Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2)

by A. Blythe

  "Maybe." He shrugged. "You've been doing the same job for several years now."

  "Human measurements of time are nothing to a djinni," I said. "You know that."

  His brow creased. "You don't think about moving on?"

  "For what purpose?" I asked. "I already get to travel the world. Meet new people. Expensive perks." I patted my purse.

  "The job doesn't get to you?" he asked, his voice softer now. More serious than his casual, amused tone.

  "Not really." I eyed him carefully. "What's going on? Are you thinking about rejoining society? Give me a heads up if you decide to quit. I want a say in choosing my new handler."

  He chuckled at that. We both knew I didn't get a say in anything. The Shadow Elite gave the orders and I executed them. I was a cog in a busy wheel, nothing more.

  "Why are you so content?" he asked. "Powers like yours." He sucked in a breath. "You could be in charge of whatever you wanted. An agency. A Marida court. A small nation." He smiled.

  "Power corrupts," I said. "Absolute power...Well, you know how that goes."

  "You think you'd give in to the dark side?" he asked. "So this is you, keeping yourself in check?"

  "Maybe." I'd been working solo for a while. I didn't have a sounding board to tell me when I was riding over a cliff. Jamie was the closest person I had and I only spoke to him when a new assignment demanded it.

  "If that's true, then why work for us? Why not stay with PAN? You'd be coloring inside the lines for the rest of your life over there. No fear of slipping."

  That much was true. PAN was almost as annoying as the Enclave and the Protectorate when it came to rules and regulations. While I appreciated the order it brought to the chaotic world of supernaturals, I didn't relish the idea of being squashed under its thumb.

  "Forget inside the lines, I don't like coloring at all," I said. "That's someone else's picture and you're just filling it in. I want to draw my own damn picture."

  He gave me a hard look. "You think you're drawing your own pictures now?"

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. He had a point.

  "Our team plays fast and loose with the rules." That was more my style. I was highly adaptable.

  "And why does that appeal to you?" he asked.

  "You're my handler, not my therapist," I teased. "Back in your box, big fella."

  His features softened. "I'm your friend, Alyse. I don't want to see you hurt."

  "Jamie, you're not my friend. You're my handler. You work for a covert agency. Every assignment you give me could result in injury or death. Friends don't give friends deadly missions. It simply isn't done."

  "That doesn't bother you? That I could be sending you off to your death?"

  My attitude was, as always, cavalier. "We're professionals. I expect you to do your job, just like I do mine. No hard feelings."

  He started to turn away from me, but stopped short. "Good luck, Alyse."

  "Thanks," I said, perplexed. Jamie never wished me luck. Usually, he made a crack about my unruly hair, or chastised me for my expensive spending habits, but he never drew attention to the mission once he'd passed on the necessary communications.

  At the time, I assumed Jamie was experiencing some kind of mid-life crisis, that his comments were more about him than me. I didn't give the exchange another thought, even after I was cuffed. Now that he was dead, however, I needed to revisit my previous opinion. Maybe he'd been trying to tell me something—that I was in trouble. Then I remembered the birthday card I'd never read. Could there have been a message written in there? I'd taken out the microchip and tossed the card onto my dresser. There was no way it was still there after all these months. The Shadow Elite would have sent a team to clean out my place. It was protocol. I certainly couldn't go back there and make sure. It wasn't safe for me to leave Philadelphia.

  I remembered the small apartment, on the outskirts of Washington D.C. It was never really home, just a place to crash between assignments. I couldn't go there now, but I knew someone who could. I forced myself to wake up, so I could make the call.

  It took a few pleas and a dozen apple cider donuts, but I managed to persuade Detective Thompson to pay a visit to Luciano Bendetti together.

  We were directed to the penthouse suite of a luxury condo building on the waterfront near Penn's Landing. With the cityscape on one side and the Delaware River on the other, it was a nice little oasis.

