"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."

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."

She smiled at my grim humor. We sat there staring at each other. Five seconds ticked by. Then, ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty-five...

"Why don't you take off that ski mask?" Bria asked.

I raised my eyebrows. "And let you get a good look at my face? I think not, detective."

She smiled again. "Can't blame me for trying."

"Of course not," I replied. "So is this the part where you tell me what a bad, bad girl I've been, murdering people for something as common as money? Vow to bring me to justice no matter what and do the whole honorable cop shtick?"

Bria shrugged and winced at the pain the motion brought along with it. "Why would I do that? If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead right now. Beaten to death by Slater and his men. Believe me, I'm grateful for the intervention, even if it is by a self-proclaimed angel of death."

Well, that certainly wasn't the answer I'd been expecting. Donovan Caine would have already been planning which cell to stick me in down at the police station. Seemed my sister's morals were a little bendier than the detective's. But what surprised me more than her attitude was the emotion her words stirred in me-hope. Hope that maybe one day I could tell Bria who I really was and what I'd had to do to stay alive over the years-and that she would accept me despite all the bad things I'd done. And what I was prepared to do now to keep her, Finn, and the Deveraux sisters safe from Mab Monroe, Elliot Slater, and anyone else stupid enough to threaten them.

Fucking hope. Next thing you'd know, I'd be getting soft and sentimental and teary-eyed over puppies and kittens and rainbows.

"So you're okay with your savior being a bona fide assassin?" I asked.

Bria shrugged and winced again. "You saved me for whatever reason. I'm not prepared to think too much about it tonight. I know there are worse things, worse people in the world. I'll stop them first. Then, when that's done, maybe I'll get around to you-"

That was all Bria got out before the blood loss caught up to her, and she toppled over in a dead faint.

Chapter Twelve

"Knock, knock," Finn called out as he opened the front door to Bria's house. "Honey, I'm home-" He stopped at the sight of me kneeling over Bria's inert body. "What happened to her?"

"She passed out from the pain and blood loss," I said.

"Good thing," Finn replied. "Seeing as how we have company."

He stepped to one side, and Sophia and Jo-Jo Deveraux entered the living room. The two dwarven sisters stood in the doorway and surveyed the destruction and dead bodies in front of them. Sophia wore a pair of thick, black coveralls and heavy boots, while Jo-Jo was clad in a pink robe that looked fuzzier and softer than a baby's blanket. The older dwarf had stuck her feet into a matching pair of house shoes. She wasn't wearing socks, though, despite the chill of the December night.

Jo-Jo let out a low whistle. "Finn told Sophia that you'd made a mess, but I didn't think it would be quite this bad, Gin."

"You know me. I never do anything halfway," I quipped. "Now, come over here and see to Bria before she gets any worse."

Sophia pulled a pair of black rubber gloves out of one of the pockets on her coveralls and snapped them on with obvious relish. The Goth dwarf didn't smile, not really, but there was definitely a sparkle in her black eyes and a lightness to her steps. She was eager, happy even, to get to her disposal work. At least I'd made someone's night. Sophia dragged the bodies of the three dead giants over to the front door and flipped the couch back into its normal upright position. Then the Goth dwarf picked up Bria and put her on the sofa.