Spider's Bite

Caine moved over to the dresser and grabbed some clothes. Jeans, socks, boxers. I focused on the last item. Black boxers. Made from a nice silk, although not nearly as high-end as Finn's. I thought of that silk rubbing against me, followed by the thick, hard length of him. Mmm. Too bad he hated me, and I looked like an extra from a slasher movie right now. Otherwise, I might have considered seducing Donovan Caine.

"I would think someone like you would relish the challenge of taking on an elemental." Caine continued to stuff clothes into the bag.

I pushed my fantasy aside. "I might be an assassin, detective, but I don't particularly enjoy killing people." "Then why do it?"

The inevitable question. I decided to give him my standard, pat answer. Donovan Caine didn't need to know about my murdered family or time living on the streets.

He didn't need to know I'd been tired of being weak and afraid and hunted. That I'd chosen to become an assassin so I'd never feel that way again. So I would be strong.

And he especially didn't need to know how none of my skills were helping me cope with Fletcher's death or this sudden, nagging weariness I felt.

"Because I'm good at it, the blood doesn't bother me, and it pays very, very well. Not because I get some sick, twisted thrill out of watching the light leak out of people's eyes," I said in a glib tone. "As for elementals, they die, just like everybody else.

Magic doesn't make you invincible. Gordon Giles was an Air elemental, but his power didn't save him from being burned to death in that fake car accident. That being said, I don't want to take on an Air elemental when I've already been knocked around and saddled with an injured man. Besides, I don't know how many more men she might be bringing with her. She'll probably have a couple guys, maybe more. Not the kind of odds I like. As you can guess, I prefer more one-on-one action."

"Point taken."

The corner of his mouth lifted. This time, I was sure I hadn't imagined it. Whether it was a grimace or smile, I still couldn't tell.

Caine zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Lead on, Macduff." "Quoting Shakespeare? I never would have guessed, detective."

"I never guessed I'd be working with an assassin either. Stranger things."

"Touche." I flashed one of my silverstone knives at him. "Stay behind me and keep quiet. There was one more guard who went around the back of the cabin. My associate should have taken care of him, but you can never be too careful." He raised a black eyebrow. "Associate?"

"Associate. Now, follow me."

I turned and strode over to the bedroom door. My hand tightened on the knife hilt, and I waited a beat, listening. But Caine didn't go for his third gun, the one I'd seen him slip out of the dresser and against the small of his back, the one he thought I didn't know about. The detective was honoring his agreement. He wasn't going to shoot me in the back-yet.

I tiptoed into the hallway. Everything was quiet, and no scurries of movement sounded. No hoarse whispers. No ragged gasps. Nothing.

Donovan Caine stayed close to me. His clean, soapy scent washed over me again. The warmth from his body enveloped my own, and his breath puffed against the back of my neck, almost like a kiss. We reached the part of the hall that overlooked the first floor. I made a motion with my hand for Caine to stay put. Then I dropped to my knees, slid down the wall, and peeked through the railing.

Finn leaned against the front door, reading a newspaper. The dead guard lay where I'd placed him. Finn had a foot propped up on the guy's bloody back, which meant he'd already gone around the house and killed the last man. He wouldn't have been standing there otherwise. I shook my head and straightened.

"Come on," I told Caine. "The coast is clear."

We went downstairs. Finn didn't look up as the wood creaked and cracked under our weight. I snatched the newspaper out of his hands and tossed it aside.

"Hey," he protested. "I was reading that." "Now you're not."

I stepped back so Finn and Caine could have a clear view of each other. "Donovan Caine, this is my associate, Finnegan Lane. And vice versa."

The two men stared at each other. Caine looked at Finn's supple leather jacket, designer khakis, and custom- made polo shirt. Finn eyed the detective's ratty duffel bag, the threadbare patches on his jeans, and the stains on his faded boots.

Assumptions were made, judgments rendered, dicks measured.

