The Cowboy Genie's Wife: A Paranormal Romance (The Dirty Djinn Series) (8 page)

“How dare you? You let me believe that—”

Her face burned, and her heart constricted, folding in on itself as Fazil once again focused on destroying her joy.

“I didn’t
let
you believe anything. I was pretty fucking solid on that point. He’ll have everything.”

“Except his family.”

“Rosa—”

No matter how many times he called her name, she didn’t turn around. If this was how he wanted it, fine. To hell with him.

And just like that, they were right back where they started.

I
t’d been a solid week of rolled eyes and unnecessary sighs around corners. He hated living like this, doing this to her, but it’d been her own damned fault. She didn’t leave him any room to maneuver, and now, he had to figure out how to make all this work.

And again, oh yeah, the dead guy.

He’d almost forgotten, until the random text message she’d received this morning. Rosa had come into the kitchen and damn near thrown her phone at his head. He stared at the screen again, but it hadn’t changed no matter how long he looked.

I know what you did. You’ll pay. Meet us where you committed the crime.

“What about your so-called contacts, Fazil? I wish us to the murderer.”

“No.”

“I wish the murderer dead.”

“No. We need to—”

“Fine. I wish us to the murder. Again.”

He threw back his head and growled. “Knock it off. An unanswered wish is not a walk in the park for me.”

“So, answer it.”

“And that’ll wind us up, where? For all we know, it’s a team of people. They’re probably recording everything. You want me to magically pop into that? If you want to wish for something so bad, I could use a glass of brandy.”

“No.”

“Ugh!”

She was a mirror image of him, arms folded and grimacing at the kitchen table. She wished for a rum, which he granted, and which she did not share. Typical. Her red nails rapped against the side of the glass. He was two seconds from yanking it away. “So, your friends are searching for a body?”

He didn’t answer, instead getting up and bringing over a bottle of black label cognac. He drank straight from the gold-flaked container. “That’s the plan.”

“Bad plan.”

“Because I thought of it?”

“Because the body is obviously well hidden. Although it’s not likely the guy’s going to keep it around.”

He took a swig and slammed the bottle down. “And therefore?”

“Therefore, we look for what people
will
still use. The body’s ... err ... the guy’s assets. The wife won’t know he’s gone. They haven’t spoken for months, and all the bills are paid by some financial guy,” she said, pointing with the same hand that held the glass. She finished it and motioned for him to pour.

“You shouldn’t mix your liquors.”

“I’m discussing a missing corpse with an Algerian genie wearing a cowboy hat. I’ll have the drink.”

“Point taken. As to the other,” he said, pausing to pour and reflect on the general absurdity of the situation, “I’m interested. Please continue.”

“His credit card accounts can’t be traced. I mean yeah, his wife would still be using her card, but not in New York. Wouldn’t the guy that pays the bills have noticed if his boss stopped spending all of a sudden?”

“Unless he didn’t.”

“Exactly,” she said, voice strong with a heaping of confidence.

“Or unless the bill isn’t due or he doesn’t check it. Don’t go getting your back heaving, gimme a minute and wish for my laptop.”

The second it arrived, and it really was less than a second, he started typing. He had no hacking skills, but he knew people who did, and they owed him. In eight minutes, a list of charges appeared on his screen. “Someone’s been using the man’s credit cards.”

“Where?”

“Still in New York. Manhattan. Your body thief isn’t straying far.”

“So we go to Manhattan,” she said, rising. Her once again empty glass clanged against his granite countertop.

He grabbed her hand and nodded back to the chair. “Not yet. New York hasn’t gotten any smaller since we were last there.” Then his laptop pinged again, and he zoomed in on the image sent from his hacker. Their target had been caught on a sports store camera using the card. He flipped around the laptop. “You know this guy?”

“Holy crap.”

“So, yes?”

“That’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy the accountant? Jimmy the drug lord? Jimmy the...”

“Jimmy, the doorman.”

* * * *

T
hey were on a flight that afternoon. Paranoia or caution, she didn’t know, but they’d agreed she’d travel the old-fashioned way—in the small djinn lamp tucked away in Fazil’s inner jacket pocket. She tried amusing herself with books and sorting through old clothes, but her mind focused on one thing.

