Heart Strings (Black Magic Outlaw Book 3) (5 page)

 

 

 

 

I crept through the wild, soured by the turn of events. Mud in my boots, my best friend hunting me down, and then the silvans. They were in their own class of trouble. Orpheus was a real piece of work—a magical boomerang, spriggan groupies, and even a runaway in a nightgown—but I had to give the crown to Ceela. Her innocent act had fooled me good.

"Just deny seeing us," I mocked in her voice. Cisco Suarez, the sucker for a nose wiggle. The satyr had set me up to battle Orpheus and cover her escape. My detour in the Nether left me spent, bloodied, and with a silvan curse for my trouble. Not really a list of things you look for in a hiding place.

But Ceela and Throok had come through. My original problem was the police, and I didn't see any sign of them in or around my boathouse. The cavalry had been called off and my possessions were safe. The best part was, if the silvans were true to their word, I wouldn't need to worry about any more midnight visits.

That didn't mean the cops would let up. No doubt, they wanted me bad. Even with Evan commanding them, the DROP team was in hard pursuit. And from the conversation I overheard, his command was somewhat precarious. Evan was in hot water with the commissioner. That sergeant was gunning for his job. The cause of that friction? Yours truly.

You see, Evan's unit is a special appointment. Politically driven, which means susceptible to corruption. I didn't think my friend was especially dirty, but the directives handed down to him were chock full of ulterior motives. For all his self-righteousness, Lieutenant Evan Cross had the right blend of naivety and loyalty to turn a blind eye. What I hoped he was finally understanding was that certain people wanted me dead, off the books.

They say if you wanna make enemies, try to change something. Unfortunately, there isn't any infinite wisdom for what to do once you piss off a bent city commissioner.

I left the Everglades as the morning broke. My pickup truck was in the shop again, so I hitched a ride on
Calle Ocho
and headed into Miami proper.

I would've called my friend Milena, but she wasn't talking to me. She's beautiful and strong and amazing, but she'd had too much. Ironic. We were chased across Miami Beach by a homicidal poltergeist and she didn't bat an eye, but she came face to face with my dark past and rightfully backed away. I didn't blame her. Cisco Suarez was in the disappointment business. Besides, she was safer without me.

My ride dropped me off at the mechanic. I paid cash for my truck and drove off. The behemoth of a pickup was born in the 1970s, back when they made things out of metal. Its tan paint would've been faded if it hadn't been overtaken by a sheen of rust. The radio was ripped out. The engine knocking was gone. It was about as far from "like new" as possible but it could take a beating. Besides, I kind of liked its quirks.

After a left turn, my blinker didn't shut off, even when I flipped it manually. All right, "quirks" was a bad word. Maybe I failed to mention that my pickup is kinda, technically, haunted.

I'd been hounded by more than a few ghosts lately, comeuppance for the same dark past that scared Milena off. Here's your Final Jeopardy answer: This leaves a trail of pissed-off and magically-inclined dead bodies in its wake.

What is a zombie hit man, Alex?

Needless to say, I'd been kept on my toes, banishing whatever spirits came at me. Most of them were long gone now, but the ghost who'd latched onto my truck was a stubborn one. A weak shadow of his old self. In time, the frequent tune-ups would no longer be necessary.

I made my way along Biscayne Bay and parked outside City Hall. There I sat. And sat. And waited. And sat. All for a man named Rudi Alvarez. He must've gotten an early start because I didn't see him roll in. When lunchtime came around and the city commissioner didn't emerge, I realized he was playing hooky. Where would he be if not at work?

I started the truck on the first try, headed to Pinecrest, and circled the block of Rudi's manorial home. The place looked nice. Groundskeeping staff was busy restoring the property. New flowers planted, the pond cleared and refilled. The metal skeleton of a new greenhouse frame was already being rebuilt.

It was fast work, and a far cry from the barren battlefield of two weeks ago. The one that had drawn me into the public eye and earned me a most-wanted poster. But now, evidence of that little scuffle was nearly erased. Interesting how easily life rolls on with money.

Even more interesting was the state of security—or rather, the lack of it. After the incidents at his house and City Hall, the politician's security was beefed up. He'd surrounded himself with bodyguards. Not animists, though (from what I could tell). Rudi didn't have the juice for that, which is what made his situation so curious.

Believe it or not, I don't play Miami politics. I don't watch the news. I don't vote. I leave all that to the huddled masses. So why my interest in a city commissioner, one of five who control their own tactical police unit?

