by RJ Blain
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Were you responsible for the pyro, Bubba Eugene? If so, you better get on your hands and knees and start kissing her feet.” Straightening his back, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s one thing to try to get rid of me, but she has nothing to do with our feud.”
Bubba Eugene frowned, turning to his cousin. “Pyro? What pyro?”
“The one that crashed her rental and torched it while she was trapped inside. Before I killed him, he claimed he was after her, not me. So, I’ll ask you one more time. Did you hire a pyro?”
“I’m an ass, but I’m not stupid, Mal. Only someone suicidal would send a pyro after you.”
“Not me. Her.”
“Why would I kill someone I’m paying to get you out of my hair for a while? That’s the classic definition of stupid.”
“Anyone in our family?”
Bubba Eugene sighed and shook his head. “You’re an annoying son of a bitch, but you’re family. We don’t torch family, nor do we torch the hired help. How did she do?”
“She’s magnificent. Where’d you find her?”
I hated when people talked about me as though I wasn’t standing with them. “He probably used the internet and found my website.”
My client continued to ignore me, pulling out a phone from his pocket to check the screen. “An associate of mine recommended her. She’s not known for big jobs, but she has a good reputation for the small ones. I figured you were keeping tabs on the specialists, so I needed a nobody.”
“The specialists need to take lessons from her. That was the cleanest snatch I’ve ever witnessed, and she covered all her bases. If it hadn’t been for that pyro, she would’ve had me clear across the country by now. Round is yours, Bubba Eugene. Care to explain what this is all about?”
“Payback for my car.”
“You invested more than what the car is worth on this stunt.”
“Worth it. I wanted a woman to best you. I thought it’d make your unexpected vacation a bit more memorable.”
Malcolm sighed and looked me over. “Let’s reschedule this for after we pin down who hired the pyro and deal with them. We got lucky. The crash alone could’ve been lethal.”
For a moment, I thought Bubba Eugene was going to argue, but then he nodded. “Sure. It’s no fun if it turns lethal, no matter how happy I’d be if you were finally out of my hair.”
“You also owe her an extra fifty thousand.”
My eyes widened. Why was Malcolm trying to meddle with my contract with his cousin? I’d paid the money out of pocket, expecting to do the job at a loss on the surface—at least until the devil’s part of my pay hit the bank account. “That’s—”
Malcolm covered my mouth with his hand, and he kept his touch so gentle it didn’t hurt. “This is between me and Bubba Eugene, Kanika.”
“Why?” Bubba Eugene demanded.
“That’s my estimate on how much she invested to pull the job off. The pyro torched all her gear. Since you put her in this position, you’ll compensate her for her losses. I’m willing to bet you also gave her bad intel, too.”
“I lowballed it to keep you safe. I knew she was going to use some kind of sedative on you, and I didn’t want any chance of overdose.”
I’d end up thinking about his claim for a long time to come; I’d viewed the misinformation as a risk, not as an attempt to prevent an overdose. With Malcolm’s hand still over my mouth, I kept my thoughts to myself.
“I appreciate that. I really do. What do you want? This is obviously more than just a prank to get back at me over your car. A prank would be having your girl grab me, steal my clothes, and leave me on the highway. This? This isn’t a prank. You wanted me out of the way for six months.”
Wrinkling his nose, Bubba Eugene turned his head and refused to look either one of us in the eyes. “Fine. Dad’s tired of you. He wanted to hire an assassin. I suggested the kidnapping as an alternative to save the family name from shame.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Uncle Edwin has hated me from the day I was born. All right. Tell him this: if I find out the pyro was his doing, I’m going to show him I know a lot more about the family business than he’ll like. Clear?”
Bubba Eugene relaxed, and he grinned. “Perfectly. What about the chick?”
Why did they insist on talking about me as though I wasn’t there? It made me want to kick them both so hard they’d wake up next week.
