I shot him a dirty look. I hadn’t exactly told Warren and Violet what I used to do, but I was sure the old coot had guessed. After all, he’d known Fletcher.

Donovan shook his head, ignoring Finn’s remark. “You guys go to the college and see a dwarf attack Violet. Gin intervenes, and the two of you cart her off to some healer you know. Did I get it right?”

“More or less,” Finn replied. “Although you left out the part where I helped Gin subdue the assailant.”

“You and a monster truck,” I sniped. “I did all the hard, dirty work, if you’ll remember.”

Finn grinned at me.

At the sight, Warren Fox made a deep sound in his throat, almost like a choking cough. He stared at Finn.

“You’re the spitting image of your father when you smile like that.”

Some of the cheer drained out Finn’s green eyes.

“That’s what people tell me. He’s dead, you know. Two months now.”

Warren rocked back in his chair and nodded. “I know. Saw the obit in the newspaper.” The old man stared at Finn a moment longer, then turned to me. “And you’re Fletcher’s girl, aren’t you? The one he took in off the streets all those years ago?”

I frowned. “Yeah, I am. How do you know about that?”

Warren shrugged his stooped shoulders. “Fletcher and I might have had a falling out, but I kept tabs on him.”

Nobody said anything. But Donovan Caine looked at me, questions in his golden eyes. Despite our having slept together, the detective didn’t know about my time living on the streets—or that my family had been brutally murdered by a Fire elemental when I was thirteen. That I’d been tortured by the sadistic bitch and barely escaped with my life.

I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know. Pity was the last thing I wanted from the detective—or from anyone else.

Violet reached over, put her young, smooth hand on top of Warren’s brown, speckled one, and stopped his rocking. “Gin came here to help us, Grandfather.”

“Did she now?” Warren muttered.

Donovan frowned. “Help you with what, Warren?”

The old man resumed his rocking. “It’s nothing. Just that bastard Tobias Dawson.”

The detective’s frown deepened. “Tobias Dawson? The dwarven mine owner?”

“He wants the land the store sits on,” Violet explained in a quiet voice. “He’s always wanted it, but he’s become more and more insistent in the last two months.”

“It’s nothing,” Warren muttered again. “Just his usual threats and bluster. He knows he’ll never get the store or the land until I’m spinning in my grave.”

“Or until your granddaughter’s untimely rape and death puts you there,” Finn pointed out. “Whatever Tobias Dawson’s done in the past, he’s decided to play hardball now—starting with Violet.”