Free Thread of Death by Jennifer Estep Page B

organization and put the squeeze on everyone else just like she had. My display here today had only shown the underworld figures that I was indeed a force to be reckoned with.
    Unless I missed my guess, McAllister had just set me up to be on everyone’s hit list in Ashland—and maybe even beyond. It was exceptionally clever. By luring me out into the open today, the lawyer was ensuring that everyone would do his dirty work tomorrow—or whenever theydecided to start coming after me.
    Owen steered the car down the road, winding past the tombstones and other grave markers. We passed Mab’s coffin, and once more the sunburst rune on the side winked at me like an evil eye, inviting me to come share the Fire elemental’s fate.
    I couldn’t believe the bitch was dead.
    I just wondered how soon I would be too.

 
    KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
     
    By a Thread
    BY JENNIFER ESTEP
     
    AVAILABLE FROM POCKET BOOKS IN MARCH 2012
     

     
    When killing people is your job,
there’s no such thing as a vacation.
     
    Then again, how often does an assassin live long enough to enjoy her retirement? In this line of work, you either get lucky or you get dead. And since I destroyed my nemesis Mab Monroe a few weeks ago, all of Ashland’s lowlifes are gunning to make a name for themselves by taking out the lethal Spider—me, Gin Blanco. So I’m leaving behind my beloved barbecue joint and heading south with my baby sister, Bria, to cool my heels in a swanky beach town. Call it a weekend of fun in the sun. But when a powerful vampire with deadly elemental magic threatens an old friend of Bria’s, it looks like I’ll have to dig my silverstone knives out of my suitcase after all. Complicating matters further is the reappearance of Detective Donovan Caine, my old lover. But Donovan is the least of my problems. Because this time, the danger is hot on my trail, and not even my elemental Ice and Stone magic may be enough to save me from getting buried in the sand—permanently.

1
     
    “You need a vacation.”
    I looked up from the tomato I was slicing and stared across the counter at Finnegan Lane, my foster brother and partner in so many murderous schemes over the years.
    “Vacation? I hardly ever take vacations,” I said. “I have a barbecue restaurant to run, in case you’ve forgotten.”
    I gestured with the knife at the rest of the Pork Pit. Most people wouldn’t consider the restaurant much to look at with its blue and pink vinyl booths and matching, peeling pig tracks on the floor that led to the men’s and women’s restrooms. The long counter that ran along the back wall was older than I was, as were most of the cups, dishes, plates, silverware, and stainless-steel appliances. But everything was neat, clean, and polished to a high gloss, from the tables and chairs to the framed, slightly bloody copy of Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls that hung on the wall close to the battered, old-fashioned cash register. The Pork Pit might not be some fancy, highfalutin place, but it was my gin joint, my home, and I was damned proud of it. Always had been, always would be.
    “A vacation,” Finn repeated, as if I hadn’t said a word. He was rather persistent that way. “Somewhere warm, somewhere sandy, somewhere where nobody knows your name, either as Gin Blanco or most especially as the Spider.”
    Finn’s voice wasn’t that loud, but when he said the Spider , the words echoed like gunshots through the storefront. The folks sitting at the tables behind Finn immediately froze, their thick, juicy barbecue beef and pork sandwiches halfway between their plates and lips. Conversation dried up like a shallow puddle in the desert, and everyone’s eyes cut to me, wondering how I would react to the sound of that particular name.
    My assassin name. The one I’d gone by for the last seventeen years, when I was out late at night killing people for money and eventuallyother, nobler reasons.
    My hand tightened around the long,