The Accidental Genie

by Dakota Cassidy

  Nina was the first to speak or yell, depending on how good your hearing was. “Who in the ever lovin’ fuck are you, Jeannie Carlyle?”

  Her chest tightened, constricting her breathing, and her legs went all butter soft.

  “And don’t you give me that wide-eyed asshat bullshit. Because if you say, ‘I don’t know what you mean, MWA,’ I’ll beat your genie ass until you bleed!”

  Wanda stepped in front of Nina while Marty put a hand on her friend’s shoulder from behind. “Stop it. Stop it now, Nina!” When she looked Jeannie in the eye, Jeannie shrank. In those eyes was betrayal. Anger. Hot anger. Her tone was cool and no longer held the nurturing warmth of just hours ago. “I suggest you spill, Jeannie—or we’ll leave you to your own devices if we have to take you out to save Sloan. Got that?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you three women?” Sloan snapped at them, putting an arm around Jeannie’s waist to shield her. “What’s going on?”

  Nina opened her mouth again, but Darnell clamped a hand over it and shook his head, his eyes, too, full of bitter disappointment.

  Marty spoke now, her voice raw and full of crystal-clear displeasure. “Nina went through Jeannie’s alleged client’s phone before she erased his memory. To cover all the bases, you know? He texted someone about Jeannie and the text had nothing to do with catering.”

  Sloan’s head cocked in her direction, but then Jeannie looked away. On top of everyone else, she couldn’t bear to have Sloan’s eyes look on her with disappointment, too. “What did it have to do with, Marty?”

  Marty’s eyebrow rose in disdain. “The man called her his informant—said she was in trouble and they might have to pull her out.”

  Nina ripped Darnell’s beefy hand from her lips and came at Jeannie with fists balled. “You’re a fucking snitch? Who the hell are you?” With each word Nina screamed at her, she drew closer to Jeannie, menacing, threatening, until Jeannie couldn’t breathe from one more second filled with lies.

  “Wait! Please. Please, just wait!” she cried, putting her hands up to protect her face. “It’s true. I’m not really Jeannie Carlyle! I mean, I am, but I’m not. It was a name that was given to me.”

  Nina instantly retreated, but her presence was no less intimidating. “Given to you? You mean like a fucking code name?”

  Immediately, Jeannie’s hands clasped together, knotting into a fist of worry and tension. Her thick jacket stuck to her, perspiration gluing it to her neck. “I didn’t want to lie. I swear it, Nina—all of you. But I’ve been doing it for so long. I mean, I’ve been Jeannie for so long, I don’t know any other way.”

  Wanda’s cold expression shifted only a little. “What are you lying about besides your name? You have five minutes and then we end this.”

  Sloan intervened with a hand up, his next words tight with tension. “Ease off, Wanda. Let’s at least hear what she has to say.”

  “I’m sorry, but the program teaches you to . . .” Jeannie bowed her head, the tears she’d tried to keep from falling, slipping down her face in humiliation. “Stay hidden at all costs. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Blend, blend, blend.” She’d blended so well, everything about her old self was almost nonexistent. Drab and gray like her wardrobe.

  Darnell, bless his sweet soul, took pity on her. “Why did you have to blend, Miss Jeannie?”

  The jig was up, and even if it wasn’t, she was tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of lying. Bone-deep tired. If Victor was going to kill her, then bring it on. She’d lost enough because of his sick, twisted mind.

  She might go down, but it wouldn’t be without a fight, and it wouldn’t be without telling the truth to these people who’d welcomed her like she was one of their own with open arms.

  Head bent, she whispered, “I have to blend because I’m part of the Witness Protection Program.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  “I yelled at you,” Nina stated, her face so full of anger ten minutes ago, now held the Nina brand of remorse. Still defiant but with a dash of apologetic.

  “It was loud,” Jeannie agreed before blowing her nose.

  Nina poked her arm, but it was done with a gentle finger. “You made me fucking yell. You should have just told us from the beginning.”

