Deadly Sting

He let out a dark laugh. "You definitely proved that to Mab."

I shrugged.

He raised his brandy glass to me. "I should thank you for that. For killing that bitch. For finally freeing me from her. I would have been content to do just that. Live and let live, if you will - if you hadn't killed my son."

McAllister moved to the end of the bar, reached down, and picked up a photo from a nearby table. A younger, larger, beefier version of himself stared out from beneath the glass - his son, Jake. McAllister stared at the photo a moment before setting it back down on the table. He nudged it with his index finger, making sure it was in exactly the same spot as before.

"Admittedly, Jake was an idiot and a colossal screwup. He wasn't worth all of the money I wasted bailing him out of one scrape after another over the years. But nobody fucks with a McAllister - not even you."

I tipped my head, telling him that I understood his sentiment. You didn't have anything, you weren't worth anything, if you couldn't protect your friends and family. But if you did fail them, the only thing left to do was get retribution. And in a place like Ashland, that was only paid out in one way: in blood.

"I have to admit that I was still a bit confused after I found the will," I said. "I wondered who would hire Clementine to steal it. At first, I thought that maybe it was the mysterious M. M. Monroe who was mentioned in it, but then I realized that he or she had no reason to swipe the will, since Mab had left everything to him or her already. That led me back to you, Jonah. Although I wondered at the show you had Clementine put on. Why not quietly break into the vault after hours and steal the will? But then I remembered something Finn had said about the will being made public during the gala. You had to get the will before that happened, but you didn't want anyone to know what you were really after. The heist was the perfect cover for that. I imagine part of it was also payback."

"You're damn right it was payback," McAllister muttered. "Ever since Mab's death, everyone in the underworld's been thumbing their noses at me. Well, they weren't laughing at the museum, were they?"

"No. Nobody was laughing."

McAllister brooded into his brandy for a few seconds before raising his head to me again. "So tell me the rest of it. Why do you think I wanted the will?"

"Oh, the answer to that is simple: because you've been embezzling money from Mab for years."

He froze, shocked that his dirty little secret was finally out in the open after being buried for so long. For a moment, panic flared in his eyes, and his gaze flicked toward the doorway as if he expected Mab to storm inside and roast him on the spot for his betrayal. After a moment, he seemed to snap back to reality, because he laughed again, the sound even darker and harsher than before. But there was another emotion mixed in with all of the ugliness: relief. I wondered if it was because Mab was dead and couldn't hurt him or that he could finally share his secret with someone - even if that someone was me.

When his laughter finally faded away, I continued with my story.

"You see, when I started putting it all together, it only made sense that you would steal the will. You were Mab's lawyer, so of course you drew up it for her. That also meant that you knew exactly what was in it," I said. "So after I read it, I figured there was something you didn't want M. M. Monroe to find out about Mab's estate - something you'd done. Embezzlement seemed like just the sort of thing you'd want to cover up, so I had Finn do some checking. He said you hid your tracks very well but not quite well enough. Exactly how much have you skimmed from Mab over the years?"

He sighed. "Close to thirty million. With my investments, I've grown it into more than fifty. And it wasn't easy - it was the hardest thing I've ever done. That woman watched her money like a hawk, wanting to know where every little penny went. She had hundreds of millions at her disposal, and I still had to send her receipts for every dime I spent. Miserly bitch."

I wanted to point out that Mab had had good reason to be suspicious, given how much he'd swindled from her, but I graciously kept that thought to myself.

And now came the final question I had, the one thing that I most wanted an answer to. But I kept my voice light and casual. No sense in tipping him off about how important it was to me. It would be just like the lawyer to pick up on that and decide to mess with me, especially since he thought he had nothing to lose now.

"So who is the mysterious M. M. Monroe?" I asked. "The one you've gone to so much trouble to avoid."

For several seconds, the only sound was the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock. McAllister stared into the amber depths of his brandy. Brooding again. Just when I was about to ask the question a little more forcefully, he frowned and finally raised his eyes to mine.

"That's the problem," he grumbled. "I don't actually know. Mab kept whoever it is a secret even from me."

I watched him, studying his body language and listening to the tone and inflection of his words, but McAllister seemed to be telling the truth. His voice would have been sly instead of shaky, his eyes bright instead of dark, his posture confident instead of defeated, if he'd been lying. He really didn't know who Mab had left her millions to. Troubling, to say the least.

"But now you know why I had to act," he said. "Because if this person is anything like Mab, well, things will not go so well for me."

"No," I said. "I imagine the theft of millions of dollars would greatly upset anyone who came to Ashland looking to lay claim to his or her inheritance."

He sniffed. "Theft? Please. It wasn't like Mab didn't owe me that money anyway, given the pittance she paid me. Not as hard as I worked for her. Not after all the things I did for her. Not after all the things she made me watch her do." He shuddered at that last thought and the memories that came with it.

I didn't feel sorry for McAllister - not one little bit. Yes, he had worked for a monster, had seen Mab do terrible things, and had been afraid that she might take her fiery wrath out on him at any moment. But like he'd said, he'd also done terrible things himself along the way. Besides, he could have always walked - or run - away. Left Mab, left town, gone someplace where nobody knew who he was or what he'd done. But instead, he'd stayed in Ashland all these years, enjoying all the bloody benefits of being Mab's lackey. McAllister wasn't upset that I'd killed the Fire elemental. He'd had no real affection for or loyalty to her. No, he was just pissed that people didn't kowtow and cower when he walked by these days.

McAllister didn't like the fact that no one was afraid of him like they had been of her.

