I shut the sound of the gemstones out of my mind and focused on the security detail for the evening. Several giants wearing dark suits roamed through the crowd, as was to be expected at one of these things. Several more stood with their arms crossed over their chests, keeping an eye on the players at the higher-end gaming tables. I counted five on this deck alone, and I knew that at least a few more would be patrolling the other levels and the interior of the riverboat, watching out for drunks and other potential problems. Each of the giants wore a large pin in the middle of his long tie that marked him as part of the security staff. The gold pins were shaped like the casino’s rune—a dollar sign superimposed over an outline of the riverboat. Classy.
The amount of security was troublesome but not surprising. The Delta Queen was a casino, after all, and there were lots of whales here tonight with cash to lose.
Including Owen Grayson.
The businessman sat at a table at the very tip of the boat playing poker with a couple of other high rollers. Instead of the plastic red, white, and blue chips some of the other gamblers were using, stacks of solid gold chips sat in front of each player, marking their value as hundred thousand dollar tokens. Given the stakes they were playing for, a crowd had formed around the table. I edged my way close enough to get a good view of the action.
Like every man in attendance, Owen Grayson had dressed up for the evening in a tuxedo, but his choice of navy fabric made his eyes seem more blue than violet. Even though he was sitting down, I was once again struck by how compact, sturdy, and strong Owen’s frame was. His violet eyes glittered in his face, even as his blue-black hair disappeared into the shadows cast by the lights wrapped around the railing behind him. The scar under Owen’s lips was a thin white line, but it wasn’t unappealing. If anything, it added more character to his features. Hard and tough and sexy, that’s how he looked to me.
I wasn’t the only woman studying him. Several regarded Owen with open, predatory interest, mentally weighing his figure and pocketbook against the other gentlemen to determine who was most worthy of their attention this evening. But evidently the others found him as appealing as I did, because none of them made a move to leave or go trolling past the other tables for more potential victims.
The dealer shuffled a fresh hand, and Owen used the lull in the action to scan the crowd around him. He stopped when he spotted me. Owen’s violet eyes trailed down my body, one slow inch at a time. Breasts, stomach, thighs, legs. He took it all in. A smile spread across his face, softening his hard features. I gave him a cool nod, acknowledging his approval of my dress. Owen’s smile widened, and he tipped his head in return.
“Sir?” the dealer asked Owen.
Owen looked at his cards and raised whatever bet had been given before. The man sitting to his left hemmed and hawed a minute before folding, and the others placed their bets. Owen’s violet gaze stayed on me a moment longer before focusing on his cards again. I moved on.
I walked through the hollow interior of the riverboat, where the staff was still busy setting all the tables for the evening’s dinner. The enclosed portion of the upper decks wrapped around a square, open area that featured a large, parquet stage fronted by black velvet curtains. The riverboat’s dinner shows were almost as popular as the gaming tables.
Once I’d acquainted myself with all the entrances, exits, and possible cubbyholes where I might quietly kill Elliot Slater, I did another swift circuit of the open deck. But the giant and Roslyn Phillips weren’t in attendance yet, so I went in search of Finn to see if he’d heard anything from Roslyn this evening.
As always, he was easy to find. Finnegan Lane had planted himself at the end of the bar that had been set up on one side of the deck. Bars were one of Finn’s favorite places, rife with booze, gossip, the occasional salty snack, and pretty, inebriated women open to the raw suggestion in his hungry smile. I found him chatting up a sweet young thing who barely looked old enough to drink, much less afford the emerald drops dangling from her ears or the C-cups spilling out of the top of her dress. Somebody had a generous sugar daddy.
I tapped the girl on the shoulder and gave her a hard smile. “Sorry, sugar, but you need to move along now. My dear husband ’s already taken for the evening.”
Finn huffed his disapproval. The girl’s brown eyes darted between the two of us. Evidently, she didn’t like the trouble she saw brewing in my cold face because she grabbed her strawberry daiquiri and scooted down to the other end of the bar in search of an easier prospect.
