Bitter Bite

by Jennifer Estep

  I laughed, grabbed my black clutch, and slipped my arm through his.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Owen pulled his car over to the curb in front of a seven-story building that took up its own downtown block. First Trust of Ashland was carved into the gleaming gray marble over the entrance, and a genuine red carpet stretched across the steps and all the way down to the curb. First Trust was the city’s most exclusive bank, known for its stellar security, along with its utmost discretion and extreme dedication to seeing to all the needs of its insanely wealthy clientele, no matter how illegal those needs might be.

  A giant dressed in a gray guard’s uniform with the words First Trust stitched on the breast pocket hustled over and opened my door, while a second giant acting as a valet took Owen’s keys. Still two more giant guards, also in gray uniforms, manned the double doors. Both wore bulletproof vests under their jackets, making them seem even larger and bulkier than they really were.

  One guard was taking invitations from people and checking names off on a clipboard. The other guard rested his hand on the gun strapped to his waist, staring at a blond woman a few feet away, suspicious about why she was loitering outside on this cold November evening.

  The woman turned toward the street, and I realized that it was Bria. My sister looked lovely in a royal-blue dress with three-quarter sleeves, a scoop neckline, and a short flared skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a loose, pretty braid, and her primrose rune pendant glinted in the hollow of her throat.

  Bria caught sight of me, smiled, and waved. I took Owen’s arm again, and we walked up the steps. I handed the guard my invitation, and he checked off our names. Once that was done, we strolled over to Bria. I hugged my sister, and Owen and I told her how beautiful she looked.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked. “Why didn’t you go on inside where it’s warm?”

  Bria shook her head. “I wanted to wait for you guys. Because of, well, you know.”

  She gave Owen a tight smile, not sure if I had told him anything yet. He looked back and forth between the two of us, but he didn’t comment on how strange we were acting. Instead, he offered Bria his other arm, and together, the three of us walked inside.

  First Trust’s decor definitely matched its highfalutin reputation. Tonight’s schmooze fest was meant to show off the bank’s recent remodeling and upgrades. Wispy patches of white swirled through the gray marble floor, making it seem as though we were standing on a bed of clouds. The same motif continued up through the walls and spread out onto the ceiling, which soared a hundred feet overhead. Chandeliers shaped like starbursts dropped down from the ceiling, the sparkling clusters of crystals stretching ten feet wide in places.

  The lobby was a wide, open space, with antique desks and chairs set up throughout the room, each set of furniture several feet away from the others, so people could talk about their finances in private. A long marble counter took up the back wall. During normal business hours, tellers would have been working at each station along the counter, but tonight bartenders in white shirts and black tuxedo vests held court there, mixing drinks and pouring glasses of champagne. They then handed everything off to the waiters, who dispensed alcohol and hors d’oeuvres to the crowd.

  Behind the counter, three cash cages were set equidistantly into the wall, each one covered with a grate of silverstone bars to protect the shrink-wrapped bricks of money stored inside. Of course, the cages were locked up tight for the night, and so was the steel door in the back left corner of the lobby. Behind that door, a staircase led down to the basement, where many of the bankers’ offices—including Finn’s—were located, along with another, much larger vault.

  First Trust had several secure areas, but the basement vault—jokingly dubbed Big Bertha by Finn—was reserved for the bank’s most important and wealthiest clients. That’s where the real money, power, and secrets were hidden, carefully stowed away in silverstone boxes not unlike the one I’d found in Deirdre’s casket.

  “Do you see Finn?” Bria asked, peering out over the crowd.

  This might have ostensibly been an informal cocktail party, but everyone was dressed to impress, with coiffed hair, perfect makeup, and sparkling gems, each rock bigger and flashier than the last. All around the room, the gemstones proudly whispered of their own beauty, their light, trilling chorus blending in perfectly with the classical music playing in the background.

  Owen pointed across the lobby. “There he is.”