Rudi was just a pawn, really. No spellcraft, no smarts. Just a handsome face and a firm handshake. He was a puppet for my true enemy: the Covey.

One day, ten years ago, I boarded a boat to meet the Covey. They dragged me off it half dead, and later finished the job. The Covey was a ragtag band of misfit animists and Nether creatures who conspired to grow powerful. Best I could make out was they wanted the Horn of Subjugation to make inroads into the Miami voodoo community. They used me to find it, and then gutted me and turned me into their undead servant. But not before I hid the artifact from them.

It was a small win, but life as a zombie hit man did a number on every relationship I ever had. But what would life be, or death for that matter, if it couldn't surprise you?

As a budding black magic animist myself, I surprised everybody with a secret spell on my dying breath. It was Cisco spellcraft, with a capital C. Not the curse of a Spanish wraith. Not the voodoo or obeah or vampiric compulsions. Those all worked me over good all right, but the kiss of black magic that hung over my life for the next ten years was my own.

Spellcraft not to rise from the dead so much as to fake it. Or welcome it temporarily. I killed myself to keep others from doing so, to protect myself and the Horn from prying supernatural eyes. Sure, I was their zombie bitch anyway, but it was a charade put into motion by
my
magic.

Now that spellcraft is done. Dried up like an old well. The various hexes I was under were predicated on my being dead—when that was no longer true, I was me again. Cisco Suarez. Alive, and stronger for it, but with a hot mess of baggage. A best friend who'd married my girlfriend to help raise and protect the daughter I never knew. The girlfriend who was part of the Covey, who'd manipulated me from the beginning to find the Taíno artifact. Worst of all was the smothering guilt I felt for murdering my own family at the behest of an unrelenting and uncompromising undead compulsion.

That
was what the Covey did to me.
That
is who they are. And
that's
why I'm going to destroy every single one of them.

The obeah man was the first to die. I killed him while he spun his dark ritual, before I ever cursed myself to death.

The anansi trickster spider fell after I returned to life, burned down in the house of my murdered childhood associate.

Next came Tunji Malu, the asanbosam, a West African vampire. It was his vampiric compulsion that I served for ten years. His will that I followed. I snapped his neck and incinerated him to ash, his metal teeth the only evidence he ever existed.

Those were the simple ones.

The rest of the Covey was a harder nut to crack. Cunning and strength have played roles, no doubt, but my true obstacle was following the web of deceit they'd built in their time in Miami. The shadow play. Nigerian business fronts. A gang war incited in Little Haiti. These things led me to the politician who benefited from the conspiracy of belly-up real estate.

And that was why I was back in Miami proper, risking discovery from the "enhanced" police patrols. Rudi Alvarez wasn't an animist or a Nether creature, but he had plenty of power. It was his order that sent the DROP team to my door. He was the one with the political muscle to become mayor and own this city. Instead of taking my offer of truce, he was coming at me with everything he had. In my book, that makes him one of them, puppet or not.

Puppet strings are hard to see but, if you know what to look for, they can lead you right to the puppeteer.

But first I needed to locate the puppet. Rudi's security wasn't at his house, which meant he wasn't either. The commissioner was on lockdown, his staff disappeared and out of reach. That made for days of surveillance without yield. My investigation had pretty much ground to a halt.

Frustrating considering how close Rudi had gotten to me last night. If the Covey was going to turtle up, I had to change my strategy.

I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a spare burner phone. I use several to stay ahead of modern surveillance, but sometimes stealth is overrated. I dialed the direct line to the commander of the team tasked with hunting me down.

 

 

 

 

"Cross," said my buddy as he answered the phone.

Evan wasn't my first choice for an ally these days. As a general rule, best friends don't lead midnight raids against each other.

"What's your boss playing at?" I asked calmly.

"C-Cisco?" he stuttered, correcting his voice to a whisper. I heard him put the receiver on the desk and shut his office door. When he picked up again, he said, "You have a lot of nerve calling here. You know that?"

"You mad because your nighttime romp in the Everglades wasn't fruitful?"

"I... The... We were just spinning our wheels."

My friend's tone betrayed confusion, like he wasn't sure where I meant. Maybe the silvans hadn't been pulling my leg after all.

I got straight to the point. "You wanna tell me what you're doing running a hit squad?"

"What?"

"I'm threatening to expose the commissioner's corrupt dealings—the manufactured gang war, the property values—all of it. They need me dead or they'll be exposed. You see that, right? They're using your team to justify my murder."

