Magic, Mayhem and Murder

by January Bain

  “Go up to the roof, check it out. The gun’s still there.”

  “You left it?”

  Think fast. “Yeah, I was in a hurry to get this young lady to safety.”

  “What were you doing up there, miss?” the agent asked, frowning.

  Jake turned to Silk. He looked her up and down, noticing the faint traces of tears still evident on her face. And what a lovely face she had. Huge chocolate-brown eyes with a sprinkling of gold highlights that matched the golden strands in her light brown hair pulled haphazardly into a messy bun.

  “Smoke break.”

  Thank God she’s a quick study.

  “Okay.” Sticks spoke into his radio on his collar, updating the men on the ground.

  Jake put his arm protectively around Silk, directing her to his vehicle. It was time to move. His mind was racing a million miles a second, making plans for how to extricate them from this situation.

  “But my vehicle is that way,” she protested as he opened the passenger door of his stealth-gray GMC 1500 Sierra truck. The woman was tiny and the lack of running boards meant she’d have to jump to make it if he didn’t help.

  “I’m getting you out of here fast as I can. Leave it. It might incriminate you.”

  “No, it won’t,” she said as he took the bag from her hands, boosting her up onto the seat, his hands automatically cupping her fine ass in the process. She slapped them away and gave him a look that distinctly said hands off. He picked up her discarded bag and tossed it into the back seat of the crew cab-style truck.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I really do work at the florist shop in the building.”

  “Really.” The woman surprised him further, inching up in his estimation. What an enormous amount of planning must have gone into this near coup.

  “Don’t move,” he warned, buckling her into the seat, managing to brush against her breasts in the process. This time she only blushed. But his groin thickened again, as if his brain had been disabled and was now reconnected directly to his cock. Note to self—be careful.

  He hurried around to the driver’s door, yanked it open and climbed in beside her. She hadn’t tried to escape, which was something. But he caught her looking longingly at a small red car parked across directly from his truck, her hand clutching the door handle as if she were going to make a run for it. Her vehicle.

  “You can probably come back later and retrieve it. Best we have a talk first. Get our stories straight.” He pressed his lips together as he started the motor, the GMC springing to life under his touch, his gut roiling. “Because this—” He shook his head, glancing over at her as she sat rigidly in the seat, chewing on her thumbnail. “This is going to cause a shit-storm. You can count on that, baby doll.”

  He placed the vehicle in gear and drove out of the parking lot and onto the side street leading away from the courthouse. In a matter of seconds, he was heading west on 2nd Street. They’d be back at Max’s house in Redondo Beach in forty minutes if traffic kept moving.

  “Who do you work for?” she asked as he paid careful attention to his surroundings, watching for signs of pursuit.

  “Just filling in for a friend. Security detail. You could say I’m on probation, though, I imagine my chances of ever working for them again are slim to none.”

  “I’m sorry about that. We could just go back and you can turn me in. You owe me nothing.” She looked on the verge of another crying jag, her eyes still pink around the edges from earlier. It didn’t diminish her natural beauty. She was exquisite, pretty and delicate and he could no more have turned her in than he could his own mother. He understood her reasons, though, they didn’t make it right. Now, it was his job to somehow extricate them from this mess. And what a fucking mess.

  “It was your sister who was hit by the drunk sonofabitch?”

  “Yeah. And his rich daddy’s lawyer got him off on a fucking technicality. Well, that and a whole lot of bribes, I would imagine. The system sucks if you’re poor.”

  He nodded. Her last sentence splashed pure vitriol. “Yeah, that sucks. But why go so far? Aren’t you just digging your own grave here?”

  He checked his rear-view mirror constantly. So far, they weren’t being pursued, though that could change in a heartbeat. A police cruiser approached in the opposite lane, coming toward them, siren blazing, then raced past them. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I…I wasn’t thinking about after. Only making sure it didn’t happen to anyone else—ever again.”

  “You know it doesn’t work that way, right? Each person chooses their own path, and nothing you can do can change that outcome for anyone else. I think humans are fucked by their DNA. A terrible propensity to forget what’s right at convenient times and a built-in violent nature. Survival of the fittest.” Something about this woman was calling to him. Made him want to understand. Perhaps that would be an impossible feat, but he had to try.

