Finn finished his call to Sophia Deveraux and moved to stand beside me. "You should listen to her, detective. She doesn't offer her assistance lightly or often. And her promises? Better than money in the bank."
I looked at him. "Better than money? That's high praise coming from you, since there's nothing you love more than C-notes."
Finn just grinned at me.
Bria snorted at our banter. "Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I have a hard time trusting two people who broke into my house, killed a couple of giants, and are now chatting to me like we're out having cake and coffee-while wearing ski masks."
I shrugged. "You do what you want, but how much longer do you think you can stand there? You can either trust us not to kill you, or you can bleed out in a few minutes. If I were you, I think I'd pick option A. But that's just me."
"Oh, I'd definitely go with option A too," Finn chimed in. "Because it would be a crying shame to let that sweet body of yours get all cold and stiff, detective." Finn smiled at her, his white teeth flashing through the slit in his ski mask.
I rolled my eyes. Here my sister was, bloody, battered, and brandishing a weapon, and Finn was using the lull in the action to hit on her. Sometimes I thought Finnegan Lane had a death wish, thinking with his dick as much as he did.
Bria glowered at Finn, but she took the fireplace poker off her shoulder and lowered it to the floor, using it as a sort of crutch. By this point, she was having a hard time just keeping herself upright. Her body swayed from side to side, and tremors shook her arms and legs.
"Fine," Bria muttered. "But keep your hands where I can see them."
She lowered herself down so that she was sitting on the bottom shelf of the fireplace. I jerked my head at Finn, and the two of us moved over to the front door.
"Keep an eye out for our dwarven friends," I murmured. "And go around back and see if Slater's Hummer is still parked on the street behind us. I'm willing to bet that he's gone, at least for tonight, but I want to be sure."
Finn nodded and walked out the front of the house, closing the door behind him.
"Charming associate you have there," Bria sniped. "Does he always storm into people's homes and shoot men in the face?"
"Not always," I replied. "Sometimes he just talks them to death."
Bria's mouth twisted again, but this time, the corner of her lips lifted up into a faint smile. Perhaps my sharp wit wasn't completely lost on her.
"Now, let's take a look at that hole in the side of you," I said.
I moved over to the fireplace and got down on my knees in front of Bria. Apprehension flared in her face again, and she still had a firm grip on the fireplace poker. But I kept my movements slow and nonthreatening, and she let me lift up the corner of her ruined shirt. A small, neat hole marred Bria's pale flesh just above her hip bone. Blood leaked out of the wound with every breath she took, but it wasn't gushing as badly as I'd feared. She'd be all right until Jo-Jo Deveraux could come and heal her.
"It's a through-and-through," Bria muttered. "Bullet's probably buried in my fireplace somewhere."
I knew it was. I could hear the stones' muttering about the violence that had taken place in here tonight. I nodded and looked around the ruined living room. A pale blue afghan covered with white snowflakes lay among the mess on the floor. Using one of my knives, I cut off a swath of the fabric. It would have been easier to go into the bathroom and find a towel, but I didn't want to leave Bria alone so she could do something stupid-like call the cops for real. Bria tensed at the sight of me ripping into the afghan, so I tucked the bloody knife into my boot before I approached her again.
"Here," I said, showing her the fabric. "Let's put this against your wound until my friends get here."
"More friends? Are they as charming as the other fellow?"
I shrugged. "Depends on your definition of charming. But one of them is a healer."
"Convenient," Bria muttered.
I smiled. "Very."
Bria leaned back against the outer wall of the fireplace and lifted up her shirt. I carefully placed the fabric against the gunshot wound, then wrapped it around her waist so it would plug the exit hole too. I pulled the fabric as tight as it would go, making Bria grunt with pain, then tied the whole thing together with a neat bow. Bria rested her head against the stone. Her breath came in short pants, and sweat glistened on her neck and forehead.
"Sorry," I said. "But it had to be done."
She nodded. "I've... had worse."
She sat there a few seconds, eyes closed, resting, getting her strength back. Once her breathing eased into a more normal pattern, Bria opened her eyes and stared at me again. "Who are you? Why did you come in here after Elliot Slater and his men?"
Ah, the moment of truth. I sat down on the floor in front of her and crossed my legs, considering my options. I could lie, of course. Make up some fairy tale about being a good Samaritan who just happened to hear the noise, put on a ski mask, grabbed several knives, and jumped into the fray against five giants and a pissed-off Ice elemental. Not that Bria would believe me. Hell, I'd probably start laughing halfway through a story like that. Finn would certainly get a chuckle out of it. Since I couldn't think of a somewhat convincing lie, I decided to go with the truth.
"I have a certain interest in Slater," I replied. "I've been following him all night."
"And what would that interest be?" she asked.
"I'm going to kill him."
Silence.
I sat there and waited for the angry condemnation to fill Bria's blue eyes. For my baby sister to look at me the disappointed, reproachful way that Detective Donovan Caine always had-like I was a dog who'd betrayed its master.
Instead, Bria tilted her head to one side and regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "You're an assassin, aren't you?"
Not a huge leap of logic to make, considering what she'd seen me do tonight. I shrugged. No reason to lie now. "I used to be. I retired a while back."
"So why go after Slater now?"
I shrugged again. "An old friend called in a favor, and I owe her big-time. Besides, my retirement's been rather boring for the most part. I like to keep my hand in things, and my blades sharp. So I help the little people, as it were, every once in a while."
Bria snorted. "What are you then? Some sort of guardian angel?"
"The angel of death, maybe," I replied. "People who have guardian angels generally don't need my services."