I nodded. "Both of them."
"You're the boss." Finn pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his black khakis, moved to the other side of the living room, and started dialing Sophia Deveraux.
I drew in a breath and turned to face Bria. My baby sister stood in front of the fireplace, the long metal poker clenched in her hands and propped on her shoulder like it was a baseball bat she was eager to swing at my head. Bria must have been getting ready for bed when Slater and his men had burst through the back door. She wore a pair of faded, flannel, baby blue pajama pants with a matching shirt. Her feet were bare, although her toes were painted a dark magenta. Jo-Jo Deveraux would have approved of the color.
Despite the late hour, Bria still wore her primrose rune on a chain around her neck. I wondered if she ever took off the necklace. I was guessing no. The silverstone medallion caught the light and flashed at me like a traffic signal. Warning of danger, in more ways than one.
My eyes flicked over her body, looking for injuries. A couple of rough scrapes marred Bria's beautiful features, probably from where she'd thrown herself into the fireplace. More cuts and bruises dotted her arms and hands, and the sleeves of her shirt had been ripped and shredded in places. Purple circles of exhaustion ringed her blue eyes, and blood had matted in the ends of her shaggy, layered, blond hair. But what concerned me most was the ever-increasing circle of blood on the right side of her body, parallel with her belly button. She'd been shot, judging from the bullet hole that blackened the fabric of her shirt.
Anyone else probably would have been whimpering on the floor by now, but Bria stood there, as though the gut wound was of no more consequence to her than what she'd eaten for dinner. Whatever else she might be, whatever secrets she had, I knew one thing-my sister was one tough cookie. Just like me.
Bria stared back at me. Wariness shimmered in her blue gaze. "Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?" she demanded, tightening her grip on the fireplace poker.
The motion made three rings glint on her left index finger-thin bands stacked on top of each other. Silverstone, from the way they caught the light.
"Saving your ass." I moved around the couch so that I stood directly in front of her. "Why? What does it look like we're doing?"
Her bruised features tightened. "I didn't need your help."
I stared down at the giant in front of the couch, the one whose femoral arteries I'd severed with my silverstone knives. He'd clamped his hands over his legs to try and stem the blood flow, but it hadn't worked. The giant's dead, glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling fan.
"Really?" I asked. "And here I thought you were trapped in a fireplace with three very large, very strong giants just waiting for you to run out of bullets so they could come over and beat you to death. Or am I misinterpreting the situation?"
Bria's mouth twisted. Whether it was from pain or annoyance, I wasn't quite sure.
"Tell me," I asked, bending down to examine the giant. "What exactly did you do to piss off Mab Monroe enough for her to send Elliot Slater and his goons out here to kill you? Now, Mab isn't lacking for flunkies, but she sent her numero uno after you tonight."
"That's between me and Mab," Bria said in a frosty voice. "I don't see how it's any of your business."
I was mildly surprised that Bria didn't deny the fact that she'd done something to upset Mab. "In case you couldn't tell from the bodies, I've decided to make it my business. So you might as well tell me."
Bria's eyes narrowed. "I'm not telling you a damn thing. If I were you, I'd think about leaving-right now. I'm a homicide detective, and I've already called for backup. A couple of units should be here any minute."
I finished my examination of the dead giant, got to my feet, and turned to face my sister once more.
"You didn't have time to call for help, detective," I replied. "Because you went for your gun instead of reaching for the phone. Nothing wrong with it. I prefer to take care of my own problems too."
"How the hell do you know that?"
I shrugged. "Because if you'd used it to call for help, it would be lying somewhere in this mess."
Bria's gaze flicked to the left. A cordless phone sat in a charger on a table that had somehow escaped the battle.
"Not that calling 911 would have done you any good," I continued. "Slater probably put the word out for the po-po not to respond to any distress calls in the area tonight."
"Elliot Slater doesn't run the police department," she snapped.
I snorted. "No, Mab Monroe does. But since Slater is her number-one enforcer, he can call in any favors he needs any time he needs them. I don't know how long you've been in Ashland, but you need to realize right now that the cops are useless. Your boys in blue don't care about you. They would have been perfectly content to come out here tomorrow, photograph your corpse, and eat some doughnuts while they were at it."
Bria's mouth tightened, but she didn't say anything. Looked like she had already figured out exactly how things worked in Ashland. Good. The knowledge, distasteful though it might be, might help keep Bria alive until I figured out exactly why Mab wanted her dead-and what I could do to keep it from happening. I might not know my sister, might not have any inkling as to the kind of woman she was now, but I'd be damned if Mab Monroe was going to murder another member of my family.
"But my associate and I are here now, and we've decided to take an interest in your situation," I said. "Now, why don't you sit down and let me take a look at that gunshot wound before you pass out from the blood loss?"
Bria stared at me. Emotions flashed like icy fire in her blue eyes. Suspicion, mistrust, wariness. No fear, though. Despite everything that had happened tonight, she wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, or worse, bawling her eyes out. Her calm demeanor, even when injured, made me admire her a little more. I didn't know why I felt so proud of my sister every time I saw her, every time I realized just how tough she was. It wasn't like I'd done anything to make Bria the strong, independent woman she was today. But the feeling was there, just like my love for her was-two things I knew that I'd never be able to quash no matter what had happened between us in the violent, murky past or here in the troubled present.
But blood had soaked the bottom half of Bria's shirt by now, which meant I didn't have time to screw around and keep talking until she decided to trust me. Not that she ever would.
"Look," I said in a soft voice. "I have zero love for Elliot Slater and his men, which is why I came to your rescue here tonight. I just want to help you. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. So let me, okay? Nothing else bad will happen to you tonight, I promise."