"Then why?"
"Because I've spent too much time lately not having your back, and you need that today more than ever."
Our gazes locked, gray on violet, with so many emotions, so many memories, so many words spoken and unspoken ebbing and flowing between us. Once more, I looked at Owen - really looked at him - as if I could peer through his eyes and see all the deep, dark secrets of his heart and soul lurking underneath. Trying to determine if he really meant what he said. But his eyes remained clear, his stance stayed tall, and his jaw was as tight as it had been before. I didn't sense any hurt in him. No anger, no blame, no accusation of any kind. Just the quiet determination to stand by me through this, no matter how bad it was already and no matter how much worse we both knew it was going to get.
Still, I decided to give him one last chance to back out.
"I don't think that you understand what I'm going to do now," I said. "Because Harley Grimes is pure evil, and I'm going to have to be that way too in order to rescue Sophia. Violent. Vicious. Vindictive. With no quarter asked for and sure as hell none given. Not to Grimes, not to his men, not to anyone who gets in my way."
"I know," Owen replied in a quiet voice. "I know, and I don't care. Not anymore. You do what needs to be done to save Sophia. I'll be right there with you, every step of the way. No matter what. I promise."
His words touched me more than he knew. Because this was what I'd wanted him to say when everything had gone so horribly wrong with Salina. That he understood why I'd killed her even as he asked me not to. Because it simply had to be done before she hurt anyone else Owen cared about, including himself. By killing Salina, I'd been trying to protect Owen from, well, Owen. And more important, from being responsible for the death of someone he'd once loved.
I had carried that burden around every single day, ever since I hadn't been able to save Fletcher from being tortured to death inside the Pork Pit, so I knew how very heavy, how very wearisome , it was. Now it seemed like Owen wanted to return the favor by going with me into Harley Grimes's lion's den and helping Sophia and me however he could.
"Trust me on this, Gin," Owen said. "Please." It was that soft, final please that did me in. Because I could see how hard he was trying and how much he meant what he said.
"All right," I said. "All right. You win. If you're so bound and determined to go with me, then let's get moving. We have a long way to go before we reach Grimes's camp."
After another quiet moment, we both shouldered our gear again. Owen started to head back over to his car, but I shook my head and gestured for him to follow me to
Roslyn's vehicle.
"This one already has blood all over the inside. No reason to mess up anyone else's ride today."
Owen opened the back door, stopping a moment to stare at stains forming all across the leather seats. He dropped his backpack onto the floorboard, on top of one of the bloody towels that I'd used on Jo-Jo's wounds. I put my bag down next to his, then slid into the driver's seat. A minute later, we were headed down the driveway.
As I drove, I told Owen everything that I knew and suspected about Grimes. While I talked, he leaned over into the backseat, unzipped my backpack, fished out
Fletcher's file on Grimes, and started reading through it.
Owen frowned. "The name sounds familiar. Why do you think Grimes came after Sophia again after all these years?"
That newspaper clipping of Jo-Jo flashed through my mind. Guilt twisted my stomach, but I made myself shrug. "Probably for pure meanness. Fletcher took her away from him, and Grimes didn't like that. So he finally decided to do something about it. The coward just waited until after Fletcher was dead to make his move."
"Do you think that he knows about you?" Owen asked. "That Fletcher trained you?"
I thought of the way Grimes had so casually thrown his Fire magic at me, then walked away, so sure in the knowledge that the flames would roast me where I stood.
"I don't think so. Otherwise, he would have brought more men, at the very least, and he wouldn't have left me alone with the ones he did bring."
Owen nodded his agreement, then hesitated. "I haven't said this yet, but I should have. I'm glad that you're all right, Gin."
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road and my face blank, not letting him see how much his words meant to me, how much they would always mean to me.
I left the suburbs behind and wound my way up through Northtown, the rich, fancy, highfalutin part of Ashland, where the wealthy, social, and magical elite lived. We passed mansion after mansion, all with tasteful yards that were as lush and green as they could be, despite the scorching summer sun beating down on them. I drove fast, and we soon left the immaculate estates behind and started winding our way up through the mountains above Ashland.
Our route took us by country Daze, an old-timey store owned by a friend of Fletcher's. Several cars were parked in the gravel lot that fronted the store. But that wasn't what caught my attention - the man standing by the stop sign did.
He was an older man, with a bit of wispy white hair that stood straight up as if in defiance of the wilting humidity of the day. Despite the heat, he wore brown boots, along with blue pants and a long-sleeved blue cotton work shirt, and his dark, burnished skin hinted at his cherokee heritage. An old, weathered brown satchel sat at his feet.
But the most interesting thing about Warren T. Fox was the rifle that he had casually propped up on his shoulder, as though it was perfectly normal for him to be standing by the side of the road holding a gun. Well, this was Ashland. I would have been more surprised if he didn't have a weapon.
Warren peered at our car as it approached him. He must have spotted Owen and me, because he grabbed his bag, straightened up, and started walking in our direction, rifle and all.
"What is he doing?" I asked. "Has Finn made some pass at Violet that I don't know about, and Warren is finally going to shoot him for it?"
Violet was Warren's college-age granddaughter and Eva Grayson's best friend. Finn liked to flirt with Violet as much as he did with every other woman who crossed his path, despite his involvement with Bria.
Owen shifted in his seat. "After Finn called me, I made a few calls myself."
"To Warren? Why?"
"Because nobody knows these mountains better than he does," Owen said. "Warren's told me more than one story about his hiking and hunting adventures, and I thought that we could use his help finding Grimes's camp."
It was a smart idea, something that I should have thought of myself. Sure, I had Fletcher's maps of Grimes's camp, but there was nothing like firsthand knowledge. As much as I would have liked to tell Owen that we didn't need Warren, I couldn't. I didn't like putting Warren in danger, but Owen was right. If Warren knew the area around Grimes's mountain hideout, then that gave us an even better chance of finding and rescuing Sophia as quickly as possible. Besides, even I had no desire to tangle with an irate old coot like Warren T. Fox.