Things to do and all that." Donovan Caine glared at me a moment longer, then stalked over to the car, got in the back, and slammed the door shut. Finn and I followed him.
"By the way, good call on the castle, Gin," Finn said as he reached for the wires to start the car. "You were right. Much better than the stuffed dog I wanted to buy."
"You picked that out?" Caine asked. "That pink, plastic toy?"
I turned to look at him. "I happen to have been a little girl, once upon a time, detective. I know what they like. Every little girl wants to be a princess." A thoughtful frown overcame the angry tension on Caine's rugged face. "And what happens when they grow up?"
I thought of my mother and sisters and all the horrors that had happened the day they'd died. A bitter laugh escaped from my tight lips. "Then they just want to be little girls again."
Using all the usual precautions, we went back to my apartment. Finn headed to his computer to see if his contacts had found out anything more about Captain Wayne Stephenson. Donovan Caine sat on the sofa and turned on the television. The detective didn't speak to or look at me, and Finn was too engrossed in his e-mails to engage in substantial conversation. I took a nap, resting up for what was sure to be a long night.
Around seven, I got up, took a shower, and girded myself. Tight black jeans, leather jacket, boots, and a long- sleeved, black T-shirt with a pair of sequined cherries on the front. I grabbed my silverstone knives and even took the time to put on some makeup. My lipstick matched the scarlet color of the cherries.
I stepped into the den. Finn sat at his computer, sipping his fifteenth cup of chicory coffee of the day. He wore black pants with creases as sharp as my knives. A button-up shirt in a dark emerald covered his broad shoulders, while a black tie hung from his neck. Finn never dressed down.
"That's a rather dark outfit. Are you trying to imitate our Goth friend?" Finn asked, referring to Sophia Deveraux.
I shrugged. "She does have a certain style. Besides, I imagine things will get rather messy before the end of the evening. Hence, the black. Where's the detective?" Finn jerked his head. "Just got out of the shower."
Donovan Caine naked, water droplets sliding down his lean body, his muscles clenching and relaxing as he washes himself. Mmm. Nice image. Despite our earlier confrontation, I still found the detective extremely sexy. He'd be even more attractive if he'd lose the righteous anger and the stick up his ass. But no man was perfect.
I strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a blackberry yogurt from the fridge, and dug a spoon into the creamy concoction. I was halfway done when the bathroom door opened, and Donovan Caine stepped into the den. He also wore a T-shirt and jeans, although his were baggy and frayed around the seams. A battered, brown leather jacket, not unlike my own, hung off his shoulders.
The detective stared at me, his hazel eyes fixed on my lips. I ran my tongue around the silver spoon and took another bite of yogurt. Gold desire shimmered in his gaze, followed by a flash of guilt. Looks like I wasn't the only one who'd been turned on before. Maybe I'd do something about that this evening.
Maybe I'd do a lot about it.
Finn boosted another car, a Cadillac with a spacious trunk, and we headed for the nightclub. Northern Aggression, of course, was located in Northtown. The building itself was nothing special-a large warehouse with an anonymous, glossy, officelike veneer as blank as a vampire hooker's face. Drive by it during the day, and you'd think it was another anonymous call center staffed by corporate drones.
But at night, it was a different story. A large rune hung over the entrance-a heart with an arrow through it. The neon sign flashed red, then yellow, then orange, highlighting the long line of people waiting behind a red velvet rope. Guys in suits, girls in next to nothing, and everyone in between, all sizes, shapes, and colors, all eager to get inside, get drunk or high, and indulge in their fantasies.
The nightclub catered to a wealthy crowd, and luxury sedans and SUVs packed the parking lot in front of the building and the two on either side. Finn parked our vehicle for the evening in one of the side lots, underneath the soft tendrils of a weeping willow.
"So what's the plan?" Donovan Caine asked.
"We wait for Carlyle to show, see what he's up to, and if anyone joins him. When he leaves, we grab him and take him back to his place for a private chat," I said. "A variety of things could happen after that, depending on how cooperative he is."
"Are you going to kill him?" the detective asked in a flat voice.
