Just after eight that night, I opened the door, climbed out of the Aston Martin, and smoothed down my dress. I walked around the front of the silver sports car and waited for Finn to lock his precious baby up tight.
Then, when Finn joined me, I put my hand on my hip and struck a pose. “How do I look?”
Finn gave me the once-over. “Nice. Not at all like you plan to commit murder before the night is through.”
Since I was going to spend the evening hobnobbing with Ashland’s wealthiest citizens, I’d decided to dress up for the occasion. I’d traded in my usual jeans and T-shirt for a simple cocktail dress with a loose, flowing skirt. The garment was made of a heavy, shiny satin that was such a deep blue that it looked black. All the better to hide bloodstains.
Even more important, the dress also featured long sleeves to hide the two silverstone knives I’d tucked up them, and the poofy skirt fell to my knees, hiding the other two knives that I’d strapped to my thighs. Still two more knives rested in the sides of my stiletto boots, and I had another one tucked into my purse. Seven knives was probably overkill, but I wanted to be prepared when I went after Elliot Slater. It just wouldn’t do to have the giant in my sights and be unable to finish him off for a lack of adequate weaponry. I might officially be retired from being the assassin the Spider, but that didn’t mean I still wasn’t a pro.
In an effort to blend in with all the pretty young things and trophy wives sure to be in attendance, I’d gone heavy on the makeup — smoky eyes, deep plum lips, lots of mascara. I’d even freed my shoulder-length hair from its typical ponytail for the evening’s festivities. Jo-Jo Deveraux had been all too happy to curl my dark chocolate locks into wavy ringlets. The dwarf always liked it when I played dress-up.
Jo-Jo had also been kind enough to slip me some tubs of her magic-infused healing ointment, just in case Elliot Slater got a couple of licks in before his swan song tonight.
“And me?” Finn asked. “How do I look?”
Finn wore what he always wore to a society function — a classic tuxedo, small diamond cufflinks, and polished wingtips that had a higher luster than some of the jewels the debutantes would be wearing tonight. The black fabric accentuated the bright green of his eyes, while his walnut-colored locks curled around his collar in an artful arrangement that looked both deliberate and effortless. Finn had spent more time on his hair than Jo-Jo had on mine.
“Ever the gentleman,” I replied. “Not at all like you plan to assist me in committing said murder tonight.”
Finn grinned and held his arm out to me. “Ready for an evening of murder and mayhem?”
I grinned back. “Always.”
Arm in arm, Finn and I left the parking lot and strolled toward the Delta Queen.
The riverboat was docked in the middle of the downtown district, where the Aneirin River curled like a ribbon past the city’s skyscrapers and cultural buildings like the Ashland Opera House. Several years ago when the riverboat casino had first come to town, the city planners had constructed a wooden boardwalk lit with old-fashioned iron street lamps. Despite its proximity to the mean streets of Southtown, the gentrification had stuck, mainly because the casino had its own ever-vigilant security staff who kept an eye out for the riffraff who might mug their customers before they could get on board and blow their money in high style.
No gang runes or graffiti could be seen on the boardwalk itself, and several artsy shops and restaurants had sprung up opposite the river on the far side of the weathered wooden planks — overpriced antiques stores and cafés determined to suck as much money as they could out of passersby before they boarded the casino and lost that week’s paycheck. Ah, progress.
The Delta Queen featured six decks, each one more lavish and opulent than the last. Even from this distance, I could see the gleam of polished wood, heavy brass, and delicate crystal through the wide windows that lined the upper levels. Tasteful bits of red and blue trim glistened in various spots on the riverboat’s white exterior finish, marking it as an all-American place to lose your life savings. Globe-shaped lights wrapped around the mahogany and brass railings and dipped from one deck to the next like the strings of an electrified cobweb. The third story formed an open U shape that jutted out past the other decks and formed the bow of the boat. Meanwhile, a giant paddlewheel that rose all the way up to the sixth deck anchored the back of the vessel.
I stared at the paddlewheel. Hmm. That had possibilities. Like me shoving Elliot Slater through it. But the riverboat wasn’t scheduled to leave the dock tonight. Even if a cruise had been planned, the boards were too wide to do the necessary amount of damage to the giant, and I doubted the fall alone would kill him. He’d probably scream a lot on the way down, though.
Too bad. I’d never killed anyone with a paddlewheel before. I might not officially be the Spider anymore, but I was always on the lookout for new experiences — and new skills to add to my deadly repertoire. Elliot Slater was going to die tonight, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a bit of fun helping him quit breathing.
Thanks to his position at his bank and the fact that so many of his wealthy clients would be in attendance tonight, Finn had been invited to the party. I was tagging along as his plus-one. Finn handed his engraved invitation to the man checking names on the shoreline, who ushered us on board with little fanfare.