And it wasn’t Jimmy.

As a djinn rule, it wasn’t the best idea for a genie to go into a fight with his lamp on him. On the one percent chance someone got the drop on Fazil, the last thing they needed was for some goon to see something shiny and take off with his lamp.

When the plane touched down, Fazil walked them to the family restroom in the airport, and she was able to pop out of the lamp. It was always a bit disorienting, not knowing where she was for a second or two. Fazil’s presence made all the difference—a comforting balm in the crazy of all this.

“You ready?”

She shrugged. “I just need to get this over with.”

“We will. Just stick to the plan. Yeah?”

Fazil had placed the lamp on a golden chain around her neck. His plan, combined with the Neanderthal ooo-rah mentality Fazil suffered from, meant abandoning her in a restroom in the hotel across the street from the apartment building where everything had gone down. He’d given explicit orders to wait for him there.

Said orders were repeated every three steps.

“Fazil, if you tell me what to do one more time...”

“We’re too close to having this thing settled. Your room key is waiting for you at the front desk. Go rest, have a drink, and let me handle this.” His head swiveled from one side to the other. The man looked primed, almost eager for an attack. Surely, he didn’t expect one here on the streets?

“Because I can’t?”

“Because you didn’t. Or, because you caused it. Pick one.”

“Not fair.”

But Fazil didn’t answer. Not really. He put one foot behind the other and backed away, palms raised upward until she lost him in the crowd of New York.

Staying obedient didn’t suit her these days. She managed to stay only for as long as he could still
maybe
see her. She counted to twenty and turned to where he’d disappeared.

This was it. Her last chance to save Manny.

After popping the lamp in her front pocket, she threw her purse over her shoulder, and shot off for Grand Central and the train that would lead her to her brother.

H
e read the stupid on her face as plain as the time on his diamond-lined watch. She was up to something, but he couldn’t deal with it now. The best he could hope for was minimal collateral damage. Dollars to doughnuts, whatever she was up to included her brother.

He’d planned for that. He knew Emmanuel’s location down to the room number and which side of the hall. With all the wishes around here, and assuming he didn’t die when the doors opened, he might even make it there before she did.

“Jimmy!”

The lean, lizard-like man looked up from his stand, face drawn and pinched. “I know you?”

“We need to talk, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s gaze shifted from the floor to the wall, and he tugged at the black and white collar of his uniform. “What you want?”

“Just to talk. Talk to me, Jimmy. Man to man.”

Jimmy shuffled his feet and honked into a stained handkerchief. “You need me to call someone upstairs?”

“I need you to come with me upstairs. Something about a dead guy.”

The wishes came furious as wet shit. The man wished for Fazil’s death. He wished for a gun. He wished to get the fuck away from there and that last one was all it took for Fazil to make it happen. He snatched the wish out of the air and whisked Jimmy to the room across the street, where he’d left his wife with strict instructions not to leave.

It was empty.

Lizard Jimmy’s head swiveled like a man possessed, and the top of his shirt darkened with sweat. “Where are we? You-you drugged me. How did we get here? What is this? Who are you?”

“So many questions, Jimmy the Doorman. We’ll start at the end. Me? I’m the angel of unjust death.”

Unbelievably, the fool agreed—assuming the growing puddle of urine at his feet was any indication. That and the immediate drop to the knees as Jimmy prayed for forgiveness.

“Don’t pray to me. Pray to the big guy upstairs. Heaven knows, he’s the only one who can stop me from what I’m about to do.”

“But it wasn’t me.” Jimmy scrambled over on his knees, one hand waving frantically above his head. “It wasn’t. It was that Puerto Rican bitch.”

That earned Jimmy a lip-splitting punch to the jaw. “My wife’s American of Mexican descent. And since I can’t tell if you’re racist or stupid, I’m going to punch you again just in case.”

The second time felt as good as the first. It didn’t, however, get him any further along with his investigation. Fazil sat in front of the kneeling man and crossed his legs over one of the bastard’s shoulders. “How did you know about this situation involving my wife?”

