For all that had been lost because of him, a spike of anger replaced Jeannie’s sheer terror. “I didn’t get a choice, and you know that, you asshole.”
The arm around her neck tightened, restricting her breathing. The same tattoo on his forearm that had once intrigued her now taunted her. Right under her nose, a coiled snake ready to attack writhed beneath his forearm’s muscles as if it had come to life.
The stench of an obviously long night in some dark, filthy bar, where collectively an entire set of teeth couldn’t be found, rose in her nostrils, suffocating her.
Whiskey. He liked his booze hard.
And still she didn’t scream.
Couldn’t scream.
Wouldn’t scream.
Because screaming meant someone would get hurt. No, Jeannie, it meant they’d die. Die.
No, God. Please don’t let anyone get hurt. No more hurt.
“So who’s the pretty boy?” he growled low and slurred, widening his stance.
Alarm bells sounded in her brain while her skin crawled. Instantly, she went limp, so limp, he had to hold her up. Relax into it, Jeannie. Show submission. Jeannie shrugged. “I don’t know. You hit an innocent man.”
“I’ve been watching you, sweet lips. You know exactly who he is. You sleepin’ with him?”
Don’t tell, Jeannie. Pretend you don’t know him. Don’t tell or he’ll die, too. Could werewolves die? She couldn’t remember, but she damn well wasn’t taking any chances.
Her lips, stiff from the cold, stuck together, but she managed a frigid reply. “I said I don’t know who he is. I ran into him while I was looking for coffee. He was giving me directions to a coffee shop.”
His hand shot up to the base of her skull, and he wormed his thick fingers into her hair before she knew it had happened. He yanked her head back so that her neck arched painfully, pulling at the tense tendons. “You lie. Who is he, sweet lips?”
“I don’t know!” she shouted, forcing herself to compartmentalize her fear. Vermin like him smelled fear. Lived for it. Thrived on it. Fear would weaken her response, dull it. No fear. Focus, Jeannie. Let go. “Now get off me.” Her ears noted the calm she conveyed, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back. Focus.
“Or you’ll what, petunia? Beat me up with your fancy karate chops?”
He knew. How long had he known? How long had he been watching her? Terror resurfaced for a moment, and she couldn’t think from one karate move to the next. But then she heard her teacher in her head. Make it count, Jeannie. Make it clean and make it count. Always measure your response for the best result—then strike!
But more fear rose, swallowing her, swallowing her whole until her fingers were icy, useless sticks and her feet were cement blocks. She fought the shudder in her breath and made herself demand, not request. “I said let me go.”
He tightened his hold with a heartless laugh, spreading his fingers across the width of her belly and grinding his chest against her spine. “And I said no. You weren’t easy to come by, you know that? I’ve been looking for you forever. But I still have some of my old contacts, and they finally came through. You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you? You’ve changed. But I’d know my baby anywhere.”
Stall, Jeannie. Stall until you win this internal round of chicken-shit and can focus long enough to take the bastard out. “That was sort of the point. No one was supposed to find me.” Oh, God. How had he found her?
He drew a finger up and down her cheek, digging into her flesh. “You ruined everything, you know. I lost millions of dollars because of you and your stupidity. And my brothers. They’re dead. Dead, dead, dead,” he hissed slow and harsh. “I can’t forgive that.”
Jeannie’s eyes narrowed as she found a focal point. “You ruined lives. I can’t forgive that.”
“Oh, c’mon now,” he protested in jest, his laughter a mockery in her burning ears. “I made their lives better. Because of me, their families had food on the table—and good medical care. I helped them, buttercup. Helped.”
Jeannie’s fear took a slight turn at his egotistical view of what he’d done. It bubbled into a tiny seed of rage that, when watered by the insidious visuals in her mind of that day so long ago, began to grow. “You tainted them, Victor,” she spat, keeping her body still but throwing all the angry vehemence she could into her statement. “You ruined them.” You vile, filthy, horrible animal.
Yanking her hair hard, Victor whirled her around to face him, his black eyes glassy and full of rage, his greasy hair in a matted ponytail. “I saved them!” he roared at her, the lean chiseled lines of his face pulsing and rippling with his anger.
