Owen drew in another breath. "Salina started screaming about what Phillip had tried to do to her, about how he'd tried to rape her. Phillip said it wasn't what it looked like, but I didn't believe him. We fought. I was older and bigger and stronger, but Phillip was tough, even back then. He shoved me into the bathroom mirror so hard it broke my nose. The glass shattered on impact, cutting up my face."

Owen reached up and subconsciously touched his nose. I'd always wondered how it had gotten to be just a bit crooked. He'd probably gotten the scar on his chin that same night.

"And then?" Finn asked.

"Then I got hold of Phillip, and I beat the hell out of him," Owen said in a cold, flat voice. "I should have beaten him to death. I would have, if Eva hadn't kept tugging on my arms, crying and screaming at me to stop. I didn't want her to see me kill Phillip, so I dragged him to the front door and threw him out of the house. That was the end of our friendship. Although he goes out of his way to speak to me whenever our paths cross, like it's some great joke to needle me as often as he can."

"Like at Mab's funeral," I said.

Owen nodded. He was looking at the framed drawings on the mantel, but I knew he wasn't really seeing them. No, right now, my lover was remembering the fury he'd felt that long-ago night and how he'd almost killed a man because of it.

It was a horrible story all the way around. Still, I couldn't help but wonder whether or not it was entirely true - especially since it seemed like Eva remembered things far differently than her brother did. But if she did, why hadn't she spoken up tonight? Why hadn't she told me and Finn her side of the story? And why hadn't she tried to get Owen to listen to her back then? There was something going on with Eva, something that was making her keep her mouth shut about Salina. I had no idea what it could be - but I was determined to get to the truth one way or another.

I looked at Finn. He nodded, telling me he had the same questions I did. I had no doubt Owen believed what he was saying, but I had a funny feeling it didn't quite mesh with what had actually gone down.

Owen sighed. "That was the beginning of the end. Two nights later, I came home, and Salina was gone. Just - gone. So were all of her things. All her clothes, all her makeup, all the jewelry I'd bought her, all the money I kept stashed at the house for emergencies, everything. Just - gone. She left me a note saying she needed some time to herself, some time to get over what Phillip had done. Of course, I looked for her for months afterward, but I didn't find her. Eventually, I just figured that she didn't want to be found. I never heard from her again, and she never came back to Ashland."

"Until now," I said.

Owen nodded, but he didn't say anything else.

I got up, walked over, and put a hand on his arm. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Not what happened then, and not what happened on the riverboat tonight either."

He gave me a grim smile. "That's where you're wrong. It is my fault that Salina was beaten and almost raped, that she left Ashland, all because I couldn't see the kind of person Phillip really was. I failed to protect Salina from the person I thought was my best friend - my brother, even. I'll never forgive myself for that, Gin. Never."

Nobody said anything. Owen was thinking about old memories, old hurts, old anger. Finn and I were digesting everything that had been said.

Mostly, though, I thought of how Salina had so easily killed Antonio, and how she'd almost done the same thing to Kincaid. If Kincaid had tried to rape her, I could understand Salina wanting to murder him. Hell, I'd happily let her borrow one of my knives if that was the case.

But why kill the giant? Sure, Antonio had been Kincaid's friend, but what had murdering him really gotten her, other than a few minutes of shock value? If she'd wanted to, Salina could have simply used her magic to force all the water out of Kincaid's body in the first place before anyone had been the wiser. So why waste her time and magic on Antonio?

The more people you tried to take out at a site, the riskier it was, and the less chance you had of making sure all your targets got dead. There was always a possibility that things could go wrong, that one of your intended victims could get away from you, or that someone entirely unexpected - like me - could fuck up your plans.

Even more curious was the fact that Kincaid had said he'd heard rumors that Salina was coming back to town, rumors that would have been confirmed as soon as he'd learned how Katarina Arkadi had died. If she wanted to kill Kincaid for trying to rape her, why would Salina murder the other woman first? Why tip her hand like that? Why give Kincaid any clue that she was back in Ashland at all? It just didn't make sense - unless she'd wanted to make Kincaid suffer by watching his friends die before she killed the casino boss himself. Even then, it was still a lot of trouble to go to when she could have just murdered Kincaid first and been done with things.