“We watched.”

“Who?”

“Me and Timmy.”

“Sorry? Jimmy and Timmy?”

“We’re twins.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Okay, fine, and where is Timmy the Doorman?”

The man tried rising again. Not happening. Fazil brought down as much weight into his heels as he could, shoving the man into the floor. Now prone, Jimmy managed to shake his head. “Tim works the security cameras.”

“And he’s installed a few extra for his sick pleasure. Am I right?” The non-answer was his answer. “I bet you wish Timmy was here to ease up some of the pressure on you, huh?”

“It was his idea! If he was here—”

“You want him here?”

“You’d see it wasn’t me!”

A man in nearly identical garb popped up before them. They went through the usual “oh my gods” and “how did this happens” before getting to the juicy bits. The truth was well out now. The twins had a nice little racket of watching people. They blackmailed them when possible, simply jacking off when not.

It took a broken nose to get his lips moving, but Timmy eventually offered that the body was rolled away in one of the hotel’s industrial-sized laundry bins and hauled out to a dumpster, never to be found. And while it was probably a great relief for the bastard’s wife, family, and anyone he’d ever crossed, no man deserved to go out that way.

The twins had to pay for that.

The twins had to pay for making Rosa cry.

The twins had to pay for wasting his time.

The twins had to pay for the room reeking of urine.

“You know the power I have in my hands. You know that I can ruin your lives in an instant, just as you’ve ruined so many others. Quick question, though, do either of you wish the other would pay for all these crimes? Do you wish that one of you could shoulder the burden? Setting the other one free?”

And in an unexpected act of brotherly love, they both did.

Fine with him. By this time tomorrow, all of the tapes would have been destroyed, and while they’d have forgotten exactly what they saw, they would both have admitted to a long history of peeping tom behavior. This all came at a terrible risk. Their memories were old. No doubt they’d fudged in their recollections. Between the two of them, they may have had years of despicable behavior.

Oh, well.

Fazil’s eyes slammed shut, and he zeroed out everything, blocking the sights and blaring horns of the city. He did the best he could, but that didn’t mean good things for these two. Their sanity could snap now, a decade from now, or never. He’d had to go far, but regardless, they’d confess their crimes by the end of the day and never be in a position to take advantage of anyone else again.

He couldn’t muster up a lick of sympathy.

Now, he needed a wish to get out of the city. And in New York, they were everywhere. He did spare a moment, a brief thought—a prayer even—he wouldn’t find Rosa at the nursing home. She could have gone for lunch or a walk. He prayed hard that maybe she’d trust him, and that maybe he could even trust her.

Then he snagged a wish, blinked once, and left the hotel.

R
osa ran up the rosebush-lined steps of the home to her Manny. Whenever she came before, the smells of bleach and powder brought a smile to her face. Now, she was on borrowed time.

Fazil knew her better than anyone. It’d taken him all of three seconds to realize where she’d gone. She had to hurry.

A smile plastered on her face, she waved at the nursing staff who’d treated her brother so well all these years. Would she be able to provide him the same level of care on her own?

Nope.

But crap, she couldn’t leave him now. He was family, and he’d never be abandoned by her. Not again.

Fazil would forgive her. Someday. After Manny passed on, she’d plead for forgiveness, and he’d do it. He couldn’t help it.

“Ro?”

Her baby brother looked up at her behind glasses as huge as pop bottles. They made his enormously beautiful eyes temporarily razor thin. She dropped her bag at his feet and kissed his hands. “Hey, Uncle Manny.”

“I wondered where you’d gone off to, mija. It’s been too long.” He paused for a liquid-filled cough but shook his head when she offered him a drink from her bottled water. “I’m fine, fine. Just old. It happens, huh?”

For the most part. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong? Your worry is written all over your face. You’re too pretty for that.”

Wrong? Everything. Her half-baked plan was roasting as kindling before her eyes. She couldn’t move him like this. Manny couldn’t spend the rest of his life on the run, and who was she kidding? You don’t outrun a djinn unless he’s willing to let you. “I ... it’s ... complicated.”