Thread of Death (9 page)

Owen’s face tightened, and he looked around, almost as if he expected someone else to jump out from behind a tombstone and attack me. He was right to be cautious. I had a feeling it was just a matter of time.

“Who do you think it was?” he asked. “Who do you think sent the dwarves after you?”

I shrugged again. “If I had to guess, I’d say Jonah McAllister. This reeks of him.”

Owen glanced over his shoulder, like he was looking for Kincaid’s car, although the crime boss was already long gone. “That’s what Phillip said too.”

My eyebrows shot up in my face at the familiar tone in his voice.
Phillip?
Owen was on a first-name basis with Kincaid? When had
that
happened? And why didn’t I know anything about it? I started to question my lover, but Owen wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he murmured. “That’s the most important thing.”

I hesitated, wanting to ask him how he knew Kincaid, but another wave of exhaustion washed over me, and I decided that my questions about the crime boss could wait for some other time. Besides, I was still preoccupied with almost getting dead not once, but twice today.

I drew back from Owen. “Well, whether it was McAllister or someone else, you have to admit that it was a smart plan, hiring a sniper to lure me into a false sense of security while the real team waited for the perfect moment to take me out. What I don’t understand is why he did it here, at the funeral.”

“Why not?” Owen asked. “Like you said before, he probably guessed you’d be here. Today was probably the first chance he thought he could get to you, since we’ve all been spending so much time with you these last few weeks.”

“I know,” I said. “And that all makes sense. But it’s so public. McAllister’s like a snake in the grass: you never know when he’s going to strike
until you step on him. Usually, he prefers to take care of matters much more privately and quietly. But this was almost a . . . display of sorts. Like he wanted to lure me into showing everyone just how dangerous I really am.”

Owen frowned. “You mean like he wanted everyone to realize you really are the Spider?”

I nodded. “Something like that. Think about it. Right now, there are a lot of rumors going around about me. What better way to confirm them than to have me take out a bunch of hitters at Mab’s funeral?”

He let go of me and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking about it. “But what does that get McAllister in the end? Because you’re still alive, and his men aren’t. If anything, he just wasted the money he paid them to try to kill you.”

I shrugged again. “I’m not sure, but the smarmy bastard has to have something in mind. He always seems to have a plan, and then a couple more in the works, at least when it comes to me. Anyway, enough talk about McAllister and what he did or didn’t do: Let’s get out of here.”

Owen helped me into the passenger seat of his car, then walked around, opened the driver’s-side door, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. I stared out the window, brooding.

Because I had a funny feeling I knew exactly what McAllister was up to. He’d wanted me to show myself, to show my skills as the Spider, to all the underworld figures here today, and I’d obliged him. I’d seen that telltale beam of light, and I’d reacted accordingly, just like McAllister had known that I would.

With Mab dead, there was a power vacuum in the city, and the bosses and their underlings were trying to take each other out any which way they could. And since I was the one who’d actually killed the Fire elemental, some folks would naturally assume I’d done so in order to take over her organization and put the squeeze on everyone else just like she had. My display here today had only shown the underworld figures that I was indeed a force to be reckoned with.

Unless I missed my guess, McAllister had just set me up to be on everyone’s hit list in Ashland—and maybe even beyond. It was exceptionally clever. By luring me out into the open today, the lawyer was ensuring that everyone would do his dirty work tomorrow—or whenever they
decided to start coming after me.

Owen steered the car down the road, winding past the tombstones and other grave markers. We passed Mab’s coffin, and once more the sunburst rune on the side winked at me like an evil eye, inviting me to come share the Fire elemental’s fate.

I couldn’t believe the bitch was dead.

I just wondered how soon I would be too.

KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

By a Thread

BY JENNIFER ESTEP

AVAILABLE FROM POCKET BOOKS IN MARCH 2012

When killing people is your job,
there’s no such thing as a vacation.

Then again, how often does an assassin live long enough to enjoy her retirement? In this line of work, you either get lucky or you get dead. And since I destroyed my nemesis Mab Monroe a few weeks ago, all of Ashland’s lowlifes are gunning to make a name for themselves by taking out the lethal Spider—me, Gin Blanco. So I’m leaving behind my beloved barbecue joint and heading south with my baby sister, Bria, to cool my heels in a swanky beach town. Call it a weekend of fun in the sun. But when a powerful vampire with deadly elemental magic threatens an old friend of Bria’s, it looks like I’ll have to dig my silverstone knives out of my suitcase after all. Complicating matters further is the reappearance of Detective Donovan Caine, my old lover. But Donovan is the least of my problems. Because this time, the danger is hot on my trail, and not even my elemental Ice and Stone magic may be enough to save me from getting buried in the sand—permanently.

“You need a vacation.”

I looked up from the tomato I was slicing and stared across the counter at Finnegan Lane, my foster brother and partner in so many murderous schemes over the years.

“Vacation? I hardly ever take vacations,” I said. “I have a barbecue restaurant to run, in case you’ve forgotten.”

I gestured with the knife at the rest of the Pork Pit. Most people wouldn’t consider the restaurant much to look at with its blue and pink vinyl booths and matching, peeling pig tracks on the floor that led to the men’s and women’s restrooms. The long counter that ran along the back wall was older than I was, as were most of the cups, dishes, plates, silverware, and stainless-steel appliances. But everything was neat, clean, and polished to a high gloss, from the tables and chairs to the framed, slightly bloody copy of
Where the Red Fern Grows
by Wilson Rawls that hung on the wall close to the battered, old-fashioned cash register. The Pork Pit might not be some fancy, highfalutin place, but it was my gin joint, my home, and I was damned proud of it. Always had been, always would be.