I turned to stare at him over the headrest. "Are you seriously asking me that question?
Of course, I'm going to fucking kill him. Carlyle's working for the Air elemental. That means he's fair game as far as I'm concerned."
Donovan Caine shook his head. "I can't let you do that, Gin, no matter how big a slimeball Chuckie C. is. I'm a cop. That means something to me, even if it doesn't to you."
I stared at the detective. His morals were going to get in the way the whole night unless I convinced him to ignore them-just this once. An idea came to me, one that turned my stomach, but it was something I had to do to get Caine to go along with us.
"Finn, do you still have that photo on your cell phone? The one Goth girl sent you?" He slowly nodded.
"Be a sweetheart and show that to Donovan, please."
Finn opened his phone and scrolled to the appropriate picture. He didn't look at the screen as he passed the device to the detective. Donovan took the phone. Shock and disgust and horror flashed in his eyes, one after another. I waited until I saw the emotion I wanted-sympathy. Sympathy for what Fletcher had endured. Sympathy I was going to twist to my advantage.
"Take a good, long look, detective. That's what the Air elemental did to my handler," I said in a soft voice. "And she didn't stop even when he was dead. She kept mutilating him. That's how I found him, lying in a pool of his own blood, his face and body almost unrecognizable from where she'd used her magic to flay him alive, to strip the skin from his body. The stench was ... indescribable. She would have done the same thing to you, if I hadn't intervened. The exact same thing." Donovan Caine didn't respond. He just kept staring at the photo of Fletcher's body.
"I promised you I wouldn't hurt any innocent people, detective, and I won't. Like I told you before, I don't kill kids. Pets either," I said. "Even when I do kill, it's quick, fast, mostly painless. That, the image on that phone, is an abomination. The men at your house said Carlyle was with the elemental when she did that. He helped her do that to an old man that I loved. So yeah, I'm going to kill the bastard tonight. If you have a problem with that, you can leave. Right fucking now."
Donovan scrubbed a hand through his black hair, snapped the phone shut, and passed it back to Finn, who took it without a word. Donovan Caine closed his eyes.
His jaw tightened. A muscle twitched in his cheek. A vein throbbed in his forehead.
Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me. Emotions flickered in his golden gaze.
Shock. Anger. Disgust. Horror. Resignation.
"All right," he said in a thick voice. "You've made your point about Carlyle and the Air elemental. They're yours. But their mole in the police department, he's mine. I'll handle him, not you. Understood?"
I could live with those terms. "Understood. Now, let's go see if we can spot the bastard." The three of us got out of the car and walked toward the front door.
Finn made sure his hair was smooth and sleek, his breath minty-fresh. He also straightened his tie until it was centered against his chest. "Just let me do the talking, and everything will be fine." I rolled my eyes but let him step in front of me.
Finn strolled past the line of people waiting to get in, ignoring the dirty looks and muttered curses that came his way. A seven-foot-tall giant holding a clipboard stood in front of the door, checking off names. Finn stopped in front of the giant and plastered a smile on his face.
"Xavier, my man. How are things tonight?" Finn held out a hand.
Xavier studied Finn with his oversize eyes. He turned his head to one side, and his neck cracked. The flashing heart rune made the giant's shaved head glitter like jet in the dark night. A knowing smile creased the giant's face as he took Finn's hand-and palmed the C-notes hidden there.
"Things are looking up," Xavier rumbled in a deep voice. "Roslyn said you were going to swing by. Enjoy your night, Finn."
Finn slipped him another hundred and winked. "Oh, we intend to."
Xavier unhooked his velvet rope and stepped to one side. And just like that, we were in like Finn.
The outside of Northern Aggression might have been faceless, but the inside had a distinct personality. One of delicious decadence. Crushed red velvet drapes covered the walls, the floor was an exquisite bamboo, and the bar itself was an elaborate sheet of Ice. Intricate runes had been cut into the surface of the bar, mostly suns and stars-symbolizing life and joy. Behind it, a man in a blue silk shirt mixed drinks. His eyes glowed blue-white in the semidarkness. The Ice elemental was responsible for tending bar and making sure his creation stayed in one piece until the end of the evening.
