Read Unwanted (Elemental Assassin) for Free Online Page B

whirled around, and stomped down the porch steps and to the bottom of the lawn. He fired up an old, rusty pickup truck and peeled away from the curb as fast as he could, making his bald tires screech in protest.
    “Good riddance,” I muttered, and turned to Isabelle. “Are you okay?”
    She stared at me like I’d just said the stupidest thing ever. Maybe I had.
    “Look,” I said. “I heard what Wilcox said about you paying off Paul’s gambling debts, and I know that you don’t want to lose your house or the life-insurance money. I can help you with this, with all of it. All you have to do is trust me.”
    Isabelle laughed, but it was a harsh, bitter sound. “Like Peter trusted you? Like all the other guards who were murdered trusted you? Peter told me all about you and how happy you were that your long-lost mother was back in town. He thought she was a little too good to be true. So did everyone else at the bank, but since it was your mom and they all thought you were such a great guy, they let it slide. Peter trusted you, Finnegan Lane, and what did he get in return? A bullet in the head. So forgive me if I’m not in a hurry to make the same mistake my husband did.”
    Every word she said was like a dagger to my heart, but I forced myself to push aside my guilt and shame and focus on her.
    “I’m sorry for what happened to Peter and all the other guards,” I said. “Sorrier than you will ever know. And you’re absolutely right. It was my fault, my mistake, and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. But I can help you now. Please, please, let me help you.”
    She looked at me, fresh tears shining in her eyes, her face pinched tight with worry, fear, and dread. For a moment, she seemed to be wavering, but her lips pressed together into a hard, thin line, and she shook her head.
    “Forget it,” she snapped. “I don’t need your help. More important, I don’t want your help. I can take care of myself and my son. Right now, I have guests to see to. I’m sure you can find your own way out.”
    Isabelle gave me one more angry look, then stormed around the corner of the porch, yanked open the front door, and went back inside her house full of mourners.

 5 
    I watched through the windows as Isabelle smoothed her angry expression and moved through the crowd of mourners, politely nodding and graciously accepting their condolences. I didn’t actually go inside the house, though. Isabelle was dealing with enough right now without being reminded that I was still here.
    Instead, I stood out on the porch and replayed our conversation in my mind, along with everything I’d heard her and Paul say to Bart Wilcox and his goons.
    Isabelle didn’t want my help. Fine. I could understand that, and I probably would have done and said the exact same things if I’d been in her shoes. I wouldn’t have been half as nice about telling me to get lost as she had been.
    But she was going to get my help anyway.
    Her husband was dead because of me, and her brother-in-law was a whiny, petulant loser who’d gotten her into this mess. For a moment, I thought about tracking down Paul Vargas and making good on my threat to kick his ass. It would serve him right, and it might even make me feel better.
    Maybe later. Right now, I had a bigger, badder giant to worry about: Bart the Butcher.
    He’d be back tonight, just like he’d told Isabelle, and he wouldn’t be happy with any money she might be able to scrape together in the meantime. Paul wasn’t coming back to settle up his debt, which left only Isabelle and Leo for Bart to take out his wrath on. The mother and son had already suffered enough, and I wasn’t letting the low-life bookie lay so much as a finger on either one of them.
    While the mourners stayed inside and tried to offer what comfort they could to Isabelle, I went down the porch steps and walked around the perimeter of the house, looking at everything from the toys in the front yard, to the tire swing in