“What about her? I’m taking her home and caring for her until those burns heal. Count yourself lucky, Robert. If she’d been killed, I’d be the last man standing in this fight. Make sure Uncle Edwin knows that.”
“I told him this was a bad idea.”
“No, the bad idea was shortchanging the hired help. Send her the money—and make your dad foot the bill.”
“That’s just mean, Mal. Dad doesn’t have the money.”
“Then he shouldn’t throw stones at me, not when he’s in a glass house. Oh, and Bubba Eugene?”
“What now?”
“I meant what I said. The woman’s off limits. She gets hurt again, and he’ll get the blood feud he’s been itching for. Got it?”
“Got it. Since I came all this way, wanna go have a beer?”
“No, but thanks. Another time. I’m driving. Take care of yourself, Bubba Eugene, and stop letting your dad talk you into stupid shit.”
“You, too. Watch your back. I was in it for the fun and games, but he means business.”
“So do I.”
“Do you really believe your uncle would murder me for a chance to kill you?” I’d seen enough shit in my life to understand there were those who’d do far more due to a grudge. “It seems a little farfetched.”
“He wouldn’t hesitate. He doesn’t like black sheep like me in the family. That said, he hates pyros even more than I do. That’s part of why he hates me; I can legally kill pyros. He can’t. He tried to get licensed, but he’s too fanatical and too fast on the draw. Most of my family is. I’m too moderate, which pisses them off.” Malcolm strolled to his rental and unlocked it before opening the passenger door for me. “None of my family will intentionally hurt you, not after what I told my cousin.”
“Why? It doesn’t make any sense to me.” I limped to the car and slid inside, hissing at the pressure against my blistered legs. After the initial contact, the pain mellowed to a tolerable, dull ache.
Malcolm leaned against the vehicle and watched me. “The Stewart line doesn’t have any women. There hasn’t been a single daughter born into the family for at least three hundred years. My threat will remind them of that.”
I sucked in a breath. “No daughters? That’s insane. Why? How is that even possible? Is it some form of magic? A curse?”
While I didn’t deal with curses—or unload them on the unsuspecting—my research on my gypsy heritage suggested gypsies could, and often did, curse their enemies.
“Yes, it’s because of our family’s magic. Stewart men are either really picky about their women or sluts. Unfortunately for our family, the ones who are more promiscuous have a difficult time siring children at all, so they hope each generation has at least one of the pickier men. Unfortunately for me, I’m in that category. They’ll jump to some conclusions, but that’s fine. It’ll protect you if they think I’m interested in continuing the family name.”
I tensed and struggled to keep my expression neutral. “But I’m not your type.”
Malcolm snorted. “That doesn’t matter to my family. The next generation is what they’re worried about. Don’t worry. I have no intentions of serving as breeding stock to satisfy their dated traditions.”
“But they’ll think I’m your girlfriend.”
“Correct. They will.” Malcolm slid behind the wheel, shut his door a little harder than necessary, and started the engine. “As such, I have a proposal for you.”
“It better not be a wedding proposal,” I warned, grabbing my seatbelt and buckling in. The strap hurt, but I’d deal
with the pain over the consequences of not having it if we ended up in another accident.
“Bubba Eugene lied to us. I’m a bit of a truth seer if I work at it; that’s why I wanted access to my magic, so I could tell if he was lying to us or not. He should’ve known I’d be watching him. He could do it, too, if he had the patience to learn the trick. Anyway, when he lies, his heart rate and temperature rise. I can feel that when I’m using my magic and paying attention. His dad wasn’t the one who wanted to hire an assassin. I can’t tell who, not without doing some digging, but someone in the family wants me dead.”
“And the lie couldn’t have been the part about the assassin?”
With a scowl, Malcolm backed the car out of his spot. Within five minutes, we were on the highway headed towards Nashville. “It’s possible.”
“What’s your proposal?”
“I want your help digging into my family’s affairs. If they think you’re dating me, they’ll start vying for your attention. Continuing the family line trumps all else for them, and let’s just say my cousin attracts the ladies but can’t get them to stick around.”
