"No," I replied. "But I thought you might be interested in learning who paid me to kill Gordon Giles." His gaze sharpened. "You know who that is?"

"Not yet, but I'm going to find out." "Why?"

"Because they double-crossed me. They sent someone to take me out after I killed Giles."

Caine laughed-a harsh, bitter sound that could have peeled paint off the walls.

Several people stared at the detective. He waited until they turned their attention back to their half-eaten pieces of pie before he spoke again.

"Does that surprise you?" he asked. "The lack of honor among murderers?"

"No. But that they tried it with me does. I have a reputation. One that's been tarnished by this incident. I'm going to correct that."

"So you have a name," Caine said in a flat tone. "Some stupid moniker that doesn't mean anything to anyone but you."

The name the Spider did mean something to me, but not in the way Donovan Caine thought. It had been Fletcher's idea, and I'd gone along with it. He'd called me that because of the rune scars on my palms. He also said I'd reminded him of a spider when we'd first met-all thin arms and long legs hiding in a dark corner. The memory tugged at me, wanting to blossom into something more. But I curled my free hand into a tight fist and willed the unwanted emotions away. Now was not the time to show any sort of weakness.

"Care to tell me what that name is?" Caine asked. "Some people call me the Spider." Assassins don't exactly advertise, but lots of folks who dealt in the shady side of life knew my moniker, if nothing else. Donovan Caine was no exception. But the slight bulge of his eyes and the flare of his nostrils told me exactly who and what he was thinking about: Cliff Ingles. And whether or not I was the one who'd murdered him.

"If you're wondering if I'm the one who killed your partner, the answer is yes." No reason to hide the information since Caine was considering the possibility already.

Better to have it out in the open rather than have him be distracted by speculating about it. Especially when I needed Caine to focus on the matter at hand, which was finding the Air elemental so I could kill her. If the detective got all indignant and righteous about his slain partner, if he did something stupid, like go for his gun, I'd do him right here-no matter how much he might be able to help me. No matter how weary I might be of blood and death right now.

Caine leaned forward. Disgust and hate burned like hot coals in his eyes. "You killed Cliff Ingles, my partner, a cop, and you come in here with a proposition for me? Are you crazy or just stupid?"

"Neither. I hope you're not too stupid to hear me out." I also leaned forward, my eyes meeting his. The detective wasn't the only one who could do the hard stare. "These people tried to kill me. That, I can understand. Being a target, being hit yourself, is a job hazard. But they weren't content with just me. They killed my handler. Another one of my associates was almost beaten to death. In short, they framed me and then tried to tie up the loose ends. They crossed the line, even among murderers." Caine snorted again. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"No," I replied. "I don't want or need your sympathy. What I'm offering you is my help, detective."

He leaned back in the booth, studying me, trying to read my eyes and face. But I'd learned a long time ago to keep my expression as blank as a piece of slate. Say nothing, do nothing, give nothing away you didn't want or have to.

"Even if I were able to overlook the fact you murdered my partner and consider your offer, what would I get in return? Besides a knife in the back?"

I ignored his snide comment. "I have some information that might be useful in tracking down who's behind the Gordon Giles hit. It's not much, but it's a place to start. Agree to work with me, feed me any leads or theories you have, and I'll give my information to you-along with my other services. For free. A tit-for-tat situation." His eyes flicked to my breasts again before coming back to my face. "Other services?"

"You're going to need help tracking down the people who did this-and dealing with them." Another snort. "Lady, I'm a cop. I can deal with these people on my own." My turn to scoff. "Really? Is that why Captain Stephenson did all the talking at the press conference outside the opera house? Is that why he stopped you from answering any questions? Is that why I'm being blamed for Gordon Giles's murder, even though we both know I was fishing myself out of the Aneirin River when he was killed in that fake car accident? Face it, Caine, the whole Ashland police department is as dirty as a pair of three- week-old gym socks. Present company excluded, of course."

He didn't say anything.

I drew in a breath. "I had the chance to question some folks I ran into last night.

Some of the people involved in this conspiracy. They all said the same thing. That somebody, some cop in the department, was helping them. Think about it. How quickly things happened. How fast my supposed connection to Giles was discovered, and my sketch plastered on television. And then there's you, detective. That guy outside of the box wasn't just going to pop Giles. He was going to do you, too. You have to know that. And now you know somebody in your precious police department was in on it. That he was okay with you getting dead. Somebody doesn't like you very much, detective."

Silence. Donovan Caine shifted in the booth. His index finger tapped out a pattern on the tabletop. A muscle twitched in his right cheek. He wanted to go for his gun. The desire to do it tightened his face, his whole body.

His gaze flicked to the SUV outside, and he forced himself to keep his emotions in check. To relax an inch. I'd been right. Caine wasn't the sort of cop who was okay with collateral damage. No matter how much he wanted to kill me right now.

"Do you really think these people are going to stop whatever they're doing just because I get arrested, put in jail, or killed? Not in this city. Not with Mab Monroe running things. She could be the one who wanted Gordon Giles dead in the first place, although I'll admit it's doubtful at best."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because Mab Monroe tends to deal with these sorts of situations herself. It's the only fucking thing I admire about her."

The corner of Caine's mouth lifted, and he grunted. He wasn't going to argue that point.

"Think about my offer." I cut off a sliver of my cake to keep up appearances, even though I had no intention of eating it. Too bad. The golden Mountain Dew cake looked scrumptious. "You were talking to Gordon Giles for a reason. Somebody didn't like what they thought he might say to you and what you might do with the information. That's why they killed him. Everything else is just decoration." He grimaced. "And what guarantee do I have you're telling the truth? That this all isn't some elaborate scheme to kill me?"