Finn sighed. “Did you really have to do that?”
“No.” I smiled. “But it sure was fun.”
“C’mon, Gin. You could have at least scared her off some other way. You know how I feel about the word husband.” Finn gave a delicate shudder. Any romantic commitment longer than a couple of hours was enough to make him jumpy.
I rolled my eyes. “We’re here to do a job, in case you’ve forgotten. You can hit on the young stuff once everything’s been taken care of for the night. Capisce?”
“Capisco,” he muttered.
I leaned against the bar and surveyed the sparkling, laughing, chattering crowd before me. I recognized a lot of the faces, mostly through my time as the Spider. Sisters, mothers, brothers, husbands, stockholders. I’d helped a lot of people on this boat get rid of their familial and business problems over the years in Ashland and beyond.
“Any sign of our friends yet?” I asked.
“No, but they should be here soon. Roslyn texted me a few minutes ago and said that Elliot Slater had just pulled into her driveway—” Finn jerked his head. “Hey, there they are.”
I looked to the left just in time to see Elliot Slater crest the top of the gangplank. The giant had one arm curled possessively around Roslyn Phillips’s hourglass waist. For her part, the vamp hung limp at his side like she was seasick and five seconds away from throwing up whatever she’d eaten today. Couldn’t blame Roslyn for that, after all she’d been through. I didn’t know that I would have made it this far in her shoes.
Two giants also dressed in tuxes followed Slater on board, moved ahead of him a few feet, and stopped, scanning the glittering crowd before them. Must be Slater’s de facto bodyguards for the evening.
Elliot Slater stepped to one side and turned, speaking to someone behind him. A moment later, two more figures stepped up and onto the riverboat—Jonah McAllister and Mab Monroe.
15
Finn saw my face tighten and my eyes darken with anger. “Something wrong?” he asked in a mild tone, even though he already knew the answer.
“I didn’t think Mab would be here tonight, since this is Phillip Kincaid’s casino,” I muttered. “The two of them hate each other. I thought Slater would be here alone, since gambling is one of his pastimes, according to your file on him.”
“Kincaid had to invite her, just like he had to invite Elliot Slater. Leave Mab Monroe and her flunkies off your guest list? That’s unthinkable in this town, even if Kincaid would be happy to dance on all their graves and take over Mab’s operations.” Finn nodded his head in that direction. “And in addition to Jonah McAllister, looks like Mab brought two more bodyguards along with her.”
Sure enough, two giants stepped onto the riverboat behind Mab and Jonah. The rear guard, as it were.
“No wonder poor Roslyn looks faint,” Finn murmured. “Besides Slater, who knows how long she’s had to listen to Jonah McAllister this evening? His arrogance would be enough to drive anyone mad. And Mab isn’t exactly a shrinking violet herself.”
We sat at the bar and watched the four of them. Elliot Slater led Roslyn Phillips out onto the deck, stopping every few feet to shake hands with someone he knew. The giant wore a black tuxedo that made his seven-foot physique seem even larger and more intimidating than usual. Tree trunks would look small in comparison to him.
So far, Roslyn seemed to be playing the role of the devoted date this evening. The first part of which was to look smashing. The vampire had donned a
floor-length scarlet evening gown dotted here and there with matching sequins. Somehow, the slinky, tight-fitting gown managed to be tasteful and still show off Roslyn’s perfect figure.
More than a few eyes turned in the vampire’s direction, but a quick glower from Slater was enough to end the appreciative gazes. The giant’s hazel eyes also followed the interlopers, as though he was committing their names and faces to memory so he could beat the stuffing out of them later. He crooked a finger at one of the two giants hovering near him and whispered something in the other man’s ear. The giant nodded and moved off into the crowd. A few seconds later, one of the men who’d been staring at Roslyn was discreetly escorted off the riverboat. If I had to guess, I’d say he was going to get the same kind of treatment that I’d received the other night on the community college quad.
