Black Widow
Page 14

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was referring to Beauregard Benson. A few weeks ago, I’d gone to the vampire’s Southtown mansion and bashed in his prize Bentley with one of Owen’s blacksmith hammers before daring Benson himself to fight me. Our battle had ended with Benson bleeding out in the middle of the street after I’d plunged one of my knives into his rotten heart. Nothing special there, except that a group of gangbangers, vampire hookers, their pimps, homeless bums, and other folks who called Southtown home had gathered around to watch our fight. It was definitely the most public of my many crimes, but so far no one had squealed to the cops about it. But it looked like my luck had just run out on that count.
So no, this wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it was still troublesome. As an assassin, as the Spider, I was used to attacking my enemies from the shadows and then slipping away into the darkness, leaving no trail behind for anyone to follow. But I hadn’t done that with Benson, for many reasons, and now it seemed like it was coming back around to bite me in the ass.
I looked past Dobson at my real enemies. Emery seemed almost happy, or what I assumed passed for it with her, since her expression wasn’t as dark and dour as usual. Why, that almost looked like the beginnings of a smile on her face. And Madeline was positively beaming, her green eyes sparkling with obvious delight at my impending misery and ultimate doom.
I stared at her a second longer, fixing her smug smile in my mind. I was going to enjoy slapping that smirk off her face when this was all said and done. But for now, there was nothing to do but face the music—and figure out how I could get myself out of this mess.
I slid off my stool and got to my feet.
“And why would I be wanted for murder?” I asked, answering the giant’s accusation, careful to keep my voice calm and neutral. “I’m just a simple business owner, trying to get by, the same as everyone else.”
Dobson smiled, revealing slightly crooked, too-white teeth. “Because you’re the one who committed it, Ms. Blanco. Someone’s missing, and you murdered her just as sure as I’m standing here.”
A collective gasp rippled through the Pork Pit at his words, but I kept my features blank, as though nothing were out of the ordinary and I hadn’t just been accused of murder in my own gin joint. But my mind churned and churned, focusing on the most important word the captain had said—her. Which indicated this wasn’t about Benson at all, but rather a woman. But who?
“Really?” I said. “And who says that I murdered someone?”
Dobson waved his hand. “Oh, that’s not important right now. But rest assured that we have a witness to your crime.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
His cold brown eyes sharpened. “And what do you mean by that?”
I shrugged, then gave him my best, widest, most innocent and shit-eating grin. “Because nobody talks in Southtown.”
More than a few chuckles rippled through the storefront, with Finn, of course, laughing the loudest and longest. Dobson glared at the customers who had dared to be amused by my quip, and the chuckles quickly died down. Suddenly, everyone was very interested in their food again, instead of the drama unfolding at the cash register.
Dobson unbuttoned his navy suit jacket and drew back the fabric, planting his hands on his hips. More than anything else, the gesture was meant to reveal the gun holstered to his black leather belt, a clear warning that he would shoot me at the slightest provocation, including any more mockery of him. But the motion also made his jacket sleeve ride up, revealing a platinum watch set with diamonds on his wrist. A cute little trinket. I wondered if that had been part of his payoff from Madeline for coming in here and accusing me of murder.
“Nice watch,” Finn drawled, echoing my thoughts. “Especially on a captain’s salary.”
A flush swept up Dobson’s thick neck, cranking up the color in his cheeks to fire-engine red. A few more titters of laughter sounded. Everyone in Ashland knew that the majority of the cops were even more crooked than the city’s criminals. I looked past the giant at the two uniformed officers and the woman with the clipboard. None of them were wearing any obvious, expensive bling like their boss was, but all three of them started shifting on their feet. Guilt by association.
“I don’t care for your insinuations, Ms. Blanco,” Dobson snapped. “I work for the good people of Ashland. The ones that you’ve been menacing, terrorizing, and murdering for years.”
Well, he had one out of three right.
“And you haven’t been doing a very good job of it, now have you?” I said, my voice deceptively sweet and light. “If I’ve been doing all of that for all these years, like you claim. Seems like someone’s been slacking off on his job, the one that the good people of Ashland pay him to do. Apparently very well, judging from that watch on your wrist, just like my foster brother said. Who knew that being a civil servant could be so very rewarding?”
More snickers sounded, making Dobson’s face burn even redder than before. I half expected a whistle to sound and for steam to start shooting out of his ears, like it would with a cartoon character, but of course that didn’t happen. After a few seconds, Dobson reined in his temper, and some of the angry flush faded from his face, although his brown eyes iced over that much more.
“Regardless of your charming opinions, you need to come with me,” he barked. “I have a few questions to ask you down at the station.”
He gestured at the uniformed officers. The two of them, a man and a woman, exchanged an uneasy look behind Dobson’s back. They didn’t want to get anywhere near me, not with my reputation. Smart folks. But they were more afraid of their captain than they were of me, because he turned and gave them a pointed glare, and they finally shuffled forward, the woman reaching for the handcuffs attached to her thick, black utility belt.
“Don’t bother,” I told her. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I know my rights, and unless you have a warrant for my arrest, then I’m staying right here in my restaurant where I belong.”
“That’s not an option,” Dobson growled. “You’re coming with us, and that’s final, Ms. Blanco.”
“Forget it,” I snapped right back at him. “Especially since you still haven’t told me who I supposedly murdered.”
His lips turned up into a smile. “Why, I thought you’d never ask. Her name is Shanna Bannister.”