Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(54)

had gotten better at not getting caught—now that he was in his mid-thirties.

Rumor had it that the giant had worked his way up from a run-of-the-mill

robber who knocked over convenience stores and gas stations to a highly

regarded thief who specialized in getting into places that were supposed to be

impenetrable. Museums, jewelry stores, bank vaults, Fletcher’s house.

The more I read about Santos, the more worry ate away at my stomach. Because

the bank robbery had been a simple stickup job, not something that would

require Santos’s special brand of expertise. But he’d been there all the

same, shooting up the cocktail party. Why? What was the point? Did he have

some grudge against Stuart Mosley or someone else at the bank? Had he just

wanted to ruin the party? Or had he been in need of a potential payday? I had

no way of knowing, and it bothered me.

Despite all of Silvio’s intel, nobody in Ashland had seen hide or hair of

Santos since the bank robbery. Either he had skipped town or he was holed up

somewhere, plotting some other job or his revenge against me. Or both. I was

betting on both.

“Gin?” Owen asked again, nudging me with his shoulder. “I know you aren’t

watching the movie, but are you even listening to me?”

I sighed and put my phone on the nightstand. “Sorry. I was reading through

some info about Rodrigo Santos.”

“And?”

“And it’s all good, solid intel, except for the fact that no one knows where

he is. I can’t question the guy if I can’t find him.”

“You’ll find him. It’ll just take a little time.”

I sighed again. “I know, and I’m sorry that I’m such lousy company. I just

keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“What shoe?”

“Deirdre. It’s been more than a week now since she told Finn who she really

is, and nothing’s happened yet.”

Owen turned on his side to face me and propped his elbow up on a pillow.

“Well, maybe that’s because there is a possibility you haven’t considered.

”

“And what would that be?”

He shrugged. “Maybe Deirdre is actually telling the truth about wanting to be

back in Finn’s life. The two of them have certainly spent enough time

together these last several days. She seems like she’s making a genuine

effort to get to know him.” His face was blank, and his voice was carefully

neutral, but his hand clenched into a fist.

I grinned. “You still want to punch Finn in the face for calling you a

hypocrite, don’t you?”

A guilty flush crept up the side of his neck. “Yeah. A little.”

I arched my eyebrows at him.

Owen’s flush grew a little brighter. “Okay, so I still want to punch him in

the face a whole lot. Is that wrong of me?”

“Nah. I’ve wanted to punch Finn in the face plenty of times. He can be quite

aggravating when he wants to be. But his true superpower is being aggravating

when he’s not even trying.”

Owen laughed, but then his face creased into a deep wince. “What really

bothers me is that he was right. I was a hypocrite, telling him to trust you

now when I didn’t do that with Salina. I’m sorry, Gin.”

I threaded my fingers through his. “You don’t have to keep apologizing for

that.”

His features softened. “I know, but I wanted you to hear it again anyway.”

“Well, apology accepted, again.” I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his

nose. “Let’s finish watching the movie. The big fight scene is coming up,

and you know how much I love those.”

We both turned toward the TV again. I tried to watch the movie, really I did,

but I kept glancing at my phone. All that info on Santos was right there.

Maybe if I read through it just one more time, I could find a clue that Silvio

had missed—

A pillow loomed up and plopped against my face before falling into my lap.

I looked at the pillow, then over at Owen, who was watching the TV and

cheerily whistling along with the theme music.

“Did you just throw a pillow at me?”

“Oh, no,” he said, still staring at the TV. “I’m just sitting here, all

innocent-like, watching the movie.”

My eyes narrowed. “Oh, Grayson. It is so on.”

We stared at each other, then sprang off the bed at the same time. In an

instant, we were grabbing pillows and hurling them across the bed at each

other, both of us shrieking, ducking, and laughing the whole time. I quickly

ran out of pillows, so I hopped up onto the bed and charged over to Owen’s

side, hoping to take him by surprise. He caught me around the waist, spun me

around, and lowered me back down onto the bed.

Owen loomed over me, his laughter fading, even as his violet eyes sparked and

flashed with an intense heat. “Pillow fights are fun,” he said. “But you