Settling an old score was all well and good, but Salina Dubois didn't strike me as the kind of person to come back to Ashland just for that. If such simple revenge was all she wanted, she could have blown into town at any time, killed Kincaid, and been on her merry way. Instead, she'd married man after man, making their fortunes her own, and then returned. She had to have some sort of plan in mind to have gone to such lengths. So why was she really here? Why now, after all these years?

Then there was her meeting with Jonah McAllister at Underwood's. I supposed he could have been her lawyer for all these years, handling her finances, perhaps even helping her marry and murder for money. That was just the sort of thing McAllister reveled in. The obituary photos of all her dead husbands flashed through my mind, each of them seemingly a substitute for Owen, and it took some effort to push the disturbing images away.

Maybe McAllister had helped her with her husbands, or maybe not, but one thing was for sure - he needed a new boss. And I was willing to bet Salina would fit that bill nicely. If Salina had cooked up some other scheme with McAllister, it could only mean trouble. No, something else was going on here besides an old feud, something bigger, something I needed to figure out before Salina hurt anyone else, especially Owen.

But there was nothing I could do about any of that right now, especially since midnight had already come and gone.

"Well," I finally said, "I think that's enough secret spilling for one evening."

"Oh, I don't know," Finn said. "Personally, I'd love to hear more about Owen's little larceny scheme. Got any of that loot left? I'm sure it's only appreciated in value over the years."

Owen winced.

"Finn?"

He gave me a friendly smile. "Yes, Gin?"

"Do yourself a favor and leave before I throw you out."

He stuck out his lips in an exaggerated pout. "Fine. But I still want to know all about the Grayson Gang. Or was it the Kincaid Crew? Tell me you guys at least had a catchy nickname."

I glared at him, but Finn just pouted a little more when Owen didn't answer him.

I shut and locked the front door behind Finn, then went back into the den, where Owen was. I turned off the lights, and we walked up the stairs to the second floor.

I headed for my bedroom door, but Owen didn't follow me. I looked over my shoulder at him.

"Maybe I should sleep in a different room tonight," he said. "Since Eva's right down the hall."

It wasn't an unreasonable request, but his words pricked my heart like tiny thorns. Eva was nineteen. She knew exactly what Owen and I did when we were alone together. Still, maybe it was for the best. We'd all been put through the wringer in some way tonight. Eva had witnessed a murder; Owen had dredged up memories of how he'd loved and lost his fiancee; and I'd realized that my lover had more of a past and more secrets than I'd ever dreamed of.

"Sure," I said.

I could hear Eva moving around in the bedroom next to mine, so I led Owen to the one at the end of the hall. I flipped the light on and showed him where the extra blankets and pillows were stacked up in the closet. When that was done, we stood beside the bed, neither one of us knowing quite what to say to the other about everything that had come out into the open tonight.

"I'm sorry, Gin," Owen finally said in a soft voice, "for blindsiding you with all this. I never thought Salina would come back to Ashland, or that Phillip would drag you into the middle."

I shrugged. "It's my fault too for not telling you about Kincaid's so-called catering job in the first place. I would have, if I'd known you had any kind of connection to him. So let's just forgive and forget, okay?"

He nodded. "And what about Salina?"

"What about Salina?" I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral once more.

He hesitated again. "I'd like to talk to her - about a lot of things. I need to talk to her. At the very least, I need to apologize for not finishing off Kincaid when I had the chance. I owed her that much, but I failed her."

I suspected Owen hadn't failed Salina so much as she'd outright lied to him, but that was neither here nor there. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't say no. Not too long ago, Owen had given me the time and space I'd needed to come to terms with my lingering feelings for Donovan. The least I could do was let him speak to Salina - even if I thought she was far more devious and dangerous than she appeared to be.