“You and your cousin are it?”
“Not exactly. We’re just the right age to have kids. I have uncles.”
“I still think Bubba Eugene has it out for you. Anyway, I specified in the contract no one in your family—or anyone associated with your family—could make a run at you. I don’t do assassinations, nor do I involve myself with any contract I feel is an assassination attempt.”
“Contracts are a pretty big deal with my family. They would abide by Bubba Eugene’s agreement. That supports the idea my uncle might hire someone to kill you hoping to kill me at the same time, though.”
I scowled and stared out the window, watching the trees go by. “Did he lie about anything else?”
“Yeah. The money. Uncle Edwin’s rich, unless he did something stupid. God knows that’s possible. My cousin registered as toeing the line between the truth and a lie, so perhaps my uncle’s funds aren’t easily accessible right now. That’s a possibility.”
I had the feeling the entire Stewart family was shrouded in a mire of possibilities, which meant nothing but trouble for me. “So, what does your proposal entail?”
“I want you to do some espionage for me. I’ll arrange for you to get work in one of my family’s businesses—not mine. I don’t hire family, and I won’t date someone who works for one of my businesses. That’s part of what my family hates about me. My business is thriving, and they can’t get involved since I don’t employ family members. Anyway, if my family believes I’m interested in you, they’ll hire you just for the chance to try to turn you against me. Since I’m picky, they’ll assume you’re from a good bloodline. Bubba Eugene will help when he fusses over how tough you are. Add in that you survived a pyro’s attack, and you’ll be in a good position to dig around and find out what’s going on in my family. They won’t talk to me. If you play your cards right, they’ll talk to you.”
Me, a corporate spy? I mulled over the idea of having a stable job instead of picking up freelance work whenever I could find it. “I’ve never done a corporate espionage job before,” I admitted. If he wanted me to build a resume, I’d be screwed. I’d learned the hard way no one wanted a woman who hadn’t graduated from high school. Diplomas and degrees opened doors.
My failure to graduate closed them.
“Good. Bubba Eugene would’ve done his homework before hiring you, so he’ll know that.”
I wondered if his homework included my school records. I hoped not. “I wouldn’t advertise if I’d done that sort of job.”
“Even better.” Malcolm drummed his fingers against the wheel and made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “I meant it when I said you’re staying at my place until those burns heal. If you accept the job, I’ll buy everything you need as part of your fee. I’ll also replace anything you need that was torched.”
I knew he meant well, but it hurt my pride all the same. “Everything I owned was in the SUV. I’m a drifter.”
Most of my clients eventually found out I wandered. Often, they found my lifestyle pitiful at best. A few longed for the road, too, and those were the rare jobs I truly enjoyed. Money paid the bills, but an escape from the prejudice and judgment of society was far more valuable than cash.
Malcolm spat curses and became my first client to express anger over my circumstances and misfortune. “That asshole torched all your belongings?”
“I didn’t have much. I’m a drifter. I only take what I can carry in a bag. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t lose anything I can’t replace.” I meant it, too. Sure, I’d lost a few pairs of shoes I liked, but I wasn’t attached to any of it. Losing the work on my laptop would annoy me for a while, but it didn’t contain anything I couldn’t replace.
Clients came to me, not the other way around.
“It’s my fault he managed to set the fire in the first place. I’ll replace your things. That’s the least I can do.”
“I can afford to—”
“I’ll take care of it. If I’d been paying attention, you wouldn’t have gotten burned in the first place. Consider it a part of your payment for the job. I’ll pay you a fair hourly rate and cover all of your expenses.”
I frowned. It wasn’t charity if I worked for it, which I could accept despite my dislike of accepting anything from Malcolm. “What counts as a fair hourly wage?”
“Twenty-five an hour from me, so that’s on top of whatever my family decides to pay you. Just be careful with my uncle. He’s a skinflint and a slave driver. Unfortunately, he’s got the most connected company in our family; I’m the only one who doesn’t work with him in one capacity or another.”
