Windfall tww-4 Read online

  “Probably hasn’t got a dime, Sarah.” Never mind that she was tripping all over herself to get his attention before Sarah had captured the English flag. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. He’s pretty, but he’s probably… you know.”

  “What? Gay?”

  “Nah, didn’t feel gay to me. Kinky. Most English guys are.”

  “You think so?” She sounded interested, not alarmed, but then Sarah, I remembered belatedly, had stories about Spider-Man costumes and Velcro sheets.

  Oh dear God. Top of the list of things I didn’t need to know about my sister …

  I felt compelled to run the train off the tracks. “Oh, c’mon, he was just being friendly,” I said.

  “Who are you kidding? He was jaw-droppingly cute,” Cherise said. “Cute guys are never just being friendly when they throw out pickups in the fast-food line.”

  True. Cherise was heartless, gorgeous, and very perceptive. “It wasn’t like he kissed her or anything. It was a handshake.” I shrugged. “I’ll bet he didn’t even give her his phone number.”

  “Actually…” Sarah said. I looked in the rearview mirror. She was dangling what looked like a crisp, white business card.

  “Oh, kill me now,” Cherise sighed, and slumped down in the passenger seat. “I schlepped around the mall all day carrying another woman’s packages and what do I get? Dissed by a Brit. Man, I may just have to go seduce Kurt to restore my self-image.”

  “Set yourself a challenge, at least,” I said. “Go for Marvin.”

  “Ewwwww. Please. I need to have a self-image at the end of it. That’s just gross. You go for Marvin. He’s hot for you, you know.”

  Sarah was reading over the business card. I distracted myself with that, to drive away the image of Marvin in his skivvies, leering at me. “So what does he do, your knight in shining tweed?”

  “And don’t tell us he’s got some kind of title and a castle, or I really will commit suicide by Marvin,” Cherise said.

  “He’s a venture capitalist. He’s got his own company. Drake, Willoughby and Smythe.” Sarah ran her newly manicured finger over the card type. “Raised printing. He didn’t just run it off on a laser printer or anything.” She frowned. “Although I guess he could be broke. Did he seem broke to you, Jo?”

  “Hey, he could have lifted the card off of some guy he murdered at the airport,” Cherise said. “And then he stashed his body in a steamer trunk and checked it through to Istanbul. He’s probably a serial killer.”

  We gave a moment of silent homage to the fact that Cherise’s mind actually worked that way. At least she’d steered away from any explanation involving aliens and body-switching.

  I felt duty-bound to try a defense, even though I barely knew the guy. “First, Cherise? Way too many scary movies; second, Sarah, it might be a little early in the relationship to run a full Dun and Bradstreet on the poor man,” I said. “So? Are you going to call him?”

  “Maybe.” That secret little smile again. “Probably.”

  I couldn’t be too unhappy with that. If Sarah was dating, she wouldn’t be looking to hang with me quite so much, and her stay in my guest room would be very limited. Nothing like potential romance to get a woman motivated to be independent.

  “Hey, Jo? That van’s still following you,” Sarah said. She was looking out the back window again, frowning. “I thought you said it was no big deal.”

  “It’s not.”

  Cherise piped up, “Then why’s he following you? Don’t tell me you have a stalker. You already have a boyfriend; it’s not fair you have a stalker, too. You’re not that cute.”

  I eyed the van in the rearview. It was weaving in and out of traffic fluidly, not drawing attention but staying glued to my tail. Detective Rodriguez wasn’t worried about anonymity; he wanted me to know he was watching. A little psychological warfare.

  He’d have to step up some to equal the stress of squiring around both Cherise and my sister.

  “He’s not a stalker,” I said grimly. “He’s a cop.”

  There was a short silence, and then Cherise said, “Cool. You’re two-timing the cute boy with a cop? Man, Jo, that beats Cute English Serial Killer Guy. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  The clouds cut loose with a vengeance, torrential curtains of silver rain shimmering like silk and pounding like hail against the windshield. I flipped the wipers into grumpy motion and slowed down; Mona didn’t like the rain, and I didn’t like the idea of controlling a skid in these conditions. Or repairs to a Viper, perish the thought. Paying off Sarah’s binge would take the rest of my working life as it was.

