All Your Wishes (18 page)

Roberto took the phone without comment, tucking it into his pocket with a nod of acknowledgment and began packing his papers and notes back into his briefcase.

“I'm on my way back to California to get ready for a big trial. I won't be available for the next two weeks. Try to stay out of trouble,” he said.

“If I do that, how will you pay the rent?” I teased.

His smile was fleeting. “I'll manage somehow.” He paused. “Seriously, Celia, you need to be careful. The feds have very long memories, and they'll be watching you very closely from now on.”

“I know.” I did know. I didn't know what to do about it. Hell, I wasn't sure there was anything I
could
do about it. Dom Rizzoli was a fed and we'd become friends. But Schulz … well, that glare she'd given me promised trouble if I ever found myself back in Tampa, which, God willing, I wouldn't.

Roberto shook his head, “I know you do what you have to, and I believe you always try to do what's right. But this … this is a clusterfuck.”

I blinked in surprise. In all the years he'd represented me, I'd never heard Roberto swear like that. Not that he was wrong, far from it. But his language brought me up short, made me think; which was probably exactly what he intended.

“I'll be careful.”

“Do that.”

There was no time to say anything further—the driver had pulled the limo to the curb. Roberto snapped his briefcase closed and locked it, then climbed out of the car.

“Bye, Roberto,” I said.

“Good-bye, Celia. Take care.”

The driver came up then with Roberto's bags. My attorney closed the limo door with a solid thunk. I watched him wheel his luggage across the pavement and through the terminal doors, where he disappeared into the crowd of flyers.

A couple of minutes later, after navigating the airport's maze of interior roadways, the limo dropped me off by the front door of the private airfield entrance. I didn't have any cash on me, so I asked for the driver's business card, intending to send him a tip later, but he assured me that Roberto had taken care of it. I grinned, knowing I'd see the charge on my next bill. The driver handed me my duffel, which he'd retrieved from the trunk.

Squaring my shoulders, I crossed the concrete to the door, feeling my exposed skin heat as the sun baked it painfully even across that short distance. Through the glass doors I could see Bubba, Kevin, and the client waiting in the lobby, a grim, quiet group. Though the men were nicely dressed, they looked imposing enough that most people avoided the area around them, as if they were surrounded by an invisible moat.

Discreet it wasn't, but it was probably useful. My guys had plenty of visibility to see any enemy coming. Not that there were any, at least none that I could see. That was a little surprising, really. They were out in the open and lined up like ducks on the range in one of those video games.

Of course, Hasan and I had thinned the ranks of the enemy considerably here in Tampa. Maybe they were out recruiting? Whatever the reason, I'd take the quiet for the gift it was. Without my guns I felt naked. My knives are good for close-in work, and dear to my heart besides. Magic disks and spells are great. I was even glad to have the little recorder and my other tech toys. But for distance work, nothing really compares to a gun.

“Hi, guys,” I said, striding up to the trio.

“Hey, boss.” Bubba smiled at me. “Guess they decided not to keep you.”

Kevin gave a long sniff, his expression darkening. “Why do you smell like brimstone?”

“It's a long story. I'll tell you on the plane.”

“No,” Rahim said firmly, “you won't. Your men have impressed me with their skills, but they are not coming with us.”

I gave him a withering look. He could not seriously be pulling this shit again.

“Mr. Patel, you've faced multiple attackers—twice now. We were lucky on the beach. If the bad guys had been just a bit quicker and if Hasan had not intervened, you'd be dead.”

An ugly flush crept up from his neck, his eyes darkening until they were almost black.

“I do not owe Hasan my life.” His voice was a deep, ugly growl—ugly enough that Kevin instinctively moved to position himself between us.

“No, you owe
me
your life. And I'm telling you that you need more than one guard.”

“I saved your life as well,” Rahim noted dourly.

“Yes, you did, and I'm grateful. But that doesn't change the facts of the larger situation. My death left you unprotected.”

