines on the courts to the crystal-blue surface of the water in the pool to the crisp white towels arranged in deck chairs by the hot tub.
We kept walking, finally reaching a round, domed marble building perched on a small rise above a large pond. I recognized the structure—it had been one of the models that Vaughn had in his office.
Sebastian pointed at the building. “My father’s mausoleum,” he said. “He built it himself, just like he did the mansion. We put him in there the day of the funeral, right next to my mother. She died in a car accident several years ago.”
I’d put Vaughn in there—nobody else. But I couldn’t tell Sebastian that, so I simply nodded instead, despite the guilt that flared up in me.
Sebastian stared at the structure, his face tight, his shoulders tense, his eyes dark and unreadable. He shook his head, then pulled me forward again. “Come on.”
He led me past the mausoleum and over to a stone path that wrapped all the way around to the far side of the pond. Trees had been planted along either side of the walkway, creating a beautiful arch of leaves and limbs above our heads. We stepped past the last of the trees, and I gasped at the sight before me.
“And this,” Sebastian said, throwing his hand out wide, “is the greenhouse.”
The structure had the same solid gray granite foundation as the mansion, but the sides were made entirely of glass, each panel gleaming in the soft rays of the setting sun. The panes shimmered so brightly that it took me a moment to realize that they were arranged in specific patterns that looked like flowers, vines, and petals, like a garden made out of glass. The sides of the structure rose some fifty feet into the air before veering up to a sharp point, making the whole structure resemble an enormous diamond sticking up out of the ground, just waiting for someone to come along and pluck it out of the earth.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
Sebastian grinned. “Just wait until you see the inside.”
He opened the door, and I stepped
through to the other side. The August evening had been muggy enough, but the inside of the greenhouse was almost stifling, and condensation slid down the glass panels in slick, steady drops. Orchids, lilies, and other, more exotic tropical flowers that I didn’t recognize bloomed from one side of the greenhouse to the other, their petals as bright and shiny as jewels. I even spotted a few palmetto trees, clustered together here and there, their thick trunks stretching up toward the ceiling.
No matter their shape or size, all of the flowers were set in long, wide white marble planters that perched on waist-high tables. The tables themselves had been arranged into several neat rows running from the front to the back of the building. The clusters of trees stood at the ends of the tables, marking various walkways through the greenhouse.
I listened, but the stone planters only whispered of their pride in housing the gorgeous flowers, along with a few grumbles about all the moisture that constantly dripped off the ceiling and windows and spattered onto them.
Sebastian pointed out several rows of flowers starting in the middle of the greenhouse and going all the way over to one of the walls—roses. The ones closest to the door were a pale, delicate sky blue with forest-green stems, but the farther down the rows you went, the darker the petals and the lighter the stems became. Several rows of flowers close to one of the walls had the same deep, dark, vibrant blue shade and milky stems as the ones that Sebastian had brought me earlier.
“More of my father’s work,” he said, seeing my curious gaze. “He wanted to see how dark and light he could get the petals and stems on the same plant. It was a hobby of his, along with building models.”
Well, I supposed this answered my question about why Vaughn had chosen two thorns for the letter V in his business rune. I made a mental note to tell Fletcher about the greenhouse. Despite all of his digging, he hadn’t known that Vaughn was into flowers. I didn’t know that it really mattered at this point, but Fletcher always said that the smallest piece of information could be the key to figuring out a job. Maybe knowing about the greenhouse would give him some more insight into Vaughn.
“My father always seemed to be happiest here,” Sebastian said, walking over and fingering a petal on one of the sky-blue roses. “Charlotte used to come out here and spend hours with him too.”
As soon as Sebastian touched the flower, a murmur rippled through the stone planter that housed it, the same dark murmur that I’d sensed in the mansion earlier. Curious, I reached out with my magic, trying to figure out exactly what the marble was muttering about. But I couldn’t understand what the stones were trying to tell me, like a song that you couldn’t quite decipher the lyrics to.
“Come on,” Sebastian said, dropping his hand from the rose. “There’s one more thing I want to show you.”
He held out his hand, which I took. Once again, the dark mutters in the marble intensified, but this time, I ignored them. I’d killed Vaughn. There was no danger here now. Perhaps the stones simply realized what I’d done to their master and didn’t like my presence. Either way, I was focused on Sebastian now, not them.
He led me out the far side of the greenhouse and down to another, smaller pond that lay at the bottom of a hill. I gasped in surprise again. A romantic table for two was set up at the water’s edge. Lit candles the same deep, dark blue as my roses flickered in the summer breeze, while covered silver platters on the table reflected the wavering lights. Fine china sat on top of the white tablecloth, and I could see the letter V with its thorn rune pattern shimmering in gold thread in the fabric.
It was one of the most elegant, elaborate dinners that I’d ever been invited to, and it was definitely the nicest thing that any guy had ever done for me. Finn’s idea of a romantic evening had been making out in one of the freezers in the back of the Pork Pit. But this . . . this was amazing, like something out of one of the rom-coms I secretly loved to watch with Sophia.