  “Guilty, MWA.” The sounds of Wanda and Marty making tea for her in her kitchen soothed her. Mat, snoring softly by her feet, brought comfort, too. The bubble of fear in her chest had dissipated some and eased in size. Now all that remained was the explanation.

  Nina sat on the couch beside her, nudging her knee. “I’m sorry.”

  Jeannie’s mouth fell open. “Shut up?” she retorted in disbelief.

  Nina grabbed her hand from her lap and massaged her stiff fingers. “Don’t gift horse this bullshit. Just accept and live to fight another day.”

  Jeannie squeezed Nina’s fingers back in gratitude. “Done.”

  Wanda breezed in, teapot and cups on one of her serving trays. Her old smile was back again—warm and kind, a relief for sure.

  Jeannie had the feeling that it wasn’t Nina you had to worry about when the shit went down. She let you know she was angry. Her anger oozed like an open sore. It was Wanda who was the force to be reckoned with. Nina’s anger was a living entity—all out in the open and loud. But Wanda’s kind of anger simmered quietly—condemned without saying a word, and it probably stung the most in the end.

  When she was finally able to look at Wanda, Jeannie said, “I’m sorry I lied.”

  Wanda shook a finger at her before reaching for the teapot and pouring it into a mug. “No, no. No apologies. Please. My behavior was abominable. We’re very protective of our kind, and when we think someone might not be on the up-and-up with us, we get hinky. Me especially so. We’re suspicious by nature. We have to be. So, I’m the one who’s sorry, Jeannie. Now that I understand, you’ll never know how sorry I am.”

  Marty nodded, flopping down in the armchair and pulling a blanket over her lap. “Me, too, Jeannie. It’s like Wanda said, we’re a little defensive. We had a recent experience that left us cautious about just how easily we can be exposed.”

  “And I picked the scab off the wound. I’m sorry.”

  Darnell crossed the room, his big lumbering body oddly lighter than air. He stood before her and opened his arms without saying a word.

  Jeannie rose and let him envelop her, pressing her cheek to his bulky chest, ignoring the big gold medallion that dug into her chapped cheek. Darnell was like milk and cookies. Meat loaf and macaroni and cheese. Comfort food. “I’m sorry, Miss Jeannie. I knew somethin’ wasn’t right ’bout you being bad.” He gave her a final squeeze and set her back between Sloan and Nina on the couch.

  “I checked your story,” Nina commented, her words tinted with sadness.

  Jeannie’s hackles rose again. If anyone found out she’d given up her cover, they’d set her free and there’d be no protection from Victor. Eventually, everyone would have to go home, and that left just her and Victor. “How?” she asked on a gulp.

  Nina’s face was grim. “My brother-in-law. Name’s Sam, mated to my sister, Phoebe, and he’s the reason we’re so cagey about being exposed. Sam’s ex-FBI, but we didn’t know it until it was almost too late. Long story, but shit with him is good now. So, you don’t have to worry about anyone knowing he was poking around. He has more connections than the A train. All on the QT. He said you’re telling the truth.”

  Yet Jeannie found little comfort in that. She gripped Nina’s hand. “You’re sure? If the bureau finds out I had a run-in with Victor, and I didn’t report it, they’ll cut me off and leave me with no protection at all.” She clenched a fist as panic began to resurge in a harsh wave of her reality.

  Nina gripped her hand tighter, her eyes hard and determined. “Swear it. No fucking way will anyone know.” Then her eyes grew sof
t and encouraging. “So you wanna talk about this shit? I hear it makes you feel better. Or have you had enough in your government-facilitated therapy sessions?”

  One of her worst fears was that she’d be exposed for the coward she was. But to expose herself in front of a ninja warrior like Nina was like getting naked in front of a perfect-ten body.

  And yet, they’d stuck close to her these last few days. They’d protected her—defended her—coddled her. The truth was the least they deserved from her. “My real name is Charlotte Gorman or Charlie was what I preferred . . .”