  Finn was perched on a stool at a wooden bar that had been set up along the left wall. He wore a different suit from the one he’d had on at lunch, this one a polished pewter that gleamed under the chandeliers. He clutched a glass of Scotch, his gaze fixed on the woman sitting next to him, a wide smile on his face, as though he found their conversation exceptionally entertaining. The woman must have said something truly funny, because Finn threw back his head and laughed, a loud, hearty laugh and not the small, polite chuckle he used with clients who thought they were more amusing than they really were.

  The woman had her back to me, so all I could really see was her blond hair. Maybe that was why Finn was laughing so long and hard. He might be involved with Bria, but he was also a shameless flirt who wasn’t above using his manly wiles to charm a female client, no matter her age, occupation, or marital status.

  Finn must have sensed our stares, because he turned, caught sight of Bria, Owen, and me, and waved us over. Whispers sprang up in our wake, most of them having to do with me, since more than a few underworld bosses were here tonight. Even criminals had to store their ill-gotten gains somewhere, and First Trust didn’t discriminate. Rumor had it that the bank even offered a money-laundering service—literally, to get all those pesky bloodstains off stacks of Benjamins that had been rather violently acquired.

  Actually, it wasn’t a rumor at all. Back when Finn was a lowly junior clerk, he had spent many hours in the bank’s lab, spritzing money with a special cleaning solution and then carefully scrubbing stains off the bills. Once Finn had even enlisted Sophia Deveraux, Jo-Jo’s sister and my body disposer, to use her Air magic to help clean some particularly blood-soaked bricks. With Sophia’s help, he’d salvaged more than a million dollars for the bank—and got his first promotion.

  More murmurs sounded, and I focused on the folks around me again. A couple of weeks ago, I would have ignored all the stares, glares, and sly whispers. But these were my people now, so to speak, so I made eye contact with every mobster I knew, nodding at the head honchos and their crew members and paying them the proper amount of respect. Many of the bosses nodded back, but a few eyed me with open hostility, including Dimitri Barkov, who alternated between glaring and smirking at me. Lucky me, getting to see him and his bad toupee twice in one day.

  I made note of his sour expression and all the others to pass along to Silvio later. Perhaps my trusty assistant could diagram the best way for me to take out the more troublesome bosses all at once. If nothing else, Silvio would relish the challenge.

  But there were two familiar—and friendly—faces in the crowd. Mallory Parker and her granddaughter, Lorelei. They were sitting at a table in the middle of the lobby. I pointed them out, and Owen steered us in that direction.

  Mallory was a wizened dwarf who was well into her three hundreds and still going strong, as evidenced by the half-empty bottle of bourbon and the large glass on the table in front of her. Despite the liquor, her blue eyes were sharp, and her hair had been teased into a fluffy white cloud around her head, making her seem far more angelic than she really was.

  More than a few folks stared at her, their envious gazes focused on the inch-wide diamond choker that ringed her neck, the matching bracelet on her wrist, and the solitaire rings that sparkled on her gnarled fingers. Mallory wholeheartedly believed that diamonds were a girl’s best friend. I’d never seen her without an array of gems, and I was willing to bet that she slept with at least some of them on.

  In contrast, Lorelei Parker seemed plai
n and subdued, her only jewelry the rose-and-thorn rune ring that flashed on her hand, though it too featured a generous helping of diamonds. Still, Lorelei received her own share of admiring and envious glances, given her pale blue eyes, pretty features, and black hair pulled back into an elegant French braid.

  Lorelei was texting on her phone, and Mallory was talking to the man sitting next to her, a stocky dwarf with wavy silver hair who was wearing a black suit that cost more than most cars. His styled hair and clothes were at odds with his hard hazel eyes, lined face, and hooked nose, which looked like it had been broken more than once. I’d only seen him a few times during my visits here, but I knew exactly who he was: Stuart Mosley, the founder of First Trust.

  Several people hovered around Mosley, everyone from tellers and investment bankers trying to get a moment of face time with the head honcho to clients trying to impress upon him how important they were. But Mosley ignored them all in favor of sipping his bourbon, staring at Mallory, and nodding at whatever she was saying. Mosley wasn’t a social butterfly by any stretch of the imagination—he didn’t have to be—but he seemed downright friendly with Mallory. Interesting. I hadn’t realized that they knew each other so well.

