Blackstone:Spider: Blackstone

1

My life hasn't exactly been conventional. Parents are luxuries that I could never afford. At least the ones I was dealt. People talk about parents as if they are bestowed with saintly virtues by the simple act of sperm fertilizing egg, when it takes a hell of a lot more than that to actually function as a parent.

Mine never got the hang of it.

My father was nothing more than your average sperm donor. My mother took crazy to a whole new level. A master of the art.

Most of the time, even from my youngest years, I had to be the one taking care of her. Between mania and paranoia, I never knew which side she was going to show on which particular day. The one thing I knew set her off every time was the mention of my father or the woman who he'd cheated on when he slept with my mother.

Any mention of Judith Holland sent my mother into a frenzy of screaming, showing out, crying, hair pulling—hers, not mine. It took days after one of these episodes before she got herself together enough to function.

I'm sorry, I don't care how good the dick is, I'm not going to throw myself over for a man like that, ever. No piece of ass or orgasm is worth that kind of drama. None.

The worst part of the entire situation was that he hadn't even been faithful to my mother. He had gone back and forth for a couple of years. First my older brother was born, then me. Our father hadn't stayed around after he'd gotten her pregnant. No, he'd tried to go back to his wife who had kicked him out when my mother had gone over there super pregnant with me and confronted her.

For years, I struggled, wanting to meet my older sister. Fear that if I did that, my mother would find out, kept me from looking up my sister. Unfortunately, there hadn't been just one woman. My father got around. He was prolific with spreading his seed all over the Florida coastal town we lived in: Redd Port. No, lie. Until I started looking into the situation with a fine-toothed comb, I was afraid to date. Who wants to fall in love with someone then realize the one getting you off in the back of the car on a Saturday night is their goddamned brother? Not me. I'm already scarred enough.

After my mother passed away, I decided there wasn't any real reason for me to stay away from the others. I'd make contact, but if they didn't want anything to do with me—then I’d shrug it off. No big deal. I was used to being on my own and taking care of only me. Reaching out went outside of my comfort zone. Unless it was business, then I was rather the queen at the center of my web.

So, why did I find myself standing on my sister's porch in Cooper's Inlet while her dog barked his fool head off?

That's a bit of a story in itself.

It all started with a text I thought was from some rando, who got the wrong number.

Nothing about the message at first was very telling. The person asked me how my day went. Did I have plans? Wrong number I thought, since no one in my very limited inner circle would have dared send me a message like that. Then the creepy shit started.

I know what you did.

A chill moved through me when I read those words. I have quite a few skeletons in my closet and not all of them rattle when I open the door. Some of them just hang there with their empty accusing eye sockets staring out from the abyss of my past. I've buried them over and over and they have a way of resurrecting themselves to haunt me at unexpected moments.

The door opened, and I was faced with a woman who looked so much like me it was downright scary. I mean, she looked like me but a softer version. I had piercings and tattoos. Her skin looked as if it had never even seen sunlight it was so perfect and creamy.

Bitch.

Most of my tattoos were placed to cover the scars that never quite healed right. My mother believed that sparing the rod was a grave mistake. And once she got going, she had a hard time stopping until she'd spent her energy. Believe me when I say that crazy energy comes from a bottomless well.

My sister blinked big, blue eyes at me.

I knew the exact moment her brain engaged. Hello.

Hi. I'm Spider. Your sister. Aren’t you going to invite me in? Then I stepped inside without her even acknowledging my question. That was my way—bold and brash. I'd discovered at an early age that only suckers stood back and waited. All others made their own path, even if they had to mow people down to do it.

Come in, the sarcastic greeting hit me square in the shoulder blades and I respected it. I found a little smile that I didn't turn to show her.

Then again, I'd been following her exploits over the past few weeks. My network had let me know what she was up to, and I was rather impressed by the fact she managed to crack open a case the police failed to for thirty years.

All right, so she had a little silent help from moi, but I digress.

I ran my hand along the back of her sofa and studied the boxes stacked in the living room. I turned to her. My gaze dropped down to the rather large mutt with the dopey expression standing next to her.

You're moving?

Yes. Then she flipped her hand like a game show beauty and offered me a seat. What can I do for you?

Let's call this a little repayment for something I did for you.

Surprise lifted her brows a fraction before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Oh, she was good. If I hadn't been studying her face so closely, I wouldn't have noticed. Repayment for what?