Still, Jeannie remained almost limp, but her words, long overdue, silenced for so many years, held the agonizing fury she’d never been able to express. “Is that what you call it, Victor? You’re a savior now?” she taunted, her eyes connecting with his so he’d see her disgust. “Have you really bought into your God complex? I always thought it was just an act for all of your stoolies, but you really are as stupid as your elementary school education says you are.” She worked the muscles of her throat until she drew a glob of phlegm. Pressing her tongue to her lips, she spat at him, launching it directly at his face.
And that was when she knew she’d touched just the right nerve. Victor lifted his free hand high, slicing it through the air and punching her so hard her head might have flung right off her shoulders if she hadn’t waited so long for this moment. Prepared for it.
As a result, she didn’t flinch.
She welcomed the pain.
For it was an invitation to reciprocate.
In that second, that searing pain-filled second, just as she’d formulated her return plan of attack, Jeannie heard Nina scream her name. It carried to her ears on the wave of the icy, rolling wind.
Victor’s look of sheer surprise at the sound of Nina’s voice and the stomp of her feet from some faraway place would always stay with Jeannie—suspended—memorialized—burned into her brain.
Chaos erupted when Victor launched her against the Dumpster where Sloan lay, still unconscious; the loud crack of metal meeting her spine brought with it more agonizing, bone-crunching pain. Yet she stumbled to her feet, searching with her rapidly swollen eye for any sign of Victor, panting her anguish at a missed opportunity. One she’d waited what seemed a lifetime for.
She bounced from foot to foot frantically, ready to strike if he caught her from behind again. Rage fueled her, keeping her from seeing that only Nina and Wanda were left.
Nina was the first to get to her. Instantly, she lunged at Jeannie, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and engulfing her much smaller frame. “Jeannie! Stop, for fuck’s sake! It’s me. He’s gone. Stop!” she shouted, finally piercing the red haze of Jeannie’s anger with her urgent tone.
Her one good eye scanned the alley, searching for any sign of Victor. Of course he’d run off. It was what all cowards did. When her brain finally absorbed the fact that he was really gone, Jeannie fell limp against Nina’s lithe body to signal her surrender. Nina whipped her around. Her eyes, covered in dark glasses, fell on Jeannie’s face with a yelp of concern. “What the fuck happened?” Her slim fingers went directly to Jeannie’s swollen, throbbing eye. “Jesus, kiddo. Are you okay?”
Jeannie brushed her off, even if doing so left her dizzy. The adrenaline of her fear began to wear off, too, creeping up on her in horrifying realization. But she would not cry. “I’m fine. It’s fine.” Fine was suddenly the word of the day. Her breasts were fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.
Nina’s face became a mask of anger not entirely unfamiliar to Jeannie now. “The fuck it’s fine, Jeannie. You’ve got some goddamn shiner there. Now lemme look.”
Jeannie fought to stay still in the confines of Nina’s palms while the oppressive fear of being held captive, even when h
er captor meant no harm, threatened to overwhelm her. Nina scrutinized her face, running her fingers over Jeannie’s jaw. “Nothing’s broken, but we need to get you back to your place and ice this shit before your eyeball pops outta your head.”
In the meantime, Wanda had yanked Sloan up and over her shoulder like he was a couple of designer frocks fresh from the half-off rack. Even in the midst of chaos, Jeannie was able to recognize how impossible a feat like that was for almost anyone—anyone human, that is. For the first time, she finally got a real glimpse of this thing called paranormal, and it astounded her. Left her speechless.
Wanda trudged over to them, her elegant face shrouded in worry. She hiked Sloan upward and reached out a gloved hand to Jeannie, trailing it down the side of her face with a wince. “God, he slugged you but good. Jeannie, honey? What happened? We caught just a quick glimpse of the bastard, but I’ve got his scent committed to memory now. If I ever see him again, if I get my hands on him, I’ll kill him!” she spat, her eyes scanning the alleyway, her nostrils flaring.
Nina planted her hands on her hips and waited in her typical demanding fashion. “So what the fuck, kiddo?”
