I dropped my eyes from the mirror. "Job hazard. "
Caine couldn't go anywhere, since he was still strapped down. I walked behind him.
The detective's hands were cuffed, with the chain threaded through the back of the chair. Silverstone handcuffs. Looked like Caine never went anywhere without a set.
Kinky.
"Key?"
Caine jerked his head. "On the dresser. "
I retrieved the metal key and bent down behind the detective. His rigid muscles coiled, and he drew in a sharp breath. He smelled faintly of soap, and I could feel the strength of his body, even though he was shackled to the chair. Caine probably thought this was just a ruse. That I was going to slit his throat instead of freeing him.
I might have considered it, if I hadn't already offered to work with the detective. My word still meant something to me, too.
The handcuffs clinked open, and Donovan Caine got to his feet. He turned to face me and massaged his wrists, rubbing the feeling back into his hands. His gaze skimmed over the mess of blood, bodies, and broken furniture. He spotted the discarded gun, half-hidden under the remains of one of the crystal lamps, near his feet.
"You have a decision to make," I said in a quiet voice. "You can pick up that gun.
Turn it on me. Try to avenge your partner's death. "
I didn't add he'd die where he stood when my knife ripped through his heart. Caine had seen what I was capable of. Witnessed my skills firsthand. I just hoped it was enough to temper his dogged determination to make me pay for Cliff Ingles's death.
"Or?" The detective kept rubbing his wrists, but his hazel eyes never left the weapon at his feet.
"Or we can call a truce, and you can come with me. Work with me to get to the bottom of this. They want you dead now, too. They want us all dead. " Donovan Caine stared at the gun. A second ticked by. Five more. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty.
He flexed his fingers, an Old West sheriff about to draw down on the mangy, good-for-nothin' gunfighter threatening his town, his peace of mind, his way of life. I tensed, ready to strike.
The detective lifted his eyes to mine. His ga
ze was the color of smoky topaz, or perhaps a fine whiskey, oscillating from pure gold to burnished brown and back again. Emotions flickered in the amber depths, one after another, like lightning bugs winking on and off. Disgust. Anger. Mistrust. Suspicion. Curiosity.
"Why did you come here?" he asked. "You could have let them kill me. " I shrugged again. "Like I said before, I need you. Need to know what you know about Gordon Giles. I believe I heard something about files and a flash drive?"
Caine rubbed a hand through his black hair. "Yeah. They seem to be missing. My friends here were under the assumption I had them. "
"But you don't?"
He didn't respond. Caine knew how to keep his face blank too.
I moved around the room, picking up my knives and slipping them back into their various slots. I also rifled through the dead guys' pockets, digging out their wallets, cell phones, and jewelry. Nobody was wearing a chain with the triangular tooth rune on it, but one of the men had the shape tattooed on the back of his left wrist. I spotted it when I took off his watch.
I frowned. That damn symbol again. I was getting real tired of seeing it without knowing who the fuck it belonged to.
Caine saw me staring and crouched down to get a better look. He took care not to get within arm's or knife's reach of me. Smart man.
"Is that a rune?" he asked.
"Yeah. One I've been seeing a lot of lately. " I pulled my cell phone out of my back jean pocket, used it to snap a picture of the rune, then stuffed the device into my jeans once more.
Caine didn't say anything else, but he grabbed the guy's wrist, held it up to the light, and stared at the crude symbol, committing it to memory.
I straightened. "All right, detective. Time to decide. Are you in? Or out?" He glanced up. "What happens if I'm out?"
"You go your way, and I'll go mine. I'll look for your fellow boys in blue to fish your body out of the Aneirin River in a couple of days. "
He shook his head. "That won't happen. "