Venom (Page 32)

Finnegan Lane had no such qualms. He loved finding out information about other people, ferreting out all their secret hobbies, habits, and vices-and using them to his own advantage if the situation called for it. To him, it was a grand game, one in which he always came out the winner. Groundhogs couldn’t dig as well as Finn could.

So I knew there was nothing I could do but sigh and go along with him. "What kind of quirks?"

He stopped in front of a box with open flaps, reached inside, and pulled out a frilly white negligee. "For starters, she likes girly underwear. Lace, ribbons, soft, feminine colors. The whole shebang. Expensive brands too." Finn rubbed the silk between his fingers. "Makes me look forward to the future."

"For what? When you try to seduce her?" I pulled the negligee out of his hand and put it back in the appropriate box.

"Of course," he replied in a smug tone. "And it won’t be a matter of merely trying. No one can resist the charms of Finnegan Lane for long."

Finn definitely wasn’t lacking in the self-confidence department. But as annoying as he was, he was also pretty good at figuring out what made people tick. Just like his father, Fletcher, had been.

"What else?" I asked.

Finn reached into another box and pulled out a small, round sphere. "For whatever reason, she collects snow globes. I’ve found three boxes of them so far."

My breath caught in my throat, and I took the globe from his outstretched hand. A charming winter scene lay underneath the smooth, domed glass-a couple of tiny brown horses pulling two laughing young girls in a silver sleigh. Evergreen trees lined the back of the snowy sphere, surrounding a miniature house. But another image flashed in my mind-more globes just like this one, their glass shining like stars underneath a fading sunset.

"My mother used to collect snow globes too." I shook the glass and watched the fake flakes of snow drift down and settle on top of the horses and two girls. "She had dozens of them all lined up on top of the fireplace mantel. Bria and I used to go down and shake them, trying to have the snow flying in all of them before the first one settled back down. A silly game we played. I’d almost forgotten about it."

My voice dropped to a whisper, and my fingers tightened around the globe, threatening to punch through the thick glass.

"Are you okay, Gin?" Finn asked.

I shook my head, loosened my grip, and passed the globe back to him. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

He just looked at me. I dropped my sad, gray gaze from his searching green one and gestured at the boxes.

"And what does all that tell you about her?"

A thoughtful light flared in Finn’s eyes. "That Bria Coolidge’s icy shell is merely a mask to hide the soft, warm, sentimental woman that she really is deep down." He paused. "Kind of like you. Black and crunchy on the outside, marshmallow-soft on the inside."

I gave him a hard stare. "I am not a f**king marshmallow. And I am especially not sentimental."

"Of course not. That’s why you just hacked and slashed your way through several giants to save a long-lost sister you haven’t seen since you were thirteen." Amusement colored his placating tone.

My eyes narrowed to slits, but Finn just grinned at me. My angry face had long ago lost its effect on him. Finn knew that I’d rather hurt myself before I did him.

"But come here, I’ve saved the best for last," he said, gesturing for me to follow him once more. "What’s most interesting about Bria is this."

Finn opened a door at the end of the hallway, and we stepped into Bria’s home office. Wooden desk, computer, stapler, sticky pads, lots of books and papers stacked everywhere. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary-until Finn snapped on the light. And there it was, pushed against the back wall.

An eight-by-ten picture of one of the spider rune scars on my palms.

The photo was stuck in the middle of the biggest dry-erase board I’d ever seen. And it wasn’t alone. There were more pictures, ones that I recognized from the file of information that Fletcher Lane had left me-autopsy photos of my mother and my older sister. The burned husks of their bodies. Mounted right next to the photo of my scar.

My stomach clenched, and that icy fist started squeezing my heart again.

"What the hell is this?" I whispered.

Still shocked, I moved closer to the dry-erase board. In addition to the photos, notes had been scribbled all over the surface in a variety of colors. Murdered, burned, bodies reduced to ash in red. Physical evidence in black. Possible suspects in navy blue. Motive? in a bright green.

"What the hell is this?" I repeated.

My eyes went up and down and all around the dry-erase board. Everywhere I looked there was another piece of information about the night my family had been killed, about the night that Mab Monroe had burned our house to the ground.

"I believe some folks call it a murder board. It’s a visual representation of all the evidence found in relation to a crime. Some cops use them to help connect the dots or keep track of leads." Finn leaned against the doorjamb. "From the looks of it, I’d say Bria is investigating the murder of your family. Just like you started to, after Dad left you that file."

"All right. I can understand her doing that, wanting to know the truth, who was behind the murders and why. But where did she get all this information?" I asked. "Especially that photo of the spider rune scar on my palm?"

I peered at the photo, wondering how I’d been so sloppy as to let someone take a picture of my hands. Oh, every once in a while, someone eating at the Pork Pit caught a glimpse of my scarred palms. But I was always able to pass the marks off as burns I’d gotten working in the restaurant. It wasn’t like I ever stopped, held them up for everyone to see, and posed for pictures-

And then I remembered. Fletcher Lane had bought a digital camera a few months before he died. He’d brought it to the Pork Pit one day to show it off to me. A fancy newfangled device, he’d called it in his gruff voice. The old man had started taking my photo, and I’d finally put my hand out in mock surrender to get him to stop. He’d snapped a final picture and smiled before putting the camera away.

"Fletcher," I murmured. "He’s the one who took the photo."

I told Finn about the camera incident and how I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

Finn’s green eyes drifted over the murder board. "That’s not all Dad did, is it? He sent Bria the same folder of information that he left you, Gin. He sent her the exact same file about Mab Monroe murdering your mother and older sister."

"With a twist. Fletcher sent Bria a photo of my scar instead of the lovely headshot of her that he provided for me. Very thoughtful of him not to send her a glossy of my face." I shook my head. "I can understand Fletcher leaving me the information. I’ve made my peace with that. But why would he send it to Bria too? What did he hope to accomplish?"