The lieutenant's voice was sharp. "We're police officers, goddamn it. Not assassins. We're going to find you, Cisco. I promise you that much. But you'll be in handcuffs, not a body bag."

I scoffed. "You sure about that?"

"Of course I am."

"You'd put my life in the hands of Sergeant Garcia? The guy who wants your job? Who wants to impress the brass at any cost?"

My friend finally had no comeback. I hoped the silence was him being sympathetic to my cause.

"What do they know about me?" I asked.

"What?"

"They know my name," I explained. "Cisco."

"Yeah. They heard me call you that at the standoff two weeks ago. It would've been suspicious except Commissioner Alvarez knew your name too. Apparently you walked right up to him and introduced yourself."

I shrugged. "I'm a personable guy. So what else do they know?"

I could practically hear Evan shaking his head in disbelief. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because people will get hurt, buddy. My family, Martine, everybody the Covey knew I was in contact with is dead. Or in your case, threatened and underhand."

Evan cleared his throat. "Covey? What are you talking about?"

"Keep up, Evan. The people behind this. My death. The threats against your family to keep you in line. You didn't think these were the actions of one rogue vampire, did you?"

"You're talking about your political conspiracy theory again."

I hissed in frustration. "I'm telling you, these people have their hooks in your boss. Commissioner Alvarez is as dirty as they are. His head of security is a freaking volcanic elemental."

"Tyson Roderick was fired after the fiasco at the house."

Fired? I didn't know elementals could be fired. I did know they were damned hard to kill. Tyson was taken out twice, but it hadn't stuck.

"They're just covering their tracks, Evan. What about his chief of staff?"

"You mean Kita."

"Yes. Kita Mariko. She was part of that backyard brawl too. She's an animist, man."

"She's Emily's half sister," he spat.

I paused. There was the rub. I reached in my back pocket and pulled out the bent photograph of Emily. "You know about that?"

"I... I found out. I didn't lie to you, Cisco."

I figured as much. When I'd first set my sights on Kita, Evan told me she and Emily were merely friends. But this was Emily we're talking about. My lying ex-girlfriend. She was part of the Covey that had me killed. Meanwhile, Evan barely believed in the group's existence. It wasn't a stretch to think that Emily had lied to her husband about a number of things.

This was ground I had to tread carefully.

"You don't find it suspicious that Emily's keeping secrets?"

"It was Kita's secret," he stressed.

"A pretty vital secret considering—"

"I'm not having this conversation, Cisco." Evan's tone took a hard edge. He was fiercely protective of his family. To be honest, I admired the trait. (He was raising my daughter after all.) But perhaps it made him blind to their faults. His wife, her sister, they weren't who he thought they were.

Problem was, Evan would never believe my word over hers. I couldn't tell him what his wife was guilty of or risk turning him against me for good.

I folded down the pickup's sun visor. A photocopy was paper clipped to it: the registration of the boat I'd been practically killed on. Intelligence garnered from my friendship with Evan. To me, his help proved he was on my side, at least somewhat. I couldn't lose that support completely.

I slid the picture of Emily under the paper clip. I still didn't know how to confront her betrayal, even as the subject of a conversation.

Eyes on the prize, Cisco. I needed to forget about my ex. I changed the subject.

"Where's Rudi?"

"This is a joke, right?"

"It's no joke," I said. "The commissioner hasn't been at home or work for a few days."

"I know that, Cisco. Alvarez is out of the country. The joke is that you think I'm your source in the police department or something."

"Where did he go?"

"You're not listening to me, man. I'm not telling you where my boss is. That's only gonna lead to trouble."

"What about Kita? Can I talk to her?"

Evan laughed defiantly into the receiver. "You kidding? You better not get anywhere near her, man. Besides, she's out of town too. I'll tell her to send you a postcard from the beach."

I gritted my teeth. My confidence in Evan's support was waning. "Give me something, man."

My friend took a long breath. "I don't know anything about this Covey. I'm a police officer. I do my job. If you want to know what the police know of your identity, it's a first name. That's it. You don't have a social security number or a credit card or an address. All semblance of an identity is lost on you. I'm the only one that knows your background, and as far as I'm concerned, it all stays in the past. We're chasing a ghost."

I smiled at the thought, but I couldn't enjoy it. For all I knew, Evan was keeping my past a secret because he was inextricably tied to it. His men would never forgive him if he was outed as the best friend of their top target, even if the title was a decade-old standby.

