All Your Wishes (10 page)

“One or two people were able to get photos of the one you shot and there are a couple of blurry photos of one of the others. But whether the police will be able to enhance them enough to be usable is anyone's guess.”

Crap. Having their pictures on the news would have put a lot of pressure on our opposition to go underground, might even have driven them away from Florida altogether, which would have been helpful. That there weren't any meant that the bad guys were still anonymous—and free to act.

“You've been cooperative, which is good. And since Treasure Island
is
an island, they have siren charms on hand, so there will be no accusation of mental tampering on your part. Also, you are a very public person with a known propensity for working on the side of the angels. So, while they could hold you for questioning for up to forty-eight hours, they probably won't.”

“Good.”

“They'll keep your gun as evidence. I'm working on getting them to return your other weapons.”

“My knives,” I said. Barber interrupted.

“Yes, I know. They're major artifacts, and very valuable. I'm fairly certain I'll be able to get them back to you shortly. I've contacted the district attorney. Under the circumstances, he's reluctant to press charges. On the other hand, he doesn't want it to look like he's going easy on you because you're a celebrity.”

“I'm not a celebrity.”

He gave me a disgusted look. “Of course you are.
I've
heard of you. I contacted your usual counsel, Roberto Santos, who confirmed for me that you have diplomatic immunity. If absolutely all else fails, we can use that—but only as a last resort. Now, let's get Detective Allbright back in here. Answer his questions honestly and
simply.
Don't volunteer any extra information. If for any reason I think you shouldn't answer, I'll let you know.”

“Got it.”

“Good.” He got up, went to the door, and opened it. “We're ready now, detective.”

*   *   *

The interview went about as well as I could have expected. Not great, but in the end the cops didn't arrest me and didn't hold me for forty-eight hours. They let me walk out with only the standard warning about it being an ongoing investigation. It was better than I had any right to expect, but I was too tired to rejoice. After all, I'd skimped on sleep because of the vampire case and the move. I was pooped. My attorney led me through the halls and out into a reception area where both Rahim and Pradeep were waiting.

“They are not keeping you?” Pradeep asked.

“No. But they've got my weapons. I have backup gear, but that's in my bag in the Caddy.”

“Which is in impound. We won't be able to get to it until sometime tomorrow at the earliest,” Rahim said. “That presents a problem.” The way he said it made me think that I had missed part of an important conversation between the two Patels. Not unlikely. Since neither of them had actually shot anybody, their interrogations had probably been considerably shorter than mine.

“I can deal with that in the morning,” Pradeep assured him. Turning to me, he said, “You're not hungry?”

I was, but not horribly.
Thank God for Connie,
I thought, but said, “I'll be fine for a little bit—'til we get where we're going. Where
are
we going anyway? I assume we'll be staying the night.”

“My wife has arranged discreet accommodations for you. One of her friends from the bowling league manages a timeshare. There was a room available and I have made sure it is booked under another name. I have made arrangements regarding transportation as well.”

I raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

“I am an old man, but still capable of learning.”

“Fair enough.”

He wasn't lying about having learned from his earlier mistake. Our exit from the police station was managed like a Broadway stage show. Four cabs left simultaneously from the underground parking garage. Three contained spell disks magicked to project illusions that looked like Rahim and me. One went to each of the local airports; the third was sent to the Tampa Marriott. We rode in the fourth, to a beachfront timeshare called Safe Harbor.

It was a pretty building, probably twelve stories tall, tan brick with lots of smoked glass. It was curiously built, with all sorts of angles, so that the balconies of every apartment would give at least a glimpse of the ocean. The parking lot was only half-full, and as we pulled up I could hear the sound of people frolicking in the swimming pool.

Pradeep left with the cab. Rahim and I rode a glass-fronted elevator to the third floor. I wasn't thrilled with that, but he told me that at this time of night both stairwells were locked. We only had to walk three or four feet to get to our apartment. Rahim unlocked the door, using an old-fashioned key on an oversized keychain shaped like a lighthouse.

I went through the door first. It was an efficiency apartment, scrupulously clean, and cute. Decorated in gray and tan, it had an ocean theme, with a mural painted on the walls, cream-colored tile floors, and a wall clock framed with ropes and sailors' knots. The windowless bedroom was tucked behind a set of sliding doors. The living area had an open floor plan that was furnished with comfortable beach-style furniture that would wear well and be easy to clean. The couch could fold out into a full-size bed. Open, it would take up most of the living area, butting right up against the two-seater dinette set that was less than a foot away from the galley kitchen. Sliding-glass doors across from the kitchen and beside the couch led out onto the balcony.

The bathroom was, if not precisely roomy, at least well arranged, and had a cute little porthole-style window that was made with some kind of special glass that made the light coming through it look turquoise from one angle and pink from another.

“You take the bedroom. I'll use the couch,” I suggested. It made sense. The way the apartment was laid out, anyone coming in the front door or from the balcony would have to go through the living room—and past the couch—to get to the bedroom and its occupant.

Rahim nodded and shambled into the bedroom, where he sank onto the bed and began sliding off his shoes.

“My grandmother stocked the pantry if you're hungry.” His voice was listless, heavy with exhaustion. I knew exactly how he felt. It had been a long damned day. While I wasn't hungry, I needed to eat before sleeping, so I dragged my sorry heinie off the couch with a groan and walked the three steps to the galley kitchen.

“We should go to bed soon,” Rahim said as I puttered around, looking for a pot and a can of soup. “The ceremony is at dawn tomorrow.” His voice was muffled, and I could tell it was all he could do to stay awake.

I looked up at the clock and managed not to groan. We might be able to get a bit of sleep, but not much. Still, I didn't argue. “Ceremony?” I made the word a question.

