Elemental Assassin 02 - Web of Lies (4 page)

Xavier shrugged. “Your choice. Just don’t expect much to come of it.”

He clinked the silverstone handcuffs around Jake’s wrists and yanked the Fire elemental up to his feet. The abrupt motion snapped Jake out of his blinking trance, and he looked over his shoulder at the cop, then back at me. It took a few seconds for the reality of the situation to penetrate his thick skull.

“You called the cops? You’re going to pay for this, bitch!” Jake screamed.

He surged forward, trying to break free of Xavier and get at me. But Xavier easily restrained him with one hand.

Hard to break a giant’s grip.

But instead of staying where I was, I stepped around the counter and walked over to Jake. This time, I let him see just how cold and flat and hard my gray eyes really were. “You’re the one who’s going to pay when Daddy finds out you’re knocking over restaurants—or trying to. Piss poor job you did, all the way around.”

“Bitch!” he screamed again. “You’re gonna die for this! Do you hear me? You’re dead!”

Jake lunged forward again, but the giant cop jerked him back by the scruff of his neck—none too gently.

Xavier winked at me, and I smiled. I was starting to like Xavier. I’d have to slip him an extra C-note or two the next time I saw him working the door at Northern Aggression.

“Come on, Jake,” Xavier rumbled. “Let’s get you in the squad car so you can call your old man to come bail you out.”

Xavier pushed Jake McAllister and his friend Lance through the front door and into the back of a waiting cruiser. The other cop, the short guy, took statements from Cassidy and Eva. He’d just finished talking with the girls when the front door of the Pork Pit opened and another cop stepped inside. A tall Hispanic man with short black hair, bronze skin, and eyes the color of smoky whiskey.

Detective Donovan Caine.

The majority of cops in Ashland might be known for their apathy and avarice, but Donovan Caine was a rare exception to the rule. He fought against the rampant corruption, bribes, and payoffs most of the police force took to look the other way and actually tried to catch criminals. And the detective really did believe in all that protect and serve, touchy-feely stuff.

My path had first crossed Caine’s several months ago when I’d assassinated Cliff Ingles, his corrupt partner. In addition to forcing money and sexual freebies out of vampire hookers while he was on duty, Ingles had viciously raped and beaten one of the prostitutes’ teenage daughters.

Even among the scum in Ashland, Cliff Ingles had been a real prince, and I’d done him pro bono. My own sort of public service.

Donovan Caine hadn’t known how dirty his partner was and became obsessed with catching Cliff Ingles’s killer—me. Of course, the trail had gone cold, since I was nothing if not professional, but that hadn’t kept Caine from keeping the case alive and digging for information every few weeks.

Then our paths had crossed again—and in person—two months ago when I’d been framed for the murder of a corporate whistle-blower named Gordon Giles.

Some nasty people thought the detective had information that could implicate them in the subsequent scheme and cover-up, and they’d been beating it out of him when I’d shown up and taken them out. After that, Donovan Caine had reluctantly joined forces with me to find the real killer.

During the course of our investigation, we’d had a hot one-night stand—well, more like a hot one-hour stand—a couple months ago, but nothing since. The detective’s Boy Scout mentality was a sticking point between us. I found his morals admirable, if impractical, in a city as dirty, violent, and corrupt as Ashland. He found my lack of said morals and zero remorse for all the bloody things I’d done in my former profession disturbing, to say the least.

Still, the attraction between us had been intense, and the hurried sex we’d had in a supply closet had been fantastic.

I’d only seen the detective once since then, at my mentor, Fletcher Lane’s, funeral. Caine had come to offer his condolences and check up on me. I’d kissed him right there in the cemetery. Afterward, he’d bounded away from me like a scared rabbit.

I hadn’t seen or spoken to the detective since then. I thought about him a lot, though. More than I wanted to.

And now here he was in my gin joint, in my little corner of the city.

Donovan Caine sensed my gaze and raised his head.

Our eyes locked, gold on gray. My chest tightened, and the familiar heat flooded my veins, pooling in my stomach before sinking lower. I eyed the detective’s navy coat.

