Elemental Assassin 04 - Tangled Threads

products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
    Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Estep
    All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
    First Pocket Books paperback edition May 2011
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    Cover illustration and design by Tony Mauro
    Manufactured in the United States of America
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    ISBN 978-1-4391-9263-4
ISBN 978-1-4391-9265-8 (ebook)

As always, this book is dedicated to my mom, grandma, and Andre for everything that they do for me.
     

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
     
    Once again my heartfelt thanks go out to all the folks who help turn my words into a real book.
    Thanks to my super agent, Annelise Robey, for always being so patient with me, and to my equally super editors, Megan McKeever and Lauren McKenna, for all their editorial advice, input, and encouragement. You all make writing Gin that much more fun.
    Thanks also to Tony Mauro, for designing the excellent book covers. Every time I think that Tony can’t possibly top himself, I get a look at the next cover and am wowed all over again.
    And finally, a big thanks to all the readers out there. Knowing that folks read and enjoy my books is always humbling, and I’m glad that you all are enjoying Gin and her adventures.
    Happy reading!

1
     
    “Are you going to kill this guy? Or are we just going to sit here all night?”
    “Patience, Finn,” I murmured. “We’ve been in the car for only an hour.”
    “Longest hour of my life,” he muttered.
    I arched an eyebrow and looked over at Finnegan Lane, my partner in crime for the night. Most nights, actually. Just after ten o’clock a few days before Christmas, and we sat in the darkened front of Finn’s black Cadillac Escalade. An hour ago, Finn had parked the car in a secluded, out-of-the-way alley overlooking the docks that fronted the Aneirin River. We’d been sitting here, and Finn had been grousing ever since.
    Finn shifted in his seat, and my gray eyes flicked over him. The wool fabric of his thick coat outlined his broad shoulders, while a black watchman’s cap covered his walnut-colored hair. His eyes were a bright green even inthe semidarkness, and the shadows did little to hide the square handsomeness of his face.
    Most women would be glad to be in such close quarters with Finnegan Lane. With his easy smile and natural charm, Finn would have already had the majority of them in the backseat, pants off, legs up, steam covering the windows as the car rocked back and forth.
    Good thing I wasn’t most women.
    “Come on, Gin,” Finn whined again. “Go stick a couple of your knives in that guy and leave your rune for Mab to find so we can get out of here.”
    I stared out the car window. Across the street, bathed in the golden glow of a streetlight, the guy in question continued to unload wooden crates from the small tugboat that he’d pulled up to the dock forty-five minutes ago. Even from this distance, I could hear the warped, weathered boards creak under his weight as the river rushed on by beneath them.
    The man was a dwarf—short, squat, stocky, sturdy—and dressed in black clothes practically identical to the ones that Finn and I were wearing. Jeans, boots, sweater, jacket. The sorts of anonymous clothes you wore to go skulking about late at night, especially in this rough Southtown neighborhood, and most especially when you didn’t want anyone else to see what you were up to.
    Or when you were planning on killing someone, like I was tonight. Most nights, actually.
    I rubbed my thumb over the hilt of the silverstone knife that I held in my lap. The metal glinted dully in the darkness of the car, and the weight of the weapon feltcold and comforting to me. The knife rested lightly on the spider rune scar embedded in my palm.
    It would be easy enough to give in to Finn’s whining. To slip out of the car, cross the street, creep up behind the dwarf, cut his throat,