The Accidental Genie (22 page)

Sloan knelt down beside her. “He’s no client, Jeannie,” he said low and deep. She didn’t love his tone. It screamed liar. While that was true—it wasn’t something she enjoyed or did out of malice.

She did it to survive.

Sloan’s face hovered close to hers, the dark evening playing shadows over his face. A face that was now hard with condemnation. “I heard him say Victor.
Victor
was our mugger, wasn’t he, Jeannie?”

The insinuation in Sloan’s voice cut her to the quick. No matter how deserved. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Surely Nina had told the others of her suspicions. The clock was ticking on her ruse.

“Yeah, you do, midget.” Nina’s voice rasped from the sidewalk, making Jeannie jump. She took two long steps toward them—long, angry steps. “That ain’t the dude I saw with you yesterday,” she confirmed, her lips thin in irritation. “So who the fuck is he?”

“He’s a
client
,” she insisted, though it was weak and pathetic. All this subterfuge had become too much
Mission Impossible
for her.

Nina slapped her hand against the side of the brick building, the sound resonating in Jeannie’s ears. “Oh, the fuck you say. Listen, you two go hash this shit out, and I’ll wait for princess here to wake up so nobody loots him. Then I’ll erase his memory. But I’m tellin’ you now, kiddo—we can only put out so many fires before you fucking set one too big for us to catch. Some shit’s goin’ on, and it has nothing to do with being a genie. I can smell it, and I wanna know what it is. If you don’t give it up by the time I get back to your place, I’m gonna squeeze it outta your short ass, yo. Now bounce,” she ordered, pointing to the street.

Nina upset with her was, for some unexplained reason, like a dagger in her genie heart. She reached out a hand to touch Nina’s arm. “Nina. Please don’t be angry—”

“I said go the fuck home!” She shook Jeannie off with a grunt.

Oh, this was so
Old Yeller
.

She let her head hang low as though Nina had slapped her. From hooded eyes, Jeannie glanced at Sloan, who was still just as cute seriously pissed off as he was when he was just a smiling womanizer.

He clapped Nina on the back. “Appreciate it. See you back at Jeannie’s.” He began to walk toward the street, Jeannie stumbling behind him.

“Could you walk slower?” she gasped, her feet tangling.

“Could you lie less?”

“I’m not—” She cut herself off. She was tired of defending herself. What truly sucked about this whole thing was even though she lied to protect, she was always going to play the part of the bad guy unless she let the cat out of the bag.

She clamped her mouth shut and began a light jog in order to keep up with Sloan. When they rounded the corner to her house, he stopped short, making her ram into his back.

She huffed, trying to fill her lungs with air. Bending at the waist, Jeannie took deep breaths. “You’re just gonna have to wait for the weaker sex or risk breaking our bond. I need to catch my breath.”

Sloan bent at the waist, too, and cupped her chin, his breathing even but for the flare of his nostrils. “Wanna tell me what’s going on before that pack of women gets ahold of you? You stand a better chance if I have your back than you do on your own.”

Closing her eyes, Jeannie battled tears. “Nothing’s going on. I’m tired and I’m a genie who’s taken wish granting to a new low. That’s all it is. So, leave me the eff alone already.”

Instead of reacting with the kind of anger she deserved, Sloan pulled her up by her hand, pushing the stray strands of hair from her face with tender fingers that made her shiver. His eyes held concern. Concern she just couldn’t bear. Concern she definitely didn’t deserve. It was all she could do not to lean into him and soak up the comfort he offered. “We have to learn to trust each other, Jeannie. Who knows how long this could go on.”

Her eyes avoided his. “I trust you.”

“Ah. But I don’t trust you,” he replied, pushing her against the back of the railing leading to her brownstone’s steps.

“I understand. Trust takes time.”

“Apparently not for you.”

“I don’t have a lot of choice. I have to choose to trust someone in all this. Tag, you’re it by default.”

“I don’t have a choice, either,” he answered stiffly, lifting her jaw so she either had to close her eyes or look at him directly.

She gave him a cocky, knowing smile. “Are you sad because today is TGIF? Is that what this is about? Would a blonde make it better? I know. We could always go barhopping. I can wait at a discreet distance if you wanna hit the Grease Your Pole and hang out with Lollipop or maybe even Twizzler. I’ll close my eyes. I’ll drink while you watch them grease. I love Fuzzy Navels.”

Leaning even farther in, he eyeballed her, the lines on either side of his mouth deeply grooved with discontent. “Jesus Christ, would you lay off the funny? I don’t want a blonde, Jeannie,” he ground out, wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her so close her spine arched.