“Hmph,” Finn sniffed, sounding exactly like Sophia Deveraux. “He didn’t even tell me to enjoy myself this evening.”
I patted Finn’s arm. “That’s because you’re not one of the important people who are coming tonight. He’s saving his fawning for them.”
Finn sniffed his displeasure again.
As the two of us walked up the gangplank to the riverboat itself, I glanced over the railing. Below, the murky waters of the Aneirin River washed by, heading toward the far-away Mississippi River and ultimately the Gulf of Mexico. Oil slicks shimmered royal blue, purple, and green on the water’s surface, and all the soft, artful lights on the riverboat couldn’t hide the odd bits of wood, soggy fast-food wrappers, and other flotsam that clogged the shoreline. Or the stench.
I wrinkled my nose. The air reeked of rotten catfish. Ugh. The scent reminded me of the last time I’d been this close to the river — when I’d taken a nosedive off the top of the Ashland Opera House to escape the cops after a botched hit. It had taken me several hot showers to get the stench of rotting fish out of my hair.
Finn and I reached the top of the gangplank and found ourselves on the third, open deck, the epicenter of the event. The deck itself was larger than two ballrooms put together. Blackjack, baccarat, poker, and other gaming tables had been set up out in the open. The slap-slap-slap of cards being shuffled could be heard, along with the clink-clink of chips hitting each other on the felt tables and the whirring clack-clack-clack of the slot machines. Heaters tucked against the railing and under some of the tables kept the December chill at bay, helped immensely by the inflated egos of those already on board.
People dressed in tuxedoes, gowns, and flashing jewels were already waiting their turn to lose their money — all of which was supposedly going to charity tonight. I rather doubted that, since Phillip Kincaid was one of the riverboat casino’s primary owners.
Kincaid was another of Ashland’s underworld sharks, just like Mab Monroe was, with his own network of enforcers and heavy hitters. He was already on deck, a six-foot-tall man with a chest that looked as dense as concrete beneath his white tuxedo. His sandy blond hair was slicked back into a low ponytail, all the better to show off his chiseled cheekbones and striking blue eyes. I’d never had any dealings with Kincaid, but rumor had it that his father had been a dwarf, his mother a giant. Hence his solid physique. I didn’t know where he’d gotten the pretty face from, though. Didn’t much matter. I put Kincaid out of my mind, since he wasn’t my target tonight.
According to Finn’s sources, a formal sit-down dinner would be held later in the evening. Through the open doors that led inside the riverboat, I spotted waiters hurrying to and fro with glasses, silverware, floral centerpieces, and more in the dining room. The inside of the ship was hollow and ringed with balconies, so the folks on the fourth, fifth, and sixth decks could look all the way down to the third floor, where a stage had been erected for dinner shows. The lower two decks were enclosed. That’s where the kitchen was housed, along with the money cages. I knew because Finn and I had spent the past few hours going over the riverboat’s schematics, among other things.
Finn grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to me. “How do you want to play this?”
I took a sip of champagne. “Let’s split up. I want to take a stroll around the deck, see what the security is like in person, and find a cozy spot where Elliot Slater and I can chat privately later on tonight. You keep an eye out for Roslyn and the giant. Call me when you spot them.”
“Okay,” Finn said. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
We broke apart. I sipped champagne and meandered through the gaming tables and small cliques of self-important people clustered together on the deck. The trophy wives, debutantes, and rich divorcees stood tall and resplendent in their jewel-colored designer dresses, peacocks preening for the penguin-suited men in attendance. And practically everyone — male and female — wore some small bauble that weighed in at several carats, whether it was a diamond choker or a ruby cufflink slyly winking from the end of a tuxedo sleeve. My Stone magic let me hear the gemstones’ proud whispers of their beauty, elegance, and fire, as vain and boastful as the people wearing them.
I shut the sound of the gemstones out of my mind and focused on the security detail for the evening. Several giants wearing dark suits roamed through the crowd, as was to be expected at one of these things. Several more stood with their arms crossed over their chests, keeping an eye on the players at the higher-end gaming tables. I counted five on this deck alone, and I knew that at least a few more would be patrolling the other levels and the interior of the riverboat, watching out for drunks and other potential problems. Each of the giants wore a large pin in the middle of his long tie that marked him as part of the security staff. The gold pins were shaped like the casino’s rune — a dollar sign superimposed over an outline of the riverboat. Classy.
The amount of security was troublesome but not surprising. The Delta Queen was a casino, after all, and there were lots of whales here tonight with cash to lose.
Including Owen Grayson.
The businessman sat at a table at the very tip of the boat playing poker with a couple of other high rollers. Instead of the plastic red, white, and blue chips some of the other gamblers were using, stacks of solid gold chips sat in front of each player, marking their value as hundred thousand dollar tokens. Given the stakes they were playing for, a crowd had formed around the table. I edged my way close enough to get a good view of the action.