I could live on twenty-five an hour without breaking a sweat. “For how long?”
“However long is needed to find out what’s going on, and why my family seems so eager to get rid of me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Malcolm nodded, and we remained silent for the rest of the drive to Nashville.
Chapter Eleven
Malcolm’s car was where he’d dumped it, and he insisted I drive it to the rental place. I suspected insanity had something to do with his decision to give me his keys. Fortunately for me, his car came equipped with a dual-transmission system, as I wouldn’t have gotten it onto the road without stalling otherwise.
I had no doubt he found my ignorance entertaining, as he let me stew for a good ten minutes before he offered enlightenment on how to operate his precious baby. It would serve him right if I crashed it.
In what had to classify as a miracle, I made it to the rental place without incident, and to add insult to injury, Malcolm walked around his car to make certain I hadn’t scratched it.
“I know how to drive,” I snapped.
“Like a little old lady afraid of the speed limit.”
Death was too good a fate for Malcolm Findlay Stewart, and I needed to invest a great deal of time plotting his demise. I tossed his keys to him, grunted, and limped towards the front door. I guessed money had something to do with his general cooperation, as I still had his wallet. When I stepped into the building, the overly tanned brunette behind the desk frowned, her gaze sweeping over me.
Damned pyro. “Never seen burns before?” Somehow, I kept my tone mild despite my urge to snap at her.
“Not like that I haven’t. Shouldn’t you be in the hospital? Why’d they let you out? Those look awful.”
“She’s stubborn, that’s why.” Malcolm eased by me, careful to avoid brushing even his clothes against me. I handed his wallet over so he could pay for the rental. “I got the car I rented in Arkansas, so I’ll need to pay the return fee.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Mr. Montgomery!”
Just how many people did Malcolm know? I sighed and considered retreating to the relative safety of his car. If I had my way, I’d return to the peace and quiet of being a nobody; on a good day, the only people who noticed me
were those who wanted to hire me for a job.
Malcolm smiled at the girl, and I suspected she’d be a puddle of goo at his feet within five minutes.
“I need to do a walk around, Mr. Montgomery. Do you need someone to take you home?”
She sounded like she wanted to be the one to take him home and have him for dessert, not that I blamed her. Had I met him under other circumstances, I probably would’ve fallen prey to his animal magnetism as well, and that was before accounting for his tendency to run into fires to rescue kittens and puppies.
“You should blame his ass. It’s truly a nice specimen,” the devil whispered in my ear.
I screamed, jumped, and whirled around, my heart pounding a frantic beat in my throat. Unlike his unwanted appearance in the hotel elevator, the Lord of Hell did a much better job of playing incubus than a human, and he no longer had horns peeking out of his ruffled hair.
Sucking in short breaths, I recovered enough to squeak, “You!”
“Me,” he confirmed with a wink. “You’re looking better today. Good.”
Malcolm spun, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the devil. “You’re a stalker, aren’t you?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m here on business.” The devil pulled out an envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket. “This is for you, cupcake.”
I scowled but took it. “Dare I ask?”
“Pay day.”
Ah, there were no stronger magic words or better music to my ears. Too many clients tried to get out of paying what they owed me. “You mean I won’t have to chase you with an invoice? How nice.”
“I even gave you a bonus. Also, I included the name and number of a practitioner who can help restore your hair to its proper glory. Go see him a week after the burns have healed. I can’t promise there won’t be streaks, but it’s better than being bald, right?”
Was I supposed to thank god or the devil? Screw it, I’d be grateful to them both. “Thanks.”
The Lord of Lies nodded and turned his gaze to Malcolm. “I’m expecting good things from you, son. Don’t disappoint me. I get mean when little upstarts like you disappoint me. Also, your idea has merit, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. Think it through and try again. I’ll give you a hint since you’re out of the loop and I’m such a nice guy. You want to get involved with what’s going down in Georgia.”