Spider's Bite

Finn spoke first. "I hate to be demanding, but we need some sort of plan, Gin.

Because this little conspiracy we've gotten caught up in isn't going to go away until we're both dead. I know Dad always told us to leave town. To get away if anything happened to him or one of us. But I-I can't do that, Gin. I just can't. Not until whoever is behind this pays for what he did to Dad. I understand if you want to leave town-"

"Shut up," I snarled. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not running, and I'm not leaving town." Finn blinked. "You're not?"

Fletcher's flayed face flickered in front of me. His ruined flesh. His blood on the floor of the Pork Pit. The icy knot in my chest tightened. "No, I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Double-crossing us is one thing. If this had been about not paying us the rest of our fee, well, I could have understood that. It's happened before. But they killed Fletcher. They hurt you. They set me up. And that is unacceptable." Finn pulled his green eyes away from the Pork Pit and looked at me. "So what's the plan? How do we find out who's behind this?"

"One body at a time."

Finn blinked at the vehemence in my voice, but I'd already moved on to more practical matters. "What about work? What are you telling the money men at the bank?" I asked.

"Already taken care of. I told my boss I'm sick with grief over the murder of my father and taking a week off," he said. "Not a lie, really."

"What we need to do first is figure out what Gordon Giles was really up to."

"You think the client lied to Dad? That would never happen." Finn's voice dripped with sarcasm like grease off a piece of bacon. "How do you propose we decipher the motives and activities of a dead man? Because Gordon Giles certainly isn't going to tell us anything."

I rolled my eyes. "Simple. All we have to do is meet with Donovan Caine." Silence. Finn squinted at me for a few seconds. Then he stuck one finger in his ear, wiggled it around, and pulled it out, as if clearing wax out of the passageway.

"Sorry, Gin, but I think you stayed in the insane asylum a little too long. Because that's the craziest idea you've ever had. Meet with Donovan Caine? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

I ignored Finn's rising tone. Sometimes he screeched worse than a five-year-old.

"It makes perfect sense. Donovan Caine was at the opera house to see Gordon Giles.

Somebody went to a lot of trouble to kill Giles, blame me, and tie the whole thing off with my corpse. That tells me this is about more than just embezzled funds. I want to talk with Caine and see what he knows. See why he was meeting with Giles." Finn scratched his chest and leaned against the wall. The muscles in his shoulders rolled and bulged with the movement. "And how do you propose to get Caine to tell you all that?"

"Because we know something he doesn't." "And that would be ..."

"That somebody in the police department is in on this."

"This is Ashland, Gin. The police are usually in on it. They make careers out of that sort of thing." I stared at Finn.

He sighed. "Fine. Tell me what you're thinking."

"Before he died, Brutus told me a paper trail had already been set up, linking me to Gordon Giles. The guy at your apartment said the cops were looking high and low for me. A couple hours later, my distorted sketch is all over the news, along with my supposed relationship with Gordon Giles. How could all that happen without an inside guy in the police department?"

"Something Donovan Caine could figure out himself, if he was smart enough," Finn said. "I still don't see how this will get the detective to help you."

"He might be smart, but Caine has a blind eye and soft spot for his fellow boys in blue.

He's loyal to them and the idea cops are good people. That they really do serve and protect and all that. You saw how hot and bothered he was to find his partner's killer.

How do you think he'll react if I tell him somebody in the department is helping Giles's murderer? And that he was okay with taking Caine out too just for being there?"

Finn thought about it. "He'd probably be pissed."

"Exactly. So I'll offer to trade information with him. He helps me find the person who set up Giles. I help him root out corruption in the police department. You know what a do-gooder Caine is. I'll appeal to his sense of justice."

More silence. Then Finn snorted. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face." I grinned.

Finn shook his head. "That elemental magic in your veins has finally driven you nuts, Gin. Insanity. Complete insanity. Did you see that press conference? Donovan Caine isn't exactly running the police department. His captain shuffled him to the background for a reason-to keep him quiet. The cops want you dead because they're being paid to look the other way or just don't care enough to find out what really happened. Probably both."

"Which is all the more reason to go to Caine. He was trying to protect Gordon Giles, and he can tell me what

Giles was up to. Plus, he's probably the only cop in the city who won't shoot me on sight. Or try to."

"Maybe, maybe not. You know my thoughts on honest men." "That there aren't any." Finn shot his forefinger at me. "Precisely."

I went over to the sofa, sat down, and put my feet up on the coffee table. "Do you have a better idea? Because if you do, tell me. I'm the one wanted for a murder.

Normally, that wouldn't bother me, except this time I didn't even do it."

"But how do you know Donovan Caine will even listen to you?" Finn asked. "You killed his partner, Gin. He might not have known that before, had any clue who you were or what you looked like, but after your performance at the opera house last night, I'm willing to bet he's put two and two together. Or is at least thinking real hard about it."

I thought of Caine's hesitation on the balcony. He could have shot me, and the case would have been closed. Could have put a bullet in my heart as easy as I could slam a knife into his. But he hadn't.

"Donovan Caine wants to figure out who's behind this, too. His sense of honor, of duty, won't let him leave it alone. Especially when he realizes he would have been just as dead as Gordon Giles if I hadn't mucked up everything."

"All right," Finn said. "Say the good detective does want to see truth and justice and all those other platitudes prevail. How do you propose we make contact with Caine?

Without getting shot or otherwise immediately killed? Somebody's sure to be keeping tabs on him."

"Simple," I replied. "We're going to do the thing the Air elemental and the cops will least expect us to do."

Finn shook his head. "Don't say it. Please don't say it."

"We're going to pay Donovan Caine a visit-in broad daylight," I finished. Finn just groaned.

