Snared
Page 8
The cottage was hidden back in the trees and covered with thick strands of dead kudzu, camouflaging it almost entirely. I studied the structure, wondering if some homeless person might have set up camp inside, but no lights or lanterns flickered in the windows, and no smoke drifted up out of the kudzu-covered chimney.
Despite the fact that the cottage was obviously abandoned and had been for quite some time, the stones still muttered with notes of blood, violence, pain, and death. Odd. I wouldn’t think that enough people would be around way out here to leave any emotional vibrations behind in the rocks. But I supposed that more than one unwary hiker had slipped off the cliffs and fallen to their death on the rocky riverbank below. Perhaps those sounds had drifted over to the cottage and slowly permeated the stones over the years.
“What is it?” Finn asked, scanning the woods with his flashlight, his hand dropping to the gun holstered at his waist. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head to clear the disturbing mutterings out of my mind. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
We walked on and left the cliffs, the cottage, and the river behind. While we hiked back to the car, I told Finn everything that Tucker had said, including his threats to Rivera about cleaning up whatever mess he’d made. The only thing I left out was Rivera’s mocking words about Tucker’s supposed relationship with my mother. I still needed some time to process that bombshell before I shared it with anyone else.
“What do you think Damian’s done that has the rest of the Circle so worried?” Finn mused. “From your surveillance and all the info that Silvio and I have dug up, Damian Rivera seems perfectly content to spend his mama’s money and drink himself to death. I wouldn’t think him sober or ambitious enough to stir up any kind of trouble. At least, not the kind of trouble that would bring a guy like Hugh Tucker to his door to tell him to knock it off—or else.”
I shrugged. “Who knows? Probably something to do with money. That seems to be a major concern of the Circle. The group has probably been hurting for cash ever since Deirdre Shaw lost a good chunk of their resources. Rivera’s fortune is still intact, though, and he seems to have more money than any of the other members we’ve identified so far. Maybe he’s not paying his dues or helping them build their reserves back up. I just wish the two of them had dropped the big boss’s name. I still haven’t been able to figure out who he is, despite all the photos Fletcher left in those safety-deposit boxes.”
Finn gave me a sympathetic look. He knew how important it was to me to track down the man who’d ordered my mother’s murder, and he, Silvio, and the rest of our friends had been working right alongside me the past few weeks to uncover the information. Thanks to Fletcher’s photos, we’d managed to identify who we thought were the major players in the Circle—at least the ones who were still alive—but I wanted more.
I wanted the ringleader, the man who was in charge of this monstrous hydra. I wanted to know exactly what my mother’s role in the group had been. What they had made her do and why. What my mother had been plotting, what move she’d made against the Circle that was such a threat that the ringleader had ordered Mab Monroe to burn her to death.
But most of all, I wanted to confront—and then kill—the source of so many nightmares in my life.
“Don’t worry, Gin. We’ll find the bastard sooner or later, and then you can carve him up to your heart’s delight.” Finn slung his arm around my shoulder in a reassuring hug. “But in the meantime, don’t frown. It makes your face scrunch up.”
“Worried about my wrinkles now?” I teased.
He flashed me a charming, devilish grin, his green eyes as bright as holiday lights in the darkness. “Got to keep my deadliest girl looking young and beautiful.”
I snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. “I am not your girl. I am my own girl.”
“Damn skippy you are.”
Finn hugged me again, silently offering his brotherly love and support the way he had since this whole mess with the Circle had started. I hugged him back, and we walked on.
Thirty minutes later, we reached the edge of the woods and stepped out into a ritzy subdivision, one of many in Northtown, the part of Ashland where the social, magical, and monetary elite lived. Cookie-cutter mansions dotted the gently rolling lawns in front of us. Finn and I headed over to the curb where his Aston Martin sat in front of a mansion that was currently under construction. The expensive car seamlessly blended in with all the Audis, BMWs, and Mercedes that were parked in the spacious driveways up and down the street.
Finn and I slid into the vehicle, and he cranked the engine and blasted the heat. We both sat there in silence for a few minutes, slowly thawing out after our long, cold trek through the woods.
“Where to?” Finn asked. “Our supersecret hideout?”
He was referring to our current base of operations, a battered old metal container that was parked in a shipping yard several miles down the river from our current location. Lorelei Parker, one of Ashland’s many underworld bosses, ran the shipping yard, but she’d given me a container, and I’d made it my own personal safety-deposit box, storing all the information I had about the Circle inside it. Hugh Tucker already knew far too much about me and my friends, but he hadn’t sniffed out the hideout yet or the fact that I’d identified several members of the Circle—and I wanted to keep it that way.
I shook my head. “Nah. Not tonight. I didn’t learn anything earth-shattering.”
Of course that wasn’t true, but I wasn’t ready to talk about Tucker’s relationship—or whatever had been going on—with my mother. “Besides, it’s late, it’s cold, and I’m too tired and cranky to think about conspiracies any more tonight. Home, Finn. Home.”
He winked at me. “As my lady wishes,” he crooned in a really bad English accent.
“Are you going to talk like that the entire ride home?”
