(Elemental Assassin 01) Spider's Bite (24 page)

I snorted. Wanting something I couldn’t have. Thinking about Fletcher’s plea to retire. Dreaming about a vacation. Feeling old, tired, run-down. I was turning into a fucking cliché. Next thing you’d know I’d be in therapy—or back in Ashland Asylum with the rest of the crazies.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and pulled on a pair of navy sweatpants, a matching long-sleeved T-shirt, and thick socks. A wide-tooth comb smoothed the snarls out of my wet hair. I leaned forward and dropped my chin, staring into the mirror. Jo-Jo’s roots weren’t the only ones that were showing. Maybe this time I’d just let my hair go back to its natural color.

The thought surprised me, and the comb caught in a tangle hidden deep in my damp locks. I couldn’t remember the last time my hair had just been my hair, and not teased, dyed, or cut short for some job, some persona, some role I was playing. I wasn’t entirely sure I remembered the exact color it really was. For some reason that bothered me.

I dropped my eyes from the mirror, finished with the comb, opened the bathroom door, and padded out into the den. Finn still sat at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop. He probably hadn’t moved the whole time I’d been in the shower, except to drag his computer closer.

Donovan Caine had made himself comfortable. He leaned back against one of the thick cushions on the sofa. A dish towel filled with ice covered his right eye, and an old black-and-white movie flickered on the television in front of him.
Jezebel
with Bette Davis. Caine moved the ice to the other eye and winced.

“Want me to look at your face?” I asked the detective. “I’m pretty good at patching people up.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed. “When she’s not killing them.”

Donovan Caine grimaced at his bad joke. But evidently the detective wasn’t afraid of me and what I could do to him, because he got to his feet.

“Sure,” he said. “It can’t feel much worse than it does right now.”

He could be dead and not feeling anything at all, but I let the matter slide.

Caine followed me into the spare bathroom, and I directed him to sit on the closed toilet lid while I fetched one of the tubs of healing ointment Jo-Jo Deveraux had given me.

“Spread your legs,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

I gestured to his legs. “Open your legs, so I can shimmy in between them. I can get to your face easier that way.”

“Oh. Right.”

The detective spread his legs wide, and I got down on my knees in front of him. Once again, the warmth of his body washed over me. Despite all the blood he’d come into contact with, the detective still smelled of soap. Squeaky clean to the bitter end. I’d never thought such a simple aroma could be so intoxicating. But Donovan Caine smelled so good I wanted to bury my face against his neck and just breathe in his scent. Mmm.

I grabbed the tub off the counter. The only marking on the white container was Jo-Jo’s cloud rune painted in a vivid blue on top of the lid. I unscrewed it, and the soothing smell of vanilla wafted up out of the tub. In addition to healing with their hands, Air elementals like Jo-Jo could also infuse their magic into other products, like this ointment, and give them a little extra kick.

I dipped my hand into the ointment. It felt warm and slick against my fingers, and tingles spread up into my hands and arms, just like they did when Jo-Jo worked her magic on me. The spider rune scars on my palms didn’t itch and burn quite as bad as they had in the salon, mainly because the magic in the ointment wasn’t as strong as Jo-Jo’s raw, undiluted power. But it would do the job on Donovan Caine’s bruised face.

I leaned forward and brought my anointed fingers near his face. Caine flinched and jerked back just before I touched him. What did he think I was going to do? Come up with a knife and slash his jugular? As if I would have made such a mess in my own apartment. As if I couldn’t have killed him half a dozen times already tonight.

It was late, and I was tired. So I grabbed Donovan’s chin, yanked his head down when he tried to pull away, and rubbed the ointment into his skin. After a few seconds, the healing, Air elemental magic started working on him. The bruises on his face yellowed and faded, while the cuts closed themselves up. Donovan felt his injuries easing and relaxed—as much as he could with his partner’s killer within arm’s reach.

“You have a very firm grip,” Caine said. “Very hard. Very strong.”

“Is that a compliment?”

He shrugged. “Just an observation.”