  “Before you go on, Jeannie, we know what happened from Sam. Some very basic details anyway. If this is too painful, we don’t want you to feel like you have to rehash it, okay? We only inquired in order to be aware and keep everyone involved safe,” Wanda said, handing her a steaming mug of tea and then running a gentle hand over Jeannie’s mussed hair in a soothing gesture.

  Shame washed over her. Shame and remorse so thick she could cut it with a knife. “So you know about Victor?”

  Sloan leaned into her and reached for her hand, caressing it with pressure-free fingers. “You’re tired. Why don’t you sleep on it? It’s been a long day, and she’s wrung out, ladies. Is this really necessary?” he pressed, glaring at Nina.

  Jeannie squeezed his hand in return, but shook her head. “Because I’ve slept on it for twelve years and never said a single word to anyone. I’ve spent twelve years in therapy and in my head going over and over what I could have done differently. I just can’t hide anymore. I don’t want to hide anymore . . .”

  Marty sat up and reached across the coffee table to grasp Jeannie’s knee, her hand warm and strong. “You have us. You don’t have to hide anymore, Jeannie. Or would you rather we call you Charlie?”

  The sob that escaped her throat was raw and held years’ and years’ worth of pent-up fear. “I just want to be called free.”

  Sloan’s arm tightened around her. His calming strength helped her to find the courage to finally just say it.

  “I was young when I got involved with Victor. Twenty-three. But that’s not really a good enough excuse. Stupid is the only answer I have to offer, and in light of what happened, youth as an explanation is weak at best.”

  “But who isn’t stupid at twenty-three?” Nina asked in her defense. “Like two fucking people in the world, and they’re practicing Tibetan monks, I bet.”

  Jeannie wanted to laugh at Nina’s attempt to ease her fears, but her throat was too tight. Yes. She’d been twenty-three, and Victor had been the answer to all her girlish dreams. “Victor Alejandro Lopez was charming and gorgeous, dark and sultry. And he had an accent, so incredibly compelling to someone like me. I was small town and kind of sheltered as a kid—had no huge ambitions of my own when I graduated high school. But in our house, you earned your keep if you chose not to attend college. So I decided to work at a bank until a career inspiration struck. Victor played me from the second he met me. I was the teller who opened his account for him. An account that was, of course, a total front for the . . . things he did . . .”

  “He was handsome, I bet,” Wanda said, holding Jeannie’s hand, warming it with her own.

  Jeannie shuddered. “He was very handsome—and older. Unlike any of the boys I’d ever dated. He was sexy and worldly and he wore crisp suits. He was nothing like this South Dakota girl had ever seen, unless you counted TV and movies.”

  Marty’s blonde head nodded in understanding. “And he wooed you with all the things only a mysterious stranger can woo you with. It wasn’t like dating some awkward boy from the country, right?”

  Her smile was bitter at the recollection. “Right. He took me to nice restaurants and we even went on trips to Mexico. Flew first class. Lots of luxuries. I didn’t know what the trips were really for. I swear, I didn’t know. It wasn’t even that I didn’t want to know. I just didn’t. I didn’t have even a clue about the world outside South Dakota. I certainly had no idea Victor was on the FBI’s most-wanted list. I just knew he made me feel good. He told me I was beautiful all the time. That I considered what he said was true should show you just how besotted I was with him.” She’d really thought she was something back then—until she wasn’t.

  “No, Jeannie. You’re the only one who thinks that’s untrue,” Wanda whispered, her eyes shimmering with tears. “You let him teach you to believe he was the only one who saw your beauty, but that’s just not the way the rest of the world views you.”

  It didn’t matter now. Now everything about her had changed, even her appearance. “But he could be cruel, too. He wasn’t physically abusive until the end . . . But looking back, there were moments of verbal abuse I chalked up to stress because he had me convinced he was some investment banker who was responsible for truckloads of other people’s money. My friends, after the awe of his fancy car picking me up from work wore off, told me that, too. They pointed out how controlling and possessive he really was. I just didn’t listen. I dubbed them jealous and small town, because I was living the princess dream we’d all stayed up late at night giggling about when we were teenagers.”

