Venom. Part 15

She hadn't been quick enough. Roslyn froze at the sound of the giant's voice, fifty feet away from the edge of the gangplank that led down into the dark night and to her freedom.

The giant used his speed to maneuver through the crowd. Five seconds later, he reached Roslyn's side. I pulled Owen back against the wall that fronted the dining hall. We stood ten feet away from the other couple.

"Where are you going, baby?" Slater asked. "I told you to wait for me at the blackjack table."

Somehow, Roslyn managed a trembling smile. "I got cold. I was just going down to get my coat out of the limo. I'll be back in a minute."

She started to walk past the giant, but he put his hand on her arm, stopping her. Roslyn flinched at the touch. The giant's hazel eyes narrowed. He wasn't buying her excuse.

"I'll have one of my men get it," Slater said. "Until then, you can stay right here next to me where it's warm."

Roslyn stared past Slater at me. Emotions whirled in her dark eyes. Panic. Fear. Hate. Disgust. Rage. So much rage. The vampire dropped her gaze from mine and shuddered out a breath. For a moment, I thought she might give in, might go with Slater and erode a little more of her soul in the process.

Roslyn huffed out another breath. Her whole body stilled, as though she'd been frozen alive by an Ice elemental. Another breath, this one so shallow that her shoulders barely lifted. Then, her spine slowly straightened, and her whole body lifted up, as though she was gathering her strength for what was to come. Roslyn raised her head last. For a moment, she swayed side to side, like a delicate flower tracking the movement of the sun. Then her eyes snapped open. Hate made Roslyn's dark gaze burn as bright as any Fire elemental's.

"Don't put your hands on me."

Slater frowned. "What did you say, baby?"

"I said don't put your f.u.c.king hands on me!" Roslyn screamed.

She shoved the giant as hard as she could. Like all vampires, Roslyn had above-average strength. But Slater was a giant, and a big one at that. He took only two steps back. But Roslyn didn't care. Everything that she'd been suppressing these past few days-all the anger and rage and fear and helplessness-all of it just erupted. Spewed out of her like foul venom from a copperhead's pointed fangs. And Roslyn finally let out the heavy, terrible secret she'd been carrying.

"You're never touching me again!" the vampire screamed. "Never! Do you hear me, you sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d? You're never putting your filthy hands on me again! I'd rather die first!"

All conversation on the deck stopped. All the drinking, all the gambling, everything. Everyone in attendance focused on Roslyn Phillips. With her clenched fists, trembling body, and hard mouth, the vampire resembled some beautiful Valkyrie or G.o.ddess, angered beyond the point of all reason.

Roslyn realized that everyone was watching her. But instead of being cowed into silence by the attention, the hate in her eyes blazed even brighter, a bonfire burning out of control.

"Do your rich friends know what a b.a.s.t.a.r.d you are?" Roslyn screamed. "How you've been stalking me? How you've been coming to my club every single night and making me fix your stupid drinks and kiss you like a lover? Does your boss know what kind of sick f.u.c.k you are? How you made me come here tonight and pretend to be your f.u.c.king girlfriend even though I hate you, even though I loathe you?"

A lot of bad things happened in Ashland on a daily basis. Robberies, beatings, murders. Still, shocked gasps rippled through the crowd at the vampire's words. Every eye landed on Elliot Slater. The giant turned his head this way and that, feeling the heavy judgment of all in attendance, before his gaze snapped back to Roslyn.

"Calm down, baby."

Slater's voice was soft, but his eyes were cold, flat, hard. His right hand clenched and unclenched into a ma.s.sive fist, and his knuckles cracked with the movement. The pale, chalky skin of his cheeks turned a mottled red with rage, and his thin mop of blond hair bristled with anger. Roslyn had just called Slater on his predilections in the most public and humiliating of ways. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was seconds away from hitting her-or worse, snapping the vamp's neck outright.

I palmed one of my silverstone knives and got ready to move. He wasn't going to touch her. Not as long as I still had a breath left in my body.

The giant stretched out a hand to do something to Roslyn. Hit her, draw her closer. But Roslyn didn't give him a chance. Even as he reached for her, the vampire picked up her long skirt, turned, and ran away as fast as she could. Her heels clattered against the deck and then the gangplank, the echo growing fainter with every step.

Slater stood on the deck, momentarily stunned. Then, he shook his head and started after the vamp. I s.h.i.+fted my weight forward, ready to follow him- "Elliot."