  Mallory saw us approaching and waved us over. The hoverers grumbled, but they fell back to make room for us.

  “Mallory, you’re looking positively brilliant this evening,” I said, then turned my attention to her granddaughter. “Lorelei.”

  Lorelei nodded at me. “Gin.”

  All around us, the other mobsters tiptoed forward, trying to overhear our conversation. Lorelei was one of the major power players in the Ashland underworld, a notorious smuggler known for her ability to get anything for anyone at any time. Us talking to each other in public was sure to set the other bosses to buzzing, since she was the only one of them I’d deigned to speak to. No doubt, the others were already worrying about what sort of alliances we might have made. Truth be told, Lorelei and I hadn’t gotten that far yet, but she was the closest thing to a friend I had among the city’s criminals besides Phillip Kincaid. And I was going to need all the friends I could get if I wanted to survive.

  Mallory gestured at Mosley. “Gin, this is my good friend Stuart Mosley. Stuart, Gin Blanco. I’m sure you two have heard all about each other.”

  “Indeed.” Mosley got to his feet and extended his hand to me. “A pleasure, Ms. Blanco.”

  We shook hands, and then he did the same with Bria and Owen. The three of them started chatting, along with Lorelei, but Mallory crooked her finger at me. I bent down, and she jerked her head in Finn’s direction.

  “Finn seems quite wrapped up in his client,” Mallory drawled in her twangy hillbilly voice. “He barely said hello to me before skedaddling over to the bar to meet her.” Her words were innocent enough, but a hard tone tinged her voice. Mallory gave me a long, pointed look, as if she was trying to tell me something.

  I shrugged. “You know Finn. He would try to sell water to a fish if he thought he could make a quick buck.”

  “Mmm.” Mallory’s noncommittal response had me raising my eyebrows, but the dwarf waved her hand again, making her multitude of diamonds sparkle and flash. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Your man Silvio called me earlier to set it up. We’ll have tea out by the garden. It will make for a lovely afternoon. Won’t it, Lorelei?”

  “Mmm.”

  This time, her granddaughter was the one who made the noncommittal sound. Lorelei might be the closest thing to a friend that I had in the underworld, but we were still trying to figure out our relationship, despite the fact that we’d worked together to take down Raymond Pike, her half brother.

  “Anyway,” Mallory said, “you should go see to Finn now.”

  Once again, that hard tone colored her voice, one that I couldn’t quite decipher, but I nodded. “See you then.”

  Lorelei and Mallory both nodded back at me and returned to their drinks, while Mosley finally deigned to wade into his crowd of admirers and start making nice with them.

  “What was that about?” Owen asked as he escorted Bria and me over to where Finn was sitting at the bar.

  “I have no idea.”

  Finn saw that we were finally on our way over to him, and he leaned forward, talking to his client and pointing at the three of us. The woman nodded, then finished her drink.

  We reached his side, and Finn slid off his stool, grabbing Bria’s hand and twirling her around.

  “You look positively smashing,” he said.

  “Don’t I always?” Bria arched her eyebrows, but the blush in her cheeks told me how much the compliment pleased her.

  Finn twirled Bria around again, making her laugh, before lowering her into a dip. They stayed frozen like that for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, before he kissed her, long and deep. Finn set Bria back up on her feet, leaned forward, and whispered something in her ear that made her blush even more.

  I started to make a snarky comment about the two of them getting a room, but a floral aroma tickled my nose, and I had to clear my throat to hold back a sneeze. It took me a second to realize that it was the mystery woman’s perfume. She still had her back to me, so I drew in another breath, trying to identify the scent, since it seemed so tantalizingly familiar. My heart stopped as I realized exactly what it was and where I had smelled it before.

  Peonies—the same scent that was in the empty perfume bottle in the casket box.

  Finn strode over to the mystery woman’s side, gave her his hand, and helped her slide off her barstool. Together, the two of them turned to face us.

  “And now, let me present my favorite new client,” Finn said. “Everyone, this is Deirdre Shaw.”