  Behind me, the white van ghosted out of the rain and kept pace. I felt a snap of energy up in the aetheric, and a lightning bolt tore the sky with a sound like ripping silk, followed by vibrating thunder. I also felt the Wardens responding, this time with more force. It’s not me, not me… How exactly was I supposed to make myself look innocent? Actually being innocent wasn’t going to do it. I knew the Wardens far, far too well. They were already out for blood.

  Cherise said, “I’m glad I put the top up on the car. You know, Marvin’s percentage keeps holding. I mean, no doubt he’s a total tool, and a real pervert, but he knows his weather.”

  I bit my tongue. Hard.

  I was going to have to look into Marvin, and the Percentage.

  Cherise took off for parts unknown upon arrival at her car, walking the five steps to her convertible under the protection of an umbrella big enough to shelter an entire football team. No way was she going to get so much as a drop on her flawless shell. Sarah and I divided up the packages and ran for the apartment door, breathless and soaked to the skin in about five seconds flat.

  The rain was hard-driving and cold, and it stung with the force of tiny, hard pellets. Shimmering silver curtains of it flared and billowed in the glow of streetlights. It was dark enough to be twilight, but it was—I checked my watch—only a little after two in the afternoon.

  There was nothing currently brewing up out in the open waters off the coast of Africa… even if I hadn’t had a vested interest in the weather, as a Warden, I would still have known what was on the radar. Floridians follow hurricane season with at least as much attention as they give to professional sports.

  There weren’t any tropical storms out there, at least none big enough to register at this point, though there was a low-pressure system hanging out there, waiting.

  But this storm didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t have been here, and it didn’t look like it had any intention of moving on. And I couldn’t seem to really get a decent look at it, either. I was sluggish on the aetheric. Slow.

  Maybe I really was tired. It had been kind of a full half day.

  We made it to the apartment, dumped packages and wet shoes, and I squelched back to grab towels for us. Sarah’s hair fluffed out to look gleaming and fabulous.

  Mine just looked frizzy. I glared at it in the bathroom mirror and decided on a hot bath and something tasty for dinner.

  As I was laying out tomatoes and onions, the better to make some homemade Mexican food, the doorbell rang. I put the chopping knife down and tapped Sarah on the shoulder. She was sitting at the small kitchen table next to the water-rippled patio door, cutting tags off of her precious new acquisitions.

  “Chop now,” I said. “Clothes maintenance later.”

  She gave me an absolutely childish pout, but got to it. Sarah had taken culinary classes; it was one of those things you do in California when you’re rich and bored. I paused on the way to the door to watch her take my knife and start a rapid-fire slice-and-dice of the tomato, as competent as any sushi chef.

  The bell rang again. I sighed and pushed my curling hair back from my face.

  Still damp. I used a tiny spark of power to evaporate the moisture, was rewarded with dry hair and a white-blue static discharge from my fingers to the doorknob when I reached to touch it.

  “Who is it?” I yelled, and pressed my eye to the peephole.r />
  My heart did that funny little thumpy thing at the sight of the tall, brown-haired man standing out in the hall, hands jammed in the pockets of his blue jeans. I unzipped the chain and swung the door wide with a genuine smile.

  “Lewis!”

  “Hi,” he said, and came forward to fold me in a hug. He had to stoop a little to do it, and I wasn’t all that short; where he touched me I got that familiar sensation of vibration, of energy feeding and building up between us. Lewis was, without any doubt, the single most powerful Warden I’d ever known. A friend.

  More than a friend, that would be fair to say… if it hadn’t been for David, probably a lot more. He fascinated me, and frightened me, too. He’d saved me and betrayed me and saved me again… complicated, that was my boy Lewis.

  “What the hell happened to you?” I asked.

  “What?” He stepped back, blinking.

  “Last time I saw you, you looked like warmed-over death,” I said, and studied him more carefully. He actually looked as if he’d gotten some sun and discovered food again. “Remember? Lobby of the hotel in Nevada? You were still—”

  “Shaky,” he supplied, and nodded. “I’m better.”

  “How?”