  Instead of bodyguards, a pair of deeply tanned girls in skimpy outfits admitted us into the suite where we were greeted by a funky redhead with thick, black glasses and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. He was in the middle of a heated game of beer pong against a guy in a classic O'Neill T-shirt and faded jeans. He was easily six foot four with a shock of white blond hair, a square jaw, and mesmerizing aquamarine eyes. Surfer Dude. At first glance, I thought he might be the mage or maybe a college intern. Did the crime syndicate have interns?

  "We're here to see your boss," I said.

  Surfer Dude swatted the ball with his paddle and the ball bounced over the net and landed in his opponent's cup with a splash. The redhead swore loudly before draining the contents.

  "My boss is unavailable," Surfer Dude said, getting into a defensive position. The other guy whacked the ball across the net and Surfer Dude blocked it easily and knocked it back.

  "We were told we could meet him here," I said. "But we seem to have stumbled into a frat party. No worries. We'll find our own way out."

  "We'll just follow the trail of spilled beer," Thompson said archly.

  "Hey Lucky," one of the women from the front door called. "The pizza's here. How much should I tip him?"

  "Twenty percent, babe," Surfer Dude replied. "Always."

  Lucky? My head snapped back to the hot beach bum. "You're Luciano."

  The redhead pushed his glasses up the bridge of his sloped nose. "Sure he is. Who'd you think he was?"

  I jutted out my hip and fixed Luciano with my mean girl stare. "You said your boss was unavailable."

  A faint smile played on his full lips. "And it's true. The Dragon doesn't hang out here. This place isn't fancy enough."

  Detective Thompson ambled over to his side of the ping-pong table, her generous hips bumping left and right. Even though she only came up to his elbow, she somehow managed to look intimidating. Not a bad trick.

  "My name is Detective Thompson."

  He grinned, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. Someone had braces once upon a time. Possibly last year from the looks of him.

  "I know who you are, Detective," he said. "Lord knows you've made enough waves in my jurisdiction over the years."

  "Over the years?" she sniffed. "You only look about sixteen now."

  His laugh was relaxed and good-natured. "A sixteen-year-old me would get these ladies arrested if you know what I mean." He smacked the scantily clad woman's butt as she passed by with boxes of pizza and she giggled. It was like the Playboy mansion with a young Matthew McConnaughey at the helm.

  The redhead belched loudly and downed another beer. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to me.

  "We'd like to speak to you without the Animal House vibe, if you don't mind," I said.

  Luciano set down his paddle and gestured for the game to continue. Another gangly body took his place against the redhead and we headed down the hall toward a room at the far end.

  "So are you adopted?" Thompson asked.

  Wow, she went there without hesitation. Color me impressed.

  Luciano pulled up the front of his gelled hair. "Because of this?"

  "And those dreamy blue-green eyes, of course." Her face remained perfectly straight. I liked her more every time I saw her.

  "My family is Northern Italian," he replied. "My sister's coloring is the same as mine." He gave me a crooked smile. "I'm not one to notice a girl's eyes, but yours are pretty awesome. Green is my second favorite color."

  Awesome.

  "And is your sister in the same business as you?" I asked, ignoring the co
mpliment.

  "Gianna is a senior at UCLA," Thompson interjected. "She's studying psychology."

  Luciano looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you keep tabs on her."

  So his baby sister chose to study across the country. Either she wasn't involved with the crime syndicate or she was a west coast distributor, encroaching on the West Coast Colony's territory.

  "I doubt Detective Thompson knows which frat boys she's currently screwing," I said.

  Thompson shook her head. "My reach doesn't extend that far."

  Luciano seemed unconcerned by the aspersions cast on his sister's character. Not very close then. Maybe Gianna was trying to escape her family's criminal ties.

  Luciano lingered by the open door of a bedroom. I glanced inside to see a king-sized bed covered in white silk and fluffy pillows. Looked like sleeping on a cloud.

  "I'm open to the idea of a threesome, if you are," he said, running a hand through his unkempt hair. The invitation seemed completely genuine.

  Thompson and I exchanged looks. Luciano was very different from the other crime syndicate guys I'd met. O'Leary, Rocco, Vito. Their qualities were recognizable to me.

