Deadly Sting (Elemental Assassin #8)

Deadly Sting (Elemental Assassin #8) Page 3

"Ladies," he said. "Have I told you both how very brave you were? Why, it was just amazing the way you both kept your cool when that horrible thug stormed into the store . . ."

And he was off, telling the saleswomen just how much he admired their levelheaded gumption in the face of such terrible danger and other such nonsense. He only stopped talking long enough to draw in a necessary breath here and there, dazzling them with smile after toothy smile.

While Finn soothed their ruffled feathers and bruised egos, I stepped around the display case.

"Hey there, baby sister," I said.

Bria smiled and got to her feet. "Hey there yourself. You know, when Finn told me that he was taking you shopping this afternoon, I didn't imagine things would turn out quite like this."

My gaze dropped to the bloodstains on the thick gray carpet. "Me either."

"Still, you made my day a little easier," she continued.

"How so?"

She gestured at the store windows, through which I could see that Xavier had stuffed the dwarf into the backseat of the sedan and was now leaning against the side of the car. He had his sunglasses on and his head tilted back, enjoying the warm, early June sun.

"By catching the bad guy for me." Bria paused. "Or, rather, knocking him unconscious."

I grinned. "You know me and my methods."

"That I do."

She returned my grin before swiveling back around to the case. Bria picked up a necklace set with square diamonds that were the size of gumballs. She studied the flashing gems for a few seconds before putting the piece down on top of the glass.

"All these diamonds would have made for a nice haul if the guy had gotten away with them." She shook her head, making her blond hair shimmer. "The moon must be full or something. This is the second robbery I've been called out to today, and it's the fifth one this week."

"Well, that's not so unusual, is it?" I asked. "This is Ashland, after all. Somebody's always up to something in this town - usually something evil, dastardly, and violent."

She shrugged. "Maybe, but it seems like more bad guys than usual have come out of the woodwork these past few days. And the really weird thing? There's no one around to stop them."

Bria looked over at the saleswomen. "Excuse me, ladies. Does the store employ any security guards?"

Red actually glanced away from Finn long enough to answer her question. "We used to have a giant. But Anton called in yesterday and said that he'd gotten a better offer. So the owner hasn't had a chance to replace him yet."

Bria nodded, and Red turned her attention back to Finn.

"I've gotten that same explanation twice now," Bria said. "It's like all the giants who work as bodyguards have suddenly decided to move on up to bigger and better things. This is the third robbery I've seen this week where nobody's been guarding the goods, even with an obvious score to be had."

I frowned. That was strange. Vampires, dwarves, elementals, humans - lots of folks hired themselves out as security or bodyguards to banks, businesses, and wealthy individuals. Sure, it was a dangerous gig, especially in this town, but the money was good, and most positions came with excellent medical and dental. Some folks even offered their employees 401(k)s and profit-sharing plans. Not to mention the bonus hazard pay you could collect if you thwarted a robbery or an assassination attempt.

But given their tall, strong physiques, giants were the top choice when it came to keeping something or someone safe, especially among the underworld bosses. Practically every crime lord in Ashland had at least half a dozen giants - if not more - on his or her payroll. For the bosses, hiring them was a way to keep the rest of their underlings in line and hold on to their turf. For the giants, it was usually easy money for mostly standing around and looking tough. Win-win all the way around - unless you happened to cross somebody with a cadre of giants at his disposal. In addition to providing protection, giants were also very, very good at enforcing one person's unpleasant will on another - and beating you until you got the bloody message.

Bria shook her head. "Anyway, at least this case is cut-and-dried. All I need to do is get some witness statements from the saleswomen, and Xavier and I can take the perp over to the station - "

A soft, feminine laugh floated through the air, followed by a series of high-pitched giggles. Bria and I looked at each other, then over at Finn. Apparently, all had been forgiven, because the two saleswomen had practically draped themselves over him by this point. Red had her hand on one of his shoulders, while Blondie was cozied up on his other side, toying with his jacket sleeve. Finn's head swiveled back and forth between them, as though he was watching an intense tennis match. It was a wonder his neck didn't break from the speed.