After about twenty seconds of intense scrutiny, Finn stuck out his hand. Caine just looked at it, with his flat, deadpan, cop stare.

"Not a hand shaker, eh? Too bad." Finn dropped his hand. "The rear guard?" I asked.

"Dispatched, of course."

Finn didn't have much use for knives, but whenever he backed me up on jobs, he always carried a couple of guns with him. Usually a silencer as well, which is probably why I hadn't heard him take out the rear guard. Among his many character quirks, Finnegan Lane happened to be an excellent shot.

He gestured at the dead man at his feet. "I take it all the others wound up like this one, Gin?"

"Of course."

Finn grinned at me. "Touche."

Donovan Caine stared at me. "Gin? Is that your real name?"

I realized I'd never told the detective my name, just my assassin moniker, the Spider.

But he was going to have to call me something, since we were going to be working together, and it was too late now to concoct some sort of alias. "More or less."

"Gin?" Caine asked again. "Yeah, like the liquor."

"Gin." Caine said the word carefully this time, as though it were a fine wine he was tasting on his tongue, instead of a bastardized version of my real name. "It suits you." Despite the situation, I found his slow drawl low, warm, and inviting. "Glad you think so. Now let's go."

We skulked down the hill through the yard. The party next door was still going strong, although the radio now blared out "Free Bird." A few more frat boys had stumbled outside and were sleeping off their drunken stupors on the lawn. Nobody appeared to have heard the gunshots or the sound of five men dying in and around Donovan Caine's cabin. The southern rock music was so loud and twangy, I doubted anyone on the whole street could hear themselves think. Noisy neighbors. A blessing in disguise sometimes.

We reached the SUV. Finn got into the driver's seat, while I slid into the passenger's side. Donovan Caine paused, staring into the dark depths of the vehicle. He pulled in a breath, opened the door, and climbed into the backseat. He hesitated again and let out the same breath before he shut the door. No going back . That's what he had to be thinking right now. Also short for what the fuck am I doing getting into an assassin's car?

But the detective seemed to be sticking with his decision. With our truce. He pushed his bag down onto the floorboard and buckled his seat belt. The sharp snap reminded me of handcuffs clinking together.

"Now what?" Caine asked.

I turned to answer him and saw a pair of headlights headed down the street toward us. "Duck. Here they come." We scooted down in our seats until the vehicle passed.

Another luxury sedan. It stopped next to the one parked at the bottom of Donovan Caine's driveway.

"Are those more of our new friends?" Finn mocked. "They're a little late for the party.

I hate how we just keep missing them."

"Let's find out," I said.

I picked up the night-vision goggles and peered through them. The driver's side door opened, and the interior light winked on, showing me three guys. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy, not disabling that. I recognized two of the men. Charles Carlyle, the vampire who'd hit on coeds outside the Cake Walk today, and his friend who'd been reading the newspaper. Didn't know the third guy, but he was dressed in a suit just like the other two.

"Three more goons," I murmured.

The men got out of the sedan and talked to each other over the broad hood. A fourth figure remained shrouded in darkness in the backseat. My eyes narrowed, and the cold knot of rage in my chest tightened into a noose.

Get out, I thought. Get out and show yourself, you sadistic bitch.

"What about the Air elemental?" Donovan Caine asked. His breath brushed against my cheek. "She's sitting in the backseat," I replied.

The leather-bound steering wheel creaked under Finn's hands. "The one who-" "Yes." I cut Finn off before he could say anything about Fletcher. Finn glared at me, but he pressed his lips together.

I kept watching. Carlyle went around to the back of the vehicle and opened the door.

He held out his hand, and the woman took it and stepped up and away from the sedan, as though she were some debutante exiting her limo at her coming-out party.

Pretentious bitch.

"Damn it," I cursed. "She's on the far side of the car with her back to me, and she's wearing a long, black cloak. Who the fuck wears a cloak? This isn't Dungeons & Dragons. The hood's up. I can't see a thing. Not her face, not her hair, not even her clothes. Nothing."

