Lorelei gave me a short, sharp nod. I nodded back, then focused my attention on the giant gunman again. I made a show of twisting my knife point into the neck of the man I was still holding on to, deep enough to draw blood this time.
“Time’s up,” I called out.
“Santos, man, just give up already!” My robber sputtered out the giant’s name. “I don’t want to die just for some lousy jewelry!”
“No names, you idiot!” Santos snarled.
He pointed his gun at the other man and shot the robber three times in the chest.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Everyone screamed and kissed the floor again. The robber’s blood sprayed everywhere, the coppery stink of it filling the air, and he slipped from my grasp and hit the ground, dead weight now.
Santos gave me an evil grin and raised his gun again. I reached for my Stone magic, hardening my skin, but instead of shooting me, he whipped around and fired at the two robbers who had surrendered.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Santos coolly executed his own men, putting two bullets in the chest of each. More screams sounded as the men toppled to the floor, blood pooling underneath their bodies.
“Run, you idiots!” Santos screamed at the remaining robbers.
The three men sprinted for the front doors. I was too far away to stop them, but Lorelei and Mallory both stepped up, guns still in their hands.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Lorelei got one of the fleeing robbers in the back, and he toppled to the floor. Mallory shot a second, also in the back, and he hit the ground too, but the third man managed to dart outside unscathed.
Knife still in my hand, I headed toward Santos, who was backing toward the doors.
Santos fired off a couple more shots. At first, I thought he was targeting the partygoers huddled in the middle of the lobby, but his aim was too wide for that, and the bullets harmlessly punched into the floor. But the shots made everyone panic, rise to their feet, and stampede toward the back of the lobby, running over and even knocking one another down as they tried to scramble to safety behind the tellers’ counter.
I stormed after Santos but got caught in the crush of people going the other way. Every time I took a step forward, someone bumped into me and shoved me back.
“Move! Move! Move!” I yelled, but the continued screams drowned out my words.
Santos took advantage of the chaos. He made it all the way over to the doors before stopping and raising his gun again. I didn’t care if the bastard shot me, but I was shoving other people out of the way, hoping that I could at least get everyone else out of his line of fire.
But Santos had other ideas. He whipped his gun to my right, aiming it at someone else. I looked over my shoulder, my blood freezing in my veins as I realized whom he was targeting.
Finn.
“Gin! Gin!” Finn shouted. “I’m coming!”
Gun in hand, he was also fighting his way through the crowd, trying to come help me. Bria and Owen were doing the same thing, but Finn was the closest, about ten feet behind me. He pushed one of the waiters out of his way and skidded to a stop, realizing that Santos was aiming at him. Finn snapped up his own gun, but he wasn’t going to get the other man first.
Santos shot me a wicked grin, then focused on Finn again, his finger curling back on the trigger. He realized that shooting Finn would hurt me more than if I were wounded myself.
I raced in Finn’s direction, but I was no superhero, and I wasn’t even close to being faster than a speeding bullet. My foster brother was going to die, and it was all my fault.
“Finn!” I screamed. “Finn!”
Too late.
Santos pulled the trigger.
7
The shot rang out, that one sharp, single crack seeming louder than all the previous ones put together.
All the while, I could hear myself screaming—Bria too—but it was like I was underwater, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Finn’s eyes widening, his mouth falling open, his entire body tensing, waiting for the bullet to tear through his chest.
But it never happened.
At the last instant, Deirdre shoved Finn out of the way, making him fall to the floor. The bullet hit her instead, and she screamed and spun around before stumbling into a cluster of chairs. She bounced off a chair and slid down, landing on her ass and clutching her left arm, her face white with shock. Given her scarlet dress, I couldn’t tell how badly she might be injured.
And I didn’t care. Finn was okay.
Santos’s lips moved, but I couldn’t hear the curses he was spouting. He turned tail, pushed through the front doors, and disappeared.
I kicked off my black stilettos, palmed a second knife, and sprinted after him. I wanted to end this now, before Santos escaped, holed up somewhere, and started plotting his revenge against me. Not only that, but I wanted to know if Santos had decided to rob the bank on his own or if someone had hired him to do it. And since the bastard had tried to shoot Finn, I was going to carve the answers out of him one slow slice at a time.
Bria and Owen started to follow me, but I stabbed one of my knives toward Finn, who was still sprawled across the floor. He must have taken a harder tumble than I’d thought.
“Stay with him!” I yelled.
Not only because Finn was injured but also because I didn’t want to leave him alone with Deirdre—not even for a minute.
I shoved a few more screaming people out of my way, rammed my shoulder into the door, and barreled down the stairs, which were still covered with that red carpet—
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Santos fired at me, hanging out the front passenger window of a black van idling at the curb. But I was still holding on to my Stone magic, so the bullets bounced off my body instead of punching through my chest. Still, the blows made me stagger back, and it took me a few seconds to shake off the hard, stinging impacts and dart forward again.
Santos cursed and started to reload, but whoever was driving the van had had enough, especially with the growing whoop-whoop-whoop of police sirens in the distance. The getaway driver gunned the engine and peeled away from the curb, tires smoking.
