Donovan stilled, and his hazel eyes narrowed at the small display of magic. "You're an elemental. An Ice." I shrugged. "I have a little bit of magic, detective. That's all. Hardly worth mentioning."

Finn eyed me. He knew I had more than just a little magic, but for once he didn't contradict me.

I finished with the mugs and slid Caine's sandwich over to him. He picked it up but hesitated before biting down into it, as though just looking at the food I'd prepared was enough to make him keel over and start foaming at the mouth. He should have known by now that poison really wasn't my forte. A cheap, theatrical device, just like blackmail.

The detective chewed and swallowed. Surprise spread across his face. "This is really good." "Better than the Cake Walk?" I asked.

He didn't look at me. "Not better, just different."

Finn elbowed the detective in the side. "I told you Gin makes the best sandwiches around." Donovan didn't respond, but he took another bite and poured himself some milk.

I grabbed my own sandwich and milk, and joined the two men at the table. The peanut butter, pureed pumpkin, and banana wove a thick texture together, while the honey and cinnamon added a touch of tart sweetness to the mix. Perfect.

"Any new leads?" I asked Finn after I'd eaten half my sandwich.

He shook his head and wiped his fingers on one of the paper towels. "Not really. My contacts sent me some new intel on Halo Industries and the James sisters. I've scanned through it, but nothing's popped out at me yet. Maybe in the morning when I'm fresher."

My gray eyes flicked to the detective. "I think it's time you told us what you and Gordon Giles were talking about at the opera house."

Caine nodded. "Yeah, it probably is."

I was mildly surprised he was giving in so easily. Perhaps my sandwich really was that good. Or maybe the detective had finally realized working with us was his best option at this point. His only option, really.

Caine finished his sandwich, drained his milk, and started his story. "Gordon Giles contacted me about three months ago. Said he had information about a major embezzlement scandal at Halo Industries. Said he would give me all the information I needed to put several people away for a long time, if I would promise him protection."

"Why did he come to you?" Finn asked. "You're a homicide detective. White-collar crime isn't your specialty." "Giles said it went beyond embezzling, that someone was using the money for some pretty nasty things. Bribes, payoffs." Caine's gaze shot to me. "Contract killings."

Nobody spoke for a moment.

"Giles said he'd been collecting information for months," Caine continued. "He was supposed to give me the info at the opera house, and I was supposed to set him up in a safe house."

"Let me guess. All the information was stored on a flash drive, the one the men at your cabin wanted you to give to them," I finished.

Caine nodded again.

"Did you tell anyone about Giles?" I asked. "Did anyone in the police department know you were meeting with him?"

"I told my captain, Wayne Stephenson, what Giles wanted a few weeks ago. He brought a few other guys into the loop. Depending on what Giles gave us, Stephenson said he might set up a task force to look into the embezzling." Caine rubbed his hand over his head. But he didn't protest once again that Wayne Stephenson had absolutely nothing to do with the Air elemental. Maybe he'd had time to think about it. Or maybe the shock of the betrayal was wearing off, and the anger was setting in. But Caine had come around on this point. Good. It would make things easier if he wasn't protesting Stephenson's innocence every step of the way.

So Stephenson had known about the meeting. Odds were the police captain had tipped-off the Air elemental to the fact that Gordon Giles was turning state's evidence.

Maybe she'd bribed Stephenson to keep her informed. Maybe she had something on him. Either way, he'd blown the whistle. That's when the elemental had come up with her plan and decided on her radical course of action involving me, Finn, and Fletcher.

Caine had probably been thrown in as a bonus, so he couldn't point the finger back at Stephenson.

I looked at Finn. He'd put it together too. He nodded, telling me he'd start digging into Wayne Stephenson. "Did Giles say who was involved in the embezzling?" I asked.

"No," Caine said. "Although I suspected it might be Haley James. Giles mentioned her name several times. Like Finn said, this isn't my area of expertise. Giles fed me a few leads, teased me with some information, but that's it. That's all I know. Your turn."

Finn started. "Our turn? To share?"

"Try not to cry, Finn," I said. "Show him what we've got."

Finn spread out the IDs we'd taken off the dead guards and showed them to the detective. Caine didn't recognize any of the men, but he agreed the IDs were fake and probably wouldn't lead us anywhere. So Finn fished out the gold chain with the triangular tooth rune. The polished jet soaked up the soft kitchen light like a black sponge.

"Interesting," Caine murmured, studying the rune. "I've never seen this particular rune before, and I keep up with the symbols on all the gangs in town."

"I think our Air elemental constitutes a little more than a mere gang," Finn pointed out. Caine grunted his agreement.

"We also have this." I slid over the business card. "You had two guys tailing you at lunch. One of them passed his card to some college girls. Finn's digging for info on him right now."

Caine picked it up. "Charles Carlyle? I thought I recognized him. He cleans up nicer than I remember."

"You know him?" I asked.

The detective's mouth tightened. "Unfortunately. Calls himself Chuck or Chuckie C.

He's a small-time hood who likes to pretend he's bigger than he really is. Drifts from one crew to the next, always on the lookout for an easy score. A real slimeball. I ran into him a few times when I was working vice."

"Vice?" Finn asked. "Seems more like organized crime to me."

The detective shook his head. "You'd think so, but Chuckie likes the ladies. A new one every night, the younger the better. He's a vampire, you know. I think he gets off on the sex as much as he does the blood."

I nodded. Some vamps were like that. They all needed blood, but lots of them also drew power from sex-or feeding off the emotions of others. Some vamps, especially the old ones who'd mastered their power long ago, were just as dangerous as elementals. Or more so.

"Where does Chuckie C. like to hang out?" Finn asked.