Lie, Jeannie. Lie often. Lie well. But don’t put anyone else in danger. At all costs, keep everyone in the dark. The words slipped off her tongue with far more ease than she’d ever be entirely comfortable with. “Mugger. He hit Sloan from behind and knocked him out, then he cornered me in the alleyway. Told me to give him all my money. When he found out I didn’t have any, he kind of lost it.” She pointed to her swollen eye and gave them a sheepish grin. “I’m okay. Really.”
Nina’s chin rose, and when she lifted her dark sunglasses to peer intensely at Jeannie, one beautiful eye squinted at her with definite skepticism.
Jeannie felt exposed—naked—but she kept her gaze even with Nina’s. All good liars looked you right in the eye.
Nina put an arm around her and led her out of the alleyway just as snow began to fall. “Let’s go the fuck home, shawty.” She looked over her shoulder at Wanda. “You got a handle on Chicken Little there?”
Jeannie rushed to Sloan’s defense, though she kept her eyes on the ground, following the cracks in the pavement. “It’s not his fault. This guy came out of nowhere and clobbered him. I guess werewolves aren’t immune to being knocked out cold, huh?”
“You go ahead and get Jeannie to the car, Nina—I’m right behind you with her Siamese twin. Don’t get too far ahead of us for Jeannie’s sake!” Wanda yelled her warning into the bitter cold, putting her head down to stave off the wind.
Nina clamped her arm around Jeannie tight, pulling her close to her strong, lean body. “So before we get in the car, and before I chew you a new one in front of Wanda and everyone else—wanna fucking tell me why you’re on a first-name basis with your mugger?”
Jeannie fought the instant urge to stiffen. Keeping the KISS rule in mind, she easily replied, “He told me his name.”
“Oh, yeah? How fucking friendly. It’s always good to know the name of the dude who caves in your face. Is that some kind of new goddamn mugger etiquette?”
And now turn the question into a question, Jeannie. You’re so good at it. It had become like a game to her over the years as she’d practiced her cover story. “How did you hear me say his name to begin with? You weren’t anywhere in sight just two seconds before he slugged me.”
Stopping in front of Marty’s SUV, Nina rested the heel of her hand on the doorframe and glared down at her. She used the other to point to her ears. “Vampire. Good hearing. Real good hearing. Fast, too. I’ve also been known to kick some serious ass. It’s good your mugger Victor ran the fuck off like the pussy he is. I’d have eaten his man marbles one by one and picked the leftovers out of my teeth with his bones. It’s messy.”
Shit. If she’d heard Victor’s name, what else had Nina heard? Her stomach churned, but she kept her breathing steady. Ignoring the reference to Victor, Jeannie did the next thing on the list of things to do when you were trying to convince someone you weren’t a liar. She killed Nina with kindness. “Awww, you’d do that for me? You’re more awesome than I know what to do with.”
But Nina wasn’t going to be sugarcoated with Jeannie’s charm. “Yeah, I’m awesome and you’re full of shit. I don’t know why you’re lying. I don’t know that I care right now. But if it puts a single one of us in danger—I promise to bury that push-up bra with your battered body. That work, cupcake?”
“Aye-aye, Meanest Woman Alive,” she agreed jovially, saluting her. “Or how do you feel about MWA? It’s easier on the tongue, don’t you think? And upon my burial, can we nix the harem pants? They show every ounce of cellulite I have.”
Nina pointed to the door of the SUV just as Wanda huffed up the sidewalk, Sloan still unconscious. “In. Now.”
Jeannie began to climb into the warmth of the car when just a few feet away, a man erupted from a small shop, catching her attention. He made such a ruckus, she couldn’t help but gape. His sky blue cap with a red brim that read Burger Mania was in his hand, and his sparsely hair-covered head was shiny with the freshly falling snow.
He threw up his middle finger in the direction of the ornately decorated window, his face the color of Lollipop’s lips. Clearly, he wanted someone to see his ire. “You know what?” he bellowed, clenching his fists and trembling. “Fuck all of you! Allll of you!” he screeched, his pudgy face distorted as he bent at the waist and stuck his forearm just under his knee. Turning, his backside to the store’s window, he flipped the horrified onlookers his middle finger again.
A crowd of the employees from the store, wearing identical hats, had begun to file out, each of them wide-eyed as the man screamed one last time.
“That’s right! You heard me, you bunch of stuck-up, truffle-fry-loving assholes! I wish you’d all just go to hell! Hell! Hell! Hell!”