He gave me a haughty look down the length of his nose. “The terms of our agreement have not changed.” We stared at each other in a long, charged, silence.

I counted to ten, then a hundred. The client was being an idiot. The question was whether I was going to go along with his idiocy. I'd died once already on this case. I wasn't eager to do it again. Next time, Rahim might decide Gramps was right and not revive me.

Kevin broke the tension. “Bubba, can you go with Mr. Patel to do the preflight check? I want to brief the boss on what happened while she was in the hospital.”

“Right.” Bubba turned to Rahim with his most winning smile. “After you,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the doors to the tarmac. I could tell from the look on Rahim's face that he was considering arguing some more before he stomped off with ill grace. Bubba had to hustle a little to stay within easy protection range.

“Okay, Kev, what's up?”

“First, Dawna called, asked me to give you my phone.” He pulled it from a pocket and handed it over. “Both Dom and the Church came through. The file's saved here.” He pointed to an icon on the phone's screen. “Also, I think the client's up to something.”

“How so?”

“He's got that look,” Kevin said. “Plus, I overheard him fighting with Pradeep earlier this morning. Couldn't understand a word, but it was easy to tell the old man was raising hell with him. That's probably part of why Rahim is in such a foul mood.”

“Bubba said he's been having family issues.” I sighed. “I wish I could just tell him to go to hell, but Dottie says ‘the only way out of the maze is through it.'”

“How poetic.” He gave an annoyed snort. “Seers.” He'd know; his sister was one.

I tapped my upper lip with the tip of my index finger as I thought about how to handle everything. “All right, Rahim's being an ass, but according to Dottie and your sister, I need to go along with him.” I paused for effect. “The minute we're in the air, get a copy of our flight plan. Follow as quickly as you can. Be discreet, but I want you guys to have my back.”

“Got it,” he said, then gave me a meaningful look. “You do realize the full moon is coming soon?”

Crap. It was. “Do you need to go back to California?”

He thought about it for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nah. Like I told Dawna, I should be okay if I take steps. But it's going to be hard to protect you from a distance.”

I shifted my duffel to a more comfortable position and started across the lobby, toward security and the tarmac. “Do the best you can. I trust you. But Kev, if you need to go, go. Bubba can watch my back.”

“Not like I can.”

I wasn't going to argue the point. I trust him and Bubba implicitly. But Kevin's monster side and his experience in black ops give him what Liam Neeson would refer to as a “particular set of skills.” Which reminded me: “Do you have a backup gun? The cops kept mine.”

Reaching under his jacket, he retrieved a Glock 9mm from a holster, checked the safety, and passed it to me. I'm not a huge fan of Glocks—just a personal preference. But it was a gun, and I knew it would have been perfectly maintained. I put it in my empty shoulder rig. It wasn't a perfect fit, since the holster had been designed for my Colt. My draw would be a little slower than normal and I'd have to compensate for that. But I had a gun again. Which made me feel both more secure and more able to do my job. Kevin handed me a spare clip, which I dropped into a jacket pocket.

“This is your main weapon?” That he trusted me with it said a lot about our relationship.

“Yeah, but you're on duty. And I've got more in the car.”

“Thanks, Kevin.”

“Just don't get yourself killed.”

*   *   *

Kevin was right about one thing: Rahim was in a foul mood. He sat behind the controls of the plane, sullen and silent, waiting for permission to take off. I was in the passenger compartment, but though the door was open and we could've chatted, I really didn't want to talk to him. Anything I was liable to say at this point would just make things worse.

The case was a disaster.

Not only had we not captured the ifrit, we'd given Hasan a live vosta to chow down on—which he'd probably already consumed. That meant he'd be much stronger next time we went up against him. Rahim had a traitor in his organization—I was sure of that. I couldn't trust my client, either, given Dottie and Emma's warnings. And while I was trying hard to ignore what had happened, the fact was, I was completely and totally freaked out about the ifrit being able to take over my body.