  He gave me one of those smiles. “Earth Warden.” He shrugged. “Rahel helped it along. I heal pretty quickly when I need to.”

  “I’m glad. I was worried,” I said, and couldn’t quite keep the smile from my face. He just had that effect on me. “Oh, try not to say anything, you know, confidential. I have company.”

  Lewis cocked an eyebrow toward the ceiling as he shut the door. “Male company?”

  “Female. As in, sisterly.”

  “I forgot you had a sister.”

  “I spent most of my life trying to forget, too. But she’s family, and she needs a little—help. So I’m helping. You said something about Rahel helping you. Is she—are you—um—”

  “She’s fine,” he said, which wasn’t an answer, and he knew it. Lewis wasn’t one to talk about his personal life, even to me. “David?” Equal parts genuine concern and irony. He and David liked each other well enough, but Lewis and I had history, and David knew it. “Doing better?”

  I cut my eyes toward the kitchen, where the sound of chopping went on, opened my mouth to reply, and was interrupted by Sarah yelling, “Jo! Is that Eamon?”

  Which stopped me in my tracks for a second. I held up one finger to Lewis and backtracked a couple of steps to look around the corner at Sarah, who was finishing up chopping the tomato and sliding the mathematically perfect cubes into a bowl. “Excuse me?” I asked. “Why would it be Eamon at the door, exactly?”

  She glanced up, then set the bowl aside and made herself busy rinsing off the cutting board of tomato blood before putting the onion on the chopping block.

  “Did you tell Eamon where I live?” I pressed.

  “Well, you know, I gave him my phone number and—”

  “Did you tell Eamon where I live?”

  She pulled her lovely, ripe lips into a stubborn line and started attacking the onion. “I live here, too,” she said defensively.

  “Wrong. You’re staying here, and Jesus, Sarah, you barely unpacked and you’re already giving out my home address to guys you meet at the mall… !”

  I felt warmth behind me, and Lewis’s hand fell on my shoulder. “Sorry. Just thought I’d say ‘hi,’ and sorry, I’m not Eamon… Who’s Eamon?”

  “Sarah’s mall pickup.” I sighed. “Sarah, meet Lewis. Old friend from college.”

  She’d stopped chopping, instantly, and I could see her snapshotting him. Cute, she was probably thinking. But way too flannel. And she was right. Lewis was all about the old blue jeans and worn checked shirts. His hair was getting too long again, curling halfway down his neck, and there were smile lines around his eyes and mouth. I knew for certain that he’d never in his life owned a suit, and never would. He’d never have a hefty bank balance, either. Not Sarah’s type.

  She smiled impartially at him. Sarah’s version of Hi, how are you, now go away.

  I could see she was disappointed that Eamon hadn’t come calling to whisk her off to an evening of prime rib and a selection of stout British ales.

  “We’re making Mexican food,” I said. “You’re staying, right?”

  “Sure.” Lewis looked around. “Nice place, Jo. Different.”

  “Thrift store,” I said, straight-faced. “Kind of like my life right now.”

  “Could be worse.” Didn’t I know it. His gaze brushed mine, warm and full of concern. “I need to talk to you for a few minutes. Somewhere private?”

  Which made all of my warm fuzzies curl up and die. I nodded silently and led the way out into the living room, then hesitated and took him into the bedroom and closed the door. The bed was still unmade. In normal times, Lewis might have made a sly little joke out of it, but he just sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at me, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He was a lanky thing, all awkward angles that somehow always looked weirdly graceful.

  It made me feel… well. I’d missed him.

  “Where’s David?” he asked.

  “Let’s change the subject,” I answered. Not angrily, just with finality. The last time we’d had dealings, he’d been in a scheme to separate me from David, and I wasn’t having any of that, ever again. Lewis was probably the only Warden who knew I still had him, and that made me a little bit wary of the whole reunion vibe.

  “You don’t want to talk about it, fine. I respect that.” Lewis rubbed the pads of his thumbs together and looked down at the carpet. “I’m only asking because I want to be sure you have… protection. People are asking questions about you.”

  “People?”