Elliot Slater stayed close to Roslyn the entire time, only letting her out of arm’s reach long enough to grab them both a glass of champagne. Once he was done holding court, Elliot pulled Roslyn over to one of the blackjack tables, where they both sat down. The giant picked up Roslyn’s hand and cooed sweet nothings into her ear whenever he wasn’t busy betting or looking at his cards.
Despite her makeup, the vamp’s face looked pale and sweaty underneath the strings of lights. I had the sense Roslyn was very close to bolting. And though I couldn’t blame her for it if she did, it would only make things worse in the end.
Jonah McAllister and Mab Monroe also worked the crowd. Or rather, they stood in the middle of the deck and let their admiring sycophants come by one by one and suck up.
Jonah also wore a tux, his silver hair a bright, gleaming contrast against the black fabric. Mab wore a black cocktail dress not too dissimilar from my own. The dark color made her hair look like burnished copper against her creamy shoulders. As usual, she sported her gold sunburst necklace. The ruby that made up the center of the ornate design gleamed like fresh blood against her skin. Even across the open deck, my Stone magic let me hear the gemstone’s harsh, powerful murmur—one of fire, death, destruction. The awful sound made me grind my teeth together. The primal, elemental part of me wanted to smash that damn ruby and destroy its proud, horrid murmurs almost as much as I wanted to kill Mab.
“Now that you’ve had time to scope out the place, how do you want to do this?” Finn asked in a low voice. “Want me to cull Slater from the herd? Spill a drink on him so he has to take a convenient trip to the men’s room?”
“No,” I replied. “We both need to leave with plausible deniability. You spilling a drink on Elliot Slater, and then him disappearing adds up to the right conclusion real quick. Throw me into the mix, and they’ll even think they have the right motive. Just keep an eye on them, especially Roslyn. She looks like she’s about ten seconds away from screaming and trying to claw out Slater’s eyes.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Finn asked in a quiet voice. “Xavier told me about Roslyn’s so-called meetings with the giant. All the ways that he’s been terrorizing her. About how he’s been making her play house with him, as though they’re a real couple. It’s one of the sickest things I’ve ever heard.”
I thought about how calm Roslyn Phillips had been when she’d told me what Slater had been doing to her. How the bastard was controlling and scaring and hurting and abusing her. How he was playing with her before he finally raped her.
“I would have cut his heart out of his chest with one of my knives—or at least tried to,” I replied.
“So why hasn’t Roslyn done that?”
“Because Roslyn isn’t a former assassin like me. She didn’t have the benefit of Fletcher’s training. But more importantly, she has her sister and niece to think about. Xavier too. Her dying doesn’t help them one bit.”
Finn looked at me with his bright green eyes. “And you don’t have people who love you too?”
I shrugged. “It’s not the same. You, Jo-Jo, and Sophia know what I am, what I can do. And you’ve seen what other people have done to me.”
“You were a mess after Alexis James and Tobias Dawson got done with you,” he agreed.
I continued on like he hadn’t spoken. “The three of you know the risks by now. That one night, I might not come home. The three of you have each other to lean on. Roslyn’s the rock in her family. Her sister and her niece depend on her. She was trying to protect them.”
Finn kept staring at me. “And you’re our rock, Gin. You should think about that too.”
I didn’t respond. Because the funny thing was, Finn, Jo-Jo, and Sophia were my rocks—and I’d kill anyone who even thought about hurting them. Even if it meant my own death.
It was a price I’d be happy to pay.
Finn strolled off into the crowd, planting himself at a slot machine just in front of Slater’s blackjack table. Roslyn gave him a wan smile, but some of the tension eased out of her slim shoulders. At least the vamp knew we were here and ready to play. Her toffee eyes skimmed over the crowd, looking for me, but she couldn’t see me from where she was sitting. I made sure of it. I stayed at the bar, drinking a gin, watching the flow of traffic around the blackjack table, and thinking about everything I’d read about Elliot Slater in the past few days.
