“That’s because you promised to call me,” Owen replied. “Which you haven’t done yet.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
Across the deck, Elliot Slater raked in a pile of gold chips.
“This and that.”
Owen drained the rest of his tonic. “You know, I’m not used to waiting for a woman to call.”
“Well, then this new experience will be good for your ego,” I replied. “Keep it from getting too inflated. I think we also discussed that last time we met.”
Owen chuckled, then scooted forward and put his hand on top of mine. It was a light touch, as gentle as a breeze. But to me, the feel of his warm skin on mine whispered of possibilities—and the pleasure that could be found in more full-body contact.
“What do you say we get out of here, Gin? Go have that dinner you promised me?”
“Dinner?” I replied.
“Dinner,” he said, his eyes darkening to a rich, plum color. “And maybe some dessert too. If you’d like.”
I knew exactly what he meant by dessert. My eyes drifted over Owen’s face, down his chest, and over his strong, capable-looking hands. Once again, a hot tingle of desire sizzled to life in the pit of my stomach.
Donovan Caine wasn’t coming back. The detective had made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t what he wanted. That he valued his precious morals more than what he could have with me. And Owen Grayson was here, ready, willing, and able—and his violet eyes free of the guilt that had always darkened Donovan’s golden ones.
Owen’s thumb stroked over the back of my hand, another light, delicious touch that made me want to say yes to him, just to see what would happen between us—
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elliot Slater get to his feet. He murmured something in Roslyn’s ear, then snapped his fingers. The two giants that had been hovering around the blackjack table moved closer to Roslyn, ordered to watch her instead of Slater. The giant traced a finger down the side of Roslyn’s cheek. The vamp attempted to smile through the touch, but it came off as more of a grimace. Slater didn’t seem to notice, though. He pulled a heavy silver case out from inside his jacket, opened it, and plucked out a long, fat cigar.
My window of opportunity had just opened. I wouldn’t get a better chance than this all evening. I might not get another chance all evening.
Owen’s thumb kept up its long, sure strokes, a promise of what could come later with other, more interesting parts of his anatomy. My pleasure or Roslyn’s pain. No choice, really.
I smiled at Owen, pulled my hand away from his, and got to my feet. “Hold that thought. I see someone I just have to speak to. Please excuse me for a few minutes.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes, and Owen opened his mouth, probably to ask what I thought I was doing turning down his open invitation yet again. I wasn’t sure I knew myself.
I might even have been sorry if I hadn’t already turned and walked away.
16
I kept to the perimeter of the deck, drawing as little attention to myself as possible as I headed after Elliot Slater. By this point, the benefit was in full swing, with at least three hundred people milling about in the open air, playing poker, pulling the slot machines, and drinking themselves into a fevered tizzy. More than enough traffic and noise to conceal my movements to all but the most devoted observer.
The key to making it look like you’re not following someone is to pretend like he doesn’t even exist. That the two of you are just out for a stroll, coincidentally in the same direction with the same destination in mind. So I walked along at a sedate pace, smiling at the men and women who wandered past me. I even paused a few seconds and pretended to be interested in the outcome of a baccarat game.
Finn had seen Slater get up, and he spotted me moving through the crowd after the giant. Finn nodded at me, encouraging me to keep going. I nodded back. I had no intention of stopping until the giant was dead and feeding the catfish in the Aneirin River.
Thirty feet ahead of me, Elliot Slater rounded the corner of the deck and disappeared from view. I watched the end of another baccarat game, waited a few more seconds, then followed him.
Around the corner, the wide deck narrowed to a long walkway that ran the length of the entire riverboat. This side of the boat faced into the Aneirin River, and a few couples had slipped away from the rest of the maddening crowd to take in the view and murmur hot suggestions into each other’s ears. I ignored them, my eyes fixed on my prey.
Ahead of me, Slater continued to walk at a casual pace that suggested he was out for a smoke and a stroll and nothing else. He broke free of the last remaining couple and stepped through an open door. It was quieter here, and I took care to put my heels down as softly as I could on the wooden deck. I eased up to the door and peered inside.
