Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

The same low hum as always murmured back to me. No visitors today. Good.
    I slid the key in the lock and went inside. The first thing I did was go over to the mantel, grab the three rune drawings, and hide them under my bed. Donovan Caine didn’t need to see those. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to look at them tonight. My eyes scanned the rest of the den and kitchen, looking for anything that might tell the detective more about me than I wanted to reveal. But there was nothing. The space was empty, remote, spartan.
    I stuck my head into the stairwell. “We’re clear. Come on in.”
    Finn went to the kitchen table to fire up his laptop and check his e-mail. The man couldn’t go two hours without some form of electronic check-in. Computer junkie.
    Donovan Caine stalked from one side of the den to the other, staring at my furniture, my many books, even the DVDs around the television. His hazel eyes flicked over everything, but I couldn’t read what conclusions he’d drawn.
    I went into the kitchen, unzipped my bloody jacket, and threw it in the trash on top of the vampire hooker’s ruined clothes from two nights ago. Might as well wait another day or two. The way things were going, I’d have more items to toss inside for a late-night trip down to the basement incinerator.
    “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable, detective. Watch television. Raid the fridge. Whatever.” I might be an assassin, but never let it be said I wasn’t as gracious a hostess as the next gal.
    “You.” I pointed at Finn. “Keep an eye on him. When I’m done, we’ll talk.”
    The two men eyed each other. Assessing strengths. Looking for weaknesses. Measuring dicks once again.
    Shaking my head, I slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. I stripped off the rest of my bloody clothes and stepped into the shower. The water hissed on, and I turned it as hot as it would go and not scald my skin. Then I leaned my head against the slick tile and exhaled.
    What a fucking night. Running all over town, making deals, trying to save people before they got dead. A new experience for me. When I’d woken up this morning, I hadn’t expected any of this. Certainly not rescuing Donovan Caine.
    Oh, I didn’t have any regrets about killing the Air elemental’s men. Them or me. I’d choose me every single time. But more than that, I’d come to terms with what I did long ago. The bodies, the blood, the tears of those left behind. Even the fact I was probably going to burn in hell didn’t bother me. Much.
    But for some reason, the disgust and anger in Donovan Caine’s eyes had annoyed me. I’d seen those same emotions shimmering in many people’s gazes—usually right before I killed them. When people realized you were an assassin, they automatically judged you. Thought you were cold and sadistic and crazy, no matter what sins they’d committed themselves. But coming from Donovan Caine, that judgment irked me. Perhaps because of my curious attraction to the detective. I’d much rather he see me as Gin Blanco than as the Spider.
    I snorted. Wanting something I couldn’t have. Thinking about Fletcher’s plea to retire. Dreaming about a vacation. Feeling old, tired, run-down. I was turning into a fucking cliché. Next thing you’d know I’d be in therapy—or back in Ashland Asylum with the rest of the crazies.
    Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and pulled on a pair of navy sweatpants, a matching long-sleeved T-shirt, and thick socks. A wide-tooth comb smoothed the snarls out of my wet hair. I leaned forward and dropped my chin, staring into the mirror. Jo-Jo’s roots weren’t the only ones that were showing. Maybe this time I’d just let my hair go back to its natural color.
    The thought surprised me, and the comb caught in a tangle hidden deep in my damp locks. I couldn’t remember the last time my hair had just been my hair, and not teased, dyed, or cut short for some job, some persona, some role I was playing. I wasn’t entirely sure I remembered the exact color it really was. For some reason that bothered me.
    I dropped my eyes from the mirror, finished with the comb, opened the bathroom door, and padded out into the den. Finn still sat at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop. He probably hadn’t moved the whole time I’d been in the shower, except to drag his computer closer.
    Donovan Caine had made himself comfortable. He leaned back against one of the thick cushions on the sofa. A