That single, breathy word was enough to stop Slater and make him jerk back like a dog on a leash. The crowd parted, and Mab Monroe stepped forward. The swish-swish of her black silk dress sounded as loud as a vacuum cleaner in the absolute silence. The Fire elemental stopped at the giant's shoulder and patted his arm. Mab's black eyes seemed to suck in all the available light as she studied her number-one enforcer.

"Let her go, Elliot," Mab said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "You know how troubled poor Roslyn is. All those pills she's on for her mood swings and depression. I'm sure she'll come to her senses. When she does, she'll be quite embarra.s.sed about those horrible things she just said. I'm sure she'll offer you a very sincere, very public apology."

At this point, Mab was speaking to the crowd as a whole, rather than to the giant. The Fire elemental was letting everyone know that Roslyn Phillips was persona non grata, as Finn would say. As for all the talk about Roslyn being troubled, I imagined Mab would trot out those same tired lines when the vampire's body was pulled out of whatever dark hole Slater was planning to plant her in.

Because that's what the giant had in mind. Whatever twisted obsession or feeling he'd had for Roslyn was gone, burned away by her bitter truths. Now, only hate filled Slater's face. Pure, simple, murderous hate.

Mab looked at Phillip Kincaid first, since the riverboat was his gin joint, giving him the courtesy of at least pretending to defer to him on his home turf. After a moment, the handsome casino owner nodded at her, accepting her statement, even though he knew it was all so much bulls.h.i.+t, just like everyone else did. But there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it.

The Fire elemental stared at one person after another, daring anyone to challenge her phony words. After a few seconds, all but the bravest souls dropped their eyes from Mab's and went back to whatever they'd been doing before. Talking, drinking, gambling. Slowly, the noise level returned to normal. Mab pulled Slater toward the back of the deck, where Jonah McAllister stood. The three of them put their heads together and started talking to each other once more.

I waited, but Slater made no move toward the gangplank, and he didn't summon over any of his men to go chasing after Roslyn. Well, that was something at least.

I tucked my silverstone knife back up my sleeve and turned to Owen Grayson. The businessman's eyes were dark and hooded, and I didn't feel like reading the emotions swimming in the depths of his gaze. Time enough for that later. Right now, there was only one thing to do.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here," I whispered to Owen.

He stared at me a moment before replying with a single word. "Gladly."

18.

Owen and I walked down the gangplank. After the heated crush of people on board the riverboat, the night air felt cold and empty. Or perhaps that was just my heart after seeing Roslyn Phillips's raw, naked pain. Only one thing was for sure-Elliot Slater was going to die. The giant would never put his hands on Roslyn-or anyone else-ever again. I'd make certain of that.

I might have moonlighted as an a.s.sa.s.sin for years, but despite popular misconceptions, I'd never taken any great pleasure in killing people. To me, it had been a job, just like any other. Something I'd been good at, no matter how twisted and wrong and evil it might have been. But this time, this time, I was going to enjoy gutting Elliot Slater. Going to enjoy ripping into him, carving his heart out of his chest, and making him watch while I squished the black, b.l.o.o.d.y organ between my fingers. Maybe I'd even take a few pictures for Roslyn. The vamp could use them on her Christmas cards this year. Happy holidays.

Owen and I stepped off the gangplank and onto the riverside boardwalk.

"My car's this way," Owen said, heading toward the parking lot where Finn had left his Aston Martin.

I walked by his side, scanning the shadows. The iron street lamps did little to drive back the darkness, and the parking lots stretched out before us like the thick gray slabs you might find on top of graveyard tombs. A few other couples had decided to leave the riverboat soiree early as well, and they waited in small cl.u.s.ters for the tuxedo-clad valets to retrieve their vehicles or for their limos to pull up near the gangplank entrance.

I looked for Xavier, but I didn't see him lurking around anywhere. The giant should have been long gone if he'd followed my instructions. I did, however, spot Roslyn. The vampire had stopped running and stood about a hundred feet ahead of us on the boardwalk. Beyond her, in the parking lot, I saw the headlights flicker on Finn's Aston Martin, signaling her. Roslyn hugged her arms to her chest and walked toward the silver sports car, weaving her way around the other vehicles in the lot.

A scuffle sounded, and loud footsteps clacked on the boardwalk behind us in a rapid rush. Someone was running toward us. I looked over my shoulder to see who it was. Her ice-blue dress whipped around her legs, and the silverstone primrose rune bounced up and down against her throat with every stride she took. My sister just didn't know when to leave well enough alone.

Owen heard the footsteps too. He turned, saw Bria running toward us, and pulled me to one side, out of her way. Bria sprinted past us. Up ahead, Roslyn reached Finn's car, opened the door, and got inside. A moment later, Finn steered the vehicle out the far side of the lot, away from the pursuing Bria.

