The college girl’s fingers crept up to her face, and her nose twitched, as if she was reliving the pain she’d suffered last night. She shivered.

Donovan noticed Violet’s reaction, and a sad, sick look filled his eyes. As a detective, Donovan had seen his share of victims. He knew how badly Violet had been hurt, how an innocent piece of her had been stripped away that she’d never get back. Anger and helplessness tightened Donovan’s rough features. Because he also knew how hard it could be to get justice for victims like Violet.

Especially in Ashland.

Warren noticed Violet’s shiver as well. His wrinkled face tightened, and rage flashed like black lightning in his eyes.

He reached over and patted his granddaughter’s hand.

“Don’t think about it, honey,” Warren said. “Don’t you ever think about what happened last night again. Because Tobias Dawson and his men will never lay another hand on you. I promise. No matter what I have to do to stop them.” He muttered the last few words.

“You should have told me,” Donovan Caine cut in. “I could help you with Dawson. Get him to back off.”

Finn snorted his disbelief. The detective glared at him.

“Please,” Finn scoffed. “Most of the Ashland po-po couldn’t get a puppy to give up a chew toy, much less manage someone like Tobias Dawson. You know he’s friends with Mab Monroe, right? You giving Dawson the hard cop stare isn’t going to cause him indigestion, much less get him to back off.”

“So what do you suggest?” the detective snapped.

“Well,” I drawled. “There was a reason I drove up here today.”

Donovan turned his golden eyes to me. Disappointment shimmered in his gaze. “To offer your services to Warren, right? To take care of Tobias Dawson in your own special way?”

“Something like that.”

Disgust filled the detective’s rugged face. “Once an assassin, always an assassin.”

Violet let out a soft gasp.

Warren stared at me. “So you do what Fletcher Lane, what the Tin Man did.”

“I used to. I’m retired now.”

Warren peered at me with his shiny brown eyes. “And what did he call you?”

I met his gaze with a flat stare. “The Spider.” The rune scars on my hand itched at the sound of my former assassin moniker. My mouth twisted. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

Warren gave a curt nod of his head. “I have.”

Nobody said anything. A bit of wind gusted down off the mountaintop overhead and stirred up dust in the gravel parking lot. The breeze swept on, and the tiny whirlwinds died down.