Finn tried to talk me out of it, of course. Listed all the reasons why meeting with Donovan Caine was tricky at best, lethal at worst. Finn talked and pleaded and begged until his face was just as blue and purple and green as it had been before Jo-Jo healed him.

But he didn't change my mind.

Despite all my training, despite all the times I'd walked away from botched jobs, I wasn't going to run. Not this time. Assassins weren't supposed to take anything personally, weren't supposed to give in to their emotions or indulge their feelings.

Get paid. Do the job. Walk away. Don't look back. That was the way the game was played.

But I couldn't ignore the cold, hard knot of rage in my chest. I didn't mind being shot at or thought of as a monster. I had too much blood on my hands to think of myself as anything else. But I'd be damned if I was going to let somebody double-cross me because she was too much of a coward to accept the consequences of her own actions.

Fletcher had died, been hideously tortured, because of this scheme, and Finn had almost been beaten to death. Somebody was going to pay for that-all of it. With her fucking life.

After Finn realized I wasn't budging, we got to work. Finn reached out to a few people willing to give him information on Donovan Caine-for a price. Meanwhile, I went back through the file Fletcher had given me on Gordon Giles.

I didn't know when Fletcher had been approached to do the job or by whom, but he'd compiled a substantial amount of information on Giles. Net worth. Business deals.

Real estate holdings. Hobbies. Habits. Charitable causes. Favorite restaurants. Fifty-four years of life reduced to a single folder's worth of paper. Kind of sad.

But the more I reviewed the information, the less convinced I became that Gordon Giles was a devious embezzler who'd stolen millions. For one thing, he didn't need the money. Giles had several million tucked away in various accounts and annuities, and pulled down even more as the chief financial officer of Halo Industries. And he didn't spend money like it was going out of style. Other than expensive suits, nice meals, deep-sea fishing trips every few months, and weekly visits to hookers, Giles tucked most of his money away. He even gave more than a million dollars to breast cancer research every year, in honor of his dead mother. What a prince.

Sure, lots of people hid their true natures behind fund-raisers and winning smiles, Mab Monroe being the prime example. But I was good at reading people, even on paper, and there was nothing in the file to suggest Giles needed or had the desire to steal. He just didn't seem greedy or desperate enough.

I flipped back to the part that detailed Giles's spending habits. You could tell a lot about a man from his vices, and they'd helped me get close to more than a few of my targets. Hookers seemed to be Giles's main expenditure. At least once a week, he dropped several thousand bucks on the girls at Northern Aggression, an upscale nightclub that would service any need, desire, or addiction you had. Sex, drugs, blood, a combination of all three. Hmm. Finn and I might have to pay Roslyn Phillips a visit at the club and see what she knew.

It was a long shot, but maybe Giles had told one of Roslyn's hookers something, had whispered some sweet bit of nothing into her ear that might lead me to his killer.

Information was power, and more importantly, leverage. I didn't like blackmail, thought of it as the basest form of arm-twisting, but I'd stoop to it if it got us out of this mess. And then, in a couple of days or weeks or months, when the Air elemental thought our agreement was holding and everything was kosher, I'd kill her.

There was a reason my mother had given me a spider rune. Even as a child, I'd been patient. Able to wait for my turn, for the right moment to speak, hell, even for Christmas to come every year. Somehow I'd always had that sort of internal restraint.

I might feel cold rage over Fletcher's death, but I could control it-no matter how long I had to wait to avenge his murder.

An hour later, Finn leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He sat at the kitchen table, a mug of chicory coffee by his laptop. "According to one of my sources and his credit card receipts, Donovan Caine likes to have lunch every day at the Cake Walk."

"That greasy dive over on St. Charles Avenue?" I asked. "The one and the same." The Cake Walk was a lot like the Pork Pit-a hole-in-the-wall gin joint that served better food than Ashland's five-star restaurants. The Cake Walk specialized in desserts, along with soups, sandwiches, and iced tea so sweet you could grit the sugar in it between your teeth. It was close to the community college, and I'd eaten there several times. Too much mayo in the chicken salad for my taste.

Using my own laptop, I googled the restaurant, pulling up all the information I could find. The Cake Walk sat across from one of the quads that ringed the edge of the community college and fronted a busy four-lane street that cut through downtown.

My eyes studied an online map showing the restaurant and other landmarks.

"Get me the blueprints of the restaurant and some better maps of the area," I told Finn.

He nodded, dialed a number on one of my disposable cell phones, and spoke to someone in low tones. A few minutes later, Finn flashed me a thumbs-up sign and hung up.

"Being e-mailed to me straight from the city planner's office," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "City planner's office? Not your usual crowd. Which one of the secretaries did you fuck over there?"

Finn grinned. "Bethany. Older lady. Husband left her for a younger woman. I helped her realize exactly what she had to offer the fine men of Ashland."

"And that would be?"

"The best pair of legs I've ever seen." Finn sighed. "Gorgeous gams that seemed to go on forever, especially when we were in bed-"

"Spare me the details and just show me the file."

I walked to the kitchen table and leaned over his shoulder. Finn's hands slid over the keyboard as he pulled up one of his fake e-mail accounts. Forget penicillin. The Internet was the best thing that had ever been invented. It made exchanging information while staying anonymous so much easier.

The computer pinged, and Finn opened a new e-mail. The schematics and maps popped up on the screen, along with some street-level shots. Bethany really had enjoyed her time with Finn to give him this much information so quickly. I compared the squiggles to the online map I'd just seen.

"It looks doable," Finn said, voicing my thoughts. "A couple of exits, lots of lunchtime foot traffic, several side streets and buildings to get lost in, not to mention the college campus. But you're still taking a big risk. Caine is a detective, after all. Whoever hired Brutus will probably have people watching him, just to make sure he stays in line."