(Elemental Assassin 01) Spider's Bite (18 page)

I paid for my dessert, walked over, and plopped my tray on the table.

“That seat’s taken,” Caine growled, without even looking up.

“Don’t worry, sugar, I won’t stay long.” I slid in across from him.

He recognized my soft voice. I could tell by the way his broad shoulders stiffened underneath the fabric of his white shirt. The way his whole body tensed. The way he gathered his strength down into the pit of his stomach, getting ready to strike.

Donovan Caine put his half-eaten sandwich down onto his plastic plate with slow, careful, calm movements. He laid his hands flat on the tabletop, then raised his hard gaze to mine.

I smiled. “Care if I join you?”

Donovan Caine didn’t panic. Didn’t sputter, scream, pull his gun, or do anything stupid that would get him dead. Instead, his hazel eyes narrowed, and he regarded me with a cool expression.

“You’re either the most daring assassin I’ve ever met or the stupidest.” His voice, a low, rich baritone, rumbled out of the deepest part of his chest.

My smile widened “You have to be both in my line of work.”

My quip was met with another flat stare. Donovan Caine needed to work on his sense of humor.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “To finish what you started the other night?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not here to kill you, detective. I just want to talk.”

Another hard look. Then his eyes dropped to the gun holstered on his belt. A brief flicker, a quick glance down and nothing more, but I saw it.

“If I were you, detective, I wouldn’t do anything stupid, like attempt to pull your gun.”

His body tensed, a coiled spring wound that much tighter. “Why not?”

I jerked my head toward the window. “See that black Caddy out there? The SUV?”

He nodded.

“One of my associates is in that vehicle. He happens to have several guns with him. If I don’t leave the restaurant in fifteen minutes, he’s going to start shooting the coeds over in the college quad. If I am impeded or followed, he’s going to start shooting coeds. If he gets bored or his nose itches, he’s going to start shooting coeds. Your choice, detective.”

I didn’t mention the fact I also had a knife palmed in my hand and that I could sever his femoral artery under the table quicker than he could draw his weapon. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though. I needed the detective, and right now he needed me as well, if he wasn’t too stubborn to see it.

Caine didn’t respond. Instead, he kept staring at me, as if he could discern the secrets to my character just by peering into my eyes. After a few moments, his gaze moved away from mine. Caine studied my face, hair, clothes, committing them to memory for later use. He’d probably have a new, better sketch of me circulating to the media in time for the six o’clock news. But the good detective wasn’t above checking out my breasts. A brief flicker, a quick glance down and nothing more, but I saw it.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Talk.”

I took a sip of my lemonade. Not nearly tart enough. “I have a proposition for you.”

Caine snorted. “Really? What would that be? Letting me choose my own death?”

“No,” I replied. “But I thought you might be interested in learning who paid me to kill Gordon Giles.”

His gaze sharpened. “You know who that is?”

“Not yet, but I’m going to find out.”

“Why?”

“Because they double-crossed me. They sent someone to take me out after I killed Giles.”

Caine laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that could have peeled paint off the walls. Several people stared at the detective. He waited until they turned their attention back to their half-eaten pieces of pie before he spoke again.

“Does that surprise you?” he asked. “The lack of honor among murderers?”

“No. But that they tried it with me does. I have a reputation. One that’s been tarnished by this incident. I’m going to correct that.”

“So you have a name,” Caine said in a flat tone. “Some stupid moniker that doesn’t mean anything to anyone but you.”

The name
the Spider
did mean something to me, but not in the way Donovan Caine thought. It had been Fletcher’s idea, and I’d gone along with it. He’d called me that because of the rune scars on my palms. He also said I’d reminded him of a spider when we’d first met—all thin arms and long legs hiding in a dark corner. The memory tugged at me, wanting to blossom into something more. But I curled my free hand into a tight fist and willed the unwanted emotions away. Now was not the time to show any sort of weakness.

“Care to tell me what that name is?” Caine asked.

“Some people call me the Spider.”

Assassins don’t exactly advertise, but lots of folks who dealt in the shady side of life knew my moniker, if nothing else. Donovan Caine was no exception. But the slight bulge of his eyes and the flare of his nostrils told me exactly who and what he was thinking about: Cliff Ingles. And whether or not I was the one who’d murdered him.

“If you’re wondering if I’m the one who killed your partner, the answer is yes.”

No reason to hide the information since Caine was considering the possibility already. Better to have it out in the open rather than have him be distracted by speculating about it. Especially when I needed Caine to focus on the matter at hand, which was finding the Air elemental so I could kill her. If the detective got all indignant and righteous about his slain partner, if he did something stupid, like go for his gun, I’d do him right here—no matter how much he might be able to help me. No matter how weary I might be of blood and death right now.

Caine leaned forward. Disgust and hate burned like hot coals in his eyes. “You killed Cliff Ingles, my partner, a cop, and you come in here with a proposition for me? Are you crazy or just stupid?”

“Neither. I hope you’re not too stupid to hear me out.” I also leaned forward, my eyes meeting his. The detective wasn’t the only one who could do the hard stare. “These people tried to kill me. That, I can understand. Being a target, being hit yourself, is a job hazard. But they weren’t content with just me. They killed my handler. Another one of my associates was almost beaten to death. In short, they framed me and then tried to tie up the loose ends. They crossed the line, even among murderers.”