I massaged ointment into the rest of his face, including his lips. The lower one had been split, and I swiped my thumb across the wound the way a lover might. Donovan stiffened at the intimate contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, the detective studied me as I worked. His flat cop eyes took in everything from my posture to the circular motion of my hands to my breathing. Filing the information away for future use. When our truce was over, and he could come after me like he really wanted to—guns blazing.

“What’s that on your hand?” he asked. “It looks like silver.”

The rune. He must have seen one of the silverstone spider runes burned into my palms. The small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. Something else he didn’t need to know about. I curled my fingers into a loose fist.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just an old scar. I’ve got lots of them.”

“I bet you do,” he murmured.

I finished with the ointment, stood up, and handed the detective a bottle of superstrength aspirin. “You might want to take a few of these too.”

He took the bottle from my hands, careful not to touch my skin. His amber eyes caught and held my gray ones. I leaned against the sink, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited for him to say whatever he wanted to say.

“Thanks,” Caine muttered. You’d think he was coughing up a lung the way he forced the word out between his clenched teeth. “For everything tonight. As weird and as wrong as it is, I wouldn’t be sitting here now if it weren’t for you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He nodded, accepting my cool graciousness. “But don’t think tonight changes anything between us. After we find the elemental, I’m bringing you in for Cliff Ingles’s murder—whatever it takes, dead or alive. Don’t forget that.”

I turned on the hot water and washed my hands. “Don’t worry, detective, I haven’t forgotten about your vendetta. But you should remember what I did to those men in your cabin. Because I won’t hesitate to do the same to you the second you get in my way. Understood?”

Donovan Caine watched smears of his blood drip off my hands and disappear down the sink. “Understood.”

Caine swallowed a couple of aspirin and returned to the den. I screwed the top back on Jo-Jo’s healing ointment and followed him. The detective seated himself on the sofa again. He might hate me, but at least he wasn’t shy.

While we were in the bathroom, Finn had made himself a cup of chicory coffee. The rich, caffeine fumes drifted to my nose, and my stomach rumbled.

“Finn? Late-night snack?” I moved into the kitchen.

“Sandwich,” he said, not even bothering to look up from the blue glow of his monitor. “But not turkey this time. Something else. Different bread too. Surprise me.”

“Yes, master.”

I grabbed a loaf of Sophia Deveraux’s homemade sourdough bread I’d swiped from the Pork Pit, several bananas, and the peanut butter and sourwood honey out of the cabinets, along with some canned pumpkin. First, I mixed the peanut butter and pumpkin together, producing a rich, creamy spread, which I slathered onto the bread. I topped the mixture with sliced bananas and drizzled honey over the fruit. As a finishing touch, I sprinkled some cinnamon on top of the whole thing, then topped it with another slice of bread.

I tore off a paper towel and handed it and the sandwich to Finn, who sank his teeth into the thick bread with obvious enthusiasm. Donovan Caine didn’t move from the couch. I stared at him, wondering who’d be the first to end this Mexican standoff.

Caine looked at Finn’s disappearing sandwich. “That looks good. Would you fix me one of those? Please?”

“Sure.”

I made him a sandwich, then one for me, and a couple more for whoever got to them first. Donovan moved over to the table and sat next to Finn, while I got a gallon of milk out of the fridge and plucked some mugs out of the cabinet. I set the mugs on the table, then wrapped my hand around one of them and reached for my magic. Ice crystals frosted the container, guaranteeing that whatever was poured inside would stay cold. I repeated the process on the other two glasses.

Donovan stilled, and his hazel eyes narrowed at the small display of magic. “You’re an elemental. An Ice.”

I shrugged. “I have a little bit of magic, detective. That’s all. Hardly worth mentioning.”

Finn eyed me. He knew I had more than just a little magic, but for once he didn’t contradict me.

I finished with the mugs and slid Caine’s sandwich over to him. He picked it up but hesitated before biting down into it, as though just looking at the food I’d prepared was enough to make him keel over and start foaming at the mouth. He should have known by now that poison really wasn’t my forte. A cheap, theatrical device, just like blackmail.

The detective chewed and swallowed. Surprise spread across his face. “This is really good.”

“Better than the Cake Walk?” I asked.

He didn’t look at me. “Not better, just different.”

Finn elbowed the detective in the side. “I told you Gin makes the best sandwiches around.”

