It was a long shot, but maybe Giles had told one of Roslyn's hookers something, had whispered some sweet bit of nothing into her ear that might lead me to his killer.
Information was power, and more importantly, leverage. I didn't like blackmail, thought of it as the basest form of arm-twisting, but I'd stoop to it if it got us out of this mess. And then, in a couple of days or weeks or months, when the Air elemental thought our agreement was holding and everything was kosher, I'd kill her.
There was a reason my mother had given me a spider rune. Even as a child, I'd been patient. Able to wait for my turn, for the right moment to speak, hell, even for Christmas to come every year. Somehow I'd always had that sort of internal restraint.
I might feel cold rage over Fletcher's death, but I could control it-no matter how long I had to wait to avenge his murder.
An hour later, Finn leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He sat at the kitchen table, a mug of chicory coffee by his laptop. "According to one of my sources and his credit card receipts, Donovan Caine likes to have lunch every day at the Cake Walk."
"That greasy dive over on St. Charles Avenue?" I asked. "The one and the same." The Cake Walk was a lot like the Pork Pit-a hole-in-the-wall gin joint that served better food than Ashland's five-star restaurants. The Cake Walk specialized in desserts, along with soups, sandwiches, and iced tea so sweet you could grit the sugar in it between your teeth. It was close to the community college, and I'd eaten there several times. Too much mayo in the chicken salad for my taste.
Using my own laptop, I googled the restaurant, pulling up all the information I could find. The Cake Walk sat across from one of the quads that ringed the edge of the community college and fronted a busy four-lane street that cut through downtown.
My eyes studied an online map showing the restaurant and other landmarks.
"Get me the blueprints of the restaurant and some better maps of the area," I told Finn.
He nodded, dialed a number on one of my disposable cell phones, and spoke to someone in low tones. A few minutes later, Finn flashed me a thumbs-up sign and hung up.
"Being e-mailed to me straight from the city planner's office," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "City planner's office? Not your usual crowd. Which one of the secretaries did you f**k over there?"
Finn grinned. "Bethany. Older lady. Husband left her for a younger woman. I helped her realize exactly what she had to offer the fine men of Ashland."
"And that would be?"
"The best pair of legs I've ever seen." Finn sighed. "Gorgeous gams that seemed to go on forever, especially when we were in bed-"
"Spare me the details and just show me the file."
I walked to the kitchen table and leaned over his shoulder. Finn's hands slid over the keyboard as he pulled up one of his fake e-mail accounts. Forget penicillin. The Internet was the best thing that had ever been invented. It made exchanging information while staying anonymous so much easier.
The computer pinged, and Finn opened a new e-mail. The schematics and maps popped up on the screen, along with some street-level shots. Bethany really had enjoyed her time with Finn to give him this much information so quickly. I compared the squiggles to the online map I'd just seen.
"It looks doable," Finn said, voicing my thoughts. "A couple of exits, lots of lunchtime foot traffic, several side streets and buildings to get lost in, not to mention the college campus. But you're still taking a big risk. Caine is a detective, after all. Whoever hired Brutus will probably have people watching him, just to make sure he stays in line."
"I know. But I need to talk to Caine. Meeting with him is the only way we're going to get to the bottom of this and find out who set us up-and why."
"When do you want to do it?" Finn asked.
"Tomorrow," I said. "We make first contact tomorrow."
Chapter Twelve
"Let me go in with you," Finn said.
We sat in a black Cadillac Escalade down the street from the grimy storefront that housed the Cake Walk. Last night, Finn had borrowed the luxury SUV from one of the downtown parking garages. He might be a glorified banker, but Finn was also rather handy at changing ownership of certain items, like cars.
Normally, we would have driven his Benz or one of Finn's other half-dozen cars. But since the Air elemental knew exactly who Finn was and had someone in the police department working for her, we'd decided to steal whatever transportation we might need over the next few days instead of using his vehicles. Just in case someone in the department had put out an APB on Finn's wheels. Besides, swiping someone's car was pretty low on the list as far as crimes went in Ashland. Even if someone reported her car stolen, it would be a couple of days before the paperwork went through to report it. This thing would be long over with by then.
Once we'd gotten the vehicle, we'd worked late into the night on how I was going to approach Donovan Caine. What to say, reveal, promise, threaten. Finally, around three in the morning, we'd crashed in my apartment to rest up for my big lunch date.
"You're going to need some backup," Finn added. "Just in case Caine decides he wants to take you in, no matter how much collateral damage there might be."
"Guys like Caine try to avoid collateral damage. That doesn't mean things couldn't go wrong, but it's better if you stay out here. I don't need to worry about you while I'm talking with the detective." I grinned. "Besides, somebody has to drive the getaway car."
Finn snorted. "This isn't Driving Miss Daisy. And you certainly don't look like Jessica Tandy."
Blending in with your surroundings was another essential skill assassins had to master. Sometimes I used flashy clothes to do it. Wigs, makeup, glasses, jewelry.
Sometimes I used my body. Affecting an accent, walking a certain way, being loud and loquacious.
But what I excelled at most was being invisible. In looking and acting so completely normal and so ordinary that I grayed out, just like wallpaper. Slow movements, quiet voice, neutral expression. You saw me, but you didn't really register the fact I was there. A skill I'd perfected while living on the streets as a kid. None of the dirty, disenfranchised, and downtrodden ever wanted to draw attention to themselves, except for the vampire hookers.
The last approach was the one I'd decided to use today. Just being myself. Jeans, boots, T-shirt, fleece jacket. Casual comfort. My only concession to today's meeting was my white T-shirt, which featured a mound of blackberries. The shirt dipped into a deep V in the front that cut through the blackberries and showed off my cle**age and the edge of my white lace bra. Every man liked to look at br**sts, no matter who they were attached to. If it gave me a momentary advantage or the detective a cheap thrill, all the better. I wasn't above using what I had.