The wool fabric draped over his shoulders and hinted at his lean, hard body beneath. I remembered the feel of that hard body. His mouth pressed against mine, our tongues crashing together. Hands clawing at each other’s clothes.

The crisp, clean scent of him filling my nose. The way he’d murmured my name over and over like a curse—or the answer to a prayer—as he’d thrust into me, quick and hard and deep. Mmm.

The short cop saw me staring at the detective. He walked over, murmured something to Caine, and jerked his head in my direction. Probably pointing me out as the owner and prime witness. Most women, most left-behind lovers, would have stalked forward and demanded to know what Donovan Caine was doing here.

Why he hadn’t so much as called. Instead, I leaned one elbow against the counter and remained nonchalant, even though my stomach clenched at the sight of him.

Patience was one of my virtues. Always had been. The detective would come to me soon enough.

Less than a minute later, Caine finished his quiet conversation with the other cop and walked in my direction.

He stopped about a foot away, his golden eyes taking in my grease-stained blue apron, worn jeans, and longsleeved T-shirt. Two scarlet tomatoes decorated the top of the black cotton.

“Gin.”

“Detective.”

We stood there staring at each other. An invisible electric current hummed between us, firing off sparks of hot desire in every direction. I breathed in. The detective’s clean, soapy scent filled my nose, overpowering the cumin, red pepper, and other spices in the air. Donovan looked away and cleared his throat.

He jerked his head, and I followed him to the far side of the restaurant, out of earshot of everyone else.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked in a low voice.

“You want to tell me why you’re here?” I countered.

“Detectives don’t usually come out for Southtown robberies, especially those that are thwarted.”

Donovan stared at me. “All right. I asked dispatch to let me know if there were any incidents at the Pork Pit.”

“Why? Afraid I might take to killing people in my own place of business? You must not have gotten the memo, but I’ve retired, detective.”

His black eyebrows drew together in surprise. “Retired?”

I nodded. “Retired. Now I spend my days here at the Pork Pit serving up the best barbecue, cole slaw, and blackberry iced tea in Ashland.”

Some emotion flared in his amber eyes. It might have been relief or even hope, but it was gone before I could decipher it. “Well, good for you, I suppose.”

I shrugged. My quitting the assassin business wasn’t good or bad. Fletcher Lane had been after me to retire for months before his murder. After his death, I’d decided to honor the old man’s final wish. Nothing more, nothing less. But as my eyes slid down Donovan Caine’s body, I couldn’t help but wonder if my revelation would be enough to get the detective back into my bed. Certainly couldn’t hurt.

Donovan dug a pen and notepad out of his hip pocket.

“So tell me about it.”

I recapped the events of the last hour. After I finished, Caine stilled, his pen frozen on his notepad, turning over something in his mind. Then he raised his golden eyes to me.

“Why didn’t you kill them?” he asked in a soft voice.

“We both know you could have.”

“Easily,” I agreed. “But one of the girls was on the floor next to me.”

“And you didn’t want her to see you do it?”

I shrugged. “Witnesses are bad, detective. I’ve told you that before.”

He snorted. “And here I thought you were developing a heart.”

Disappointment tinged his words. I ignored the longing the sound stirred in me.

“Oh, I’ve always had a heart, detective,” I replied in a breezy tone. “I just don’t let it keep me from doing what needs to be done. That would be weak, and I’m not weak. Haven’t been in a long time.”

“No, weak is one thing you’re definitely not.” Donovan eyed me. “You may be retired, but you really haven’t changed at all, have you, Gin?”

“That depends on your definition of
change
. Am I suddenly going to morph into a soccer mom or a bleeding heart who lets people walk all over her? No, and I don’t want to. But I’ve reevaluated my life, my priorities, and I’ve decided to change them accordingly. That being said, if somebody pushes me, comes at me like those two clowns did, I’m going to push back—three times as hard. Being an assassin has been my way of life since I was thirteen, detective. I’m not going to forget what I did for the last seventeen years just because I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I see.”

This time, the disappointment was as sharp as one of the silverstone knives hidden up my sleeves. Donovan Caine still wanted me, but he wanted his conscience to be clear about it too. I wasn’t the only one who needed to change.