Men and women in various stages of form-fitting undress roamed through the room, offering guests free champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and fresh oysters. You had to pay for everything else on the menu, whether it was food, drink, sex, blood, or drugs. Most of the waitstaff were vampires, all were hookers. Every single one wore a necklace with a rune dangling on the end of it-a heart with an arrow through it-and a bright smile that hinted of the pleasures yet to come. All you had to do was ask-and be able to pay the price.
Some folks thrashed in time to the rocking beat on the dance floor. Others huddled close together in booths. Kissing, caressing, fondling, moaning. In some instances, the tables twitched and shook, as people fucked on the floor underneath. In other spots, red glows flashed, and smoke curled up to the ceiling from a variety of illegal substances. Everybody had a drink in hand. Every once in a while, a couple would head up the stairs at the back of the nightclub. The upstairs rooms were rented out by the half hour for those who wanted to be more comfortable doing the deed.
A second giant bouncer stood in front of another velvet rope off to one side of the warehouse. The entrance to the private rooms, reserved for Roslyn Phillips's special guests, who paid dearly for the privilege.
The three of us moved farther into the club, and I spotted Roslyn working the crowd.
The black vampire roamed from booth to table to the dance floor and back again.
Shaking hands, smiling, chatting up her clients, and encouraging everyone to indulge themselves in whatever way they liked. The vampire had traded in her yoga pants for a fitted silk suit in a bloody crimson shade. The suit jacket dipped into a deep V in the front, showing off her smooth cleavage, while the skirt stopped at mid-thigh. Tight, fitted boots with spiked heels reached up her knees.
More than one man and woman stopped Roslyn and whispered something into her ear. But the vampire smiled and politely declined the invitations. Her hooking days were over, and she wasn't on the menu anymore. Ah, the joys of management.
After a minute, Roslyn felt me staring at her. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head, telling me Carlyle wasn't here yet. I nudged Finn.
"There's your girl," I said over the din of the music. "Go keep her company. When she spots Chuckie C. and shows him to his private room, call me on my cell." Finn nodded, already heading in Roslyn's direction. "Now what?" Caine asked.
I jerked my head at the bar. "Let's go get a drink. Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait."
We threaded our way through the mob of people, skirted around the dance floor, and bellied up to the bar. Up close, the Ice sculpture was even more impressive and imbued with so much elemental magic it cast off a faint blue glow. Power trickled off the bartender, like water dripping from a faucet, as he held on to just enough of his magic to keep the bar from melting and in one piece. His control was impressive. My own weaker Ice magic stirred in response.
The bartender placed napkins down on the cold slab in front of us. "What can I get you?" "I'll have a gin on the rocks," I said.
Donovan Caine raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little cliche? Gin ordering gin?" I shrugged. "Maybe, but I like it. You?"
"Give me a Scotch, neat."
The bartender moved off to fill our orders. Donovan Caine swiveled his seat around so he could look out into the nightclub. I propped my chin on my elbow and studied him. Black hair, golden eyes, lean body. Not a particularly handsome man, in the classical sense, but it all added up to a rough, rugged package I found exceptionally appealing.
Donovan Caine might hate me, hate what I did, hate the ease with which I could kill.
But the detective was attracted to me too. Wanted me like I wanted him. I'd seen it in his eyes that first night on the balcony at the opera house. Again in the Cake Walk.
Earlier this evening when I'd been eating my yogurt. I glanced at my watch. Not even ten. We probably had a while to wait before Charles Carlyle made an appearance.
And I had lots of ideas of how we could pass the time.
The bartender set our drinks in front of us. I slid a fifty across the icy bar to him.
Caine tossed back his Scotch. I did the same to my gin. The cold liquor burned going down my throat, somehow transforming itself into sweet, comforting warmth when it hit my stomach.
I pushed my empty glass back across the bar and turned my attention to the detective.
My gray eyes drank in the crook in his nose, the curve of his chin, the steady twitch of his pulse in his throat. Donovan felt my gaze, saw the hunger shimmering there. An answering heat sparked in his golden gaze, even as he tried to smother it.