This part of the walkway had been enclosed in glass, probably so folks could still see the river and stay dry during a rainstorm. The walkway fronted a small, recessed salon complete with tables, chairs, and a bar inside the riverboat itself where passengers could relax and watch the landscape go by during cruises. The glassed-in section ran for about thirty feet before opening back up into the night air.
Slater had walked through the entire room and now stood beyond the other open door. The giant shook a lighter in his hand, as though it was low on fluid and he was trying to coax one more burst of flame out of it. There was no one here but the two of us this far back on the riverboat. Perfect.
I walked forward. I made it through the glassed-in salon and stepped back out into the night air. Ahead of me, Slater still fussed with his lighter. I put my arm down, ready to palm one of my silverstone knives.
Just then, a restroom door opened to my left, and a man stepped out onto the deck ahead of me—putting him between me and Elliot Slater. The man turned in my direction, as though to walk back down to the open deck. Silver hair, hard hazel eyes, wrinkle-free face. He spotted me immediately, and his eyes widened for a second before narrowing.
Jonah McAllister looked just as pissed to see me as I was to see him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he barked.
I wasn’t particularly surprised that Jonah McAllister was here. After all, I’d seen him board the riverboat earlier this evening. And if there was one thing I’d learned during my years as the Spider, it was that the universe always conspired to fuck up the best-laid plans of mice, men, and most especially, assassins. Like the slick lawyer choosing this exact moment to step in between me and my target. I could practically hear the cosmic chuckles ringing my ears. Ha, ha, fucking ha.
For a moment, I debated palming my knife, lunging forward, and stabbing Jonah McAllister where he stood. Just for interrupting me. I could do the lawyer, step over his body, and then take care of Elliot Slater. Two-for-one special. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to get away clean after the fact. McAllister could scream, Slater could hear the struggle and charge at me, or even worse, run to get his boss, Mab Monroe. The Fire elemental would have no qualms about frying me right there with her magic. Not when what I had done would be so obvious.
No, Jonah McAllister was going to have to live to see another day. And now, so would Elliot Slater. Which meant Roslyn Phillips’s suffering wasn’t over yet, if it could ever truly be over, given what the giant had done to her.
Fuck.
I crossed my arms over my chest and gave the lawyer a cold look. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking a stroll around the riverboat. Is that a problem?”
Elliot Slater’s head snapped around at the sound of my voice. The giant frowned, put his cigar and lighter away, and headed in our direction. Fantastic.
Jonah McAllister’s hazel eyes narrowed even more at my snide tone. “I specifically meant how did someone like you get on board? The Delta Queen is very exclusive, and loath as I am to admit it, Phillip Kincaid’s parties even more so. Helps keep the white trash out.”
“White trash? Do you really thin
k that’s an insult?”
“Not to someone like you,” he sniffed. “Which is what makes you trash.”
“At least I look my age,” I snapped, referring to his wrinkle-free face. “Tell me, exactly how much a week do you blow on Air elemental facials? A thousand bucks? Two? I’m guessing more. After all, you’re a man of advancing years now.”
I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, that it would have made things easier if I’d let McAllister take his shots at me and had just slinked off into the darkness as if I was utterly demoralized and defeated. But I was getting real tired of the lawyer needling me at every single turn just because it amused him. And for keeping me from killing Elliot Slater tonight and at least helping Roslyn Phillips in that small way.
An angry red flush spread up Jonah McAllister’s neck at my words, something even the best Air elemental facial couldn’t disguise. The silver-haired lawyer opened his mouth to lambaste me some more, when Slater stepped up behind him.
The giant stared at McAllister a moment before his hazel gaze cut to me. His eyes narrowed as well in recognition. Slater might be obsessed with Roslyn, but I noted the giant wasn’t above checking out my breasts and legs, even though they were nowhere near as spectacular as the vampire’s.
