Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(44)

sleeve, just like Fletcher always had.

After a moment, she shook her head. “How very sad. That Fletcher dragged an

innocent young girl like you into his sordid world.”

“Fletcher didn’t drag me into anything,” I snapped. “He saved me, he

taught me everything he knew, and I will always be grateful to him for that—

always.” Below the table, out of sight, my hands curled into tight fists in

my lap, my fingers digging into the spider rune scars in my palms. I hadn’t

meant to let her rile me so easily, but she’d hit the big red button of my

emotions with her first jab.

Deirdre cleared her throat. “Yes, well, Fletcher always did have a soft spot

for strays.”

Her voice was kind, without a hint of malice, but my fingers dug even deeper

into my scars. Shish-kebabing would be too good for her. Now I wanted to slice

that indulgent smile right off her pretty face.

Bria shot me a warning look.

Finn, however, seemed oblivious to the rising tension and mama drama, and he

pushed his plate aside. “So,” he said. “You said that we should . . . talk.

”

Deirdre focused on him again. “Yes. I know that you have a lot of questions,

so I brought along a few things that might help give you some answers.”

She reached into the enormous electric-blue purse that she’d set down in the

booth beside her. I tensed, ready to palm one of my knives, but she only came

up with a thick manila folder. She put the folder down on top of the table,

then slowly opened it.

Photos lay inside—the exact same photos that had been in the casket box.

Deirdre, Fletcher, newborn Finn. I recognized the pictures immediately, but

the sight shocked me all the same. I’d never even considered that Deirdre

might have copies of the photos, much less show them off in my gin joint.

Unease rippled through me, along with more than a little disappointment. I’d

thought that Fletcher had left the photos in the casket box for me—and me

alone—to find. That he’d entrusted me with them. That they’d been some sort

of message or warning about Deirdre, even if I hadn’t been able to figure out

exactly what he’d been trying to tell me.

But what if they were just, well, photos? Just keepsakes, like Bria had

suggested when we first opened the box. What if there was no message or

warning or hidden meaning in the pictures? And if I’d been wrong about that,

then what else was I wrong about?

Maybe even Deirdre herself?

Maybe she was different from the person Fletcher had known. Maybe her

intentions were genuine. Maybe she really did want to reconnect with Finn. The

only thing I knew for sure right now was that all the maybes were driving me

plumb crazy.

Bria drew in a ragged breath. She recognized the photos too. I shrugged at

her. The cat was out of the bag now, and there was no putting it back in.

“These are all the photos that I have of us,” Deirdre said in a soft,

hesitant voice. “Fletcher always got two sets of photos made, one for him and

one for me. I thought that you might like to see them too.”

One by one, she laid out the pictures on the table in front of Finn, who

leaned over and studied them with wide eyes. The casket box was still tucked

away in the chimney at Fletcher’s house. I’d been planning to take Finn home

and show him the photos, mementos, and Fletcher’s letter to him after this

meeting, so he could decide for himself whether he wanted to read it. But once

again, Deirdre had beaten me to the punch and wrapped another silken thread

around Finn’s heart, snaring him that much more tightly in her web.

He wouldn’t care about me showing him the photos and broken mementos, and he

wouldn’t take whatever information or warning that was in Fletcher’s letter

seriously. Not now. Maybe that’s why Fletcher had asked me to wait to show

Finn the letter. Maybe the old man had known that Finn would be too swept up

in Deirdre’s charms to listen as long as she was in Ashland.

Finn scooped up the pictures one by one, looking at them with eagerness,

curiosity, and questions filling his eyes. I’d never seen him seem so excited

before, not even when we were kids, it was his birthday, and he was tearing

into a pile of presents. But I kept my mouth shut while he examined the

photos. Anything I said right now would just sound like sour grapes.

“I met your father when I was nineteen,” Deirdre said, steepling her hands

together. “Another boy brought me here on a date, but once I saw your father,

I only had eyes for Fletcher, and he for me. One thing led to another, and

before I knew it, we were engaged. It was one of the happiest times of my

life.”

Well, that explained the engagement ring in the casket box. Although I still

wondered about its missing diamond.

Finn looked up from the photos, and Deirdre favored him with another smile,

which he returned with an even wider one of his own. I don’t know how long