“Then what
do
you want?” she yelped in frustration, stomping her feet childishly as she pressed her hands to the bands of steel that were his forearms. Frustration created by his nearness. Frustration created by the comfort his nearness brought—and the damn consistent tremor of her heart.

She’d experienced it whenever he was near, but it had been nothing compared to this. He smelled so good. He looked so good. He felt so good. Their lengths molded together like this made her dizzy. She wanted to cling to him, burrow against him and just let go.

Sloan’s heart pounded, too, crashing against her chest. She heard it invade her ears, soar through her nerve endings, and make her blood pulse hot. Felt it throb in harsh beats.

His lips descended on hers before she had the chance to even consider her deeply rooted fears about such close contact with a man.

And it was delicious. Demanding. Probing. Hard and soft. Jeannie sighed into his mouth before she could stop it.

His stance widened as he enveloped her smaller frame with his strong arms, her thighs pressed to his before they were cradled between his legs, hard and flexing, rippling against hers until she thought she’d pass out from the bliss of it.

Jeannie’s lips moved beneath his, relishing the fresh scent of his breath and the slick slide of his tongue delving between her lips. A moan slipped from her mouth when he hissed his appreciation. Their tongues dueled with one another’s, gliding, tentatively touching before sweeping into scorching oblivion.

Hot, wet heat swept over her, making her nipples hard, hard enough to scrape against the fabric of her thick coat. She squirmed against Sloan, inhaling every inch of him.

Sloan’s hands slid under the ends of her jacket, pulling her closer, devouring her lips as he pressed into her, ground his hips against hers in an agonizing rhythm. And Jeannie responded completely unafraid, wanton and wickedly needy.

It had been a long time. A long, long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s touch, and every nerve in her body responded to the sweet heat Sloan evoked in her. Her arms went around his neck.

She luxuriated in the stretch of her muscles when she closed the final distance between them, pulling Sloan tightly to her. She drove her hands into his hair, clutching the silky strands, gasping when his hand touched the flesh just under her sweater.

Oh, this kiss. Oh, this man kissing her. She wanted to take this moment and freeze it. Freeze it so she’d always remember what it was like to want someone this much without fear.

Sloan hiked her leg around his waist, pulling her, drawing her deeper into the vortex of his kiss. Naked images flashed before her eyes. Hot, sweaty, dirty images of Sloan. In her bed.

In her.

A dog’s sharp bark piercing the night had them pulling apart and readjusting Jeannie’s jacket with hasty hands. “Yoda! Hush,” a woman ordered, then chuckled as she strolled past them with a small, snarling dog. “Young love. Grand. So grand,” she chirped her appreciation and waved at them.

Love.
Jeannie looked down at her feet and gulped.

Sloan tipped her chin up, his blue eyes flashing all sorts of emotions Jeannie didn’t know how to read. His jaw pulsed and his teeth were clenched.

“Jeannie Carlyle!” Nina hollered from out of the dark, making them pull apart in guilt. When she came into view, her nostrils were flaring. “Get the fuck upstairs now before I drag you up by your flippin’ hair!” she roared, flashing her fangs at Jeannie.

“Hey! What the hell, vampire?” Sloan yelled back at her, pushing Jeannie behind him, the protective gesture making her smile. But only briefly.

Because Nina was angry. Like, wow, looked downright murderous angry, and she wasn’t calling her
shawty
or
midget
or
kiddo
. She’d used her given name. Jeannie’s stomach sank.

“You, shut the fuck up, ass sniffer. You’re gonna wanna hear what I have to say.” Nina stomped up the steps, the sound of her work boots sharp in Jeannie’s ears.
“Now, Jeannie!”
she bellowed.

She didn’t even think twice. Nina ordering you to do something was like getting a personal visit from God. You didn’t ask why he’d stopped in. You just dropped everything because he had. She ran up the steps, ignoring the confusion on Sloan’s face.

When she flew into her living room, everyone was staring at her, and it wasn’t because she was having a fabulous hair day. The stares were a mixture of condemnation and confusion. The looks on their faces, faces she’d in such a short time grown to want approval from, broke her, stabbed at her very soul.

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 soft 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 when 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.”

They all sat in astonished silence until Jeannie summoned the will to finish her tale. “When I caught him with Jorge, at first I thought what you thought, Wanda. So I hid and listened. They were speaking Spanish, so it was fuzzy. Though, by then I’d picked up a little of the language, and it was enough to know Victor was doing something illegal. I finally got the big picture when I saw him show Jorge the packets of drugs next to the piles and piles of money I’m assuming he’d promised little Jorge. I admit I was naïve, but I knew drugs when I saw them. But Victor sold dreams. Jorge’s family, like most of the people he drew into his web, bought into the dream.”