Caine cleared his throat. “You know who the blond kid is?”

“Jake McAllister. Jonah McAllister’s nearest and dearest. The giant cop told me—then asked if I still wanted to press charges.”

Donovan looked at the cop, who could be seen standing on the sidewalk through the storefront windows.

“Xavier? He’s a good guy. Probably thought he was doing you a favor, letting you know about the kid and his connections. Because Jonah McAllister isn’t going to like this. He could cause a lot of trouble for you.”

“If he does, I’ll handle it the way I always do. Quickly. Efficiently. Permanently.”

“The way you always do? I thought you were trying to change.”

“I am,” I replied. “But white trash is still white trash, detective. Nobody comes into my restaurant, tries to hold up the place, and threatens my customers. I don’t care who his daddy is.”

We stared at each other. Not for the first time, I longed to draw the detective close, to pull his lips down to mine and see if the sex would be as hot and hard and good as it had been before. We’d certainly have more room to maneuver on one of the tables than we’d had in the supply closet. Mmm.

But I wasn’t going to make the first move. I’d done that before. If the detective wanted me, he could let me know.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Donovan Caine stared at me, his eyes tracing over my features, as if he was memorizing them. As if he was never planning on seeing me again. Maybe he wasn’t.

The idea made my stomach twist, but I kept my face smooth and expressionless. I hadn’t survived this long by wearing my heart on my sleeve. I didn’t plan on doing it now. Not even for him.

Finally, Donovan held out his hand. I took it. His fingers felt hard, strong, capable against my own, and the heat from him warmed my whole body. Donovan dropped my hand like it burned him. Maybe it did, to want me so much, the woman who’d killed his partner.

I’d heard the detective say once that you didn’t fuck your partner’s murderer. But he’d done it—twice—and enjoyed it. And he still hated himself for it.

“Take care, Gin.”

“You too, detective. You too.”

Donovan Caine nodded at me a final time. Then the detective turned on his heel and walked out the door, leaving my gin joint and heart a little emptier and colder than they had been before.

3

Barely a minute passed before the front door opened once more, making the bell chime. I looked up, wondering if the detective had changed his mind about, well, anything.

Everything.

But the man who strode into the Pork Pit wasn’t Donovan Caine or another cop. His suit was much too nice for that. The black fabric draped off his shoulders, highlighting a frame that was compact, sturdy, strong. Given his body structure, I would have thought him a dwarf.

But at six foot one, he was much too tall for that. He had a thick head of hair that was a glossy blue-black, while his eyes were a light violet. A white, thin scar slashed diagonally across his chin. It offset the crooked tilt of his nose.

Those were the only two flaws in his chiseled features, which somehow added even more character to his face, rather than detracting from his good looks.

He cut an impressive figure. Striking, confident, aggressive, forceful. Someone who demanded attention.

Someone worth watching. Especially since he looked vaguely familiar to me.

I half-expected a couple of giant guards to follow the man into the Pork Pit. Most of the rich folks in Ashland employed at least a couple, and this guy was definitely wealthy, judging by his swanky suit and confident demeanor.

But the man entered alone. His light eyes swept over the interior of the restaurant, pausing at the blood spatters on the floor. After a moment, his gaze moved on and settled on the two girls, who were packing up their books to leave.

“Eva,” he said in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

“Are you all right?”

Eva zipped up her backpack. “I’m fine, Owen.”

The man moved to stand beside her. He walked stiffly but with purpose, like a bulldozer plowing through dandelions.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I said I was fine,” she repeated in an irritated voice, as though they’d had this argument many times before. “I also told you there was no need to come down here. You never listen to me.”

“I’m your big brother,” he said. “I’m supposed to watch out for you.”

Big brother? Yeah, I could see that. Eva had the same coloring as the thirtysomething man. Blue-black hair, pale eyes, milky skin. It made her beautiful. Him too, in a cold sort of way.

“Now, tell me what happened,” the man demanded again.

Eva rolled her eyes and launched into a recount of the attempted robbery. As she talked, the man crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps bulged with the motion, and he started tapping one finger on his opposite elbow.