"Good," I told him. "I'm not coming after your guys. I don't want the police coming after me."

"What are you saying? You're done?"

"Far from it, bro. Rudi Alvarez, the Covey—they're fair game. Anyone that had a hand in the death of my family is going down."

Evan nearly had an aneurysm over the phone. "You can't walk around Miami like some crazed vigilante, Cisco. There needs to be order. Justice."

"My family's been dead for eight years. I've had it with lawful justice. I'm on my own now."

"We'll stop you."

I clenched my jaw. "You'll try."

Evan Cross sighed in frustration. "You don't get it. The resources of the City of Miami Police Department will be brought to bear. You messed with the big dogs, Cisco. The politicians may not know anything about magic, but they have their own kind of power. You can't stand up to that alone."

"Then work with me."

"I told you, I'm a police officer. If you're concerned this is gonna end in a shoot-out, turn yourself in. You'll be safe."

"I'll be in a cell."

"But alive. And we can sort out the injustices then."

Sort out. Jeez. They say justice is blind, but Evan was deluding himself. "My story can never come out. I was declared dead. Even if we somehow made it past that, I'd have countless murders laid at my feet for being a hit man. I don't think the mindless-zombie defense will hold up in court."

"Then bring us proof," he pleaded. "Not of the magic. Like you said, that will never happen. But give me something against this Covey that will hold up in court."

I flexed my burnt palm open and closed. The burn marks had darkened, and they hurt like a bitch. "If you're serious about that you'd give me a place to start looking. Kita's his chief of staff. Let's start with where she is."

He scoffed. "Jesus. You don't give up with this. You can't go after her. She's family and she works for my boss. Hurting her is like hurting me, brother."

"Says the guy leading my manhunt. I'm just looking for evidence. Like you said."

"I'm not gonna let you hurt her, Cisco."

I sighed. "I promise to play nice. This is about getting evidence. Proving there's a conspiracy."

"That's right. I won't give you Kita, but give me a paper trail, and I'll give you justice."

I considered my friend's words. "Maybe you will," I told him. I hung up the phone.

Fat lot of good my police contact was. It's no wonder I'm an outlaw.

I stared at the commissioner's house, wondering what country he could run to. I mean, he was a politician. He couldn't just disappear without a trace, right?

Since my conversation with Evan had gone so well, I figured I'd go two-for-two with the direct approach. (I know. I'm a sucker for punishment.) It took a couple phone calls to get the right line to City Hall, but I found it. In the meantime, one of the groundskeepers on Rudi's property threw nervous glances my way. I was pulled over on the side of the road just outside his fence. Despite the tree cover, he'd made me. I guess an old pickup like mine stands out in a town like this.

"The office of Commissioner Alvarez," came a woman's throaty voice over the phone. It wasn't the good kind of throaty that seduced men—more the pack-a-day kind. "What is this regarding?"

"Um, hello. My firm is interested in making a campaign donation."

"You must mean the Passport to Latin America," she said matter-of-factly. "What company do you represent?"

"Well, I'd like to keep that confidential until the time is right."

"Of course, sir. Are you representing national or international interests?"

I smiled. "South Florida, through and through."

"Happy to hear it, sir." It sounded like she was writing something down.

The groundskeeper who spotted me took another hard look my way. He headed to the house and knocked on the door. I tensed.

"Ma'am, I was hoping to speak to Commissioner Alvarez as soon as possible."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible before the fund-raiser. The commissioner is visiting with partners in the Cayman Islands, but I can schedule you for next week. I do need to know your name and affiliation, of course."

I made crackly noises with my mouth and ended the call. In retrospect, it was probably more obvious than just hanging up.

Son of a bitch. The Cayman Islands. Rudi's bank account that harbored the funds from his illicit real estate scheme was in the Caymans. But that wasn't all. I pulled out the slip of paper under Emily's picture. The boat that had been found with my blood all over it. It was registered in the Caymans. How had I missed that link before?

The front door opened and the groundskeeper pointed me out to a man in a suit. A skeleton security staff had been left behind. So much for the stake out.

As the man in the suit made his way across the yard, I tossed the burner out the truck window and sped away before he could get a clear look. But it wasn't him I was worried about.

I knew Evan about as well as you could know a person. We'd been through a lot growing up. He was still my friend, but he was also a family man and cop. No doubt he was working on tracking my phone the second I'd hung up.

Let them. The police would wind up at Rudi's house, and the warning would be clear: come to my house and I'll come to yours.