  “The wrong people. There’s a big discussion going on, and a pretty sizeable number are yelling about how you shouldn’t have been let out of the Association without—” He didn’t say the words being neutered, but that was pretty much what we both knew he meant. “—making sure you don’t continue to use your powers. They’re pointing to some anomalies down here as proof you’re still playing Warden without a license.”

  That… wasn’t good. And it explained my visit from the Three Amigos yesterday morning. “Have you told them I’m not? That I’m abiding by the agreement?”

  “I’m not telling them anything.” Lewis shook his head slowly. “Look, I’m in the Wardens now, but I’m not really… in the Wardens. You know what I mean. Whatever I have to say, it’s not likely to help you. They respect me. They don’t like me, and trust doesn’t enter into it.”

  I did know. Lewis had spent a lot of years on the outside, making himself thoroughly lost from the Wardens, including me. A substantial number of Wardens probably didn’t want him around at all, and an even greater number thought he was useful but didn’t trust a thing he had to say.

  “Then what’s Paul saying?” Paul Giancarlo, current acting National Warden, was a friend, too. But Paul had a streak of ruthlessness about a mile wide, and friendship wasn’t going to alter that one bit. Our friendship had taken some pretty good hits in the past few months, too. I wasn’t sure I could ever really forgive him for what he’d done to me in Nevada.

  It’s one thing to put me in danger. It was quite another to blackmail me with the life of my lover. Not a thing friends did.

  “He’s been trying to keep things reasonable.” Lewis looked up at me with those warm, compassionate eyes. “I’m just guessing on some of this, but from the level of conversation going on, somebody has information, and it may not be in your favor. It might be smart for you to lose yourself for a while. Just take David and go someplace new.”

  “Just pick up and go?”

  He nodded. He’d abandoned the Wardens early, and it had taken them years to find him. Actually, it wasn’t so much them finding him as me finding him, and he’d let himself be talked into staying. More or less. I suspected some days a lot less. “I think it would be a good idea for you to not present them with such an eas
y target right now. There’s too much going wrong, and nobody to blame for it. Too few Djinn, the Wardens are falling apart after that screwup at the UN Building—it’s a mess. Paul’s doing everything he can to hold things together, but honestly, Jo, I think they’re starting to look for people to scapegoat. You’re an obvious choice.”

  “I haven’t done a damn thing.”

  “I know. I’ve been watching.”

  “What?” I took a couple of steps toward him, then stopped. “Want to rephrase that in some way that doesn’t sound, oh, creepy and stalkerish?”

  “I wish I could, but it is what it is. Paul sent me. He wanted to be sure there was no truth to what was being said about you.”

  “I haven’t been manipulating the weather!”

  He nodded. “I know that. But somebody around here has been. Subtle, mostly, but that Tropical Storm Walter thing was a big screwup. You must have noticed—” He gestured at the windows, where rain lashed and lightning flashed. “I’m just saying that in the absence of a suspect, you’re looking awfully tempting. Whatever I say.”

  “But you’ll tell them—”

  “Yes. And do you really think they’ll care, in the end? Jo, I’m not exactly the fair-haired boy around there anymore. Besides, we have… history. It’s not a secret.”

  He had a point. A kind of scary one, actually. “So what do I do?”

  “Like I said, leave,” he said. “Or join the Ma’at. They can protect you.” The Ma’at were his own creation, a kind of low-wattage version of the Wardens—there weren’t any true powers in it, except for Lewis himself, and one or two others. Its strength had to do with its ability to negate power, not generate it. It was designed to restore balances that the Wardens—wittingly or unwittingly—had knocked out of whack.

  Useful suggestions. However, I wasn’t generally fond of them, either. Wardens, Ma’at… none of them had gone out of their way to make sure I was taken care of, in the end.

  Everybody had their own agendas. I’d quit because I was sick of being at the mercy of everyone else’s priorities but my own.

  Speaking of that, Lewis was right. I should just go my own way. I should toss stuff in a suitcase, leave Sarah the keys to the apartment, and head out of town, David in the passenger seat and the road in front of me. But God, how long had I been doing that? Since the night that Bad Bob and I had fought, and I’d started running, I hadn’t had a home or a place in the world, and I was tired. I wanted… I wanted to rest.