“A vacation,” Finn repeated, as if I hadn’t said a word. He was rather persistent that way. “Somewhere warm, somewhere sandy, somewhere where nobody knows your name, either as Gin Blanco or most especially as the Spider.”

Finn’s voice wasn’t that loud, but when he said
the Spider
, the words echoed like gunshots through the storefront. The folks sitting at the tables behind Finn immediately froze, their thick, juicy barbecue beef and pork sandwiches halfway between their plates and lips. Conversation dried up like a shallow puddle in the desert, and everyone’s eyes cut to me, wondering how I would react to the sound of
that
particular name.

My assassin name. The one I’d gone by for the last seventeen years, when I was out late at night killing people for money and eventually
other, nobler reasons.

My hand tightened around the long, serrated tomato knife. Not for the first time, I wished I could use it to cut out Finn’s tongue—or at least get him to think before he opened his mouth.

An elderly woman sitting two stools down from Finn noticed my death grip on the blade. Her face paled, and her hand clutched at the collar of her white silk blouse like she was about three seconds away from having a heart attack.

Sighing, I made myself relax and put the blade down on the counter. Fuck. I hated being notorious.

After a lifetime of being invisible, I was suddenly the most well-known person in Ashland. Several weeks ago, I’d done the unthinkable—I’d killed Mab Monroe, the Fire elemental who’d been the head of the city’s underworld for years. Mab had murdered my mother and older sister when I was thirteen, and her death had been a long time coming, as far as I was concerned. I didn’t know anyone who’d shed any real tears over the Fire elemental’s messy demise.

But now, everyone wanted their pound of flesh—from
me
.

Mab’s death had left a vacuum among Ashland’s legit and not-solegit power players, and they were all scrambling to stake their various claims, solidify their shady operations, and position themselves as the city’s next top dog.

Some of them thought the best way to accomplish that last feat was by killing me.

Idiot after idiot had come to the Pork Pit in the last few weeks, either singly or in small groups, all with one thing on their minds—taking out the Spider. Most of the elementals came at me straight on, challenging me to duels and wanting to test their magic against my own Ice and Stone power. Everyone else, well, they were content to try to get the drop on me when I was either opening up or closing down the restaurant.

Whatever their method, it always ended the same way—with the challengers dead and me asking Sophia Deveraux to dispose of their bodies. I’d killed more people in the last month than I had in a year as the Spider. Even I was getting a little sick of the constant, not-so-surprise attacks and blood spatters on my hands, clothes, and shoes, but the stream of suicidal lowlifes showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

The old lady next to Finn sucked in a breath. I looked down and realized that I’d picked up the tomato knife again and was rubbing my thumb over the smooth, polished hilt. It wasn’t as strong or sharp as the five silverstone knives that I had secreted on my body, but the serrated blade would do plenty of damage. Most things would, if you put enough force behind them, and being forceful was one of the many things I excelled at.

“What are you looking at?” I snapped.

The old lady’s eyes widened. With a trembling hand, she reached into her purse, threw a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter, slid off her stool, and hightailed it out of the restaurant as fast as her square white heels would carry her.

“Another one bites the dust,” Finn murmured, his green eyes bright and merry in his handsome face. He always loved my discomfort, even when he wasn’t the cause of it.

I frowned and made a slashing gesture with the knife, but Finn just ignored my cold glare and threats of violence. Instead, he raised his coffee mug and gestured to a dwarf who was chopping long green ribs of celery to add to the macaroni salad she was mixing up.

“Sophia?” he asked. “Pretty please?”

Sophia Deveraux turned to stare at Finn. She was the head cook at the Pit, in addition to her side job of getting rid of any bodies I left in my wake as the Spider. I’d inherited the dwarf’s dual services when I’d taken over the assassination business from Finn’s father, Fletcher Lane. The old man had been an assassin known as the Tin Man, and he’d taught me everything he knew about how to help people quit breathing.

Sophia grunted and grabbed the pot of coffee that she always kept on for Finn, who usually dropped by the restaurant at least once a day. She topped off his cup, and the warm chicory fumes filled my nose, momentarily overpowering the cumin, red pepper, and other spices that flavored the air. The rich caffeine smell always reminded me of Fletcher, who’d drunk the same chicory brew. I breathed in, hoping that the comforting scent would help relax me, but it didn’t—not tonight. Not for weeks now.

The Pork Pit might not be much to look at, but folks couldn’t help but stare at Sophia. One by one, their eyes drifted from me over to her. It wasn’t that she was a dwarf that drew people’s gazes; it was because she
was Goth—seriously Goth. Sophia wore heavy black boots and jeans, topped by a white T-shirt that featured a black scythe slashing across her chest. Grim Reaper, indeed. Her hair and eyes were black, too, making her skin seem that much paler, despite the bright fuchsia lipstick she wore. The lipstick was the same color as the spiked silverstone collar that ringed her neck.

The good thing about standing next to Sophia was that it made everyone forget about me. After a few more seconds, the customers went back to their sandwiches, along with the baked beans, fried onion rings, and other hearty side dishes.

“Now, back to my vacation idea.” Finn grinned, showing off his perfect white teeth. “Just think about it. You, Owen, me, and Bria, all happily ensconced in a swanky hotel by a beautiful beach. Bria in a bikini. You and Owen doing your own thing, Bria in a bikini. Did I mention Bria in a bikini?”