Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(52)

Which was every single day.

Over the next week, Finn spent almost all his free time with Mama Dearest.

Sure, I wanted to keep an eye on them, but I was witness to far more of their

bonding time than I would have liked. They strolled into the Pork Pit every

day, sometimes lingering two hours or longer over lunch or an early dinner.

And every time—every single time—Finn would wave me over and excitedly

recount some silly story that Deirdre had told him about when he was a baby.

How he had laughed at this or cried at that or always sneezed at her peony

perfume.

Deirdre seemed to have an awful lot of those cutesy-wootsy anecdotes for

someone who’d only been around for the first few months of her baby’s life.

Not that I mentioned it to Finn. Or that he would have listened anyway, given

how wrapped up he was in her. So I nodded and smiled and made the appropriate

noises when necessary, thinking that if this kept up much longer, I was going

to grind my molars into dust. As it was, I had an almost perpetual ache in my

face and squint to my eyes from holding on to all my fake smiles.

The only thing that kept me more or less calm was the fact that I was plotting

just as hard against Deirdre as she was snowing Finn.

Not only did I see Mama Shaw during the day, but I saw her at night too,

although these dates were far more one-sided on my part. Silvio had tracked

down her car and had also pinpointed the penthouse suite she was renting at

the Peach Blossom, a luxe apartment building. The same apartment building and

suite that Raymond Pike had stayed in when he came to Ashland to terrorize

Lorelei Parker, although Finn waved it away as mere coincidence when I told

him about it, the same way he ignored my concerns about how strong Deirdre was

in her Ice magic, claiming that she would certainly never hurt him with her

power.

The night after that first tense meeting at the Pork Pit, I’d scoped out the

Peach Blossom and found a sweet little spot on the roof of the building across

the street that let me look directly into Deirdre’s penthouse. Naturally, I

took along all the spy gear that Silvio had procured for me. Binoculars,

digital surveillance cameras, directional microphones, the whole package. I

watched her like a proverbial hawk, studying her even more closely than I had

my assassin targets when I worked as the Spider.

But she didn’t do anything.

Deirdre didn’t take meetings with underworld bosses, didn’t engage in

cryptic phone calls, didn’t do or say anything that would confirm my rampant

suspicions of her. All she did was wine and dine Finn from one end of Ashland

to the other, call rich people and ask them to donate to her jewelry exhibit,

and go over financial reports for her charity foundation. She liked to order

caviar and escargot from room service, got a deep-tissue massage and an Air

elemental facial every other day, and took a champagne bubble bath every

single night.

Seriously. Champagne bubble baths. Who did that anymore? It was like she was

some old-school movie star. Deirdre Shaw was definitely a diva with a capital

D.

Hugh Tucker went almost everywhere with her, opening doors, fetching coffee,

taking messages—just like Finn had said. Tucker’s bland, bored expression

and slow response time made me think he wasn’t particularly happy being

Deirdre’s assistant. Couldn’t imagine why. If I had to watch her simper and

sashay all day long, I would have cheerfully smothered her in her sleep with a

pillow long ago.

One night, after Deirdre had finally dismissed Tucker and gone to bed around

midnight, I was heading back to my car with my black duffel bag hanging over

my shoulder, when a guy stepped out of the alley and onto the street in front

of me. He was big, more than six feet tall, with buzz-cut black hair and a

fake diamond stud glinting in one ear.

“Give me the bag, toots,” he snarled, baring his stained yellow fangs at me.

“A mugger?” I said, my mood brightening. “Excellent!”

The vampire frowned at my happy tone. Apparently, he decided that I wasn’t

nearly scared enough, because he reached into his pocket and came out with a

pitiful little switchblade.

“A mugger with a knife.” I grinned. “This just keeps getting better and

better.”

His dark eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he glanced around, peering into the

shadows that surrounded us. “Are you a cop? Is this some kind of undercover

sting?”

“Me? A cop? Oh, that’s funny, sugar.” I chuckled. “Believe me, I am the

very furthest thing from a cop.”

This wasn’t going at all the way he’d expected, but the vamp still thought I

was an easy, if crazy, target, so he stepped forward and sliced his

switchblade through the air, trying to intimidate me with the weapon.

Please. I had bread knives that were sharper than that thing.

“Give me the bag. Right f*cking now. Or I’ll gut you where you stand.”