But despite my pleasure, my stomach clenched at all the trouble Sebastian had gone to for me. Or at least had his staff go to for me. Because I definitely didn’t deserve it. Not the flowers, not the tour, not the romantic dinner—not one little shred of it.
Maybe Finn and Fletcher were right. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Because no matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise, the simple fact was that I had killed Sebastian’s father. And if he ever found out, he would hate me for it. How could he not? And I didn’t know if I could bear that. Not now. Not after he’d been so wonderful to me.
“Much better than dinner and a movie, don’t you think?” Sebastian said.
Somehow I swallowed down my guilt. “Much better,” I agreed. “But it’s too much. You shouldn’t have gone to all of this bother.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not too much. You were there for me when I needed someone the other night. I wanted to thank you for that, and this was the best way I knew how.”
His eyes met mine, and I found myself drowning, drowning, drowning in his dark, sincere gaze. How did he always know exactly what to do and say to make me melt? We hadn’t known each other all that long, but it seemed like Sebastian already knew me better than anyone, even Fletcher.
Once again, my heart squeezed at how I’d hurt him, at this secret that would always stand between us, at the specter of his father that would never leave my mind.
But Sebastian didn’t seem to notice my distress. Instead, he stepped even closer and cupped my face with his hand, his skin warm and smooth against my own.
“Gin,” he whispered.
He lowered his lips to mine, my eyes fluttered closed, and I forgot about everything else except the way that he made me feel.
At least for tonight.
16
The next two weeks were some of the happiest of my life.
Sebastian and I had such a good time at dinner, laughing, talking, and getting to know each other, that he asked me to go out with him again the next night. Since I hadn’t had time to look for the file in his father’s office, I said yes.
Well, I really said yes because I wanted to see him again, but Fletcher didn’t need to know that. No one did but me.
That next night and next date turned into another night and another date, then another . . .
Sebastian and I spent as much time together as we could. Sometimes he managed to sneak away from the office long enough to come have lunch at the Pork Pit, and every evening when my shift was over, he swung by the restaurant and picked me up. Sometimes we drove around Ashland for hours, just talking. Other times, we went to the movies or some of the city’s many museums, like Briartop, where we rented a paddleboat and fed the ducks as we floated around the island. We even trekked up to Cypress Mountain one afternoon to explore the shops and sights there. I took Sebastian to my favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants, like the Cake Walk, while he introduced me to some of Ashland’s finer dining establishments, including Underwood’s. Some nights, he drove me out to his family’s estate, and we explored the grounds hand in hand, before finding a dark, private corner and melting into each other’s arms.
Despite all my visits to the estate, I never did get any closer to finding Vaughn’s mysterious file. Oh, Sebastian took me to his father’s office in the library several times, but he never left me alone long enough for me to search for the file. And after a while, I didn’t care about finding it anymore. Vaughn was dead. He couldn’t hurt Charlotte anymore. Nothing else mattered.
Except for Sebastian.
With every word, every date, every soft kiss and sweet caress, I fell harder and harder for him. He was just so good to me, so kind, thoughtful, and considerate, and so focused on doing whatever he thought would make me happy, whether it was bringing me more roses, buying me a jumbo cookie at a sweets shop, or telling a bad joke to make me laugh after a rotten day at the restaurant. I’d spent so much time creeping around in the shadows that I loved having someone’s unwavering focus and undivided attention, like being with me was the highlight of his day. The thing that he looked f
orward to whenever we were apart.
The only thing that mattered.
Of course, Finn didn’t approve of my new relationship, but I ignored his snide quips and comments. He was simply being an annoying, egotistical pest, like always. Fletcher wasn’t happy about my involvement with Sebastian either, but he didn’t give me any more dire warnings to stay away from him. Still, I could see the disapproval in the old man’s eyes. That was something else that I ignored, although it was harder than it was with Finn.
But it was worth it, because for the first time in a long time, I was actually . . . happy.
Oh, I’d never been unhappy, not with Fletcher and especially not learning how to be the Spider. Training with the old man had always made me feel smart and strong and powerful, made me forget the scared little girl I’d been, living on the streets, and especially made me feel like I was in control of my own life, my own fate, my own destiny. Like I could do anything, overcome anything, survive anything.
But being with Sebastian made me feel alive in a way that I thought had died the night my family was murdered. I felt like a different person when I was with him, like I really was a simple waitress who was going out with a great guy. When I was with Sebastian, I could forget about all of the bad stuff that had happened to me, and I could just be in the moment with him. Talking, laughing, kissing, canoodling. Things were going so well between us that I even allowed myself to have silly, stupid, romantic daydreams about the future, about our future together.
The only thing that ruined my happiness was the fact—the cold, hard, inescapable fact—that I’d killed Cesar Vaughn.
The job hadn’t been any different from any other that I’d done. Really, it had been far easier than most. I’d never lost sleep over being an assassin before, but try as I might, I just couldn’t shake Vaughn. More than once, I dreamed about stabbing him in his office and his final gasps for breath with Charlotte’s name on his lips. I still didn’t know what to make of that. But the really bizarre thing was that they weren’t even dreams so much as memories of that night that I kept reliving over and over again every time I closed my eyes. Something that I hadn’t done since my family had been murdered.
The Spider Page 15
