AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Those three simple words each felt like a silverstone knife ripping into my heart. My eyes dropped to the delicate primrose rune around Bria's neck, then the rings on her finger, and my stomach tightened. Damn. Sometimes I really could be a cold-hearted, insensitive bitch.
Bria shook her head, as if chasing away a bad memory. I knew the feeling.
"You have no idea where Ms. Phillips went?" she repeated her earlier question.
"None," I replied. "If it makes you feel better, detective, I was just as shocked as you were to hear what she said about Elliot Slater. "
"As was I," Owen cut in. "As was I. "
I looked at Owen, but his face was just as closed off as Bria's was.
Bria stared at me again, and I returned her gaze with a cool one of my own. She must have realized she wasn't getting anything out of me tonight, because she gave me a curt nod.
"Fine," she said. "I'll track Ms. Phillips down myself. You have my card, Ms. Blanco. If you see Ms. Phillips, please tell her that I'd like to speak to her regarding what she said about Elliot Slater. That I'd like to help her press charges against the bastard, and that I'll protect her no matter what. "
Bria's eyes burned with cold, blue fire. The cop in her meant every word she'd just said. She'd protect Roslyn from Slater, even if it resulted in her own ostracization from the police department-or even her death. Finn had been right when he'd pegged my sister as a crusader. I admired the fact that she wanted to help Roslyn, even if I knew nothing would ever come of any charges filed against Slater. Besides, the giant wasn't going to live long enough for all that. Not if I had my way about things.
Bria gave me another hard stare. "If Roslyn Phillips is your friend, if you care about her at all, you'll tell her what I said. "
"Sure," I replied. "If I see her. "
Bria's lips flattened into a thin smile. "Sure. If you see her. "
"Now, if you'll please excuse us, detective, Owen and I were just leaving. "
Bria stared at me a moment longer, then stepped to one side. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. Blanco. "
"You too, detective," I murmured. "You too. "
Thirty minutes later, Owen Grayson pulled his navy blue Mercedes Benz to a stop in the driveway that ringed his mansion. I stared out the window at the building before me. Like most wealthy Ashland businessmen, Owen lived on a sprawling estate, although he was out more in the suburbs than truly being entrenched in the glorified confines of Northtown.
Owen's place also wasn't quite as pretentious as I'd thought it would be. The mansion boasted a simple, sturdy facade of only four stories instead of the usual eight or so the rest of the city's power players preferred. I opened my door, got out of the car, and stood in the driveway a moment, listening to the whispers of the gray cobblestones under my feet and the larger rocks of the mansion above my head. The soft murmurs spoke of pride and power, tempered with wary caution. The sound fit with what I knew of Owen Grayson. Wealthy, strong, cautious. I rather liked it.
Owen walked past me toward the front door. I followed him. He dug his keys out of his pants pocket, and I eyed the knocker mounted on the front door-a large hammer done in hard, black iron, just like the enormous gate that ringed the house and grounds.
Most magic users in Ashland used some sort of rune to identify themselves, their family, their power, or even their business. Jo-Jo Deveraux, for example, used a puffy cloud to identify herself as an Air elemental. From previous encounters, I knew that the hammer was Owen Grayson's personal and business rune. The symbol for strength, power, and hard work. A curious choice for a rune. Most people of Owen's wealth and stature would have gone with something flashier, like Mab Monroe with her ruby and gold sunburst necklace.
Owen opened the door and stepped to one side. "Welcome to my parlor. "
"Said the spider to the fly," I finished the old saying.
For a moment, I wondered how Owen would react if he knew that I was the Spider and that he was the poor fly caught in my sticky web. I pushed the thought away and headed inside.
Owen led me through the interior of his mansion. He didn't speak as we walked, and I used the silence to examine my surroundings. One, for practical reasons. I still hadn't decided what to do about Owen and everything that he'd seen and heard tonight. So I made note of the passageways and potential exits, just in case I had to kill him and leave in a hurry. But I also studied the interior to learn what I could about the mysterious businessman.
Fletcher Lane had instilled a healthy dose of curiosity in me, and Owen Grayson's behavior over the past few weeks had only deepened my desire to know even more about him-and if he might be suitable enough to help me start forgetting about Donovan Caine. I liked recreational sex as much as the next gal, but it always helped if my bed partner was someone I wanted to stick around after the fireworks ended.
Just like the exterior of the house, the furnishings were much simpler than I'd expected. Dark, heavy, sturdy woods, thick rugs in cool blues and greens, lots of interesting iron sculptures. I got the sense everything was picked more out of love for the object itself, rather than an inflated desire to be sophisticated and stylish.
Owen led me to a downstairs living room, dominated by an enormous flat-screen television on one wall. Eva Grayson and Violet Fox sat in the middle of an oversize sectional sofa in front of the television, watching The Princess Bride and eating a large tub of popcorn. The smell of butter and salt drifted up to me.
The two college girls were best friends-and about as different as different could be. With her black hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin, and tall, lithe figure, Eva always reminded me of a real-life version of Snow White. Violet, on the other hand, was short and curvy, with a mop of frizzy blond hair, black glasses, and bronze skin that hinted at her Cherokee heritage. Both girls sported soft, fuzzy pajamas, apparently in for the evening.
Owen leaned over the back of the sofa and ruffled Eva's hair.
"Are you watching that again?" he said, his voice light and teasing. "If I'd known you were going to make Violet watch it every time you girls had a movie night, I would have bought you something else. "
"It's not my fault you have no taste in movies," Eva teased back.
