Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

what I’d been doing on board the riverboat.
    “Ms. Blanco,” Bria said. “This is the second time we’ve run into each other today.”
    “Detective Coolidge,” I replied. “You look lovely. That color really brings out your baby blues.”
    Bria’s mouth tightened, as she tried to decide whether or not I was being sincere. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.
    Owen stepped forward and extended his hand. “Owen Grayson. Gin’s date for the evening. It’s a pleasure, detective.”
    If Owen wanted to keep up the charade of pretending to be my date, fine with me. It gave me a plausible reason to be here in the mix tonight.
    Bria shook his hand, then turned her attention back to me. “You don’t know where Roslyn Phillips went? I find that hard to believe, Ms. Blanco. Especially since she was at your restaurant earlier today. The two of you seemed quite cozy then.”
    I shrugged. “Lots of people eat at my restaurant, detective. The food happens to be excellent. You should come try it for yourself sometime. I’ll fix you a barbecue sandwich so good, it will make you slap your mama.”
    I said the words without thinking, in the joking sort of way I had to so many other people over the years whenever I was boasting about the Pork Pit. But I knew I’d made a mistake the second they were out, because Bria’s face went cold and blank. Of course it would. Mine would have too.
    “My mother’s dead.”
    Those three simple words each felt like a silverstone knife ripping into my heart. My eyes dropped to the delicate primrose rune around Bria’s neck, then the rings on her finger, and my stomach tightened. Damn. Sometimes I really could be a cold-hearted, insensitive bitch.
    Bria shook her head, as if chasing away a bad memory. I knew the feeling.
    “You have no idea where Ms. Phillips went?” she repeated her earlier question.
    “None,” I replied. “If it makes you feel better, detective, I was just as shocked as you were to hear what she said about Elliot Slater.”
    “As was I,” Owen cut in. “As was I.”
    I looked at Owen, but his face was just as closed off as Bria’s was.
    Bria stared at me again, and I returned her gaze with a cool one of my own. She must have realized she wasn’t getting anything out of me tonight, because she gave me a curt nod.
    “Fine,” she said. “I’ll track Ms. Phillips down myself. You have my card, Ms. Blanco. If you see Ms. Phillips, please tell her that I’d like to speak to her regarding what she said about Elliot Slater. That I’d like to help her press charges against the bastard, and that I’ll protect her no matter what.”
    Bria’s eyes burned with cold, blue fire. The cop in her meant every word she’d just said. She’d protect Roslyn from Slater, even if it resulted in her own ostracization from the police department—or even her death. Finn had been right when he’d pegged my sister as a crusader. I admired the fact that she wanted to help Roslyn, even if I knew nothing would ever come of any charges filed against Slater. Besides, the giant wasn’t going to live long enough for all that. Not if I had my way about things.
    Bria gave me another hard stare. “If Roslyn Phillipsis your friend, if you care about her at all, you’ll tell her what I said.”
    “Sure,” I replied. “If I see her.”
    Bria’s lips flattened into a thin smile. “Sure. If you see her.”
    “Now, if you’ll please excuse us, detective, Owen and I were just leaving.”
    Bria stared at me a moment longer, then stepped to one side. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. Blanco.”
    “You too, detective,” I murmured. “You too.”
    Thirty minutes later, Owen Grayson pulled his navy blue Mercedes Benz to a stop in the driveway that ringed his mansion. I stared out the window at the building before me. Like most wealthy Ashland businessmen, Owen lived on a sprawling estate, although he was out more in the suburbs than truly being entrenched in the glorified confines of Northtown.
    Owen’s place also wasn’t quite as pretentious as I’d thought it would be. The mansion boasted a simple, sturdy facade of only four stories instead of the usual eight or so the rest of the city’s power players preferred. I opened my door, got out of the car, and stood in the driveway a moment, listening to the whispers of the gray cobblestones under my feet and the larger rocks of the mansion above my head. The soft murmurs spoke of pride and power, tempered with wary caution.