“Gin Blanco,” Slater rumbled. “You clean up nice.”
The back-assed compliment made the gin that I’d just drunk roil in my stomach.
“Elliot,” Jonah said. “I’d like you to escort Ms. Blanco off the boat please. It seems she just hasn’t learned her lesson about insulting us—or being where she doesn’t belong. I think she needs you to remind her exactly what her place is.”
Elliot grinned. “Shall I toss her over the side? Right here?”
“Don’t be thuggish,” Jonah replied. “We have an image to maintain. Ms. Blanco deserves the walk of shame past all of tonight’s guests. And then you can deal with her any way you like on shore. Seems that beating you gave her just didn’t take. Perhaps you’d like another chance to get it right.”
The giant’s grin widened.
So Jonah McAllister wanted Elliot Slater to hustle me off the riverboat, take me to a dark alley somewhere, and beat me—again. Not my original plan for the evening, but sometimes, you had to roll with the punches.
Before I could move or react, the giant used his speed to surge forward and clamp his hand around my upper arm. His long, hard fingers bit into my flesh like steel bolts, but I gritted my teeth against the pain. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of screaming and begging for mercy. Not again.
Let Slater drag me off the boat and into one of the alleys that surrounded the riverfront. He’d be in for a nasty surprise. So would McAllister, if the lawyer decided to tag along and watch the show. Because I was tired of tiptoeing around them. Mab Monroe too. I wanted to kill the Three Musketeers and proceed with things—namely getting Roslyn Phillips some help for the brutal trauma she’d been through and figuring out a way to tell Bria who and what I really was.
Killing McAllister and Slater tonight would at least solve a few of my problems. More than that, though, it would just be fun. Unlike other assassins that I’d run into over the years, I didn’t kill people because it brought me any great pleasure. I did it because it was a job that I happened to excel at. But even the most consummate professional could be excused an indulgence or two, and I was thinking about making McAllister and Slater mine.
“Come on,” Slater said. “Let’s go.”
Jonah McAllister stepped aside, and Elliot Slater pushed me down the walkway toward the front of the riverboat. I didn’t make a sound. Didn’t scream, protest, or try to jerk my upper arm out of the giant’s grip. Mainly because I didn’t want Slater to move his hand any lower and find the silverstone knife nestled against my forearm. Besides, screaming would be useless. No one would come to my aid. Everyone knew Elliot Slater worked for Mab Monroe. And with the Fire elemental in attendance here tonight, no one would dare question why the giant was strong-arming me—or what he might do to me once he got me off the boat.
“It’s a shame you’re just not willing to learn, Ms. Blanco,” Jonah McAllister said in a conversational tone. The lawyer walked behind me. “That you just can’t accept the way things work in Ashland.”
“Learn? Accept?” I looked over my shoulder and glared at him. “What you really mean is you don’t understand why I’m not cowed by you and yours, why I don’t just roll over and let you do whatever you want to me.”
McAllister shrugged. “Call it what you like. But every time you forget, you’re going to get another reminder, like the one at the community college. Until you either remember to pay us the respect we’re due, or until you’re dead. Either option is perfectly acceptable to me.”
We rounded the corner and stepped back out onto the main deck. Elliot Slater was a hard man to miss, and more than a few people looked in our direction. But once they realized the giant had his hand clamped on my arm like a vise, folks quickly went back to their drinking and gambling.
Everyone except Roslyn Phillips. Even though she was fifty feet away from me, I could see the vampire’s face tighten. Roslyn thought I’d been caught trying to assassinate Slater. She didn’t realize that I’d just had the bad luck to run into Jonah McAllister, who still suspected I had something to do with his son, Jake’s, death.
Luck. Capricious bitch. She’d gotten me into trouble more times than I cared to think about.
Finn also spotted Slater holding on to me. Our eyes met for a second before I cast my gaze down and shook my head a tiny bit. No, I was telling him. Don’t interfere. Not yet. Finn’s hand tightened around the handle of the slot machine he’d been pulling down, but he didn’t move. I knew he’d be there when I needed him, though.
