Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(10)

I did know that, but that didn’t mean I liked it. How do you break something

like this to someone? How do you go about rocking the foundation of his world

to its very core? Changing everything he thought he knew about his parents?

All that would have been bad enough if this was a stranger. But this was Finn.

The guy I’d been raised with. The guy I had been through so much with. The

man who was my brother in all the ways that truly mattered.

I didn’t know, and now I was in the damned awkward position of having to find

out.

“Well,” I said, trying to make a joke of things, the way Finn would have if

our positions had been reversed. “I say we ply him with food and booze and

then spring the news on him. Have all his favorite things around to help

soften the shock.”

Bria nodded. “That’s actually not a bad idea. We’re supposed to go to a

cocktail party at his bank tomorrow night. Finn is schmoozing with some new

client he wants me to meet. You and Owen could tag along, and we could all go

to Underwood’s for dinner afterward. Tell him everything and then figure out

what our next move is.”

I winced.

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a second. You haven’t told Owen

about this either?”

I winced again. “I haven’t told anyone anything, except you. I wanted to

actually know what I was talking about before I spilled the beans. But all I

have is this.” I waved my hand over the faded photos and cracked mementos. “

Not exactly a whole lot of beans to spill.”

“Still,” Bria said, “it all has to mean something. Fletcher wouldn’t have

buried all these things in Deirdre’s casket if they weren’t important. If it

wasn’t some kind of message.”

I sighed. “You might be right, but I have no idea what he was thinking. Not

this time.”

Bria picked up the folder and stared at Deirdre’s icicle-heart rune again. “

Well, whatever Fletcher was trying to tell you, I have a bad feeling about

this, Gin.”

My gaze dropped to the photo of Fletcher holding Finn, and Deirdre with that

cold, blank look on her face. “Yeah. Me too.”





3

Bria promised to tell Finn that Owen and I would be crashing the party

tomorrow night. Then she bundled up, and I walked her to the front door. The

snow had stopped while we were talking, leaving three inches of white, fluffy

powder coating the ground.

I waited until I heard her car pull out onto the road at the bottom of the

ridge before I shut the door and headed back to the den.

I stopped in the doorway and stared at the casket box, where the two letters

from Fletcher were hidden under Finn’s baby blanket. But instead of tossing

the blanket aside and ripping into my letter, I sat down on the couch and

carefully went through all the photos and other items again.

I studied each image in turn—not just the pictures themselves but all the

corners, edges, and backs, in case Fletcher had scribbled a note or left some

other clue I hadn’t spotted. Nothing.

I did the same thing with the diamond-less engagement ring, the empty perfume

bottle, and the broken cameo. Once again, a big fat lot of nothing. No runes,

no symbols, not even a maker’s mark stamped on any of them.

I pulled the baby blanket out of the box and ran my fingers over the fabric,

but it was just a blanket, the cotton so soft and thin you could practically

see through it. Three strikes, and I was out.

Except for the letters.

I put the blanket down and finally pulled the two letters out of the box. I

studied the envelopes as carefully as I had everything else, but they were

plain except for the single word on each of them. Gin on one and Finn on the

other, each written in the old man’s distinctive, spidery scrawl.

Finn’s letter wasn’t mine to open, so I wrapped it back up in the baby

blanket and set it aside. I turned the other envelope over and over again in

my hands, as though I might suddenly see something different besides my name

inked on the front. Then I picked up my knife and sliced open the top, trying

to ignore the sudden churning of my stomach.

A single sheet of paper was tucked inside. The faint scent of peonies tickled

my nose as I pulled out the letter and unfolded it, reading the old man’s

words.

Gin,

If you are reading this, then I am gone—but Deirdre Shaw is back in Ashland.

I don’t know exactly what brought you to her grave. If you found the file

hidden in my office, if Deirdre made some move against you, or if something

else entirely drove you to look in her casket. But you’ve found the box. The

things inside are all that I have left of Deirdre. Small, hollow, fragile

things, but I hope that you’ll share them with Finn when the time is right.

I could tell you many stories about Deirdre. How we met. How happy she made

me. How much I loved her.