"Good luck getting those statements," I murmured.

Bria smiled, showing a hint of teeth. "Oh, luck has nothing to do with it, big sister."

She strode over and planted herself in front of Finn and his adoring entourage.

"Bria!" he said. "I was just telling these two lovely ladies how brave they were when that terrible thug rushed into the store."

"Of course you were." Her voice was mild, although she raised her eyebrows at him.

Finn gave her a sheepish grin, but he immediately disentangled himself from the other two women and stepped forward. His sudden movement made the saleswomen teeter on their heels and almost crash into each other, but Finn didn't care. He leaned down and murmured something in Bria's ear that caused a fierce blush to bloom in her cheeks. Red and Blondie both frowned, but Bria just smiled at them. They all knew that she had Finn's full and undivided attention now.

He finally quit whispering to her and straightened up, a teasing grin on his handsome face. Bria stared back at him, her blue eyes warm and soft.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she murmured. "Tonight."

Finn's grin widened.

Bria blushed a little more, then cleared her throat, stepped past him, and addressed the other two women, back in full detective mode. "Ladies, I need to get some statements from you about what happened . . ."

I smiled at their antics, even though they made my heart twinge with pain. Seeing Finn, Bria, and their obvious happiness reminded me of how much I missed Owen. Not for the first time, I thought about pulling out my cell phone and calling him. The only problem was that I didn't know what to say. I love you. I miss you. I killed your ex because it had to be done. Not exactly sweet nothings.

Still, the urge to hear his voice was so strong that I went so far as to grab my phone out of my jeans pocket. My finger hovered over the button that would speed-dial Owen's number, but after a moment, I stuffed the phone back into my pocket. I sighed. I'd never considered myself a coward before, but when it came to Owen, I was as yellow-bellied as the dress I'd ruined.

But my conflicted feelings didn't change the fact that I needed to get back to the Pork Pit and help Sophia with the dinner rush. I'd just taken a step toward the front door when Finn blocked my path.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Outside," I said. "To your car. So you can drive me back to the restaurant."

He shook his head. "Uh-uh. Nothing doing. No way. I told Sophia that you were taking the rest of the day off, and that's exactly what you're going to do. Besides, we are not leaving here until you get a new dress."

"You're kidding, right?"

Finn turned to the rack closest to him and grabbed a long dress that shimmered with red sequins. "What do you think about this one? Yeah, this is much too orange of a red for you. With all that pale skin, you need a blue-red, like this one."

He plucked another gown off the rack, held it out at arm's length, and examined it with a critical eye.

"Oh, yes," he said. "This would look divine with your complexion. And I think I saw some shoes earlier that would be absolutely smashing with this."

I just groaned.

After another hour of trying on dresses at the Posh boutique, Finn and I headed back to the Pork Pit to grab some dinner. The attempted robbery might have broken up some of the tediousness of dress shopping, but I still wanted some comfort food from my own restaurant. So I dished us both up some burgers, chili-cheese fries, and triple-chocolate milkshakes.

Later that evening, Finn finally dropped me off at Fletcher's house - my house now. Being a gentleman, he carried in the ridiculously expensive dress, shoes, and purse he'd picked out and insisted I buy. Then he headed out, saying that Bria was expecting him. Of course she was, given the heated promises he'd whispered to her in the boutique.

"Good luck with your seduction," I sniped, following him out onto the porch.

Finn waggled his eyebrows at me. "Luck? Finnegan Lane doesn't need luck, baby. Enough said."

His excessive confidence made me laugh, although a bit of bitterness tinged my chuckles. "Of course you don't."

Finn hesitated, picking up on my sour mood. "You know, I could always cancel with Bria, if you wanted some company tonight - "

"I'm fine," I said, cutting him off before I could see the pity in his eyes. "In fact, I'm plumb tuckered out from all that shopping. I plan to take a shower, get in bed, and curl up with a good book."