The steering wheel creaked again. "We could take her out, right here, right now," Finn said. "They won't be expecting us. They won't be expecting you."

"No. I'm not taking on the elemental. Not tonight. She'd kill us all. And I'm not letting that happen to you." "But-"

"No, Finn," I snapped. "Listen to me. You might think you know what an elemental can do, but you don't. No matter what picture you saw. You don't have a clue how vicious their magic can be. But I do."

The image of Fletcher's body flashed through my mind, followed by the burned, smoldering remains of my mother and older sister. The familiar grief pressed down on my lungs, trying to smother me. The spider runes on my hands itched, as though they were the real creatures wiggling underneath my scarred flesh, instead of just ghastly memories.

Donovan Caine's hazel eyes flicked back and forth between us. "But-" Finn never got to finish his sentence. A gust of wind ripped out from the cabin, whistling like the swing of a death scythe. The blast of air flattened all the stunted pine trees in the yard before sweeping down the hill and rushing down the street like a miniature tornado. Trash cans overturned. Mailboxes ripped up out of the ground.

One poor cat got picked up by the wind and tossed against the side of a pickup truck.

It didn't get back up.

The Air elemental had found the first body crumpled by the front door, and she wasn't happy about it.

I squinted into the goggles, trying to get a glimpse of her face. The hood cast her face in shadow, but she'd pushed back the sleeves of her cloak. The ends of her fingers burned milky white with magic, as if each digit were an individual welder's torch. The sort of concentrated power that would cause excruciating pain. The sort of magic that could strip flesh from bone. The sort of torture Fletcher had endured.

Fletcher.

The grief and guilt mixed with the rage in my chest, each one smashing into the other, until I wasn't sure what I was feeling-besides pain. But I forced myself to think, to let my cold judgment temper my emotions. If it had just been me, I might have snuck back up to the cabin and had a go at the elemental and her crew. But I had Finn to think about. Donovan Caine, too.

Besides, Fletcher had called me the Spider for a reason. I was at my cautious best when I was creeping in and out of the shadows. Spinning my own webs, making my own plans. Not being stupid and going out in a blaze of glory.

I pointed. "See that light? That glow? That's her magic. Do you want that to be us, Finn? Because I'm sure the

Air elemental would be happy to show you exactly how pissed she is right now." Finn thought about it. Weighing his desire to avenge his father's death against what he knew would be a disastrous plan at best, deadly at worse.

In the backseat, Donovan Caine kept looking back and forth between the two of us.

After about thirty seconds, Finn sighed and let go of the steering wheel. "No. I don't want that to be us."

I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Smart man. Don't worry. We'll take care of her, Finn. I'll take care of her. Just not tonight."

"Promise?" His voice dropped to a whisper.

I squeezed his hand again. "Promise. Now, let's go. Before the bitch realizes we're still here and watching her."

Chapter Sixteen

Finn waited until the wind died down and the Air elemental had swept into the cabin before he started the engine and did a U-turn in the middle of the wide street.

Headlights off, Finn eased the vehicle toward the end of the block. He coasted over another street before he flipped on the lights and picked up speed.

"Where to?" Finn asked.

He gave me a sidelong glance. Such a simple question, but I knew what he was really asking-if I was going to take Donovan Caine back to my apartment. No other choice.

Finn's place was out, and I needed to keep the detective close to make sure he wouldn't do something stupid-like go off on a righteous mission and get us all killed.

"Home," I said.

"Home?" Donovan Caine echoed. "You live in Ashland?" "Born and bred, detective." The light turned red. Finn stopped and used the pause to stare in the rearview mirror at the detective's bruised features.

"We're not going to the, ah, salon first?" Finn asked. "To take care of some things?" I knew what he was asking. If we were going to swing by Jo-Jo's, so the dwarf could slap Donovan Caine with some of her healing Air elemental magic. Taking the detective back to my anonymous apartment was one thing. I could always move after this was over with. Planned on it already.