Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

fact someone was watching Caine, but this was the best chance I had to get close to the detective. To find out why he’d been so interested in Gordon Giles and what Giles had really been up to. I had to risk it. And if I had to lullaby the two men following the detective, well, I’d be more pissed about getting blood on my T-shirt than dropping their bodies on the pavement.
    “All right,” I said. “I’m going in. If I’m not back in twenty minutes—”
    “I’m supposed to leave you behind,” Finn finished. “I know the drill, Gin. I was doing this for my dad long before you were around.”
    The mention of Fletcher cast a dark shadow in the car. Finn’s face tightened, and he turned away. Even through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, I could tell he was blinking back tears. The same sort of sadness filled me, although I’d cried all my tears the other night in the shower.
    But the thought of my murdered mentor motivated me to get on with this. Finding out who set us up and why was the only way I could keep Finn safe—and make sure Fletcher hadn’t died for nothing.
    I reached over and squeezed Finn’s hand. He didn’t look at me, but his fingers tightened on mine.
    “Wish me luck,” I whispered and got out of the car.
    I walked at an angle toward the front of the restaurant, as though I were coming in from the grassy quad of the community college several hundred feet away. I put my right hand next to my hip and palmed one of my knives so that the tip barely protruded out of the sleeve of my jacket. My thumb caressed the hilt.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guy with the newspaper peering over the top of it at me. But he didn’t recognize me from my poor police sketch because he didn’t move in my direction, gesture to his buddy, or whip out a cell phone and call for backup. Still, I added a flirty shimmy to my long stride to give him something else to focus on besides my face.
    I waited for a couple of guys carrying briefcases to move away from the front door and stepped inside the Cake Walk. The restaurant was dark and cool after the heat of the midday sun, and I slowed, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. My fingers brushed against the wall by the door, and I listened to the stone’s vibrations. Loud, cheery, and brassy, just like the bellows of the restaurant’s workers as they shouted orders to each other. The only thing to be concerned about in here was how many calories the triple chocolate cake had—and how fast they’d go straight to your ass.
    A counter, not unlike the one at the Pork Pit, ran along the back wall. Behind the glass partition, workers made chicken salad sandwiches on sourdough bread, ladled up bowls of potato soup, and cut slices of bright blackberry pies and moist, golden Mountain Dew cakes. The smell of sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg flavored the air, and I could almost feel the grease on the walls. The red booths, metal tables, and iron chairs were clean, but faded and shiny from wear.
    Donovan Caine sat by himself at a booth in the corner, overlooking the street. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his white shirtsleeves. A sprinkling of black hair covered his corded, brown forearms. Caine munched on a ham sandwich. A bag of chips, a side of coleslaw, and two pieces of blackberry pie decorated his tabletop, along with a glass of iced tea. A man with a hearty appetite.
    I went down the assembly line, opting for a piece of the Mountain Dew cake and a lemonade I wasn’t going to get a chance to eat or drink. I kept one eye on Caine, but the detective focused on his food. He didn’t look up, not even once. The two watchers outside made no move to come into the Cake Walk, so I decided to go ahead with my plan.
    I paid for my dessert, walked over, and plopped my tray on the table.
    “That seat’s taken,” Caine growled, without even looking up.
    “Don’t worry, sugar, I won’t stay long.” I slid in across from him.
    He recognized my soft voice. I could tell by the way his broad shoulders stiffened underneath the fabric of his white shirt. The way his whole body tensed. The way he gathered his strength down into the pit of his stomach, getting ready to strike.
    Donovan Caine put his half-eaten sandwich down onto his plastic plate with slow, careful, calm movements. He laid his hands flat on the tabletop, then raised his hard gaze to mine.
    I smiled. “Care if I join you?”
    Donovan Caine didn’t panic. Didn’t sputter, scream,