even during the job. It was always better to do a job on an empty stomach—especially the first time you went solo.
I let her get halfway through her food before I asked the inevitable question. “So how was it?”
I watched her face carefully, looking for any sign of guilt or fear or disgust. By now, the girl had had time to really think about what she’d done, and I didn’t want her emotions to start gnawing at her. But no guilt flashed in her eyes and no self-loathing twisted her fair features. Instead, she sat there and the counter, chewed her food, and thought about my question.
“It went okay,” Gin finally said. “I don’t think that I did very well at convincing them that I was a runaway. I was too angry about what they were doing to really play the part like you told me too.”
Her self-analysis was spot-on. Her acting could have used some work, but she’d gotten the job done in the end. And next time, I knew that she’d make an effort to correct her mistake tonight. I only had to tell Gin something once, and she did it, without hesitating and without asking questions.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter now, does it?” I asked. “The Fontaine brothers are dead, and you’re not. I’d say that makes the evening a grand success.”
I hesitated, not quite sure how to say what I really wanted to—or how it might sound to a sixteen-year-old girl who’d just killed two men. In the end, I decided on the direct approach. I’d never been one for smooth words, not like my son, Finnegan. That boy could charm the wings off a butterfly.
“I’m proud of you, Gin.”
“Really?” she asked in a soft, shy voice. “Really and truly, Fletcher? I did good tonight?”
I nodded. “Really and truly. You did real good tonight, Gin. What you did will at least give Victor Wong some peace. That’s all the poor man can hope for at this point.”
She smiled then, and it was as if the moon had suddenly burst into the Pork Pit, bathing everything in its soft, silver light. Still smiling, Gin turned her attention back to her food.
I decided to let her eat the rest of her meal in peace, so I picked up my book once more. But I couldn’t quite focus on the words—or hide the proud grin that quirked my lips.
Oh, yes. The girl was a natural-born assassin.
And I was going to make her the very best there was. So she could do what needed to be done—for herself and for her sister Bria.
One day, Gin Blanco was going to grow up and kill Mab Monroe. And I, Fletcher Lane, the Tin Man, was going to help her every step of the way.
