"Please," Finn scoffed. "Most of the Ashland po-po couldn't get a puppy to give up a chew toy, much less manage someone like Tobias Dawson. You know he's friends with Mab Monroe, right? You giving Dawson the hard cop stare isn't going to cause him indigestion, much less get him to back off."
"So what do you suggest?" the detective snapped.
"Well," I drawled. "There was a reason I drove up here today."
Donovan turned his golden eyes to me. Disappointment shimmered in his gaze. "To offer your services to Warren, right? To take care of Tobias Dawson in your own special way?"
"Something like that."
Disgust filled the detective's rugged face. "Once an assassin, always an assassin."
Violet let out a soft gasp.
Warren stared at me. "So you do what Fletcher Lane, what the Tin Man did."
"I used to. I'm retired now."
Warren peered at me with his shiny brown eyes. "And what did he call you?"
I met his gaze with a flat stare. "The Spider." The rune scars on my hand itched at the sound of my former assassin moniker. My mouth twisted. "Perhaps you've heard of me."
Warren gave a curt nod of his head. "I have."
Nobody said anything. A bit of wind gusted down off the mountaintop overhead and stirred up dust in the gravel parking lot. The breeze swept on, and the tiny whirlwinds died down.
"I want to thank you for saving my granddaughter's life," Warren said. "But why did you really come here? Why do you want to stick your neck out for two people you don't even know? Why do you want to tangle with somebody like Tobias Dawson? Like your friend said, he's not someone whose bad side you want to get on."
"Yeah," Donovan chimed in. "I thought you'd retired."
I stared at the detective. Our eyes met and held, and the familiar heat warmed the pit of my stomach. Answering warmth sparked in Donovan's eyes, although he tried to smother it with cool indifference.
I held the detective's gaze a moment longer, then turned my attention to Warren T. Fox, who'd stopped his rocking. His wrinkled face was blank and free of emotion, as though he couldn't care less about my answer, but his fingers dug into the arms of his chair. Warren needed me, and he knew it - even if Donovan Caine didn't.
"You're right," I said in a quiet voice. "I don't know you and your granddaughter, don't care about you. Why am I here? Because you once told your granddaughter a story about the Tin Man, about how he helped people with problems. You and Fletcher Lane might not have spoken in decades, but you still cared enough, thought enough, about him to tell Violet that story. So I'm here because of Fletcher. Because the two of you were like brothers once upon a time. Because if Fletcher were still alive, he'd be sitting right here, whether you wanted him to or not."
There was more to it than that, of course. Much more.
Like the fact that I felt this peculiar kinship with the Foxes. That in a weird way, seeing Violet and Warren together was like looking at a sweeter, more innocent version of Fletcher Lane and myself. What we might have been, if circumstances had been different. Maybe it was crazy, but I wanted the Foxes to stay just the way they were. To keep on loving and fighting. To keep what was left of their innocence, especially Violet.
My mouth twisted again. "Besides, my retirement's been pretty boring. Last night was the most excitement I've had in ages. And I find myself interested in why somebody like Tobias Dawson wants to get his hands on your land so badly he'd be willing to kill for it. I don't care much for bullies like that."
"A curious sort, huh?" Warren asked.
I smiled. "It's a trait I got from Fletcher. So what do you say? Shall I poke around and see what I can come up with? Or should Finn and I get in his car and go back to the Pork Pit? It's your choice, Warren."
The old man stared at me, that thoughtful look in his eyes once again. As though he knew something about me that I didn't even know myself. But Warren didn't get a chance to answer.
On the highway, a black SUV slowed. Instead of passing by like all the other cars and trucks, it pulled into the gravel lot. For a moment, I thought the Foxes were going to get their first customer of the day. Then I saw the white banner on the car door. The one that read Dawson Mining Company. The two is in Mining had been changed to resemble a rune - a lit stick of dy***ite. The same rune the dwarf who'd attacked Violet had had tattooed on his bicep.
Finn noticed the writing and rune as well and glanced at me. "Trouble," he said in a low voice.
"You think?" I asked, already reaching for one of my knives.
Chapter Sixteen
The SUV stopped, the doors opened, and several men poured out. One after another, they kept coming, like they were clowns crammed into a circus car and this was their only chance of escape. Five men total: two giants, two shorter, burly guys, and a dwarf. The giants and other men wore work clothes - grimy coveralls, sturdy boots, thick gloves. The dwarf was dressed a little nicer - clean jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and a tight black blazer that looked like it would do a Hulk rip down the sleeves if he breathed too hard.
The dwarf headed toward the front porch, and the rest of the men fell in step behind him. Finn and I exchanged a quick glance, and he made a motion with his hand. I nodded and slid left into a shadow that pooled on the porch. Finn moved off to the right. Donovan Caine stayed where he was on the porch steps, although the detective got to his feet. Warren and Violet Fox remained seated in their rocking chairs. Violet's face paled, and she crossed her arms over her stomach, like she was trying not to vomit. A scowl deepened the lines around Warren's mouth.
The dwarf stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to the wooden porch. He hitched his thumbs in the belt loops on his jeans and put a foot up on one of the stairs.
Black snakeskin boots covered his feet. Orange-red flames spread over the tops, while silverstone tipped the pointed ends. A black ten-gallon hat rested on the dwarf 's head, making him seem taller than his five feet, and the lariat tie around his neck featured a piece of turquoise almost as big as my fist. Somebody liked playing cowboy.
The dwarf 's hair was a curly, sandy blond mane that fell to his shoulders. His nose was a bulbous piece of flesh that puckered out from his face like a boil, and a wide, fuzzy mustache drooped over his lips. His eyes were a pale, piercing blue in his tan face.
"Warren," the dwarf rumbled.
"Tobias," the old man replied.
The two men looked each other square in the eye the way old enemies do. Squinting, staring hard, neither one willing to back down, look away, or even f**king blink first.