“My grandfather has found evidence that Hasan may be hiding in one of the Temples of Atonement. He and I can work together to use magic to determine which of the temples it is. The best time to do this is at sunrise.”

“Dawn. Right.” I was so tired I couldn't imagine getting up with the sun … and dawn was problematic for me for another reason as well. The vampire part of me doesn't like sunrise, not one itty bit. Sunsets are hard because the vamp wants to come out and hunt. Dawn is when it dies and tries to take me with it. It doesn't last—but until the sun is truly up, I am
not
at my best. I'd manage in the morning. I always do. But this wasn't happy news. I debated whether or not to say anything to Rahim about that now, then decided to break it to him in the morning rather than wake him. He was already snoring softly, lying fully clothed atop the covers.

When the soup was ready, I poured it into a large coffee mug and took it out onto the minuscule balcony. I closed the screen but not the glass. I needed to be able to hear what was going on inside in case of trouble.

I didn't bother to turn on any lights. My night vision is excellent, and being backlit isn't safe when you know bad guys are after you. I set my mug on the little table and settled into the lawn chair that was part of the set provided. Digging my cell phone out of my pants pocket, I hit speed dial. Late as it was, Bruno picked up on the first ring.

“You're okay?”

“Thanks to you and Connie, yes.”

“The police statement went all right? No problems?”

It was obvious he'd been worrying: with good reason, really. I've had several run-ins with the authorities in the line of duty. Since I am one of the good guys, you'd think that wouldn't be a problem. You'd be wrong. I look like a monster. I have fangs and an über-pale complexion. It's very well known that I have siren abilities. The cops don't find any of these to be endearing qualities. A number of members of law enforcement have lobbied vigorously to have me locked up permanently. I shuddered at the memory of what those prisons were like.

“As well as can be expected. Bruno, thank you—and thank Connie for me. I know she doesn't like me…”

He gave a snort of amusement. “Yeah, well, Connie doesn't like anyone younger and blonder than she is, just on principle.”

I laughed. That sounded about right. Connie was Sal's trophy wife. He'd married her after his first wife, Ida, passed away from breast cancer. It was no surprise that Connie worried that someone younger, and maybe blonder, would catch Sal's eye and he'd move on. I didn't know if she had reason to be insecure or not.

There was a moment of silence between us that wasn't quite as comfortable as it should have been. That hurt. I wanted things to be right again between us. I just wasn't sure how to make it happen.

“Bruno…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Celia, don't. Just … don't. I love you. And I know you love me. But I can't talk about us right now. I've got too much else on my plate. Mom's condition has gotten worse. Things here are insane. Sal's having problems with the Russians and everybody's on edge.”

I took a sip of soup and tried to think what to say. Sal was the head of an old-school mob family. If he was having “trouble” with the Russians, it was probably damned dangerous for Bruno to be in Jersey at the moment. But he wouldn't leave, not with his mother ailing.

Isabella Rose DeLuca was matriarch of the family, a top-notch mage, and a force to be reckoned with. Normally I'd bet on her against all comers. But time and fate have a way of catching up with you. She had done what she had to do, and now she was paying the price, without hesitation or complaint. I might not like the old girl much, but I respect the hell out of her. And I knew for a fact that she'd do it again without hesitation if she were given the chance, if for no other reason than to protect the two sons who'd been part of the ceremony with her.

Isabella's mind and magic might be as powerful as ever. But her body was giving out. The node magic she'd channeled was causing her body to fail, one system at a time. The best doctors in the world were working on her, but they'd told the family there was only so much they could do. She was dying. It was that simple. And Bruno damned well intended to be by her side when she drew her last breath—screw the Russians and any danger they might pose.

“I'm so sorry. Tell your mom hi for me.” I didn't say to get well. We all knew she wouldn't.

“I will.” His sigh was so heavy it made
me
feel tired. “Look, I know you've got to do what you do.”

That was a concession, but I didn't comment on it. He continued, “But do me a favor. Be careful. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. You be careful, too. It sounds like it could get hairy out there.”

He didn't deny it, which from him was as much as an admission. And while there really didn't seem to be anything else to say, neither of us seemed willing to end the call. I sipped more soup, staring across the parking lot at the strip of beach and patch of moonlit ocean visible from the balcony, wondering how we'd gotten to this point and worrying we wouldn't get past it. My heart ached. I knew we didn't mean to keep hurting each other, but we couldn't seem to help it.

Bruno finally broke the silence with, “I've gotta go.”

“Yeah, me too. The client's doing some big ceremony at dawn.”

“Dawn's not your best time.” There was no judgment in his tone. He was just stating a fact.

“No,” I sighed, “it's not.”

“You'll be careful?”

“Much as I can.” It was the best I could offer, and this time he accepted it without argument. “You too.”

“As much as I can.”

“Give my best to the family.”

“I will.”

We hung up after saying good-bye. I opened the screen door and leaned in. Rahim was still out of it, his breathing steady. Closing the screen again, I dialed Dawna. What with the time difference it actually wasn't too late for her.

We exchanged greetings and got straight to the point.

“Are you all right? I saw the shootout on TV.”

“I'm fine. The client's fine. What have you got for me?”

“Nothing. Not a damned thing!” Dawna didn't bother trying to hide her frustration. “The good news is, there's been no sign of ifrit activity. None.” She sighed. “
But
, there's also no clue as to who stole him or why. Most of the world experts on the djinn have taken ‘leaves of absence' in the past few days. The two who hadn't have both been murdered—and thanks to my stumbling into the middle of
that
, the FBI are on their way over to ask me a few questions.”

I wasn't surprised about the leave-of-absence thing, and I'd bet dollars to donuts that the missing experts were probably involved in whatever action was keeping Hasan contained. But the deaths, and the lack of information on the thieves, were both seriously concerning.