  "You do remember she's a PTF detective," I said, jerking my head toward Thompson.

  He leaned casually against the wall and flashed those perfect teeth. "That's what would make it so hot." He eyed my wrists. "And look at you, already wearing cuffs. I say let's get naked first and talk later. Pillow talk is my specialty."

  Was this guy for real?

  I held up my wrists. "I'll make you a deal. If you can take them off, I'd be more than happy for you to attach me to your bedpost."

  His brow rose. Not the answer he was expecting.

  He snapped his fingers in the air and an older man with white hair and a bushy white beard appeared by his side. "Simon, could you do me a solid and remove these cuffs?" The vein in his neck pulsed. "Immediately."

  I smiled and held out my hands. Simon peered closely at the copper cuffs. Cautiously, he poked one with his index finger.

  "What are you doing?" Luciano asked. "They're not going to bite you. Just take them off."

  Simon straightened. "I'm afraid that's impossible, Mr. Bendetti. Those are premium copper cuffs designed to contain a djinni."

  Luciano stared at me and I blew him a kiss.

  "Alyse Winters," he murmured, then pointed to Detective Thompson. "You two have buddied up?" His smile cracked wide open. "I love it. It's like an Eighties cop movie."

  He continued to the room at the end of the hall, the sexual advances already forgotten. "Have you ever seen Beverly Hills Cop?"

  We shook our heads.

  "How about Lethal Weapon?" He tried one more time. "48 Hrs. is a classic. You'd love it."

  I couldn't tell whether he was playing with us or genuinely wanted to share his love of buddy cop movies.

  "My schedule's too busy for movies from this decade, let alone a previous one," Thompson said.

  He glanced at us over his shoulder. "You're missing out."

  The door swung open and he took a seat in the net chair behind another ping-pong table that doubled as a desk. The office was no more grown-up than the living room. There was a basketball hoop in the corner and a bookshelf behind him lined with graphic novels.

  "I'd like Simon to join us, if that's okay," I said. I wanted to gauge how connected the mage was to the Enclave and to the drug trafficking regime. Simon could be our middleman.

  Luciano waved the old man into the room. "So who can I thank for bringing two such excellent ladies to my party pad?"

  "Kieran Morrow," I said, looking around for a comfortable place to sit. There were no real chairs, just net chairs and space hoppers. Thompson and I chose to stand and retain our dignity.

  His face remained blank. "Do I know him?"

  "He was the mage who went berserk near City Hall," Thompson said. "We found a drug in his system."

  Luciano stroked his angular jaw. "I thought I read the tests came back clean."

  "Ours didn't." Thompson plucked her phone from her pocket and showed him the screen.

  His eyes moved from line to line until he finished. "What's X-caliber? It sounds cool."

  "Nice try," I said.

  He batted those baby aquamarines at me. "If I keep trying, maybe you'll eventually give in."

  "Don't mistake it for encouragement," I said.

  "If the X-caliber didn't come from you, then I guess someone's encroaching on your turf," Thompson said. "And you're 'cool' with that?"

  I looked at Thompson. "I can't imagine the Dragon would be cool with that."

  "Me neither," she replied. "The Dragon disemboweled a guy and left him on the Rocky statue because a delivery of amphetamines ended up in a squad car." She eyed Luciano. "That was probably before your time, son."

  He appeared unfazed by the possibility of being disemboweled, most likely because the X-caliber was his. "You worry about your business and I'll worry about mine. It's the American way."

  I leaned on the ping-pong table with both hands. "Our business is figuring out if there's a new drug in town causing mage meltdowns and mass casualties, so as far as I'm concerned, our businesses are inextricably linked."

  "Ooh," Luciano said, his blond eyebrows lifting. "I like a woman with a big vocabulary." He bent forward so that his face was inches from mine. "I have a few big qualities of my own, you know. We could compare."

  I groaned and pushed his face away.

