Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

you?”
    “Oh, Finn isn’t an assassin,” I cut in. “He’s much, much worse. He’s a banker.”
    My snide comment took Finn by surprise, and he choked on his coffee. Donovan Caine let out a guffaw of laughter. It was the first time I’d heard the detective laugh without an undercurrent of angry sarcasm. A sharp sound, tinged here and there with bitterness, but not an unpleasant one. Rather like my laugh.
    Caine smiled, his teeth flashing in his bronze face. The expression warmed his eyes to liquid gold. My breath caught in my throat. If the detective looked that good merely smiling, how would he look after a night of slow, sweaty sex? Mmm.
    Donovan’s smile faded under my intense gray gaze. “What are you staring at?”
    “Nothing,” I said. “Eat your breakfast. It’s going to be a long day, and everyone needs to keep their strength up. Finn, what do your contacts say?”
    Finn gave me a dirty look before answering. “Still no hits on the dead guys’ fake IDs or any info on the tooth rune. Whoever the Air elemental is, she’s running a tight ship. No leaks so far.”
    “Any news about me?” Donovan Caine asked. “Or the attack at my house?”
    “Nothing on the morning news shows,” Finn said. “The elemental must have cleaned up after herself. No talk of bodies, wind damage, nothing. However, according to my sources in the police department, your captain, Wayne Stephenson, is looking for you. He wants a word about your maverick investigation into the Gordon Giles case and the fact that you haven’t reported in for duty today.”
    Caine grimaced, because his captain’s interest in his whereabouts was more evidence Stephenson was involved with the elemental.
    “Do you have anything on Stephenson yet?” I asked Finn.
    He shook his head. “Nothing so far. At first glance, his financials look clean, and he’s not dropping wads of cash on any vice or habit I can find. I’ll keep digging.”
    We finished our breakfast in silence. I started to clear the dishes from the table, but Donovan Caine got to his feet and reached for the platter in my hands.
    “Let me,” he said. “I’m staying in your house, eating your food. It’s the least I can do.”
    “My, my, my, handsome and polite,” I drawled. “Your mama raised you right, detective.”
    His eyes sparked gold at the word handsome, as he took the platter and dumped it in the sink. I sat down, sipped my juice, and leered at the detective.
    “What about Carlyle?” Finn asked, not sharing my fascination with Donovan Caine’s ass. “We still going to brace him at Northern Aggression tonight?”
    “Yeah. At this point, he’s our best lead. Our only lead.” I turned my gaze to Finn. “So call Roslyn and tell her we need to meet this afternoon.”
    “Last night you said you didn’t need Roslyn’s permission to storm her club,” Finn said. “Why the change?”
    I took another swig of juice. “Because she might know something else about Carlyle. You know how she likes to keep track of her guests’ habits. And I want to know everything there is to know about the bastard before we confront him tonight.” 

18
    Since we’d abandoned the SUV Finn had stolen yesterday, we were without transportation. So Finn had to boost another car from a parking garage four blocks away from my apartment. He stalked through one level of the garage, sneering and passing up several serviceable compact cars, before going down to the next level.
    “What’s he doing?” Donovan Caine asked as we walked along behind him. “This isn’t the supermarket.”
    I snorted. “Tell that to Finn. He’s a car guy. The more expensive and roomier it is, the happier it makes him.”
    Finn finally stopped in front of a late-model Lexus and nodded his head. “This will do for today. Tool please, Gin.” He held out his hand to me.
    “Didn’t you bring your own?”
    “Why carry the extra weight when you make such good disposable ones?” he countered.
    I hated to admit it, but Finn had a point. I sighed and reached for my Ice magic. Donovan Caine eyed the silver glow flickering over my palm, wondering what I was doing. A question I often asked myself when dealing with Finnegan Lane.
    A few seconds later, I passed Finn a long, slender, wirelike rod. He took the cold, Ice wand and jammed it into the car window. The lock popped open, the rod shattered, and Finn wiped the remaining chunks of the wand off his impeccable jacket. Then he opened the door, sank down