But I wasn’t ready to give up, so I sprinted out into the street, fell to my knees, dropped my knives, and slapped my palms flat against the asphalt. In an instant, I reached for my Ice magic, blasting it out over the entire street. The cold crystals of my power exploded out from my palms and rushed down the pavement like a tidal wave streaking toward shore. The sheet of Ice raced down the asphalt, getting closer and closer to the van’s back tires. If I could just get the vehicle to skid and crash, I could still catch Santos.
“C’mon,” I muttered. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon . . .”
I poured even more of my magic into creating that solid sheet of Ice, watching it creep closer and closer to the van.
At the end of the block, the driver took a hard right, making the tires screech in protest. The van careened around the corner and vanished from sight, even as my elemental Ice continued to shoot straight down the street.
“Dammit!” I snarled.
Gone—Santos was gone.
And so was my hope of getting any answers about the robbery.
* * *
I released my magic, grabbed my knives, and stood up. The elemental Ice coating the street burned my bare feet as I walked over to the curb. I slid my knives back up my dress sleeves, pushed through one of the doors, and stepped back into the bank.
All sorts of debris littered the floor—overturned tables and chairs, trays of spilled food and drinks, shattered shards from the crystal chandeliers, trash bags of valuables, bullet casings. The waiters and bartenders were clustered along the tellers’ counter, shell-shocked expressions on their faces. The partygoers and the bank’s clients wore similarly stunned looks. No surprise there. Things as low-down and dirty as strong-arm robberies simply didn’t happen at a place like First Trust.
As for the bank staff, all
the tellers, investment types, and other hotshots were nervously gathered in the middle of the lobby around Stuart Mosley to see what his orders would be. Mosley had his phone clamped to his ear, his eyes narrowed, and his voice chillingly low as he demanded answers from the person on the other end about how this had happened.
The crime bosses were also on their phones, texting and talking to their crews, telling them what had happened and trying to get info on who the robbers were and where they might be headed. I would be doing the same and calling Silvio soon enough, if the vampire hadn’t already heard what had happened.
But first, I had to deal with Deirdre Shaw.
She was sitting on the same stool as when I’d first come into the lobby. Her scarlet shawl lay crumpled on top of the bar in front of her, along with her purse and several bloody cocktail napkins. A long red gash sliced along her upper left arm, but the wound didn’t look deep, and it wasn’t even bleeding anymore. She’d thrown herself in front of a bullet and had only gotten grazed. I was certainly never that lucky. Then again, I’d long ago lost count of how many times I’d been shot.
But it seemed to be a new, thoroughly horrible experience for Deirdre. The robbery itself might not have scared her, but getting shot certainly had. Shock still whitened her face, her eyes twitched, and her fingers shook with small spasms before she clasped her hands together to try to hide the tremors.
I studied her carefully, but her surprise seemed one-hundred-percent genuine. I didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps she really was an innocent victim tonight, like everyone else here.
What really concerned me, though, was the fact that Finn was right by her side, smiling and chatting while he dabbed at her minor wound with another cocktail napkin, even though he had a much more serious, oozing cut and a purple knot on his forehead from where he’d hit the floor.
Bria was standing right next to him, dabbing at Finn’s wound the same way he was dabbing at Deirdre’s. Owen was there too, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Bria watch Finn watch Deirdre.
Hugh Tucker had resumed his previous seat on Deirdre’s other side. He eyed her wound for a moment, then started texting on his phone, probably trying to find an Air elemental to heal his boss. That’s what Silvio would have been doing.
I stopped long enough to find my stilettos and slip them back on so I wouldn’t cut my feet on the shattered crystal and broken glass, then headed in their direction. Bria sopped up another bit of blood from Finn’s face, tossed her dirty napkin aside, and hurried over to me, making sure we were out of earshot of the others.
“Did you get him?” she asked in a low, hopeful voice.
“Sadly, no, but I’ll sic Silvio on him. Santos won’t be able to hide for long. If he’s smart, he’ll leave town.”
“Well, here’s hoping that he’s not so smart.” Bria jerked her head at Finn and Deirdre. “And what do you want to do about that?”
“I have no idea,” I muttered.
Finn realized that I had come back into the lobby, and he waved at me. I let out a breath and walked over to him. Owen stepped up beside me, hugging me to his chest. I gave him a quick kiss before turning to Finn.
“Gin, there you are. I was just finishing up with Deirdre’s wound.” He shot her a grin. “Just a graze. Nothing to worry about. Why, you don’t even need stitches. A few minutes with one of those Air elementals I told Tucker about, and you won’t even have a scar.”
Deirdre drew in a deep breath and let it out, pushing away her shock and steadying herself. Then she winked back at him. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“You were lucky,” Finn said.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Lucky.”
His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, as he wondered why I was being so snarky to the woman who had just saved his life, but I wasn’t about to explain the irony to him.
“Oh, don’t mind her,” he said in a cheery voice. “She’s just upset that the bad guy got away, and she couldn’t give him the smackdown she wanted to. Right, Gin?”
I ground my teeth, but Finn didn’t notice that I didn’t answer him. Instead, he fixed his green gaze on Deirdre, curiosity filling his face.