Like every man in attendance, Owen Grayson had dressed up for the evening in a tuxedo, but his choice of navy fabric made his eyes seem more blue than violet. Even though he was sitting down, I was once again struck by how compact, sturdy, and strong Owen’s frame was. His violet eyes glittered in his face, even as his blue-black hair disappeared into the shadows cast by the lights wrapped around the railing behind him. The scar under Owen’s lips was a thin white line, but it wasn’t unappealing. If anything, it added more character to his features. Hard and tough and sexy, that’s how he looked to me.
I wasn’t the only woman studying him. Several regarded Owen with open, predatory interest, mentally weighing his figure and pocketbook against the other gentlemen to determine who was most worthy of their attention this evening. But evidently the others found him as appealing as I did, because none of them made a move to leave or go trolling past the other tables for more potential victims.
The dealer shuffled a fresh hand, and Owen used the lull in the action to scan the crowd around him. He stopped when he spotted me. Owen’s violet eyes trailed down my body, one slow inch at a time. Breasts, stomach, thighs, legs. He took it all in. A smile spread across his face, softening his hard features. I gave him a cool nod, acknowledging his approval of my dress. Owen’s smile widened, and he tipped his head in return.
“Sir?” the dealer asked Owen.
Owen looked at his cards and raised whatever bet had been given before. The man sitting to his left hemmed and hawed a minute before folding, and the others placed their bets. Owen’s violet gaze stayed on me a moment longer before focusing on his cards again. I moved on.
I walked through the hollow interior of the riverboat, where the staff was still busy setting all the tables for the evening’s dinner. The enclosed portion of the upper decks wrapped around a square, open area that featured a large, parquet stage fronted by black velvet curtains. The riverboat’s dinner shows were almost as popular as the gaming tables.
Once I’d acquainted myself with all the entrances, exits, and possible cubbyholes where I might quietly kill Elliot Slater, I did another swift circuit of the open deck. But the giant and Roslyn Phillips weren’t in attendance yet, so I went in search of Finn to see if he’d heard anything from Roslyn this evening.
As always, he was easy to find. Finnegan Lane had planted himself at the end of the bar that had been set up on one side of the deck. Bars were one of Finn’s favorite places, rife with booze, gossip, the occasional salty snack, and pretty, inebriated women open to the raw suggestion in his hungry smile. I found him chatting up a sweet young thing who barely looked old enough to drink, much less afford the emerald drops dangling from her ears or the C-cups spilling out of the top of her dress. Somebody had a generous sugar daddy.
I tapped the girl on the shoulder and gave her a hard smile. “Sorry, sugar, but you need to move along now. My dear husband ’s already taken for the evening.”
Finn huffed his disapproval. The girl’s brown eyes darted between the two of us. Evidently, she didn’t like the trouble she saw brewing in my cold face because she grabbed her strawberry daiquiri and scooted down to the other end of the bar in search of an easier prospect.
Finn sighed. “Did you really have to do that?”
“No.” I smiled. “But it sure was fun.”
“C’mon, Gin. You could have at least scared her off some other way. You know how I feel about the word husband.” Finn gave a delicate shudder. Any romantic commitment longer than a couple of hours was enough to make him jumpy.
I rolled my eyes. “We’re here to do a job, in case you’ve forgotten. You can hit on the young stuff once everything’s been taken care of for the night. Capisce?”
“Capisco,” he muttered.
I leaned against the bar and surveyed the sparkling, laughing, chattering crowd before me. I recognized a lot of the faces, mostly through my time as the Spider. Sisters, mothers, brothers, husbands, stockholders. I’d helped a lot of people on this boat get rid of their familial and business problems over the years in Ashland and beyond.
“Any sign of our friends yet?” I asked.
“No, but they should be here soon. Roslyn texted me a few minutes ago and said that Elliot Slater had just pulled into her driveway—” Finn jerked his head. “Hey, there they are.”
I looked to the left just in time to see Elliot Slater crest the top of the gangplank. The giant had one arm curled possessively around Roslyn Phillips’s hourglass waist. For her part, the vamp hung limp at his side like she was seasick and five seconds away from throwing up whatever she’d eaten today. Couldn’t blame Roslyn for that, after all she’d been through. I didn’t know that I would have made it this far in her shoes.
Two giants also dressed in tuxes followed Slater on board, moved ahead of him a few feet, and stopped, scanning the glittering crowd before them. Must be Slater’s de facto bodyguards for the evening.
Elliot Slater stepped to one side and turned, speaking to someone behind him. A moment later, two more figures stepped up and onto the riverboat — Jonah McAllister and Mab Monroe.