Judith Holland got what she deserved, but not by who you think. I quoted the note I'd sent to the cops over month before.

And watched her face go pale.

2

Dahlia might have wobbled a little at hearing that. She came around the end of the sofa and sat down in the opposite corner but facing me with her hands limp in her lap. The dog followed and placed his head on her leg. He whined, staring at her with his huge, soulful eyes.

Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. You sent the note? Or someone told you about it?

Interesting that she wanted to make the distinction.

Does it matter? Is knowing who wrote and sent it going to change the outcome? I shook my head. Tell me you would have done one thing differently if you had known the author.

She stared at me with those big, blue eyes full of a thousand, roiling thoughts. No, not on essentials. But it might have helped uncover things more quickly. Might not have had me facing a loaded gun at close range. Might have saved the lives of two other people.

All right, that was rather unfortunate. A slight miscalculation on my part. I'd never intended for Greg Gentry or Peter Jane to die. As a matter of fact, of the two, I honestly liked Gentry better. He was a garbage human at times, but I never questioned his loyalty to me. Peter Jane had too many scruples to be truly useful. Odd for a journalist in these troubled times, I know. I mean, I didn't want to see him dead. He didn't deserve that harsh of a punishment, but he didn't exactly make himself available to my network.

I lifted a shoulder and stared at her. Gentry lived on the edge of a knife since before either you or I were born. Peter Jane pissed off the wrong people way too often for his own good.

Incredulousness heightened the color on Dahlia’s cheeks and dropped her jaw a bit. My fault. I baited her when what I really wanted was her cooperation. I'd been told on more than one occasion that my people skills sucked. They were right. I acknowledged the statement as fact.

I lifted my hand and brushed at the air as if erasing that part of the conversation. Off track, but I understand what you're saying. They aren't the reason I'm here. And this part really chapped my rather perky ass.

My network had clammed up. The threads of my web lay broken and floating on the wind.

Dahlia lifted her brows again, waiting for me to come clean but didn’t ask me to tell her. My sister's body language practically screamed her thoughts.

Right. It's like this: I need help.

A tilt of her head. What with?

Wow. Just like that. Not that she said she was in, but she wanted to hear more. She didn't throw me out or call the cops. She simply asked for more information.

I pulled out my phone and showed her the text I'd gotten. Information has been hard to come by. The phone was a burner. I can't access the buyer, or the number.

A frown at the screen, then she cut her gaze to lock with mine. Do you have any idea what this means?

Time to reveal a little of myself, but not all. She wasn't ready for the full Spider. Not specifically, no.

Then that's going to be a problem.

And you'd be right. I sighed. My normal eddies of information have dried up and skipped on me. The only avenue I have left is you and your boyfriend. The two of you didn't do a bad job of flushing out your mother's killer. I figured at this point I have nothing to lose.

Which was a lie. I could very much end up as dead as Jude Holland. Not for the same reason, but dead, nonetheless.

Cal Sharpe had a lot of information he held onto that helped.

I nodded. You mean about Jesse being a government agent? Yeah, I get it. Wasn't his tale to tell. More people would have gotten hurt if he spoke up. This is different. This is a total stone wall.

The fact I knew about Jesse shocked her. I'd gotten the drop on him about four years before—not even sure now who spilled the tea on that one. It wasn't nearly as earth-shattering as the informant had anticipated. At least not that I'd let them know at the time. I'd only smiled smugly as if I'd already known.

Dahlia passed my phone back to me and got out her own and sent a text. Nathan Delacorte. I'll see what he says and what he can do.

Thanks, I appreciate it. And I did. That wasn't a lie. Other than moving back to Redd Port, what's your life like? I mean, I know you're an artist.

Might as well get the small talk out of the way while we waited.

The dog turned and looked at me. I don't think he trusted me. Not a big deal. Most pets didn't like me. I think it was the DNA I got from my mother they sensed. She wasn't a pet person either.

A sick, horrible memory rose from out of the darkness of my childhood. One I tried very hard to suppress. My lungs attempted to close, and I had a hard time swallowing as my throat took a similar track. Hell, it had been a while since I'd had an attack so bad. Black spots started to curl in from the corners of my vision.

The dog whined and took a few cautious steps toward me. When I didn't lose the tight grip of my fists in my lap, he moved closer still and put his head in my lap and looked up at me.