I shuddered at the memory. One of my main goals (maybe not number one, but definitely way up there) was to make sure that I never went through that again. Rahim might be a bit of a demanding ass, but he was the single best bet I had to put the djinn back in the bottle.

Next were the humans—a group in which the ghost of the late, unlamented Connor Finn had fit right in. Finn had been a psychopathic, mass-murdering SOB with both brains and power, quite possibly the single scariest human being I'd ever encountered—and he was one of the freaking
crew.
They had a boss.

A boss who shed heat and smelled of brimstone.

There are people who claim they aren't afraid of the demonic. There are even some people who worship demons.

I'm pretty sure they're idiots.

My hand went instinctively to a set of scars burned into the skin not far from my heart.

“What are you thinking?” Rahim asked from the pilot's seat.

“That I don't have enough information about what's going on,” I admitted. “Anything you want to tell me? Like maybe, where we're going? What the plan is?”

“South Bend, Indiana,” Rahim answered. “I still need to locate Hasan.”

“The ceremony didn't work?”

“No, we were interrupted too soon.”

“And you haven't been able to get a bead on him since? Even with your family's help?”

“No.” His answer was curt, the flat tone meant to discourage me from probing further.

There was more to that story. There had to be. I'd been down for two days. He wouldn't have spent the entire time arguing with his family.

So I waited.

Silence can be a very effective tool in negotiations. It takes on a weight and power of its own. When you talk, people can argue, make points, talk over you, or talk you down. When you wait in perfect, calm, silence, most people feel compelled to break it. The tactic doesn't always work, but it's effective enough to make it always worth trying.

I sat there, perfectly pleasant, but implacable.

He pretended to busy himself with the controls.

I waited.

Finally, with a grimace, Rahim twisted in his seat to face me.

“We are going to South Bend so that I can retrieve texts and equipment from my office at Notre Dame. My grandfather has withdrawn his support, as have most of my relatives. One or two cousins have agreed to work with me. Otherwise, I am on my own.”

Shit
. That was bad.

“This does not change my responsibility, but it requires a change in my approach.” He turned back toward the controls, but not before I caught a glimpse of the pain, sorrow, and rage in his eyes.

“Are you going to be able to do what's necessary?”

He was saved from answering by the call from the control tower. We were cleared for takeoff.

I settled back into the cushiony leather seat and closed my eyes. Takeoff is not my happy time. I'm better about flying than I used to be, but I doubt I'll ever enjoy the experience.

We made it into the air without incident, climbing until we were skimming through fluffy, cotton-candy clouds. When the jet flattened out at cruising altitude, I pulled Kevin's phone from my jacket pocket and tapped the icon for the research Dawna had sent.

“What are you doing?” Rahim didn't turn, so I met his eyes in the mirror.

“Catching up on my e-mail,” I lied, smiling sweetly. “I've got it running in spell-protected mode, so it won't interfere with the jet. I won't be able to make calls or text, but at least I can cruise the Internet.”

“Good.” He didn't sound like he thought it was good. In fact, I got the distinct impression he'd intended to tell me to turn off the phone, something I had zero intention of doing. To distract him, I tried a change of subject. “I meant to ask you earlier, is my bag on board?”

“Yes. It's in the storage compartment.”

“Oh, good. My passport's in it, and my phone charger. The phone battery goes fast in protected mode.” Luckily Kevin and I had the same make and model at the moment, so I could use my charger with his phone.

Rahim gave a grunt of acknowledgment and shifted his attention back to flying.

I started reading.

It took quite a while. I took a break about an hour in to use the restroom and drink one of the nutrition shakes Rahim had been kind enough to stock in the jet's mini-fridge. While I was up, I took my duffel out from beneath the seat and shifted it to the little storage compartment across from the bathroom. Opening the door, I was glad to see my suitcase in there, along with the medical bag Rahim used for his magical gear. Beside them was a navy duffel that I assumed held Rahim's clothes and personal effects. I stowed my duffel and removed my case. Setting in on the little counter above the fridge, I unzipped it and began sifting through its contents, looking for the charger.