Baby sister realized that the vampire had gotten away from her. She slowed to a stop and smacked her hand against the closest street lamp. "f.u.c.k!"

She turned around and saw Owen and me standing on the boardwalk staring at her. Bria reversed direction and hurried our way, her heels spiking into the wood one step at a time. Bria reached into the small purse whose strap she'd looped over her shoulder and pulled out her badge. The gold gleamed like an old coin in the lamplight.

"Detective Bria Coolidge," she announced. "Did the woman in the red dress speak to you? Did she say where she was going?"

I tightened my hand on Owen's arm in a warning. He looked at me and nodded. He was going to go along with whatever I said. Smart man. He might just live through the evening.

I looked at Bria. "She didn't say anything to us. I have no idea where she went."

Bria must have recognized my voice because she frowned and peered closer at me. She studied my face for several seconds, before her gaze flicked down my dress, then slid over to Owen Grayson. I could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind as she tried to figure out what I'd been doing on board the riverboat.

"Ms. Blanco," Bria said. "This is the second time we've run into each other today."

"Detective Coolidge," I replied. "You look lovely. That color really brings out your baby blues."

Bria's mouth tightened, as she tried to decide whether or not I was being sincere. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

Owen stepped forward and extended his hand. "Owen Grayson. Gin's date for the evening. It's a pleasure, detective."

If Owen wanted to keep up the charade of pretending to be my date, fine with me. It gave me a plausible reason to be here in the mix tonight.

Bria shook his hand, then turned her attention back to me. "You don't know where Roslyn Phillips went? I find that hard to believe, Ms. Blanco. Especially since she was at your restaurant earlier today. The two of you seemed quite cozy then."

I shrugged. "Lots of people eat at my restaurant, detective. The food happens to be excellent. You should come try it for yourself sometime. I'll fix you a barbecue sandwich so good, it will make you slap your mama."

I said the words without thinking, in the joking sort of way I had to so many other people over the years whenever I was boasting about the Pork Pit. But I knew I'd made a mistake the second they were out, because Bria's face went cold and blank. Of course it would. Mine would have too.

"My mother's dead."

Those three simple words each felt like a silverstone knife ripping into my heart. My eyes dropped to the delicate primrose rune around Bria's neck, then the rings on her finger, and my stomach tightened. d.a.m.n. Sometimes I really could be a cold-hearted, insensitive b.i.t.c.h.

Bria shook her head, as if chasing away a bad memory. I knew the feeling.

"You have no idea where Ms. Phillips went?" she repeated her earlier question.

"None," I replied. "If it makes you feel better, detective, I was just as shocked as you were to hear what she said about Elliot Slater."

"As was I," Owen cut in. "As was I."

I looked at Owen, but his face was just as closed off as Bria's was.

Bria stared at me again, and I returned her gaze with a cool one of my own. She must have realized she wasn't getting anything out of me tonight, because she gave me a curt nod.

"Fine," she said. "I'll track Ms. Phillips down myself. You have my card, Ms. Blanco. If you see Ms. Phillips, please tell her that I'd like to speak to her regarding what she said about Elliot Slater. That I'd like to help her press charges against the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and that I'll protect her no matter what."

Bria's eyes burned with cold, blue fire. The cop in her meant every word she'd just said. She'd protect Roslyn from Slater, even if it resulted in her own ostracization from the police department-or even her death. Finn had been right when he'd pegged my sister as a crusader. I admired the fact that she wanted to help Roslyn, even if I knew nothing would ever come of any charges filed against Slater. Besides, the giant wasn't going to live long enough for all that. Not if I had my way about things.

Bria gave me another hard stare. "If Roslyn Phillips is your friend, if you care about her at all, you'll tell her what I said."

"Sure," I replied. "If I see her."

Bria's lips flattened into a thin smile. "Sure. If you see her."

"Now, if you'll please excuse us, detective, Owen and I were just leaving."

Bria stared at me a moment longer, then stepped to one side. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. Blanco."

"You too, detective," I murmured. "You too."

Thirty minutes later, Owen Grayson pulled his navy blue Mercedes Benz to a stop in the driveway that ringed his mansion. I stared out the window at the building before me. Like most wealthy Ashland businessmen, Owen lived on a sprawling estate, although he was out more in the suburbs than truly being entrenched in the glorified confines of Northtown.

