Brownstone grunted. “I don’t like magic much. I avoid it when possible.”
“Oh?” Shay found the statement hard to believe, but pissing him off after he’d killed a houseful of Harriken didn’t have much upside for her.
“Guns and bandages are more reliable,” he continued.
“Not disagreeing, Brownstone.” Shay shrugged.
His choice of words struck her as very deliberate. The man was comfortable enough around magical artifacts to help out on raids for Inca zombie wands, and he’d obviously done a lot of work for the Professor. He probably had a few artifacts stashed somewhere for difficult bounties.
“Getting shot hurts a lot more than getting the wound stitched up,” Brownstone muttered.
Shay pulled out some disinfectant gel, gut, and a needle from the first aid kit. Her skilled hands soon closed all the bounty hunter’s wounds. His face barely moved as she pierced his skin and sutured it.
“There. Can’t say you won’t scar, though.”
“They can join the club. Thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome.”
Shay stopped her finger from instinctively tracing some of the other scars on his body. They drew her in: each a mark of the man’s life-and-death struggles. A person didn’t really know who they were until their life was on the line, so Brownstone must have had a hell of a good idea of exactly who he was.
“Hey, you like barbecue?” the bounty hunter rumbled.
“Seriously? You’re asking that now?”
“Why not?” Brownstone shrugged. “I’m hungry, and I didn’t eat before coming here for my errand.” He slipped on the gray t-shirt. “We’re not that far from Pork Gods, and they are open late.”
Shay stared at Brownstone, trying to process that the man wanted to go for some barbecue right after dishing out that bloodbath in the house.
Then her stomach rumbled. A meal might be nice.
“’Pork Gods?’” Shay snickered. “They think pretty highly of themselves. But, yeah, sure, whatever.”
Thirty minutes later James sat across from Shay in a booth at Pork Gods, a gargantuan tray of ribs sitting between them. He’d not said much since placing the order, instead taking the time to polish off a good number of ribs. Killing criminals really did work up an appetite.
James bit into a new rib, enjoying the interplay between the taste of the pork and sauce. He concentrated on verifying the sauce’s ingredients. Menus didn’t always tell the truth.
Cumin, chili pepper, some black pepper, onions, and tomato, at least. A hint of a couple other ingredients touched his tongue, but he couldn’t figure them out. James sniffed the meat but still couldn’t identify the mystery components.
An old flat-panel TV on the wall in the corner caught his attention. Some country station was playing a concert video. An Elf woman in a ruffled dress covered in shimmering translucent metallic scales sang, her voice ethereal yet comforting, while steel guitars and fiddles accompanied her. Waves of color pulsed through her dress. Magic or technology—it was hard to tell.
“You like Best of Three Worlds?” Shay asked.
“Huh?”
The tomb raider pointed to the TV with a half-eaten rib. “Best of Three Worlds. Not that I pay that much attention to music, but they have been kind of all over the news. The first Elf to sing country, and all that. Everybody’s saying this kind of shit is the future of the two worlds.” The mocking tone as she said the last sentence was hard to miss.
James nodded, but then frowned. “Why are they called ‘Best of Three Worlds?’” He eyed the Elf woman on the screen. “Oriceran,” He held up one finger. “Earth.” He held up another finger. “Did I miss something?”
“Oriceran, Earth, and the South.” Shay smirked. “Hey, I’m not a country person, so don’t ask me. Everyone’s saying the woman’s going to win a Country Music Award.”
“Future of the two worlds, huh?”
Shay shrugged. “Do you believe that? That once everything settles down, it’ll be hunky-dory, and we’ll be living in magical happy land with all the Elves and wizards and shit?”
James looked around the small restaurant. The few other customers in the restaurant were human, even though there was a decent cross-section of humanity by color, national origin, and age, as could be expected in Los Angeles. Everyone chatted with their friends and enjoyed their barbecue, no tension or concern on their faces.
“People had trouble getting along before any of this Oriceran shit,” James said. “People like to divide themselves up. It’s not like the Harriken let Mexicans into their gang. Now we’re adding magic, along with bringing non-humans over, not to mention...whatever other weird-ass intelligent things they have over there. Like talking statues or some shit.”
“Hopeless, then?” Shay didn’t sound disappointed as she asked, just curious. “The world ends in blood and fire? James Brownstone headbutting a talking statue as they both get dragged down to Hell?”
James chuckled. That was probably exactly how he’d die.
“I don’t know. It’s just, you’re not gonna be able to bring a lot of people from a very different place to a new place without trouble. Maybe the trouble smooths out and everything ends up better overall…or maybe it doesn’t. Not really my problem.”
Shay laughed. “You do live on Earth, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Figuring that shit out is above my paygrade. And besides, trouble’s good for business.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” Shay chuckled again and shook her head. “So, what do you do when you’re not going Old Testament on criminals?”
“I like cooking shows and podcasts, especially on barbecue.”
Shay nodded slowly, a glint of amusement in her eyes as the gears in her head turned. “So it’d be accurate to say, you know, that you’re a fastidious man who likes cooking?”