Once again, he hesitated. "Well, if you're sure . . ."

I gave his shoulder a little push. "I'm sure. Now, go. Have fun with Bria."

Finn nodded, stepped off the porch, and got into his car. Cranking the engine, he waved at me before zooming down the driveway. I kept my arm up and my features fixed into a pleasant smile until he disappeared from sight. Then I let out a quiet sigh, and my fake, happy face melted like a scoop of rocky road on a hot summer day. I hadn't lied to Finn. I was tired - of pretending that I was okay. That I didn't miss Owen.

That my heart wasn't a bloody, pulpy mass of broken bits, splintered pieces, and sharp edges.

But standing outside and brooding into the evening sun wasn't going to help anything, so I shut and locked the front door, then went upstairs to my bedroom. I hung up the garment bag containing my new dress, stripped off my clothes, and took a long, hot shower to wash away the last lingering traces of the dwarf's blood. When that was done, I pulled on a pair of short, loose cotton pajamas patterned with blackberries and crawled into bed.

I glanced at the nightstand and the copy of What's the Worst That Could Happen? by Donald E. Westlake that I was reading for my latest literature class over at Ashland Community College. But I didn't feel like reading tonight, so I snapped off the light and snuggled under the soft, thin sheets, even though it was still early in the evening.

I tried to sleep, but the flickers began almost as soon as I closed my eyes. More nights than not, I didn't dream so much as I remembered old jobs, old dangers, and old enemies I'd faced . . .

The job had gone sideways.

It was supposed to be an easy hit. Fletcher Lane, my mentor and the assassin known as the Tin Man, had taken out drug lords like Peter Delov dozens of times before. Breach the perimeter, get close to the target, and twist the knife in until he was good and dead before slipping back into the shadows once more. Simple. Clean. Easy.

But it hadn't worked out that way at all.

I'd helped Fletcher gather intel on Delov for weeks, and I supposed him bringing me along tonight was my reward for all of that hard work. Plus, now that I was fifteen and two years into my training with him, Fletcher had said that it was finally time for me to see exactly what being an assassin really meant - and all the bloody violence that went along with it.

As if I didn't already know all about blood and violence from living on the streets - and watching the murders of my mother and my older sister.

But Fletcher had said that soon I'd be ready to start doing solo jobs and that these dry runs with him would help me prepare. I didn't really understand what he was talking about, though. On the few jobs I'd been on so far, all I'd done was stand in the shadows, watch him get close to the target, wait for him to deliver the killing blow, and then leave the scene of the crime with the old man. Not exactly the hands-on method I'd imagined.

But that had all changed tonight.

Fletcher had learned that Delov had sent his giant guards on down to his Miami mansion that afternoon, while his personal staff was at the airport, readying his private plane. Delov was leaving early in the morning to meet with his drug suppliers down in the Keys, and he was the sort who'd want everything picture-perfect for his trip.

Without the usual guards patrolling, it had been child's play for us to climb over the stone wall that ringed the estate, creep through the woods that surrounded the mansion, and then slip inside the structure. We hadn't seen a soul, not even Peaches, Delov's pet Pomeranian. Clear sailing all the way up to the third floor, where his bedroom was.

Only the drug lord hadn't been sound asleep like he was supposed to have been, given that it was one in the morning. Fletcher and I stood in the shadows that blackened Delov's bedroom, staring at the enormous, empty bed with its rumpled silk sheets.

"Where is he?" I whispered. "We've been watching him for two weeks now. He's always in bed by this time."

Fletcher shrugged, but I could see the tension in the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders.

"I don't know," he said. "But we have to find him and do this tonight. We won't be able to get this close to him again this easily."

Fletcher crept over and put his hand down in the center of the bed. "The mattress is still warm, which means that he's probably on this floor somewhere. Where do you think he went, Gin?"