Owen's place also wasn't quite as pretentious as I'd thought it would be. The mansion boasted a simple, st.u.r.dy facade of only four stories instead of the usual eight or so the rest of the city's power players preferred. I opened my door, got out of the car, and stood in the driveway a moment, listening to the whispers of the gray cobblestones under my feet and the larger rocks of the mansion above my head. The soft murmurs spoke of pride and power, tempered with wary caution. The sound fit with what I knew of Owen Grayson. Wealthy, strong, cautious. I rather liked it.

Owen walked past me toward the front door. I followed him. He dug his keys out of his pants pocket, and I eyed the knocker mounted on the front door-a large hammer done in hard, black iron, just like the enormous gate that ringed the house and grounds.

Most magic users in Ashland used some sort of rune to identify themselves, their family, their power, or even their business. Jo-Jo Deveraux, for example, used a puffy cloud to identify herself as an Air elemental. From previous encounters, I knew that the hammer was Owen Grayson's personal and business rune. The symbol for strength, power, and hard work. A curious choice for a rune. Most people of Owen's wealth and stature would have gone with something flas.h.i.+er, like Mab Monroe with her ruby and gold sunburst necklace.

Owen opened the door and stepped to one side. "Welcome to my parlor."

"Said the spider to the fly," I finished the old saying.

For a moment, I wondered how Owen would react if he knew that I was the Spider and that he was the poor fly caught in my sticky web. I pushed the thought away and headed inside.

Owen led me through the interior of his mansion. He didn't speak as we walked, and I used the silence to examine my surroundings. One, for practical reasons. I still hadn't decided what to do about Owen and everything that he'd seen and heard tonight. So I made note of the pa.s.sageways and potential exits, just in case I had to kill him and leave in a hurry. But I also studied the interior to learn what I could about the mysterious businessman.

Fletcher Lane had instilled a healthy dose of curiosity in me, and Owen Grayson's behavior over the past few weeks had only deepened my desire to know even more about him-and if he might be suitable enough to help me start forgetting about Donovan Caine. I liked recreational s.e.x as much as the next gal, but it always helped if my bed partner was someone I wanted to stick around after the fireworks ended.

Just like the exterior of the house, the furnis.h.i.+ngs were much simpler than I'd expected. Dark, heavy, st.u.r.dy woods, thick rugs in cool blues and greens, lots of interesting iron sculptures. I got the sense everything was picked more out of love for the object itself, rather than an inflated desire to be sophisticated and stylish.

Owen led me to a downstairs living room, dominated by an enormous flat-screen television on one wall. Eva Grayson and Violet Fox sat in the middle of an oversize sectional sofa in front of the television, watching The Princess Bride and eating a large tub of popcorn. The smell of b.u.t.ter and salt drifted up to me.

The two college girls were best friends-and about as different as different could be. With her black hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin, and tall, lithe figure, Eva always reminded me of a real-life version of Snow White. Violet, on the other hand, was short and curvy, with a mop of frizzy blond hair, black gla.s.ses, and bronze skin that hinted at her Cherokee heritage. Both girls sported soft, fuzzy pajamas, apparently in for the evening.

Owen leaned over the back of the sofa and ruffled Eva's hair.

"Are you watching that again?" he said, his voice light and teasing. "If I'd known you were going to make Violet watch it every time you girls had a movie night, I would have bought you something else."

"It's not my fault you have no taste in movies," Eva teased back.

I stood off to one side and watched them. Their good-natured squabbling reminded me of my own relations.h.i.+p with Finn. And the sort of easy camaraderie that I longed to have with Bria someday.

But then Eva spotted me lurking in the shadows. "Gin? Is that you?"

I stepped forward. "In the flesh."

"Gin, it's so good to see you!" Eva got up on her knees, leaned over the back of the sofa, and hugged me.

"It really is," Violet echoed.

Violet put down the popcorn and also got up on her knees and hugged me. I accepted the girls' greetings. Eva had considered me a friend ever since I'd saved her from being frica.s.seed by Jake McAllister when the Fire elemental had tried to rob the Pork Pit a few weeks ago.

Violet also considered me a friend but for another reason-I'd killed Tobias Dawson, the dwarf who'd sent his brother to rape and murder her when her grandfather, Warren, wouldn't sell his land to Dawson. Doing pro bono work had some perks. Saving Eva and Violet from getting dead had been two of them.

Once we got the hugs out of the way, the two girls sat back down on the sofa.

Eva gave me a critical once-over. "You look smoking hot tonight, Gin. I didn't know you were Owen's date for that boring riverboat thing."

I looked at Owen. "Oh, it was sort of a last-minute arrangement."

His lips twitched. "Very last minute."