"Of course," I murmured. "We'll talk more about that and everything else tomorrow. Right now, we both need to get some rest. It's been a long day."

"Thank you, Gin," Owen said in a soft voice. "For believing me. For trusting me."

I looked at him, at his black hair, his violet eyes, his rough, rugged features that were so appealing to me. All these emotions roared up in my chest. All my love for him, all my caring, all my worry - and all my fear of losing him.

It was that horrible thought, that terrible fear, that spurred me forward. I pressed my body flush again Owen's, drew his lips down to mine, and kissed him for all I was worth, trying to put everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling, into that one single kiss. Trying to make it perfect, trying to make it everything he'd had with Salina - and more.

The fierceness of my kiss seemed to startle him, but Owen's arms snaked around me, pulling me even closer. I kept right on kissing him, trying to tell him I understood the things he'd done and the decisions he'd made, even if I didn't like everything I'd learned tonight about how much he'd once loved Salina.

Sometime later, we broke apart, both of us breathless and aching - for each other and for answers we weren't quite sure of.

"I love you, Gin," Owen whispered in my ear, still holding me in his arms.

For the first time since he'd said those words to me, I doubted them - and him - but I kept my troubling thoughts to myself.

"I know," I whispered back. "And I love you too. We'll figure this out, just like we always do - together."

He nodded, dropped his arms from around me, and stepped back. I walked over and paused in the doorway.

"If you need anything tonight, I'm just right down the hall."

"I know. Sleep well."

Try as I might, I couldn't quite make myself smile. "You too."

I shut the door behind me, but I didn't go to my room. Instead, I stood there, my hand still on the knob, brooding. I knew Owen loved me, that he loved me just as much as I did him.

But I couldn't help but wonder if he still loved Salina as well - and if she'd always had more of a hold on his heart than I could ever hope to have.

Chapter 15

I finally moved away from the door, but instead of taking a shower like I should have, I went back downstairs to Fletcher's office.

I turned on the light and looked out over the familiar mess. Papers, books, folders, and pens covered the battered desk in the back of the room, and more of the same could be found on the shelves of the bookcases against the walls and on top of the filing cabinets that squatted on either side of the door.

The sight of the old man's clutter brought a ghost of a smile to my face. I just hadn't felt like cleaning it, or the rest of the house, up yet. I didn't know when I would. Sometimes Fletcher's murder and the knowledge that he was gone still hurt as much as if it had all happened just yesterday. Having his things around comforted me - or at least tricked me into believing that part of him was still here with me.

But it was late, and I was tired, so I put my sentiment aside and got busy. It took me about twenty minutes of digging through the cabinets before I found what I was looking for: the file on Benedict Dubois's murder.

Even though he hadn't killed Dubois, Fletcher, being Fletcher, had compiled all the information he could get his hands on about the murder and had organized it in meticulous detail. Besides doing recon on the people he assassinated, the old man was always digging into someone, always keeping track of who was moving up in the underworld and who was getting offed. There was probably more information on more murders in this room than in storage at police headquarters. Fletcher had claimed that his obsessive chronicling was a way to stay ahead of our enemies, but I just thought he liked knowing where all the bodies were buried in Ashland - a trait Finn had inherited from him.

Tonight, though, I just hoped the file told me more about Salina and what she might be up to. I took the folder over to the desk, flipped on a light there, sat down in Fletcher's creaky chair, and started reading.

According to Fletcher's notes, Benedict Dubois's murder had been the talk of Ashland for months - if it could be considered a simple murder. Fletcher had chronicled the series of events that had led to his death, all the skirmishes and problems Benedict had had with Mab, all the things that had prompted him to plot against her, but I skipped ahead to the night it had all gone down. Even then, there were pages of information to go through, covering everything from the blueprints of the mansion to exactly where Dubois had died. Given Fletcher's attention to detail, there was even a guest list of everyone who'd been there that night.