  He chuckled and bounced a ping-pong ball on the table. "Vito said you were a meddling bitch. I only agree with half of it."

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Vito Nocita was discussing me with other gangsters? That didn't bode well for me.

  "Can't say I'm much of a Vito fan," I said. As the head of organ trafficking, Vito was dark and dangerous and not in the sexy way. The mere thought of him made my blood run cold.

  "Don't worry," Luciano said. "O'Leary has your back. The argument was pretty heated and entertaining as hell, by the way, but ultimately the Dragon dropped the hammer and said you were not to be touched right now."

  Right now.

  My throat tightened. "Because I returned O'Leary's scian?" I'd tracked down O'Leary's stolen heirloom, a scian forged from copper and iron that was designed to kill any and all djinn. At least the weapon was tucked away in a secure vault.

  Luciano shrugged and tossed the ping-pong ball through the basketball hoop. "I stopped paying attention once the food arrived. I fucking love hot wings."

  "So you're not going to talk to us about X-caliber," Thompson said.

  "I would if I knew anything," Luciano said with a disarming smile. "I'd love an excuse to talk to you two all day. The ladies out there don't offer much in the way of conversation."

  I turned toward Simon, who looked ridiculous perched on a space hopper. Did the old man have no dignity?

  "Did you know Kieran?" I asked.

  Simon's eyes flickered briefly to Luciano and back to me. "Yes, he was my nephew on my human side."

  Wow. I was not ready for that truth bomb. "Were you close?"

  "Reasonably."

  Thompson folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at Luciano. "Kieran Morrow was your mage's nephew and you'd never heard of him?"

  "Simon and I have a strictly professional relationship," Luciano replied with a little less charm. "Do you know the names of your PTF's colleagues' nephews, Detective Thompson?" He stuck a finger in the air. "Oh wait. You don't have any colleagues, do you? Hence the odd couple routine."

  "Did you know your nephew was taking drugs?" I asked Simon.

  The old man dropped his gaze to the floor. "I don't know anything about it. Kieran was an excellent mage and was looking forward to competing in the games. I was very proud of him. I'd never been chosen, you see. When I told him I placed a bet on his team to win, you should have seen his face light up." Simon squeezed his eyes closed, fighting the pain.
"My sister is devastated. The whole family is."

  "Ladies, I'm sorry we can't help you more," Luciano said, "but if you ever want to party, you know where to find me." He winked at me. "And I don't care what Vito says. You'd definitely be more fun in bed alive than dead."

  Charming.

  "Let's go, Detective," I said.

  "Before you go," Luciano said, rising from the net chair, "could you just say a line for me? Miss Winters, just tell the detective, 'this is the cleanest and nicest police car I've ever been in.' Please?"

  "We took the SEPTA train," Thompson replied.

  He slapped his hand on the table and laughed. "You girls are hilarious."

  We had a dead mage, human casualties, and a dangerous drug in circulation. Despite Luciano's cheerful demeanor, nothing about the situation was funny to me.

  11

  Farah insisted that an evening at The Night Owl would help ease my grief about Jamie. I didn't believe her, but I went along all the same. I couldn't keep calling Flynn every time I wanted to blow off steam. He'd start to read too much into it.

  Khalil, the bar's owner and a fellow Marid, was behind the bar and sent us a round of free drinks. Since my reemergence in the city, Khalil had decided the first round would be free whenever I came by. My recently impoverished self took full advantage of his generosity.

  "So Luciano was hot, huh?" Farah asked. She could always be trusted to zero in on the important details.

  "What makes you say that?" I asked. I hadn't mentioned his looks.

  "You haven't mentioned his looks," Farah said. "You always make fun of how people look, especially the mobsters. That means he's super hot."

  Well played, best friend.

  "He's young," I said vaguely.

  Farah smacked her hand on the table. "Told you! So is he hotter than Captain Hot Pants?"

  Mix swore under his breath. "Do you need to have these riveting conversations in my presence?"

  Farah nudged him playfully. "You're hot too, Mix. You never hear Alyse talk about your looks, do you?"