Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

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 Despite his outdated ideals about justice, the detective was smart.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