My lips drew back in a toothy grin. "Because if I wanted you dead, detective, I would have just stabbed you at the opera house-or I could put my knife in your throat right now."

He tightened up again.

I gave him a cool stare. "But I'm not going to do that. I want to get to the bottom of this, and you're the only person who can help me. Face it, Caine. We need each other-whether we like it or not."

My time was up. I slid out of the booth and got to my feet. "You have a few hours to think it over. If you agree to my proposal, turn your front porch light on at six o'clock tonight. I'll bring the evidence I have, and we can work out further terms. Double-cross me, and you'll end up like Gordon Giles-naked, burned to a crisp, and lying on a cold steel slab at the morgue."

"And if I don't agree? Don't want to work with you?" he asked. I shrugged. "Then don't. Just stay the hell out of my way."

"Is that a threat?"

"No," I said, backing toward the front door. "Just the way things are. Someone was very determined to kill Gordon Giles without implicating herself, and so far, she's pulled it off. In my experience, determined people have a way of succeeding. And this time, I'm the one who's determined. I'm going to find who's responsible for this, detective. You can work with me, and I'll let you have the dirty cop. Or you can wade through the blood and bodies after I'm done. Your choice."

Caine stared at me, his face unreadable. I nodded at him, then turned and walked out into the blazing sunlight.

Chapter Thirteen

Finn saw me exit the Cake Walk and eased the black SUV in my direction. I listened for the sound of the bell over the front door. Even though I'd admitted to killing his partner, Donovan Caine wasn't charging after me, gun drawn and screaming-yet.

Neither of the two men tailing him looked in my direction. The first man was deep into the sports section of the newspaper, while his buddy had stopped hitting on the coeds long enough to buy a pretzel from a vendor. I eyed the second man, committing his features to memory. A short guy, with thinning black hair, a thick neck, and a strong, stocky body. He grinned at the pretzel vendor, showing off a set of fangs. A vampire. One who wasn't very big on personal hygiene, judging from the yellow tint to his teeth.

My gaze cut to the coeds. Still slurping on their mochas. They wouldn't go anywhere for a few minutes. Good. Finn pulled the black SUV up to the curb beside me. I opened the passenger's side door and hopped inside. Finn pulled away from the sidewalk, not so fast as to make the tires squeal, but quick enough to mean business. He cut in front of a trophy wife with TBH-Tennessee big hair-in a red Lexus, and she beeped her horn in displeasure. Finn stuck his finger out the window.

"Classy," I murmured. "Very classy."

We reached the stoplight at the end of the block, and I glanced in the side mirror.

Donovan Caine stood on the sidewalk. His head swiveled around to the two men, who were busy pretending to eat and read the newspaper. He frowned, looked at our SUV, and scribbled down something on a notepad. Then Caine turned and walked in the opposite direction, probably heading back toward the police station. After about thirty seconds, his watchers followed him.

Finn saw the detective too. "Good thing I boosted this last night. Because unless I'm mistaken, the good detective just copied down our license plate number. He's probably on his way to headquarters right now to turn it in."

I snorted. "Typical. Try to do somebody a favor, and he sics the traffic cops on you."

"You do kill people," Finn pointed out. "It's only natural he'd be cautious."

"Let's hope he's not too cautious to take my deal. Now, go down a couple of blocks, then circle back around to the Cake Walk."

"Want to tell me why?" "You'll see."

Finn did as I asked, and five minutes later, he parked in the same spot he'd started from. Once I made sure Donovan Caine and his watchers were gone, I got out of the car and walked over to the trio of coeds the vampire had been chatting up. I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out all the cash I had on me-three hundred bucks and change. Should be more than enough for what I had in mind.

I stopped in front of the girls and flashed the money at them. "Ladies, can I have a moment of your time? I'll make it worth your while."

The girls looked at each other, then at me.

"Sorry," said one of them, a petite black woman in her early twenties. "We're not hookers."

"I'm not looking for a hooker," I said. "That guy who was talking to you earlier. The vampire with the receding hairline. He gave you something. I'm thinking a business card?"

The second girl, a pretty brunette, snorted. "Yeah, he gave us his card. Said he was a talent scout and asked us if we'd ever done any modeling. Like we all haven't heard that line before."

The three women shared a harsh, knowing laugh. So young and already so jaded. I liked them.

I fanned the money at them. "Well, there's a hundred here for each of you if you give me that card."

The third woman, a chubby blonde, frowned. "Why would you want that creep's number? We were going to toss it with our coffee cups."

I gave her a wide smile. "I'm tailing the bastard for his wife. She thinks he's cheating on her. Every little thing I can get him for is another nail in his coffin, and more alimony in her pocket. Want to help a sister out?"

The three women glanced at each other, then at the money in my hand.

The brunette shrugged, reached into her jeans pocket, and plucked out a crumpled slip of paper. "For three hundred bucks, it's yours."

I swapped my C-notes for the card and gave them another winning smile. "Pleasure doing business with you, ladies."

I left the coeds to their mochas and jogged back to Finn.

"You looking for some girl-on-girl action or something?" Finn asked after I'd slipped into the passenger's seat. "Only in your dreams, Finn."

I glanced at the wrinkled card in my hand. Charles Carlyle. A cell phone number squatted underneath the blocky script, but my eyes settled on the symbol printed on the card-a triangular shaped tooth with sawlike edges done in black ink. The mysterious Air elemental's rune.

"So what was this little detour all about then?" Finn asked.

My thumb rubbed over the rune. "Putting a name with a face. Now, let's get out of here, before Donovan Caine sends the po-po back this way."

Finn dumped the SUV in the first parking garage we came to and liberated a similar one-another late-model Cadillac. He drove through the streets, circling around the downtown district twice before taking a swing through the suburbs to make sure we were clear of anyone who might have an unhealthy interest in us.