Web of Lies (Page 42)

"Did you expect anything else? You saw Dawson threatening the Foxes. He’s not a nice man."

Donovan ran a hand through his black hair. "But that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to just kill him."

"And just because Dawson has money doesn’t make it right for him to intimidate people into getting whatever he wants," I pointed out. "So which is worse – me assassinating Dawson for threatening the Foxes or him telling his brother to go rape and murder Violet just to send a message to her grandfather?"

Caine blew out a long breath. "I don’t know. I just don’t know. But two months ago, I would have taken you in for plotting to kill someone. Slapped my handcuffs on you and dragged you down to the station, no questions asked."

"And now?"

Donovan looked out at the road, although I got the impression he wasn’t really seeing it. "Now, I’m thinking about helping you get to him."

"Don’t sound so broken up about it, detective. Getting rid of Dawson is the right thing to do."

He shook his head. "No, it’s what you want to do. I’m just going along with you."

"Why?" I asked. "Why go along with me if it bothers your conscience so much?"

Donovan stared at me. Emotions flickered like candle flames in his eyes. Guilt. Desire. Need. Weariness. Resignation.

"I don’t know that either."

Tires crunched on the gravel, and a classic convertible pulled into the parking lot. The vehicle was as black as black could be, with a long body and swooping fins. Despite its pristine, gleaming beauty, the convertible always reminded me of a hearse. The top was up, but I didn’t need to see inside to know who was driving. Sophia Deveraux had arrived. I got to my feet.

Donovan tensed. "Trouble?"

"Relax, detective. I called a friend to come help Finn watch the Foxes, while you and I sneak off to Dawson’s mine."

Sophia opened the driver’s door and stepped out.

The detective frowned. "Isn’t that your cook from the Pork Pit? The one who was working when Jake McAllister tried to rob you?"

"Yeah," I replied. "She moonlights as a badass, just like me."

But Sophia wasn’t alone. The passenger side door opened, and a mound of bleached, white-blond curls appeared, partially covered with a sheer pink headscarf.

Sophia had brought her big sister, Jo-Jo, along with her.

Jo-Jo said something to Sophia that I couldn’t hear, and the Goth dwarf grunted back in response. Then the two women shut their car doors and headed toward us.

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Sophia gave Donovan a flat, uninterested look, but Jo-Jo’s eyes lit up at the sight of the rugged detective. In addition to being a social butterfly, the dwarf was also a terrible flirt, just like Finn was.

"Well, now," Jo-Jo asked, her pale eyes landing on Donovan. "Who is this?"

I stood and made the introductions. "Jo-Jo Deveraux, this is detective Donovan Caine with the Ashland Police Department. And vice versa. The Goth chick is Sophia, Jo-Jo’s sister."

Jo-Jo held out her hand, as though she wanted Donovan to kiss it. Disappointment flickered across the dwarf ‘s face when he merely shook it instead.

"I asked Sophia to watch Warren and Violet while we check out Dawson’s mine," I explained to the detective.

"And I’m here for moral support," Jo-Jo chimed in.

Donovan Caine eyed the dwarf ‘s rose-covered dress, pearls, high-heeled sandals, and manicured nails. No doubt he thought she wouldn’t be much good in a fight. But Jo-Jo was almost as strong as Sophia – and she had her Air elemental magic to supplement her natural strength.

Even I didn’t know if I could take Jo-Jo in a fight.

"Come on," I said. "Let’s go inside where the others are."

Chapter Eighteen

Finn was still digging for info on Tobias Dawson, so I left him and the Foxes in Sophia’s and Jo-Jo’s capable hands.

Violet was happy to see the older dwarf again and started peppering her with questions about hot-oil hair treatments.

To my surprise, so was Warren. Jo-Jo must have known him and his parents better than she’d let on because the old man pulled up two rocking chairs, and he and Jo-Jo proceeded to gossip about all the folks they knew up here in Ridgeline Hollow. Then again, Jo-Jo Deveraux was more than two hundred fifty years old. I couldn’t imagine how many people she’d met in her lifetime. Hard to keep track of them all, but somehow she managed it. She seemed especially chatty with Warren.

That left Sophia with guard duty. I showed her the various access points to the store and the house out back.

Once we finished, the Goth dwarf stuck an iPod in her ears and took up a position on the front porch steps to keep an eye out for Tobias Dawson and his men.

I also made a quick circuit through the store and picked up a few items I thought might be useful. Flashlights, rope, gloves, binoculars. I left a hundred on the counter to cover everything. Then Donovan Caine and I left the others in the store and got into his sedan.

The detective sank into the driver’s seat, while I took the passenger’s side. Unlike most cop cars I’d been in, this one was clean to the point of being pristine. No fastfood wrappers, no empty soda cups, no trash or debris of any kind littered the inside. The car even smelled like Caine – clean and slightly soapy. Or maybe that was just the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. Either way, I breathed in, enjoying the crisp aroma. Mmm.

Donovan started the car and looked at me. "Where to?"

I glanced down at the printouts Finn had given me.

Finn hadn’t found much on Tobias Dawson yet, but he’d been able to find several maps of the dwarf ‘s mine – including the building that housed his office.

"Go to the stop sign and hang a left like you’re going back to the interstate," I said. "There’s an old access road that runs over the top of the ridge and overlooks the mine. We can stop up there and see what’s going on below before we make our move."

Donovan nodded and steered the sedan out of the parking lot. He cruised to a stop, then made the appropriate turn. We didn’t speak as the vehicle climbed up the twisting, winding road.

As the tourist sign at the crossroads claimed, it was a scenic stretch of highway, with dense woods that crowded to the edge of the road on both sides. A couple of weeks ago, the fall foliage would have been magnificent. But the elevation was slightly higher here than in the rest of Ashland, which meant the maples, oaks, and poplars had already shed most of their colorful leaves. Still, I found the curving branches of the trees enchanting in their own way, ribbons of wood winding together to make artful shapes.

Through the bare limbs, I spotted the creek Warren Fox had mentioned, the one that curved around the back of his house and flowed past Country Daze. I didn’t know that I’d call it a mere creek, though. The rushing water stretched thirty feet wide in some places, tumbling over unusual rock formations. Gravel pull-offs on either side of the road marked popular fishing and wading spots.