The soft, velvety fuzz of fur under his flappy jowls rested against my hands in a gentle pressure that begged me to feel it, use the tactile stimulation to calm me.

Spider? Are you, all right?

Dahlia's voice came from the end of a long tunnel. How was I supposed to tell her when I didn't even want to remember?

The dog licked my hand. Finally, I was able to open my fingers and turned one hand over to cradle his slobbery face.

Slowly, the tension started to ease out of me, and normal breathing resumed. I'm all right.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Since it had nothing to do with me, I asked her the dog's name.

Da Vinci.

I should have figured it would be the name of a famous artist. You're a bit of all right, Da Vinci.

As if in answer, he climbed up onto my lap. It was the first time in my life I'd ever been dog wallowed.

3

Da Vinci was a heavy mutt. Not to mention, his head was as big as a damn globe. I tried to look around him to see Dahlia, but every time I moved, he did, too. The only thing I saw was the up close and personal view of his choppers. And believe me, the dog had a set of pearly whites that were a testimonial for doggie dentistry.

Since I didn't know what else to do, I put my arm around him and started to pet him. Even more tension I didn't know I carried ran out of my body with that simple act. No wonder there were studies that said dog owners lived longer—actually, I think that was said about pets in general. But whatever.

Dahlia's phone beeped with an incoming text. Nathan said he'd do what he can to help.

Of course, he did. He loved her.

I knew that much from watching them together.

All right, confession time. Yes, I liked to watch people that interested me before I ever made contact. I equated it to how someone studies the patterns of the swinging ropes, before they jump in to double Dutch. The need to come in at just the right moment and not disrupt the pattern is of the utmost importance.

I didn't like surprises. They made me nervous.

Growing up the way I did, surprises were usually not something that was a good thing.

I self-consciously rubbed my hand where one such surprise had almost ended up in a full degloving of my left hand. It took months of surgery and physical therapy to get full use back. The only saving grace was that I was young at the time and still growing. Well, that and the fact I am right hand dominant. The worst part of the surprise was that my mother beat the shit out of me for getting blood all over the carport.

I have no idea what she expected me to do when the skin was hanging off my hand like shredded material.

Da Vinci leaned over and licked my face in a hesitant and ginger manner. I looked up at him and our gazes locked. And I knew that pup realized my scars were so deep and engrained that it would take an entire kennel of guys like him to heal me.

You know, you can push him off your lap.

He's fine. Only making it difficult to breathe.

Do you have any pets?

Now, why had she asked that question?

I cleared my throat. No. Not at present.

Better to leave it like that than to admit I was conditioned to not even want one. That trait had been beaten and terrified out of me. Odd how my mother had been dead for five years, and I still hadn't gone to a shelter to adopt. But then again, what did I know about caring about anything but myself?

Lord knew none of my relationships with humans ever worked out. If they had, I wouldn't be crawling to my half-sister and her boyfriend for help.

You only see the bad in people.

I heard those words in my head as if he'd said them only yesterday—instead of two years ago. Damn, had it really been that long?

Of course, it was. Hell, I even pretended to myself that it didn't matter. But it had. He had.

Do you live in Redd Port?

Yes. Don't ask me why. I should have put distance between myself and that town years ago. I gave a reluctant laugh at the thought of ever pulling up stakes and moving elsewhere to start over.

It had merit, especially now.

It's hard to when you have connections. Dahlia snapped her fingers a few times and Da Vinci jumped down. I guessed she was tired of looking over his big noggin to see me. Me, I left because the memories there were too painful.

I pointed at the stacked boxes. But now they aren't?

She took a deep breath. Things change.

Yes, they did.

What are you going to do with the place? I looked around it. Not my style as far as color and decorations, but it was still a nice layout. Small. Easy to clean. Had all the essentials. What wasn't to like about it.

Rent it out for a while, then decide.

All right, that put my pulse up a few notches. If I could get out of town and lay low for a while, maybe it would give them time to flush out my tormentor.

Not that I had ever ran from a problem in my life. No, I generally created the problems for other people to clean up.

Karma.

And it was, indeed, a bitch.

Are there any jobs around here? Seems a pretty quiet little burg. Like most small towns, those who lived in Cooper’s Inlet probably drove to another place to work that was bigger or had a bit more industry.

Some. Gatlin is close and has some small manufacturing plants. It's definitely what you'd call a bedroom community.

I didn't quite know what that meant, but I nodded