Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

something to do with it. I’m never going to be free of him. Never.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
    I looked at her, feeling small and helpless for the first time in many years. Roslyn was right. As soon as Slater’s body turned up, Mab Monroe would start asking questions—and Roslyn would be the first person the Fire elemental would interrogate.
    Unless I could think of some way to stop it.
    Roslyn was done for the night—physically, mentally, emotionally—so Jo-Jo led the vamp upstairs so she could shower, put on some more comfortable clothes, and crash in one of the guest beds. Finn, Sophia, Xavier, and I stayed in the kitchen. I didn’t speak until I was sure that Roslyn was out of earshot.
    “I’m going to need some help to pull this off,” I said in a soft voice. “A place for Roslyn to stay, someone to watch over her while I take care of business. Will you guys help me? Please?”
    “Of course, Gin,” Finn replied. “Whatever you need, anywhere, anytime. You know that. That’s what families do for each other. And we’re all family here.”
    Sophia murmured her agreement as well.
    I nodded my head in gratitude, then looked at Sophia first. “Roslyn stays here until I deal with Elliot Slater. You take the night shift guarding her. Jo-Jo can keep an eye on her during the day. Roslyn doesn’t go out, she doesn’t talk to or see or call anyone. Okay?”
    The Goth dwarf nodded. She knew the drill.
    “Good. I’m also going to need you to come down to the Pork Pit and work your usual shift tomorrow. I’ll be there too.”
    Xavier frowned. “You’re going to have the restaurant open tomorrow? Why? You should be busy plotting how to get to Slater, not serving up barbecue.”
    I looked at the giant. “Don’t worry, I will be. But everyone involved in this thing needs to stick to their normal routines. Go to work, go home, whatever. Be seen by other folks. That way, when Slater’s body turns up and Mab Monroe starts asking questions, we all have some plausible deniability. We were far too busy being normal to even think about killing the giant. It might just save our asses.”
    Xavier shook his head. “That might work for the rest of us, but it won’t for Roslyn. Not if she’s cooped up here the whole time.”
    “That’s where Finn comes in.”
    I turned to face Finn, who was pouring himself yet another cup of chicory coffee. The warm caffeine fumes flooded the kitchen, reminding me once again of FletcherLane. The old man had drunk the same coffee that his son did. It might have been nothing more than silly sentiment, but the smell comforted me, even during this long, tense night. Not for the first time, I wished the old man were still alive. Fletcher Lane had been a master tactician. He’d know exactly the best way to handle Elliot Slater—and get away clean afterward. Instead of fumbling around with things like I was doing. Like I’d been doing for days now.
    But Fletcher was gone, and I was here. It didn’t much matter what happened to me after the fact—only that the others were clear. And if I had to die to make sure they were, well, at least I’d seen Bria again before I kicked off to hell.
    I breathed in once more, enjoying the rich aroma a final time, before pushing all thought of Bria and the old man away. “Finn, I need you to get busy constructing an alibi for Roslyn.”
    “Alibi?” Sophia rasped in her ruined voice.
    I nodded. “Alibi. Back when this whole thing started, Roslyn sent her sister and her niece down to Myrtle Beach to get them out of the way. Well, after the scene last night on the riverboat, Roslyn decided to get out of town and join them.”
    “Impromptu vacation?” Finn asked. “I can do that. Hotel bill, restaurant receipts, shitty souvenirs, sand in a suitcase. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to fake it all. I can even rig up some security footage from the hotel that Roslyn’s supposedly staying at if you want.”
    For a moment, I wondered exactly how Finn was going to get his hands on not only sand but tacky beach T-shirtsand conch shell necklaces this close to midnight. But if there were any to be had in all of Ashland, Finnegan Lane would find them. Like me, Finn had many skills, most of which weren’t exactly legal.
    “Do the whole package,” I answered. “And make it look good.
Very
good. Enough to stand up to whatever scrutiny Mab Monroe might bring to bear. Or the police.”
    Finn toasted me with his coffee mug.