Spider's Bite

15

The corner of Donovan Caine’s mouth lifted up into a faint smile — or grimace. Hard to tell since red welts and shallow cuts dotted his features like lumpy, ugly freckles. The beginnings of a shiner rimmed his right eye, and a bruise had already darkened his left cheekbone. I’d saved Caine from being beaten as bad as Finn, but the detective had still taken several good licks.

“You’re the one who’s a mess,” Donovan Caine said.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Blood coated my face like some sort of mud mask Jo-Jo might use at her salon. More blood covered my jacket and T-shirt, blackening the fabric, and drips and drops painted my jeans and boots in gobby, Jackson Pollock patterns. Distinct fingertip bruises ringed my throat, a macabre necklace of purple jewels. I probably had a matching set on my shoulder from the guy’s death grip. When you added the blood and bruises together, I looked like I was dressed up for Halloween — as a murder victim.

Not exactly the face I wanted to present to the detective, but I’d looked worse. Much worse. But tonight, something about the blood made me feel old. Tired. Used up. Just once, it might be nice to go out at night and not have to incinerate my clothes when I got home. Just once.

I dropped my eyes from the mirror. “Job hazard.”

Caine couldn’t go anywhere, since he was still strapped down. I walked behind him. The detective’s hands were cuffed, with the chain threaded through the back of the chair. Silverstone handcuffs. Looked like Caine never went anywhere without a set. Kinky.

“Key?”

Caine jerked his head. “On the dresser.”

I retrieved the metal key and bent down behind the detective. His rigid muscles coiled, and he drew in a sharp breath. He smelled faintly of soap, and I could feel the strength of his body, even though he was shackled to the chair. Caine probably thought this was just a ruse. That I was going to slit his throat instead of freeing him. I might have considered it, if I hadn’t already offered to work with the detective. My word still meant something to me, too.

The handcuffs clinked open, and Donovan Caine got to his feet. He turned to face me and massaged his wrists, rubbing the feeling back into his hands. His gaze skimmed over the mess of blood, bodies, and broken furniture. He spotted the discarded gun, half-hidden under the remains of one of the crystal lamps, near his feet.

“You have a decision to make,” I said in a quiet voice. “You can pick up that gun. Turn it on me. Try to avenge your partner’s death.”

I didn’t add he’d die where he stood when my knife ripped through his heart. Caine had seen what I was capable of. Witnessed my skills firsthand. I just hoped it was enough to temper his dogged determination to make me pay for Cliff Ingles’s death.

“Or?” The detective kept rubbing his wrists, but his hazel eyes never left the weapon at his feet.

“Or we can call a truce, and you can come with me. Work with me to get to the bottom of this. They want you dead now, too. They want us all dead.”

Donovan Caine stared at the gun. A second ticked by. Five more. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty. He flexed his fingers, an Old West sheriff about to draw down on the mangy, good-for-nothin’ gunfighter threatening his town, his peace of mind, his way of life. I tensed, ready to strike.

The detective lifted his eyes to mine. His gaze was the color of smoky topaz, or perhaps a fine whiskey, oscillating from pure gold to burnished brown and back again. Emotions flickered in the amber depths, one after another, like lightning bugs winking on and off. Disgust. Anger. Mistrust. Suspicion. Curiosity.

“Why did you come here?” he asked. “You could have let them kill me.”

I shrugged again. “Like I said before, I need you. Need to know what you know about Gordon Giles. I believe I heard something about files and a flash drive?”

Caine rubbed a hand through his black hair. “Yeah. They seem to be missing. My friends here were under the assumption I had them.”

“But you don’t?”

He didn’t respond. Caine knew how to keep his face blank too.

I moved around the room, picking up my knives and slipping them back into their various slots. I also rifled through the dead guys’ pockets, digging out their wallets, cell phones, and jewelry. Nobody was wearing a chain with the triangular tooth rune on it, but one of the men had the shape tattooed on the back of his left wrist. I spotted it when I took off his watch.

I frowned. That damn symbol again. I was getting real tired of seeing it without knowing who the fuck it belonged to.

Caine saw me staring and crouched down to get a better look. He took care not to get within arm’s or knife’s reach of me. Smart man.