Slater bent down to murmur in my ear. “Do yourself a favor and don’t make a scene, Blanco. Or I’ll hit you even harder when we get off the boat. Just because.” His breath reeked of onions, which made his threat that much fouler, so to speak.
Oh, yeah. I was going to enjoy stabbing the giant to death. Just because.
But I played the part of the cowed victim and let the giant push me toward the gangplank on the opposite side of the deck. Slater crooked his finger, and his two giant minions left Roslyn’s side to come over and flank me. Of course. Slater would need someone to hold me up while he beat me again. Because doing it himself would be such a bother.
Jonah McAllister nodded his head in satisfaction, then strolled to the center of the deck, where Mab Monroe was still holding court. Elliot Slater strong-arming me toward the exit had also caught the Fire elemental’s interest, and her black eyes tracked me across the deck. McAllister reached her side and whispered something in Mab’s ear. After a moment, the Fire elemental nodded her approval, rubber-stamping my impending beating and possible death. Good to know where I stood, at least.
But Mab wasn’t the only one watching us. Phillip Kincaid was interested in the drama as well. The casino owner leaned against one of the blackjack tables, staring at me with obvious curiosity, trying to figure out who I was and why Elliot Slater was dragging me off the riverboat. He looked across the deck at Mab, who gave him a flat stare, a clear warning not to interfere with the giant. After a moment, Kincaid shrugged and turned back to the table. He didn’t know me so he didn’t care what Mab’s men did to me. This might be Kincaid’s casino, but even here, he knew he was no match for the Fire elemental.
But there was one more person on the deck who wasn’t busy pretending I was invisible—Owen Grayson. He must have seen Elliot Slater out of the corner of his eye, because he glanced at the giant. Then his head snapped back again when he realized that the giant had a death grip on me. Owen’s violet eyes stayed on me as he watched Slater walk me past the gaming tables and slot machines. I didn’t look in Owen’s direction or try to signal him in any way. This was my problem, my mess, my punishment for antagonizing Jonah McAllister instead of keeping my mouth shut.
But to my surprise, instea
d of going back to his tonic water, Owen Grayson got to his feet, threw a couple of chips on the bar to cover his tab, and headed toward us.
Well, this was going to be interesting.
Owen met us in the middle of the deck in an open space behind one of the blackjack tables. Since Owen stood in the center of the aisle, Elliot Slater had to stop or run over the businessman. Slater decided to stop. The other man was important and rich enough for that small courtesy.
“Is there a problem?” Owen asked. His voice was low and deep, with a dangerous, aggressive edge, and his eyes flashed like dark amethysts in his face.
Elliot tightened his grip on my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh in a clear warning for me to keep my mouth shut. “No problem, Mr. Grayson. Just taking out a bit of trash that got onto the riverboat by mistake.”
Trash wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever been called. Hardly enough to make me roll my eyes. But the word made Owen’s gaze simmer with violet fire. For a moment, I felt a blast of cold emanate from his body. A manifestation of his elemental talent for metal—and his anger. Owen’s face remained smooth, except for the scar under his chin. It whitened under the strain of his clenched jaw.
“Ms. Blanco is my date for the evening,” Owen replied in a mild tone. “She’s hardly trash. I suggest you let go of her arm. Most ladies don’t like to be manhandled.”
“Only in bed,” I quipped. “And even then, I still like to be on top.”
His mouth quirked at my flip remark, and our eyes met and held. Gray on violet. Desire simmered in Owen’s eyes underneath his anger, and I knew he could see the emotion reflected in my gaze. But there was something else, another emotion in his cold face that surprised me—concern. For me.
My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. It had been so long since someone besides Finn, Fletcher, or the Deveraux sisters had cared about what happened to me that it took my breath away for a moment. Even if Owen Grayson was probably just playing the part of the gentleman in order to get laid tonight. Right now, it was working for him.