Finn had compiled quite a file on the giant, looking for any way to get to him, any weakness, vice, or hobby that he might have. We’d even dug into the folder of info that Fletcher Lane had compiled on Mab Monroe. The old man had included Slater in the mix with his boss, for obvious reasons. All the information had been interesting but not very helpful. Slater hadn’t become Mab Monroe’s top enforcer by accident. He was a crafty, cold-blooded bastard who liked using his fists to hurt people—a fact I’d felt for myself twice now.
Sadly, Roslyn Phillips wasn’t the first woman Elliot Slater had terrorized. Finn had dug up a dozen investigations involving missing women in Ashland just in the last two years alone. Slater’s name had been connected to all the cases, with him almost always listed as being the victim’s boyfriend.
Tall, short, curvy, or not. Giant, dwarf, vampire, human, elemental. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian. None of those things mattered to Slater. The only thing he seemed to care about was beauty. That was the one thing all his victims had in common—they were all exceptionally beautiful women, just like Roslyn was. Eye-catching and striking with the kind of perfect features you just couldn’t look away from.
The pattern was the same every single time. Slater would see a beautiful woman, become obsessed with her, and start stalking her. Showering her with his own twisted brand of attention and inventing the same sort of sick relationship with her that he had with Roslyn. In every single case, the woman turned up dead—raped and beaten to death a few weeks after she started dating Elliot Slater.
Finn had gotten his hands on some of the crime scene photos. They weren’t pretty. They made what the giant had done to me that night at the community college seem like a gentle massage. Slater seemed to enjoy destroying the women’s beauty just as much as he did admiring it to start with.
Some of the women had tried to fight back, of course. They’d gone to the police and tried to get a restraining order against Slater. But nothing ever came of their cries for help. In those cases, the women ended up dead within days instead of weeks. Slater didn’t like being disobeyed.
The simple fact was that Elliot Slater was a serial killer who enjoyed stalking, terrorizing, and controlling women before he finally raped and ultimately murdered them. He liked their fear, liked the feeling of power it gave him. It was probably the only thing that could get a sick bastard like him off.
Of course, nothing ever came of any investigation into Slater, thanks to the giant’s working for Mab Monroe. Hell, she probably gave him carte blanche to go out and find himself a certain kind of distraction every once in a while. A reward for all the bloody jobs he did on the Fire elemental’s behalf.
But I had seen a sliver of opportunity in the file, one possible window to get the giant alone tonight—Elliot Slater liked to smoke cigars.
A fact I’d witnessed the other night outside of Underwood’s restaurant. Not an unusual habit among the moneyed, muckety-muck types in Ashland.
But in a crowd like this, lighting up a Cuban would be frowned upon. Trophy wives didn’t like their designer dresses to reek of tobacco. And they’d create enough fuss to make even someone like Slater realize it was better to smoke away from all the silks and satins, if only to keep from listening to their bitching. So if the giant wanted his nicotine fix tonight, Slater would have to seek out a less crowded location to puff away to his heart’s content. And when he did, I’d make my move—
“Is this seat taken?” a voice rumbled to my right.
I turned my head and found myself staring into Owen Grayson’s violet eyes. “It is now.”
Owen tipped his head, settled himself next to me, and ordered a tonic water.
“No scotch tonight?” I asked.
The bartender slid his drink over, and Owen rattled the ice cubes in the glass before he took a sip. “I don’t drink when I’m gambling.”
“Didn’t look like much of a gamble,” I replied. “Since you were up several hundred thousand dollars last time I saw you, and the other players desperately looked like they wanted you to move to another table.”
Owen grinned. “I should probably mention that I’m excellent at bluffing.”
“I just bet you are.”
We sat there in companionable silence for a few moments. Owen leaned back, his gaze slowly tracking up and down my body. Admiring the view. I had to admit the unabashed attention pleased me. Especially when there were so many more attractive women on board. Even assassins had egos.
“You know,” Owen said in a casual tone. “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.”
“Like what?”
He gestured. “At a bar.”
This time, I leaned back against said bar and cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem too upset last time we were at a bar together. The other night at Northern Aggression.”