  “So he isolated you, didn’t the motherfucker?” Nina seethed, tightening the strings of her hoodie around her face and wrapping them around her index finger. “He enforced the fact that your friends were just jealous bitches because you had something they’d always wanted, and then he convinced you they were fucking trying to come between you. He picked them off one by one so you eventually had no one but him. You and him against the shitty-bad world, right?” she spat, the tension in her body palpable.

  Jeannie nodded; the memory of those conversations sprang to life again with a painful knot forming in her stomach to go along with them. “He convinced me that he was the only person I could truly count on. I let him convince me. I did whatever Victor said whenever he said it.”

  And she had. Because if she hadn’t exactly known where she was going on a path to a career back then, there was one thing she did know—she wanted what Victor offered. A big house. A big minivan filled with their children. A big bunch of bullshit.

  “I married him,” she confessed, more tears pushing beneath her eyelids, hot and salty with regret. God, it was all so sick. “My mother hated the idea. She hated Victor, hated that he was almost fifteen years older than me, but she never had any solid reasons why she hated him. She’d just say there was something about him . . . I thought she was angry that I was moving away. My dad had died four years before, and she was lonely.” Jeannie paused and gulped at the memory of her mother’s face when she’d told her she’d never support her daughter marrying filth.

  “She didn’t come to the wedding.” Damn. That still hurt even though her mother had been right. “We moved to Mexico. I left everything and everyone behind and skipped off to my beautiful, rich life where I was going to raise Victor’s babies and drive a big, fully loaded SUV.”

  Jesus Christ forgive her, but those were the things she had thought about. Not trust and devotion. Not compatibility. Not anything but the passion Victor stirred in her and the life he could give her with his riches.

  “How long were you married before you found out what he was really doing?” Sloan asked, his lips thin. “What was he really doing, Jeannie?”

  Jeannie paused, gathering her words so they’d come out coherently instead of in gulping sobs. “I was married to him for six months before I found out Victor was a drug dealer. A big drug dealer—lord—whatever they call them, with a cartel and all the trimmings. Then I found out he was on the FBI’s most-wanted list. They were just never able to nail him down until me. I told them everything because everyone else was too afraid. Even when they caught him red-handed, no one would talk.” All of Mexico was afraid of Victor. She should have been smart enough to be afraid of Victor.

  The hiss of silence singed her heavy conscience. “I swear I didn’t know. I believed him wh
en he said he was an investor, and his brothers, who were always skulking somewhere, were his employees. His bank account sure said he did something big. But then, after he . . . After the mess with the FBI, I found out he had all sorts of fake businesses and letterheads, and bank account numbers. He was always on the phone making some deal in Spanish. Now that I look back, he mostly spoke Spanish on the phone. I took French in high school . . .” Lame defense. So weak, Jeannie.

  “You don’t have to explain why you didn’t know, honey,” Wanda soothed. “We believe you when you say you had no clue. What ended up getting him caught?”

  Pain invaded her limbs, acute, gnawing pain while more hot tears fell from her cheeks to land in guilty puddles on her lap. Go big or go home, Jeannie, a voice taunted. “I walked in on him and Jorge . . . Jorge was nine . . . He was one of Victor’s drug mules.” Nine and so innocent—so willing—to do whatever he could to help his family.

  The visual of little Jorge, his trusting face looking up to the man he thought was going to save him from poverty, made her stomach heave. “I was supposed to be out shopping, but I didn’t feel well, so I went home early, and that’s how I found them together . . .”

  Wanda’s arms went around her waist, her face contorted in pain. “Dear God—he didn’t . . . Please say he didn’t. I can’t bear it.”

  Jeannie’s head shook in Victor’s defense. Probably because it was the only heinous thing he hadn’t done. “No. He didn’t do what you’re thinking. But he did violate them. Victor had a doctor implant the children with his drugs. I guess because they were the least likely suspects, and hiding them, however they got them over the border, was easier. He used women, too. Breast implants filled with heroin. Some girls, teenagers really, would have three or four pair inserted then taken out in as little as a year’s time, and all to get across the border to what they thought was the freedom Victor promised them.”