"Well, I have to admit that it was a good plan," I said. "Rob everyone who's been thumbing their noses at you, tie up Mab's estate for as long as possible so you could steal even more from it before you finally skipped town, murder me on the side. I'll give you credit, Jonah. You always give it your all. Why, in your own way, you're even more devious than Mab was."

"I would have gotten away with it too," he muttered again. "If not for that damn dress. Who the hell in Northtown sells two dresses exactly alike? Don't they know how gauche that is?"

Well, I guessed Finn wasn't the only man in Ashland who had a strange interest in women's fashion. My lips twitched, but I held back my laughter. At least I wasn't the only one who saw the irony of the situation. This time, it had actually worked in my favor.

McAllister pushed away his brandy glass and dropped his right hand down behind the bar. He straightened up to his full height and gave me a cold, sinister glare. "Very well done, Gin. Really. Quite impressive, how you put everything together. And all this time, I thought that you were just a coldhearted bitch. I didn't realize that you actually had a brain in that ruthless little head of yours."

I grinned. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

He gave me a thin smile. "And so am I."

McAllister raised his hand out from behind the bar, a gun glinting in his fingers.

Chapter 32

Click.

Click-click-click.

Click.

McAllister pulled and pulled the trigger, cursing louder and louder when the gun didn't fire.

I reached into another pocket on my vest, pulled out the clip that went into the weapon, and waggled it at him. "Looking for this? I took the liberty of removing it from your gun, along with the round in the chamber. In fact, I went through the whole house and took all the ammunition out of every single one of your guns. You have quite the collection, Jonah. Revolvers, handguns, even a good ole-fashioned shotgun under your bed. Why, you've got enough firepower in here to start a small war, even by Ashland standards. Consider me impressed."

He looked at me a moment before his gaze dropped to the useless gun in his hand. "Dammit!"

He reared back and threw the weapon at me as hard as he could. His aim was lousy, and I didn't even have to duck as the weapon sailed on by me, hit one of the glass doors to my left, bounced off, and clattered to the floor. The fact that he'd missed me so badly only fueled his rage. McAllister slapped his snifter off the bar, not caring which direction it went or where it landed. A second later, the bottle of brandy shattered against the wall closest to him. One by one, he grabbed and threw and smashed everything he could get his hands on. Another bottle of booze from underneath the bar. A crystal paperweight on an end table. Even the photo of his son.

I grinned, laced my hands behind my head, and watched the show.

As suddenly as it had come, all of the rage went out of him, like a balloon that had popped under pressure. His entire body deflated, and he sagged against the bar, breathing hard, tiny drops of blood oozing out of the shallow cuts that dotted his knuckles. He looked at me again, his brown eyes dull and tired.

"All right," he mumbled. "Go ahead. Get it over with. Do your worst. I know you want to, and honestly, I just don't care anymore."

I removed my boots from the top of his desk, set them on the floor, and got to my feet. McAllister tensed as I walked toward him, and his gaze flicked to the doorway, like he was still thinking about making a break for it. No matter what he said, he wasn't ready to die. No one ever really was in the end. We all thought we had all the time in the world, and when we realized that wasn't the case, we did whatever we could to prolong the inevitable, if only for a few more precious seconds.

I reached the bar and stopped. I was directly in front of McAllister, with him on one side and me on the other, just like it had always been. I stared at him for a moment, then palmed one of my knives. He sucked in a breath at the flash of silverstone in my hand, and his body swayed from side to side like his legs were about to go out from under him. But I had to hand it to the lawyer. He bucked up, lifted his chin, and stared me straight in the eye.

The seconds passed. Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . forty-five . . .

McAllister's breaths grew shorter and raspier, his left eye twitching in time to the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His body trembled, and his lips quivered, as he prepared himself to let out one final scream.

I stood there and let him sweat for a good three minutes. Then I tucked my knife back up my sleeve, crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned one hip against the bar.

"Relax, Jonah. I'm not going to kill you."

He blinked. "You're not?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

His whole body crumpled, and he barely managed to grab the edge of the bar to keep himself from doing a header onto the floor. For once, even his tight, smooth face had a bit of emotion in it: relief. Pure, sweet, unadulterated relief that he was going to get to keep on breathing.

His relief was going to be short-lived, though. I'd seen to that.

It took him a few moments, but McAllister pulled himself together. He straightened back up and regarded me with cold eyes once more.

"What do you want?" he asked. "The money I stole from Mab?"

I laughed in his face. Laughed and laughed. And then I laughed some more.

McAllister's lips pinched together at my hearty chuckles, and more of that murderous rage glinted in his eyes, but he didn't say anything.

"Oh, Jonah, you are entertaining, I'll give you that," I said. "But no. I don't want Mab's money. Not one single cent of it."

"Then what? What do you want?"

I smiled at him. "Nothing - nothing at all."

I pushed away from the bar, walked out of the office, and headed toward the front door. My steps were light, and I whistled a soft, cheery tune, idly wondering how long it would take McAllister to come after me -

Ten seconds later, footsteps smacked into the floor behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. The lawyer had left the office and stopped in the middle of the hallway.

"What are you doing?" he called out, his voice high with surprise and puzzlement.

"What does it look like?" I said. "I'm leaving."

Silence. Then -

"You - you're just leaving? You're not going to kill me?"

I reached the front door, threw back the lock, and put my hand on the knob. I looked over my shoulder at him once again. "No, Jonah. I'm not going to kill you. Not tonight, not tomorrow, I'll even be generous and say not even this month."

His eyes narrowed. "Why? What are you up to?"

I gave him my most innocent grin. "I'm not up to anything, Jonah. You're the one who's been plotting, scheming, and embezzling this whole time. Not me. I think we can both agree that you've been a bad, bad boy. And now you're going to be punished for it."

His eyes narrowed some more. "What did you do?"