"Northern Aggression," Caine replied. "The nightclub in Northtown." I frowned. That was the second time that name had come up. I flipped through Fletcher's file on Gordon Giles and scanned the contents. Yep, there it was,

"Northern Aggression," written in the old man's tight, controlled handwriting. I tapped my finger on the paper. "Giles also liked to frequent Northern Aggression."

"So they worked and played together," Finn said. Caine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Charles Carlyle is currently an executive vice president at Halo Industries," I said.

The detective snorted. "That's got to be a mistake. Chuckie C. knows as much about business as I do. He's a hood, not a white-collar worker."

"No mistake, detective," Finn said. "Carlyle's financials show a regular paycheck deposited into his account every week from the company."

We sat there a minute, digesting the information. "So what's our next move?" Caine asked.

"I'd like to see what's on Giles's flash drive," I said.

"It's been two days since the assassination attempt. The Air elemental and her men had to have searched Giles's office by now," Finn pointed out. "His house too."

"Yeah, but they haven't found it yet. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been asking the detective about it." I looked at Donovan. "You have no idea where he might have stashed it?"

He shook his head. "Not a clue. Giles was holding on to it for leverage, until I could get the safe house set up for him."

I nodded. "All right. We'll forget the flash drive for now. We have Chuckie C., and we know where he likes to spend his free time. We'll hit the club tomorrow night and see what he's doing-and who he's doing it with."

Finn cleared his throat. "Northern Aggression is Roslyn's place. Might be good to clear it with her first." I snorted. "I don't need Roslyn's permission to spy on a guy at her club."

Caine looked back and forth between us. "Who's Roslyn?"

"Roslyn Phillips," I replied. "The vampire who runs Northern Aggression. She's also one of Finn's good time girls, which is why he wants to go clear things with her first."

"Good time girl," Finn scoffed. "I resent that, Gin. Deeply. Roslyn and I happen to have a very loving relationship that's based on mutual concern and caring."

"You mean the two of you like to sleep together when you're both not with someone else." Donovan stared at Finn, who grinned in return.

The detective shook his head, as though he was trying to banish the image of Finn doing the nasty from his mind. Something I was all too familiar with. In addition to needling me like a brother, Finn also treated me like a locker room buddy. Nothing more he loved to do than brag about his latest sexual conquest. It really was shocking that some jealous husband hadn't hired me to kill Finn years ago.

"So that's the plan?" Caine asked. "Squeeze Chuckie C. and see what pops out?" "Do you have a better idea, detective?" I asked. "If so, please speak up." Our eyes met, gray on gold. Each color hard, flat, unyielding. After a moment, Caine shook his head.

"I didn't think so," I said. "But don't worry, detective. I'll let you be the good cop. I'm so much better at being the bad guy anyway."

Chapter Seventeen

With nothing left to do for the night, we crashed. I took my bed, while Finn claimed the one in the spare room. Donovan Caine made himself comfortable on the pullout sofa in the den. I rummaged around in the closet next to the spare bathroom, pulling out some blankets and pillows for my unexpected houseguest. Hostess with the mostest, that was me.

I walked into the den and handed the bedding to the detective. "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," he said.

Caine shook out the blue and green blankets and started making up the sleeper sofa.

I drifted over to the front door and pretended I was double-checking the locks. I pressed my hand against the stone, listening to its faint murmur. Low and steady, just like always. Once more, I traced small, tight curls onto the surface of the stone-the symbol for protection. The runes shimmered silver before sinking into the wall and fading away. I sent a burst of magic through the rock to test my magical trip wire.

A sharp note of alarm sounded back to me, rising to an ear-splitting shriek. If someone attempted to open the door and enter the apartment, that same sound would wake me.

It would also ring out if someone tried to leave. Donovan Caine and I might have an agreement, but our tenuous partnership might not keep him from sneaking out in the middle of the night. Or trying to. The detective wasn't going anywhere without me.

Caine put down one blanket and unfolded another. He wasn't an elemental, wasn't a Stone, so he couldn't sense or hear the vibration.

He fluffed out the last pillow and set it on top of the outstretched sofa. He turned to face me. I nodded a good night at him and headed for my bedroom.

"Sleep well." The detective's deep voice rumbled out and touched me, like a silk rope flicking against my spine. "If you can."

I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Why wouldn't I sleep well? Because my conscience is troubling me? Hardly."

"It should bother you."

"Because of tonight?" I shrugged. "I did what needed to be done to save your life, detective. Even you shouldn't fault me for that."

"Not because of tonight. Because of Cliff."

The old, predictable hatred flared in his hazel eyes, and his face tightened with determination. Caine was still counting down the minutes until he could come after me for his partner's murder.

For a moment, I considered telling the detective exactly what Cliff Ingles had been like. About the protection money he'd extorted from various pimps. About the vampire hookers he'd forced to give him freebies in the back of his city-issued sedan while he was on duty. About the thirteen-year-old girl he'd so brutally raped, beaten, and left for dead. The knowledge would wipe that self-righteous sneer off Donovan Caine's face. Burn it up like it had never existed.

But I held my tongue. That information was an ace up my sleeve, and I wasn't about to throw it down just for spite. Let the detective keep his illusions about his partner. I needed him focused on finding the Air elemental -not moping over how wrong he'd been about Cliff Ingles. Caine was so fucking idealistic. Still determined to believe in the good in everyone, despite all evidence to the contrary. It's going to get him killed one day.

I gave him a flat, cold stare. "I sleep like a rock, detective. Always have, always will." I stepped inside my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

My sleep was dark, black, comforting, and free of any troubling dreams or flickering memories of Fletcher. Sunlight slanting in through the window warmed my face and crept in under my eyelids. I sighed, rolled over, and stared at the clock radio by the bed. Almost noon. Time to get on with things.