“Is that a rune?” he asked.

“Yeah. One I’ve been seeing a lot of lately.” I pulled my cell phone out of my back jean pocket, used it to snap a picture of the rune, then stuffed the device into my jeans once more.

Caine didn’t say anything else, but he grabbed the guy’s wrist, held it up to the light, and stared at the crude symbol, committing it to memory.

I straightened. “All right, detective. Time to decide. Are you in? Or out?”

He glanced up. “What happens if I’m out?”

“You go your way, and I’ll go mine. I’ll look for your fellow boys in blue to fish your body out of the Aneirin River in a couple of days.”

He shook his head. “That won’t happen.”

“Really?” I asked. “I was watching the house. I noticed you arguing with someone on the phone right before these guys showed up. I’m willing to bet it was someone on the force. Care to tell me who you were talking to?”

Caine’s eyes dropped to the floor, and I spotted another cell phone swimming in a puddle of blood. Must be his.

“Stephenson,” he muttered. “I was talking to Wayne Stephenson, my captain.”

The overweight giant who’d given the press conference. The one who’d kept a muzzle on Caine the whole time. I made a mental note to get Finn to start digging into the police captain. If the Air elemental had paid him off, maybe she’d left a trail back to herself.

“And what did Stephenson want? To make sure you were home before he sent the dogs in?”

“He wanted to talk to me about the Giles case,” Caine said. “That’s all. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“No,” I said. “It doesn’t prove anything. But it’s a pretty damning coincidence.”

Silence. Donovan Caine stared at me. Emotions continued to flash in his eyes. Faster now. Like lightning striking the earth again and again on a hot summer night. Although he didn’t look at it, I knew the detective was still thinking about the gun lying just a few tempting feet away. About how he could take care of one of his problems right here, right now. I hoped he’d realize how stu pid that would be. Or I’d be wearing even more blood in another minute. Two, tops.

But some of my reasoning must have resonated with him. The detective exhaled. He let go of the dead man’s wrist and got to his feet.

“I’m in,” he said.

“But…”

He shook his head. “But not without serious reservations and some rules. This truce you’re offering only goes so far. I won’t cover up anything you’ve done. Not one damn thing. I won’t kill for you, and I won’t let you hurt any innocent people.”

I laughed. The harsh sound smacked against the bedroom walls like the kiss of death. “Innocent people? Like the gentlemen who came to see you tonight? The ones who were going to hold you down while their boss tortured you? I don’t think you have to worry about stumbling over many innocent people on this case, detective.”

“Maybe not. But that’s how it’s going to be.”

I’d expected nothing less from him, and I could live with those terms. It was Caine’s personal vendetta against me, that hot, seething, unreasonable rage, that could be his undoing. “Say the rest of it. You know you want to.”

“The second this is over, I’m coming for you. Getting justice for Cliff Ingles, my partner, no matter what I have to do, even if that means killing you. Do you understand me?”

Caine’s harsh, angry promise blazed like a bonfire in his eyes. His mouth was a flat line in his face, his hands bunched into fists, his whole body tight and tense. I’d pushed him as far as I could.

“Understood.” I said. “Now, grab whatever gear you can get your hands on in three minutes. Clothes, money, whatever. We need to move. Now.”

He stared at me. I met his hard gaze with one of my own. The detective nodded, and I knew he’d stick to his word. We were on the same side — for now.

“We need to leave because the Air elemental’s on her way?” Caine skirted around me, still keeping out of arm’s reach, and headed toward the closet. He didn’t completely turn his back to me.

“Yeah. So hurry up.”

Donovan Caine pulled a duffel bag out of the closet. He hooked his finger under a jagged strip of carpet inside the small space, rolled it up, then moved a loose floorboard underneath. He stuffed a couple of bricks of cash into the bag, along with two guns and several boxes of ammunition. Perhaps the detective wasn’t the paragon of virtue I’d thought. Or perhaps he just realized the value of being prepared for anything in this city. Either way, my respect for him grew a little more. Despite his outdated ideals about justice, the detective was smart. A trait I’d always admired.

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.”

“Touché.” 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. “Touché.”

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.”