Donovan didn’t respond, but he took another bite and poured himself some milk.

I grabbed my own sandwich and milk, and joined the two men at the table. The peanut butter, pureed pumpkin, and banana wove a thick texture together, while the honey and cinnamon added a touch of tart sweetness to the mix. Perfect.

“Any new leads?” I asked Finn after I’d eaten half my sandwich.

He shook his head and wiped his fingers on one of the paper towels. “Not really. My contacts sent me some new intel on Halo Industries and the James sisters. I’ve scanned through it, but nothing’s popped out at me yet. Maybe in the morning when I’m fresher.”

My gray eyes flicked to the detective. “I think it’s time you told us what you and Gordon Giles were talking about at the opera house.”

Caine nodded. “Yeah, it probably is.”

I was mildly surprised he was giving in so easily. Perhaps my sandwich really was that good. Or maybe the detective had finally realized working with us was his best option at this point. His only option, really.

Caine finished his sandwich, drained his milk, and started his story. “Gordon Giles contacted me about three months ago. Said he had information about a major embezzlement scandal at Halo Industries. Said he would give me all the information I needed to put several people away for a long time, if I would promise him protection.”

“Why did he come to you?” Finn asked. “You’re a homicide detective. White-collar crime isn’t your specialty.”

“Giles said it went beyond embezzling, that someone was using the money for some pretty nasty things. Bribes, payoffs.” Caine’s gaze shot to me. “Contract killings.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

“Giles said he’d been collecting information for months,” Caine continued. “He was supposed to give me the info at the opera house, and I was supposed to set him up in a safe house.”

“Let me guess. All the information was stored on a flash drive, the one the men at your cabin wanted you to give to them,” I finished.

Caine nodded again.

“Did you tell anyone about Giles?” I asked. “Did anyone in the police department know you were meeting with him?”

“I told my captain, Wayne Stephenson, what Giles wanted a few weeks ago. He brought a few other guys into the loop. Depending on what Giles gave us, Stephenson said he might set up a task force to look into the embezzling.”

Caine rubbed his hand over his head. But he didn’t protest once again that Wayne Stephenson had absolutely nothing to do with the Air elemental. Maybe he’d had time to think about it. Or maybe the shock of the betrayal was wearing off, and the anger was setting in. But Caine had come around on this point. Good. It would make things easier if he wasn’t protesting Stephenson’s innocence every step of the way.

So Stephenson had known about the meeting. Odds were the police captain had tipped-off the Air elemental to the fact that Gordon Giles was turning state’s evidence. Maybe she’d bribed Stephenson to keep her informed. Maybe she had something on him. Either way, he’d blown the whistle. That’s when the elemental had come up with her plan and decided on her radical course of action involving me, Finn, and Fletcher. Caine had probably been thrown in as a bonus, so he couldn’t point the finger back at Stephenson.

I looked at Finn. He’d put it together too. He nodded, telling me he’d start digging into Wayne Stephenson.

“Did Giles say who was involved in the embezzling?” I asked.

“No,” Caine said. “Although I suspected it might be Haley James. Giles mentioned her name several times. Like Finn said, this isn’t my area of expertise. Giles fed me a few leads, teased me with some information, but that’s it. That’s all I know. Your turn.”

Finn started. “Our turn? To share?”

“Try not to cry, Finn,” I said. “Show him what we’ve got.”

Finn spread out the IDs we’d taken off the dead guards and showed them to the detective. Caine didn’t recognize any of the men, but he agreed the IDs were fake and probably wouldn’t lead us anywhere. So Finn fished out the gold chain with the triangular tooth rune. The polished jet soaked up the soft kitchen light like a black sponge.

“Interesting,” Caine murmured, studying the rune. “I’ve never seen this particular rune before, and I keep up with the symbols on all the gangs in town.”

“I think our Air elemental constitutes a little more than a mere gang,” Finn pointed out.

Caine grunted his agreement.

“We also have this.” I slid over the business card. “You had two guys tailing you at lunch. One of them passed his card to some college girls. Finn’s digging for info on him right now.”

Caine picked it up. “Charles Carlyle? I thought I recognized him. He cleans up nicer than I remember.”