The pavement beneath Jeannie’s trembled. Just a smidge.
Oh, no. No. No. No.
Right before Jeannie’s very eyes—every last employee disappeared in a puff of lavender smoke.
Oh, my. When bad wishes happen to good people.
There was a moment of silence before the disgruntled employee backed away, tripping and stumbling until he broke into a run, his apron flapping in the breeze, the scent of his fear redolent in Jeannie’s nose.
Wanda took one last unaffected glance at the empty sidewalk before she hurled Sloan in the backseat with a ragged sigh. Like she’d seen it all before, and this was just one more mundane item to add to her list of strange.
Nina leaned forward on the doorframe of the SUV. Pressing her cheek against it, she shook her head. “Batgirl?”
Wanda cupped her chin in thoughtful pause, then looked to Nina. “Joker?”
“That was wish number four. Get on the fucking bat phone and tell Casey and Darnell we have a 911.”
CHAPTER
7
“Hell,” Jeannie repeated, then held her breath when she anticipated the sting that would surely follow the cleaning of her wound.
Nina held her head while Sloan dabbed at the side of her eye with antiseptic. “Did Victor bust your fucking eardrum, too? I’d be surprised, you know, ’cus he was such a considerate mugger—all wanting to fucking make friends with you and shit. Hey.” She nudged Jeannie with a finger. “Maybe you guys could do a secret Santa? You know, seein’ as you’re all personable.”
Nina just wouldn’t stop insinuating Jeannie knew Victor. The entire car ride back, Nina had made less-than-subtle references to him.
Sloan’s jaw hardened while his fingers ran over her face with gentle strokes. “Damn it, Jeannie. I’m sorry, but I can promise you this: I’ll kill that sonofabitch if I ever get my hands on him. Never saw him coming—didn’t even single out the puke’s thieving smell as anything more than just another human’s scent, for Christ’s sake.”
Jeannie reached out and patted his bulky arm, then put her hand back in her lap. Not because it was unpleasant to touch Sloan. On the contrary. It was divinity times a million.
Rather, it was due to the fact that she was still uncomfortable with gestures of reassurance, which could lead to a reciprocation she wasn’t sure she could handle receiving. “It’s okay, werewolf. You were too engrossed in hot babes and the defense of your lost love thereof. Worry not. It’s just a black eye. They heal, I hear.” She knew they did. Firsthand.
Nina’s face hardened, giving her cheekbones a sharp definition beneath the low lighting in Jeannie’s pink and gray bathroom. “Damn you, Sloan. What the fuck is wrong with you? Jeannie’s a live case right now, which means we don’t know what kind of assholes could be out there trying to find her. Because there’s always an asshole. Always. You know, like every other case we’ve had where there’s some skeery, dangerous dude lookin’ to take a bitch out? You have to be aware and not only watch your back, but look the fuck out for the client, too—always, plastic boob chaser.”
Sloan’s breath, minty and fresh, wafted over her face. His eyes shot Nina a disinterested glance. “Forgive me, Gumshoe Nina. I’m new to this. It’s kind of my initiation case. It never occurred to me there’d be anything skeery or otherwise looking for Jeannie. So just call me novice. I still don’t have my private eye decoder ring yet, remember?”
Jeannie held up a hand between the two of them. Their rising anger, coupled with their antagonistic relationship, made her a little edgy after so much chaos. “First. No arguing on my behalf, okay? I’m fine. It was just a knock in the head. Now, I promise, Meanest Woman Alive, Sloan will be on his toes the next time we venture out. Second, could we get back to the hell thing? Could you explain what that means?”
Nina clucked her tongue. “It means this, I Dream Of: In a fit of rage, that crazy Burger Mania motherfucker wished all those people would go to hell. You provided the transportation. Casey and Darnell took care of it, and it’s peachy-keen now. Though I hear during the getting-them-out phase, there was a lot of screaming and crying—bucket loads of snot, too. Don’t worry. I made sure they didn’t remember a thing. They’re all back at that deli as if it never happened, and so is the perp who made the wish, and before you ask, yeah, I can toy with your mind. Make you forget—erase shit. But we have a bigger problem than that, kiddo.”
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