Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

demonstrations were sanctioned by the government.
    But Caine knew I existed, mainly because of my last assignment in the city a couple months ago—when I’d killed his partner.
    Cliff Ingles hadn’t been a bad cop—except for his off-duty tendency to beat up and rape hookers. In Ashland, that wasn’t even enough to get him thrown off the force, much less warrant my particular brand of attention. Until Ingles had turned his forcible ways to the thirteen-year-old daughter of one of the hookers. The vampire knew enough to send a message asking for help in Fletcher’s general direction. The old man didn’t like rapists, especially those who targeted kids. I didn’t either, so I’d done the job pro bono. Another public service. The mayor should give me a medal.
    Caine had known his partner wasn’t the cleanest guy around, but evidently he didn’t realize the extent of Ingles’s depravity. Because after I’d put a knife in Ingles’s oversize gut and sliced off his balls, Donovan Caine had publicly vowed to bring his partner’s killer to justice. Swore up one side and down the other to find the assassin responsible for his partner’s painful, untimely demise and make her pay every which way he could. The investigation had stalled, but Caine hadn’t given up. Every week or so, he sent out a new public service announcement to the local media outlets, pleading for info on the Ingles murder.
    Oh, Caine didn’t know it was specifically me, Gin Blanco, the Spider, who had killed his partner. All the detective knew was that an assassin had hit Cliff Ingles. If it had been a gangbanger or some other lowlife, he might have been stupid enough to brag about it, somebody would have snitched, and Caine probably would have found him by now. Either way, the detective wanted to hit back at whomever had murdered Ingles and get revenge for his dead partner.
    Since then I’d taken an interest in the detective. His dogged determination amused me, however fruitless and misguided it was, and I had Fletcher compile a file on him.
    I tracked Caine through the scope as he approached Giles. Thirty-two. Six foot one. Cropped black hair. Hazel eyes. Strong chin. Square jaw. Bumpy, crooked nose. Lean body. Bronze skin that showed his Hispanic heritage.
    He was handsome enough, although not as pretty as some of the other men I’d seen in the lobby. But Caine moved with the loose, easy confidence of a man who knows what he’s doing—and knows he can handle anything that comes his way.
    Was there anything sexier than confidence and the skill to back it up? I didn’t think so. A hot awareness coursed through my body. My breasts tightened, and a small, pleasant ache settled between my thighs. I wondered if Donovan Caine would be that smooth and sure in bed. Bet he would.
    For a moment, I let myself fantasize about the detective. Naked. Writhing under me. His mouth teasing my pebbled nipple. His calloused fingers kneading my breasts. I pictured myself sinking onto his throbbing length. Riding him with quickening strokes until he screamed out my name. Draining every ounce of pleasure I could out of his lean body, until we were both spent and sweaty and satiated. Mmm.
    Too bad he played for the opposition and wanted to put a bullet in my head. My daydream would remain just that.
    Fletcher had said Gordon Giles might go to the police for protection. That must be why Caine was here. To meet with Giles. Placate him with the usual assurances of safety, immunity, whatever.
    A smile tugged at my lips. I wondered what Donovan Caine would do when I put an arrow in Gordon Giles’s heart. Would he try to administer some sort of medical attention, even though it was already too late? Would he call for help? Or would he race out of the box, gun drawn, determined to find the assassin?
    All I had to do was pull the trigger and I’d find out.
    But instead of finishing the job, I watched the detective. Caine took a seat to Giles’s right. The two of them bent their heads together and started whispering. Well, Caine did most of the whispering. Gordon just shook his ferretlike face in a definite no-no-no pattern. Whatever Caine wanted him to do, Gordon wasn’t giving in just yet.
    I was so preoccupied with Donovan Caine that the telltale click didn’t register until it was too late. But the cold gun pressed against the back of my neck definitely got my attention.
    “Drop the weapon,” a voice hissed in my ear. 

5
    “Drop the weapon,” the voice