Caine snorted again. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t want or need your sympathy. What I’m offering you is my help, detective.”

He leaned back in the booth, studying me, trying to read my eyes and face. But I’d learned a long time ago to keep my expression as blank as a piece of slate. Say nothing, do nothing, give nothing away you didn’t want or have to.

“Even if I were able to overlook the fact you murdered my partner and consider your offer, what would I get in return? Besides a knife in the back?”

I ignored his snide comment. “I have some information that might be useful in tracking down who’s behind the Gordon Giles hit. It’s not much, but it’s a place to start. Agree to work with me, feed me any leads or theories you have, and I’ll give my information to you—along with my other services. For free. A tit-for-tat situation.”

His eyes flicked to my breasts again before coming back to my face. “Other services?”

“You’re going to need help tracking down the people who did this—and dealing with them.”

Another snort. “Lady, I’m a cop. I can deal with these people on my own.”

My turn to scoff. “Really? Is that why Captain Stephenson did all the talking at the press conference outside the opera house? Is that why he stopped you from answering any questions? Is that why I’m being blamed for Gordon Giles’s murder, even though we both know I was fishing myself out of the Aneirin River when he was killed in that fake car accident? Face it, Caine, the whole Ashland police department is as dirty as a pair of three-week-old gym socks. Present company excluded, of course.”

He didn’t say anything.

I drew in a breath. “I had the chance to question some folks I ran into last night. Some of the people involved in this conspiracy. They all said the same thing. That somebody, some cop in the department, was helping them. Think about it. How quickly things happened. How fast my supposed connection to Giles was discovered, and my sketch plastered on television. And then there’s you, detective. That guy outside of the box wasn’t just going to pop Giles. He was going to do you, too. You have to know that. And now you know somebody in your precious police department was in on it. That he was okay with you getting dead. Somebody doesn’t like you very much, detective.”

Silence. Donovan Caine shifted in the booth. His index finger tapped out a pattern on the tabletop. A muscle twitched in his right cheek. He wanted to go for his gun. The desire to do it tightened his face, his whole body. His gaze flicked to the SUV outside, and he forced himself to keep his emotions in check. To relax an inch. I’d been right. Caine wasn’t the sort of cop who was okay with collateral damage. No matter how much he wanted to kill me right now.

“Do you really think these people are going to stop whatever they’re doing just because I get arrested, put in jail, or killed? Not in this city. Not with Mab Monroe running things. She could be the one who wanted Gordon Giles dead in the first place, although I’ll admit it’s doubtful at best.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because Mab Monroe tends to deal with these sorts of situations herself. It’s the only fucking thing I admire about her.”

The corner of Caine’s mouth lifted, and he grunted. He wasn’t going to argue that point.

“Think about my offer.” I cut off a sliver of my cake to keep up appearances, even though I had no intention of eating it. Too bad. The golden Mountain Dew cake looked scrumptious. “You were talking to Gordon Giles for a reason. Somebody didn’t like what they thought he might say to you and what you might do with the information. That’s why they killed him. Everything else is just decoration.”

He grimaced. “And what guarantee do I have you’re telling the truth? That this all isn’t some elaborate scheme to kill me?”

My lips drew back in a toothy grin. “Because if I wanted you dead, detective, I would have just stabbed you at the opera house—or I could put my knife in your throat right now.”

He tightened up again.

I gave him a cool stare. “But I’m not going to do that. I want to get to the bottom of this, and you’re the only person who can help me. Face it, Caine. We need each other—whether we like it or not.”

My time was up. I slid out of the booth and got to my feet. “You have a few hours to think it over. If you agree to my proposal, turn your front porch light on at six o’clock tonight. I’ll bring the evidence I have, and we can work out further terms. Double-cross me, and you’ll end up like Gordon Giles—naked, burned to a crisp, and lying on a cold steel slab at the morgue.”

“And if I don’t agree? Don’t want to work with you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Then don’t. Just stay the hell out of my way.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” I said, backing toward the front door. “Just the way things are. Someone was very determined to kill Gordon Giles without implicating herself, and so far, she’s pulled it off. In my experience, determined people have a way of succeeding. And this time, I’m the one who’s determined. I’m going to find who’s responsible for this, detective. You can work with me, and I’ll let you have the dirty cop. Or you can wade through the blood and bodies after I’m done. Your choice.”

Caine stared at me, his face unreadable. I nodded at him, then turned and walked out into the blazing sunlight. 

13

Finn saw me exit the Cake Walk and eased the black SUV in my direction. I listened for the sound of the bell over the front door. Even though I’d admitted to killing his partner, Donovan Caine wasn’t charging after me, gun drawn and screaming—yet.

Neither of the two men tailing him looked in my direction. The first man was deep into the sports section of the newspaper, while his buddy had stopped hitting on the coeds long enough to buy a pretzel from a vendor. I eyed the second man, committing his features to memory. A short guy, with thinning black hair, a thick neck, and a strong, stocky body. He grinned at the pretzel vendor, showing off a set of fangs. A vampire. One who wasn’t very big on personal hygiene, judging from the yellow tint to his teeth.