Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(29)

told him about the letter that the old man had written to me. The only thing I

didn’t mention was the second letter to Finn. I still wasn’t sure what to do

about that.

When I finished, Owen let out a low whistle. “That is all kinds of messed up,

” he said. “Why do you think Deirdre left Ashland? And stayed away and let

everyone think that she was dead? Do you think she and Fletcher had some sort

of falling-out?”

I shrugged. “Something had to have gone down between them. Something bad,

judging from what little Fletcher said about her in his letter to me. I wonder

why he didn’t write more, why he didn’t tell me exactly what happened

between them.”

“Maybe Fletcher wanted you to make your own judgments about Deirdre and not

be biased against her based on their history together,” he said. “Maybe he

was hoping that she had changed, that she had become a better person than the

one he knew, for Finn’s sake.”

“Maybe, but all I have now are more questions than answers.”

“I imagine Finn has the same,” Owen pointed out.

I sighed and leaned my head against the window. “I know, and I hate that I

can’t give him those answers. But Fletcher said that Deirdre is dangerous.

That she only cares about herself. If she really loved Finn like she claims?

then why didn’t she come back to Ashland years ago? Why didn’t she reach out

and try to have some kind of relationship with him before now?”

Owen looked at me. “You think she’s up to something.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. She didn’t just mosey into the bank

and get hooked up with Finn by accident. She planned it, just like she planned

on using that initial connection to squirm her way into his life. And then

there’s the robbery.”

“What about it?”

I snorted. “I find it more than a little suspicious that First Trust, which

has never, ever been successfully robbed before, just happens to get hit the

night that Deirdre and Finn are there. That Deirdre just happens to get shot

in the process of saving Finn’s life but that, miraculously, her wound is not

serious at all. No one is that lucky.” I paused. “Well, not me, anyway.”

“But you saw Deirdre,” he said. “The shock on her face, the tremors, all of

it. Whatever else she might be guilty of, she wasn’t faking how upset she was

about getting shot.”

I let out a breath. “I know. And she did seem like she was a victim tonight,

like everyone else. But something about her just doesn’t sit right with me.”

Owen frowned. He was as well acquainted with my paranoia as Finn was, although

he didn’t tease me about it nearly as much.

He steered his car into a subdivision, then up a hill, and parked in front of

a three-story white plantation house. Bria’s sedan was already here, and the

front porch light was on, along with several more lights on the first floor.

We got out of the car, stepped onto the porch, and went inside. Owen followed

me down a long hallway, which opened up into an old-fashioned beauty salon.

Cherry-red chairs lined the back wall, and tables filled with beauty magazines

were scattered throughout the room. A counter along one wall bristled with

combs, curlers, and blow dryers, along with pink plastic tubs filled with

lipstick, nail polish, and eye shadow. The air smelled of hairspray and other

chemicals, along with a faint, soothing hint of vanilla.

Finn was leaning back in a salon chair, his suit jacket off, his shirt

unbuttoned at the neck, a glass of Scotch in his hand. It wasn’t his first

drink, judging from the half-empty bottle sitting on the table at his elbow.

Jolene “Jo-Jo” Deveraux was perched on the edge of a chair next to him. The

dwarf must have gotten out of bed, since she wore a long pink housecoat. Her

middle-aged face was free of its usual soft makeup, and her white-blond hair

was done up in pink sponge rollers for the night. Rosco, her basset hound, was

sprawled across her bare feet, as though he was trying to keep her toes warm

with his tubby body.

Bria was sitting on a couch off to one side of the room, along with Sophia

Deveraux, Jo-Jo’s younger sister. The Goth dwarf was wearing a black

microfleece robe decorated with silver skulls that had red sequined hearts for

eyes. The sight made me think of Deirdre’s icicle-heart rune, and more cold

worry balled up in my stomach.

Jo-Jo was healing Finn, and a milky-white glow coated her palm and glimmered

in her eyes. Her Air magic gusted through the salon, the pins-and-needles

sensation brushing up against my skin and making me grind my teeth. Jo-Jo’s

Air power was the opposite of my Stone magic, so I never liked the feel of it,

which was as harsh and grating as sandpaper rubbing against my skin.

Ironically, for as badly as Deirdre’s Ice magic had chilled my hand, it was

similar to my own Ice power, so it hadn’t made me want to snarl, not like