  5

  Deirdre Shaw, Finn’s definitely-not-dead mother, was standing right in front of me. In the flesh. And not just in Ashland but here, at Finn’s bank, schmoozing with him like they were old friends.

  I thought back to all the times Finn had mentioned his new client over the past few weeks. Someone he was really hitting it off with. Someone he wanted to introduce us all to tonight. Someone who was far more to him than he realized.

  It all made sense now—and it was all so twistedly, horribly wrong.

  Beside me, Bria sucked in a surprised breath. I reached down, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it in warning. After a second, she squeezed back, realizing that I was asking her to hide her shock and her knowledge of who Deirdre really was.

  Owen saved us both. He realized that something was wrong, stepped up, and held out his hand, making Deirdre shift her focus to him instead of wondering why Bria and I were both suddenly so slack-jawed.

  “Owen Grayson,” he rumbled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Shaw.”

  Deirdre looked Owen up and down, then gave him a slow, exaggerated wink. “Well, aren’t you just a cold drink of water on a hot, hot day?” A sultry Southern drawl added even more charm to her fun, flirty voice.

  She winked again, then shook his hand. “Actually, it’s Ms. Shaw, but call me Dee-Dee. All my friends do.”

  Finn tucked his arm through Bria’s. “Dee-Dee, I want you to meet my lady love, Detective Bria Coolidge.”

  Deirdre smiled at Bria, her expression warm and inviting. “Why, you’re even lovelier than Finnegan described. Charmed.”

  “Yeah,” Bria replied in a dry tone. “Me too.”

  Finally, Deirdre Shaw faced me.

  Her shoulder-length blond hair had been styled into elegant pin curls, the soft, golden waves catching the light. Her eyes were a pale blue, bordering on gray, as though her gaze were filled with the elemental Ice she could control. Her porcelain skin was flawless, while her lips were a perfect red heart in her face. I didn’t know if she indulged in a strict regimen of Air elemental facials, like Jonah McAllister did, but she looked a decade younger than her fifty-some years. I had thought her lovely in all those old photos, but in person she was truly stunning.

  Deirdre didn’t seem to go in for subtle, since her knee-length, flapp
er-style cocktail dress was a bloody scarlet and covered with sequins and crystals, as was the matching shawl draped around her arms. Her outfit was bold, flashy, and vibrant, the type of dress a gorgeous woman would wear to attract maximum attention and compliments. And Deirdre’s jewelry was also meant to impress. Ruby chandelier earrings framed her face, while a square ruby ring glinted on her right hand.

  But her most interesting bauble was her rune necklace, that heart made of jagged icicles.

  Or diamonds, in this case.

  The heart pendant was as big as the palm of my hand, the diamonds in each individual icicle flashing and sparkling. Even among all the jewelry here tonight, I could easily pick out the diamonds’ proud, boisterous song as they continuously trilled about their own beauty. The gemstones alone must have cost a fortune. Add them to the exquisite silverstone setting and chain, and Deirdre Shaw easily had a million bucks of cold ice hanging around her neck.

  Bria noticed the necklace too, and her face creased into a frown, as she tried again to remember where she had seen the rune before.

  “Dee-Dee,” Finn said, “this is Gin Blanco. Gin, Dee-Dee.”

  Deirdre looked me up and down the same way she had done with Owen and Bria, but she didn’t offer me some bawdy compliment. Instead, she simply held out her hand for me to shake, as if she knew that her charming words would be wasted on me.

  I took her hand in mine. Her fingers were cool to the touch, but I expected that, given the chilly air that flooded the open, drafty lobby every time someone went in or out. What I didn’t expect was the Ice magic pulsing through her body, lying just beneath the surface of her skin. The cold, sudden shock of touching her was worse than plunging my hand into a bucket of ice water. It was a wonder my fingers didn’t turn blue from frostbite.

  The truly troubling thing was that Deirdre wasn’t actively using her magic. If I could sense this much of her power just by touching her, I shuddered to think what she could do when she summoned up the full, frosty depths of it. She could easily Ice over the entire lobby with a single wave of her hand. Fletcher had said that Deirdre was strong in her magic, but I hadn’t expected this level of power. She was even more dangerous than I’d thought.