  “Maybe not. But at least one asshole would not be hurting anyone else. I could have taken him out of the equation if you hadn’t stopped me.” Her look accused him.

  “No? What about you? You’d have been arrested and placed in the system. Charged with attempted murder. And, by your own admission, unless you’re rich, you don’t get to call the shots. You’d rot in jail. Did you want it to go down like that? Would that honor your sister’s life?” The thought of this woman locked up, possibly making it all the way to death row, filled him with dismay.

  “What does it matter? It’s too late now.”

  “Surely, there must be another way?” He offered the promise without thinking.

  “How? I just missed my one shot at it.” Despite the words, her tone held less bitterness than it had, he thought. Hoped. Maybe he could help her see reason.

  “You need to give this up. Get on with your life. Find some way forward and honor your sister in another way.”

  She was quiet now. He glanced over. Her eyes were so expressive he could see the wheels turning.

  “So, you work in the florist shop. Good. That helps. Anyone else see you go up there with the rifle? Were you scheduled to work today?”

  “Yes, but my shift doesn’t begin until later. I work afternoons. And I don’t think anyone saw me. I was careful and came in the back way. Most people never go up to the roof. It’s too hot. I just tell them I like to tan.”

  “Okay, good. Are you a good shot? Have you been trained?”

  “Yeah, my brother gave me lessons.”

  “Lately?” He turned onto the freeway, scanning the area.

  “No.” Her one-word answer spoke volumes.

  “Okay, is your experience with weapons well-known where you work?”

  “No, I never talk about it.” She turned and locked eyes with him for a split second. “Why are you doing this? Jeopardizing your job?”

  He grunted. “The hell if I know.”

  She frowned, then reached out a slim hand and touched his biceps, sending electricity racing through his system. “Thank you. Most people would have just turned me in without a second thought.”

  “You’re welcome. Bring me up to speed here. Anything else you know about this Jason Kastrati character they released today, and his father? Any other dirt I can use to explain what you attempted to do? I know what the man did was bad—a terrible tragedy—but is there more? Did you research his family? Kastrati—it’s familiar. Albanian, I believe.” It niggled at his brain. It was connected to something he’d filed away during a briefing.

  “No, I know very little about the family, except his father has too much money. Armend Kastrati. Doesn’t appear to work for a living. Money most likely handed to him. I’m sorry, I was so focused on finding the opportunity to do what I attempted today that it was an oversight.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. Soon as we get back to where I’m staying, I got a guy we can call.”

  “Where you’re staying?” She glanced at him, as if testing his judgment.

  “Safest spot for you righ
t now. At least until I can get a better reading on all this. It was unfortunate you were seen by Sticks in the parking garage,” he added as she gave him another inquisitive glance. “He’s a new guy I’m working with.” And probably for the last time, too, damn it. The job with Max’s agency had been right up his alley. Perfect for his skill set, and now it had all gone to shit with his little U-turn today. No time for regrets. “Otherwise, we might have gotten away scot-free.”

  She snorted. “Scot-free. Yeah.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Guilt lanced through him. The woman had recently lost her sister.

  “Do you have any other siblings? Family?”

  “No. Ashley was my last tie to this earth.”

  “Oh, God, Silk. I’m so sorry. That’s—hell, I don’t even know what to say.”

  She shrugged, though, he caught the slight tremble of her lips she tried to hide by turning away. And such pretty pink lips. What would it be like to kiss them? Was all of her as exquisite as her face? A part of him just couldn’t equate what she’d been doing up on that rooftop with how she looked right now. It just didn’t fit. Not at all.

  He forced his mind away from the conundrum and back to business with some difficulty. No matter how bad the world treated a person, they couldn’t go off half-cocked and kill people. He was fighting, after all, to uphold honor, dignity and human rights. But then, he’d never been in a situation similar to Silk’s. Death, yes. He’d faced it down on occasion. Hell, he was a soldier. But someone choosing to go out and deliberately taking chances with another person’s innocent life by driving incapacitated—never.

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  About the Author

  January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full-blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create a series that features strong women who don’t take life too seriously, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope the stories of her beloved Brass Ringers will capture your imagination as much as they did hers when she wrote them.

  If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with two furry babies trying to prove who does a better job of guarding the doorway. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously replied to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

  January loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.totallybound.com