“But of course, my lady,” he said, thickening the cheesy accent. “Since I’m acting as your personal driver and chauffeur tonight, I really insist on sounding the part. Anything less would be unseemly. Don’t you think?”
Despite the fact that the cottage was obviously abandoned and had been for quite some time, the stones still muttered with notes of blood, violence, pain, and death. Odd. I wouldn’t think that enough people would be around way out here to leave any emotional vibrations behind in the rocks. But I supposed that more than one unwary hiker had slipped off the cliffs and fallen to their death on the rocky riverbank below. Perhaps those sounds had drifted over to the cottage and slowly permeated the stones over the years.
“What is it?” Finn asked, scanning the woods with his flashlight, his hand dropping to the gun holstered at his waist. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head to clear the disturbing mutterings out of my mind. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
We walked on and left the cliffs, the cottage, and the river behind. While we hiked back to the car, I told Finn everything that Tucker had said, including his threats to Rivera about cleaning up whatever mess he’d made. The only thing I left out was Rivera’s mocking words about Tucker’s supposed relationship with my mother. I still needed some time to process that bombshell before I shared it with anyone else.
“What do you think Damian’s done that has the rest of the Circle so worried?” Finn mused. “From your surveillance and all the info that Silvio and I have dug up, Damian Rivera seems perfectly content to spend his mama’s money and drink himself to death. I wouldn’t think him sober or ambitious enough to stir up any kind of trouble. At least, not the kind of trouble that would bring a guy like Hugh Tucker to his door to tell him to knock it off—or else.”
I shrugged. “Who knows? Probably something to do with money. That seems to be a major concern of the Circle. The group has probably been hurting for cash ever since Deirdre Shaw lost a good chunk of their resources. Rivera’s fortune is still intact, though, and he seems to have more money than any of the other members we’ve identified so far. Maybe he’s not paying his dues or helping them build their reserves back up. I just wish the two of them had dropped the big boss’s name. I still haven’t been able to figure out who he is, despite all the photos Fletcher left in those safety-deposit boxes.”
Finn gave me a sympathetic look. He knew how important it was to me to track down the man who’d ordered my mother’s murder, and he, Silvio, and the rest of our friends had been working right alongside me the past few weeks to uncover the information. Thanks to Fletcher’s photos, we’d managed to identify who we thought were the major players in the Circle—at least the ones who were still alive—but I wanted more.
I wanted the ringleader, the man who was in charge of this monstrous hydra. I wanted to know exactly what my mother’s role in the group had been. What they had made her do and why. What my mother had been plotting, what move she’d made against the Circle that was such a threat that the ringleader had ordered Mab Monroe to burn her to death.
But most of all, I wanted to confront—and then kill—the source of so many nightmares in my life.
“Don’t worry, Gin. We’ll find the bastard sooner or later, and then you can carve him up to your heart’s delight.” Finn slung his arm around my shoulder in a reassuring hug. “But in the meantime, don’t frown. It makes your face scrunch up.”
“Worried about my wrinkles now?” I teased.
He flashed me a charming, devilish grin, his green eyes as bright as holiday lights in the darkness. “Got to keep my deadliest girl looking young and beautiful.”
I snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. “I am not your girl. I am my own girl.”
“Damn skippy you are.”
Finn hugged me again, silently offering his brotherly love and support the way he had since this whole mess with the Circle had started. I hugged him back, and we walked on.
Thirty minutes later, we reached the edge of the woods and stepped out into a ritzy subdivision, one of many in Northtown, the part of Ashland where the social, magical, and monetary elite lived. Cookie-cutter mansions dotted the gently rolling lawns in front of us. Finn and I headed over to the curb where his Aston Martin sat in front of a mansion that was currently under construction. The expensive car seamlessly blended in with all the Audis, BMWs, and Mercedes that were parked in the spacious driveways up and down the street.
Finn and I slid into the vehicle, and he cranked the engine and blasted the heat. We both sat there in silence for a few minutes, slowly thawing out after our long, cold trek through the woods.
“Where to?” Finn asked. “Our supersecret hideout?”
He was referring to our current base of operations, a battered old metal container that was parked in a shipping yard several miles down the river from our current location. Lorelei Parker, one of Ashland’s many underworld bosses, ran the shipping yard, but she’d given me a container, and I’d made it my own personal safety-deposit box, storing all the information I had about the Circle inside it. Hugh Tucker already knew far too much about me and my friends, but he hadn’t sniffed out the hideout yet or the fact that I’d identified several members of the Circle—and I wanted to keep it that way.
I shook my head. “Nah. Not tonight. I didn’t learn anything earth-shattering.”
Of course that wasn’t true, but I wasn’t ready to talk about Tucker’s relationship—or whatever had been going on—with my mother. “Besides, it’s late, it’s cold, and I’m too tired and cranky to think about conspiracies any more tonight. Home, Finn. Home.”
He winked at me. “As my lady wishes,” he crooned in a really bad English accent.
“Are you going to talk like that the entire ride home?”
“But of course, my lady,” he said, thickening the cheesy accent. “Since I’m acting as your personal driver and chauffeur tonight, I really insist on sounding the part. Anything less would be unseemly. Don’t you think?”