James ripped a chunk of meat off his latest rib and swallowed before responding, “If you keep things organized it’s simpler for you in the long run, and I like to keep things simple. So yeah.”
“Okay, sure. That makes sense.”
A ghost of a smile covered Shay’s face, but James didn’t feel like prying into the woman’s mind. He was still getting a handle on her, and her arrival at the Harriken house had taken him by surprise. Shay’s mercenary tendencies made sense to him, but he couldn’t reconcile that understanding of her with the lack of profit in showing up to help a man avenge his dog.
They lapsed into silence, both working on downing their food, though James’ consumption dwarfed Shay’s.
“What’s your favorite kind?” James said, finally breaking the silence.
“Favorite kind of what?”
“Sauce, of course.” James looked as if she’d said the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all day.
Shay’s brow knitted in confusion. “You mean, what kind of barbecue sauce is my favorite?”
“Yeah.” James gestured with a rib. “We’re in a barbecue place. Not exactly a random question.”
“Aren’t they all kind of the same?” she asked, looking down at her plate.
James grimaced. “Shit, no. Get an education, woman.”
The tomb raider grinned. “Sorry if I’m not an expert in barbecue.”
“Seriously, it’s interesting. A lot of history there, lots of different flavor influences. I like them all, but my favorite are the Carolina-style sauces. Vinegar and peppers are the keys there, though mustard’s important in South Carolina-style. Lots of variations though, even at the regional level.” James held up a rib. “Pork Gods is more Texas-based. It’s okay, but it doesn’t hit the spot like Jessie Rae’s.”
“Jessie’s Rae’s?”
“It’s in Vegas. Best damn barbecue on the planet.” James shrugged. “Best damn barbecue on any planet.” Oriceran’s existence complicated everything, even barbecue.
Shay tilted her head, studying him with a bemused expression on her face.
“What?” James ask
ed.
“Nothing. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s interesting to see the man underneath the living tank.”
“What about you? Who lives beneath the snark queen?”
Shay took a deep breath. “I don’t like to talk about my past. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
James considered that for a moment. She was cool under pressure, which meant she had probably at least been around some rough characters, but she was also beautiful. The way she’d attacked the man at the Leanan Sídhe suggested deep-seated issues with men.
His stomach tightened as one possibility arose. If Shay had been some sort of sex worker or stripper, it might explain a lot of her attitude toward men and why she didn’t want to talk about her past.
Shay put the rib in her hand on her plate and wiped her fingers, then laced them together and rested her chin on them. A seductive smile appeared on her face. “So you can tell me the truth, now that we know each other better.”
“The truth?”
“Now that we’re not worrying about a job or Harriken or anything else. You like what you see, right?”
James blinked. He was having trouble figuring what the hell Shay was talking about. “’Like what I see?’”
The grinning woman indicated her body.
“What brought that on?” James’ gaze dipped for a moment and then returned to her face. Shay was beautiful, no doubt about that, but he didn’t get why she was suddenly hitting on him, of all people.
Shay sighed. “I just want you to admit you’ve been checking me out, Brownstone.”
James shrugged. “But I haven’t.”
“I won’t get mad.”
“Uh, I still haven’t. Not really.”
Her smile vanished, replaced by a frown. “Fastidious cooking guy who isn’t into me.” She nodded and grabbed another pork rib. “Yeah, you’re gay.”
A few seconds passed before James parsed her comment. She had to have said something else.
His eyes narrowed in confusion. “I’m not gay.”
“Whatever.” Shay cleaned off her hands, pulled her phone out, and tapped a few keys. “I’ve transferred the money for my part of the meal.” She tossed him a wave. “I’ve got to get going.”
“I’m not gay,” James repeated.
Shay rolled her eyes. “It’s your private life, Brownstone. In the closet, out of the closet—it’s not like it’s a big deal.” She slipped her phone back into the pocket of her jeans and waved.
James watched as she sauntered out of the restaurant, wondering how the hell the conversation had taken such a weird turn.
14
Alison’s heart sped up when she stepped into her living room and heard a man’s voice from the kitchen. Biting her lip, she pawed around for something useful. A piece of cool metal greeted her hand, and when she slid her hand up it she felt a glass blub. It must have been a lamp from the end table.
She yanked the lamp up, and the cord audibly popped as it pulled from the wall. Her eyesight might have made it hard for her to find a decent weapon, but her energy sight would at least make it easy to spot the intruder.
Heart thundering, the girl crept toward the kitchen, gripping the lamp tightly.
“Yeah, yeah,” the man said.
Alison slapped a hand over her mouth to cover her gasp. She recognized the voice.
It was her dad.
“Look, yeah, I understand, Mr. Takahashi,” her dad said. “Yeah, I’ll get Alison for you. Yeah, yeah.” He sighed. “You didn’t tell me you needed her—just Nicole.”
Nicole. Alison’s mom. There it was—her own husband had turned her over to the Harriken. The girl couldn’t believe it was a coincidence that two Harriken had tried to snatch her, and now a man named Takahashi was talking to her dad.
How could you, Dad?