“Although I have to ask you something, Dee-Dee,” he said. “Why did you shove me out of the way of that bullet? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But it was a really brave and heroic thing to do, especially for someone you’ve only known a few weeks.”
“Well, good investment bankers are hard to find. I didn’t want my favorite asset to get hurt.” She winked again, then let out a loud laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, trying to charm him the same way he’d done to countless other people over the years.
But Finn wasn’t that easily swayed. “No, seriously,” he said. “I really want to know. Why did you risk your life to save mine? Why did you think to protect me like that?”
Deirdre froze, her smile slowly slipping away, her expression turning serious, until she was staring at Finn like he was the only thing that mattered. She clamped her lips shut, then opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut again, as if she was having trouble getting out the words.
My stomach twisted with dread. I knew exactly what she was going to say, but there was nothing I could do to stop her.
“I’m your mother.”
8
Everyone had a different reaction to Deirdre Shaw’s bombshell.
Bria bit her lip and stared down at the floor. Owen blinked and blinked, trying to process Deirdre’s words. Tucker glanced at his boss, his black eyebrows arching a bit, then went back to his phone, still searching for a healer. My hands clenched into fists so tight that my nails dug into the spider rune scars in my palms.
And then there was Finn.
He stared at Deirdre for several seconds. Then his eyes crinkled, his lips twitched, and he burst out laughing.
He just . . . laughed.
And laughed . . . and laughed some more . . .
Maybe he’d hit his head harder than I’d thought.
“Oh, Dee-Dee, you’re a hoot, all right,” Finn said between deep belly laughs. “But my mother died in a car accident when I was just a baby. You know that. We’ve talked about it several times now.”
My jaw clenched, and my hands fisted together even tighter. I wondered exactly what Finn and Deirdre had talked about. How long had she been pumping him for information? How long had she been insinuating herself into his life? How long had she been laying the groundwork and buttering him up for this moment?
Deirdre lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, still staring straight into his eyes. “That’s what Fletcher wanted you to think. But it’s true, Finnegan. I’m your mother, and I’m alive. I’ve been alive this whole time.”
Finn kept chuckling for a few more seconds, until he realized she was serious. His laughter died on his lips, his entire body stiffened with shock, and he didn’t even breathe for several seconds. He blinked, then blinked again, peering at Deirdre in a close, intense way that he never had before. I could practically see the gears grinding in his mind, all the memories he was calling up, all the mental calculations he was doing, trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with what little Fletcher had told him about his mother.
Deirdre’s red lips creased into a sad, wistful smile. “You’re even more handsome than the photos I’ve seen,” she said in a soft voice. “I always thought you had my smile, ever since you were a baby.”
She reached out and slowly placed her hand on top of Finn’s. He started at the contact, but he didn’t automatically jerk his hand away. Instead, something flashed in his eyes, something I had never seen before.
Longing.
A raw, naked longing that made him seem much younger than his thirty-three years. An old, aching longing he would do anything to ease. A bone-deep longing that worried me even more than all the pretty words Deirdre was spouting. In that moment, Finn seemed . . . vulnerable, in a way that I had never seen him be vulnerable before.
Finn s
hifted on his feet. From one moment to the next, he accepted what Deirdre was telling him as truth, that she was his mother. I could tell by the way he intently scanned her face, trying to find himself in her smile, her nose, her cheekbones. But the worst part was the way the longing in his eyes immediately flared up into a bright spark of hope.
“But . . . but how . . . why . . .” Finn stammered, for once at a loss for words.
Deirdre squeezed his hand. “I know you have a lot of questions and that I have a lot of explaining to do. Why don’t I give you some time to process this? Then maybe we can meet tomorrow and talk about . . . everything.”
No words escaped from Finn’s gaping mouth—he just kept blinking and blinking at her. So I stepped up beside him, put my hand on his shoulder, and took charge of the situation. I didn’t want Finn spending any more time alone with Deirdre. Who knew what lies and misinformation she had already fed him? Besides, I wanted to hear exactly what she had to say about Fletcher.
“Why don’t you come by the Pork Pit tomorrow?” I said. “Say three o’clock? Surely you haven’t forgotten where it is.”
Deirdre kept that soft, winsome smile on her face, but she couldn’t quite hide the annoyance that flickered in her pale gaze. She didn’t like me butting in on her reunion with her long-lost son. Too damn bad. Finn was my brother, and I was going to watch out for him.
“Why, that’s a fine idea, honey,” she said. “I’ll see Finnegan then.”
“We’re looking forward to it, honey,” I drawled right back at her. “After all, it’s not every day that a dead relative digs her way out of her own grave.”
Deirdre’s smile tightened at my sarcasm, but she ignored me and looked at Finn again. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she said. “But most of all, I want you to know that I never wanted to leave Ashland. I never wanted to leave you.”
Finn stared at her, his eyes empty, his face blank now.
That wasn’t the response Deirdre wanted. Her lips puckered, and she opened her mouth, as though she was thinking about making some other calculated confession. But in the end, she just nodded and squeezed his hand a final time. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Bitter Bite Page 7