Her dad sighed. “If you’d told me at the beginning, I would have delivered her to you.” He fell silent for a few seconds. “Okay, okay. We’ll all benefit from this. Once I grab her, I’ll be able to get that prize. Wait, I think I hear something. I gotta go.”
Alison knelt and set the lamp on the ground, then headed toward a wall, feeling along until she found the knob for the closet. She slipped inside, trembling. Her heart was ready to explode.
“Hey, Alison, sweetie!” her dad called from the living room. “You here? I heard you come in and...oh, I get it. I know I didn’t call ahead. What, you thought there was some piece-of-shit criminal in our house?”
The only criminal in here is you, butthole. You’re a monster.
The girl’s hands curled into fists, her anger pushing out some of her fear. She’d assumed her father had had something to do with her mother’s disappearance because of the change in his soul color, but now that she’d heard the confirmation, she regretted not charging at him with the lamp.
Alison took a deep breath. She could hear her father as he searched the living room.
“If you’re here, you need to answer me, girl. I’m your father, and I deserve your respect. There’s only the two of us now, you know.”
Thanks to you, jerk!
Alison’s lips quivered when her father turned and headed her way. She kept her hands still, afraid that feeling around for a weapon would make noise. Halfway toward the closet, her father turned again and started upstairs.
Seconds stretched into forever before Alison left the closet and rushed toward the front door.
“Alison?” her dad called from upstairs. “Where the fuck are you? Stop playing games.”
Alison barreled out the house and up the street, where a rainbow of colors confronted her—people, animals, trees. She glanced behind her. Her dad’s dark form was at their front door.
Seeing the energy of living things was great for understanding their feelings, but most people didn’t reside in living buildings. Only muscle memory helped Alison navigate as she cut through two yards toward another street, the colors of drivers and people walking up the street acting as beacons.
“Alison!” her dad bellowed in the distance.
Her lungs burned, and her legs ached. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to ignore the pain and the fear. She needed to get somewhere safe, then figure things out.
Alison wasn’t sure how long she’d been running when she finally collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath, her stomach churning. The only thing she knew was that she was totally lost.
She forced herself to stand and felt around. She found a cement wall, but the only energy she could see around was small and diffuse. A cat, a few birds. No people appeared to be close by. A little more exploration revealed a wooden fence. She’d been lucky. If she’d kept running in that direction, she would have smacked right into it.
Her home was now off-limits, and the useless cops would just send her back to her dad. They wouldn’t believe some teenage girl telling them stories about her dad selling her mom to the Harriken.
Alison wiped away a few tears. It didn’t even make any sense. Her dad had always been a butthole, but she had thought that he at least somewhat gave a crap about her mom.
“I can’t leave here,” Alison murmured to herself. The more people around, the greater her chance she would be sent back to her dad.
No. She needed to stay here—wherever the heck that was.
Only one man could help her now.
Alison pulled out her phone, grateful that she’d asked someone to read her the one-use card’s number so she could transcribe it into her phone. Her shaking fingers moved across the braille keypad.
The phone rang several times, and she tried to plan what sort of voicemail she should leave.
“I told you that card was one-use,” Mr. Brownstone answered, the gravel of his deep voice comforting in a strange way.
“How did you know it was me?”
“You’re the only one I’ve given a card to lately. This better not be for something stupid.”
“My dad’s back,” Alison said, her voice shaking. “I heard him
talking to someone on the phone, a Mr. Takahashi. They talked about my mom. He’s planning to give me to this guy. I think the guy must be Harriken.”
The bounty hunter grunted. “I take it you’re not at home.”
“I don’t know where I am. I just ran, and now I’m lost.”
“Yeah, well, stay where you are. I’ll be there soon. Just make sure you keep that card on you until I arrive, or I won’t be able to find you.”
“Okay, Mr. Brownstone, and thanks.”
Alison leaned against the cement wall and slowly slid down. The girl wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them to her chest, wondering what the Harriken had done to her mom.
Tortured by the thought, she sat there and waited for her savior.
James barreled toward Alison in his F-350, his gaze darting between the road and a small cup in his passenger seat. The needle floating on top of the water shifted direction, so the tracking spell on the card was working.
Lefty the Harriken’s words echoed in his mind.
Mount Baldy. There’s an old resort that’s been converted to a private chalet. The Belmont House. She’s there.
James hadn’t cared at the time, figuring it was Harriken bullshit that had nothing to do with his revenge, but now everything that had happened since he’d helped the girl out made sense. The first two Harriken hadn’t been looking for a new sex slave, they’d targeted Alison after capturing her mother.
The question remained, why? The girl was unusual, which meant the mother might be unusual. The ability to see people’s energy might be useful to the criminals, but James had a hard time seeing how it was worth all the trouble—not that the Harriken had planned on having him come to their headquarters and butcher dozens of them.
James grunted. Shit just kept getting more complicated. This was what happened when people got greedy.
The needle changed direction and James took a left turn, cutting someone off. The other driver honked, but didn’t come after him.
The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Set One (Books 1-3): Feared By Hell, Rejected By Heaven, Eye For An Eye (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Sets) Page 12
