by Rachel Shane
If the casinos ever let him show his face there again, that was.
Delilah bit her lower lip. “I don’t do pro bono cases. Maybe if you come back later, I’ll—”
“My life’s on the line here.” The plea was genuine, ripped straight from his heart. Without her help, Cole would likely be dead by morning. He had nothing to offer her in a value the U.S. government would approve of. But maybe there was something else he could do for her instead. “How about a trade then? There must be something you want. Whatever it is, I’ll get it for you.”
Delilah’s face curled into anguish and there, right there, was the key. Her poker tell. She craved something important and Cole vowed to get it for her.
She straightened as if making a decision. “I’ll help you and then you’ll help me?”
Cole raised a brow. “With what?”
She shook her head. “We haven’t reached that point of lawyer confidentiality yet. Just know that this is a fair trade. An eye for an eye.” She lowered her voice. “A life for a life.”
His stomach flipped at her words. He was a con artist but his weapons were lies, not guns. Still, life was the only chip he had to bargain with. He nodded and reached out his hand for her to shake.
Instead she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper covered in legal jargon. And a sharp silver dagger. She dragged it across the tip of her pinky, drawing the tiniest of drops of blood, and pressed her finger against the signature line while muttering something incoherent and definitely not in English under her breath. Cole’s mouth dropped open as she disinfected the dagger with solution, wiped it with a clean cloth, and handed it over to him. Her brows rose as if to say, your turn.
He sputtered, taking the dagger in shaky hands, his eyes swimming over the page in front of him.
“This signifies the terms of our deal,” she said. “When you sign this, you’ll be obligated to help me in return. You will not be able to back out.”
Cole twisted the dagger in his palm. “But—you already had this drafted.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I’ve made this deal before.”
She didn’t elaborate, didn’t give any indication as to what happened to the last people who offered to give her what she wanted. He wasn’t the first to try to help her with whatever she needed…and wouldn’t be the last. The others might have had a choice but Cole didn’t. It was this deal or death. He pricked his finger and signed the contract, so to speak.
She nodded. “This also binds both of us to confidentiality about our cases.”
“A new age non-disclosure agreement. I love it. Way better than holding a payout over people’s heads to keep quiet.”
Delilah dropped behind her desk and braced her fingers on her keyboard. All business. “There are a few other stipulations. We have to be done before sundown. Before the sky even entertains the idea of turning gray.” She glanced at her computer screen. “That gives us three hours.”
Cole nodded. “The faster the better.” His brow furrowed. “But what if you can’t break it before nightfall?”
Her jaw clamped tight. “Then I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you.”
Cole swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I guess we’d better get started.”
Delilah raked a hand over her forehead, sucked in a deep breath that made her breasts heave, and straightened. “Who wants you dead?”
Cole let out a soft little laugh. “Everyone I’ve ever met.”
Delilah turned pale. “Let me be more specific. Who wants you dead and has access to magic?”
“That narrows the suspect list down to…zero. As far as I know anyway.” Up until about an hour ago, magic was just a plot device used in children’s stories. Sure, he’d had magical moments with women that usually took place in the bedroom. And he once indulged in magic mushrooms in high school. But no one he knew wielded magic of any kind…and he’d been to all the magician shows in Vegas.
“Sit.” Delilah rubbed her temples for the briefest of moments, betraying her stress. Cole felt the strong urge to dig his thumbs in concentric circles on her neck, but the urge wasn’t strong enough to dull the pull of the grave. He took a deep breath and let go of the doorframe, cringing as the urgency of the grave pulsed hard against his skull like a throbbing headache. He forced one foot in front of the other, cautious at first, and then faster as he dove for the safety of the chair. Once he was seated with his hands gripping the sides, Cole let out a breath. He wouldn’t succumb to death…at least in the next few minutes.
“Let’s start from square one,” Delilah said as her slick red nails tapped on her keyboard. “Who are you?”
Cole hesitated a moment before stretching one hand toward her, his other tightening around the armrest with white knuckles. He’d always prided himself on his firm handshake, and so when her fingers slipped between his, he squeezed harder than he intended, as if he were trying to use her as his life raft while he drowned. “Cole Tiernan,” he said as if that should be obvious. She only blinked, his name not registering on the blip of her radar. But of course it wouldn’t. They didn’t run in the same circles. She had a day job. He pulled night jobs. “According to the government I’m unemployed,” he told her, his usual spiel when tax people came calling. But if she was going to help him—save him—she had to know everything. “But according to reality, I’m a poker shark.”
Well, perhaps shark wasn’t exactly the right word. More like loser.
Delilah groaned and plucked a pair of plastic-rimmed glasses from her desk. She put them on, as if trying to see him better. “Let me guess, you owe a lot of people a lot of money.”
Cole shot her his most devious grin. “Look at us, five minutes together and already you’re reading my mind.”
“I know your type.” Delilah abruptly stood up and smoothed down her chic suit skirt. “Please wait here while I change.”
Cole tilted his head at her. “Change?” He imagined her form of changing involved yanking out a pointy witch hat and black robe from her closet, her skin instantly turning green as she put them on.
“Just in case we have to visit the grave.” Her eyes landed on his mud-caked fingers. “Or it gets past dusk.” She jutted her chin toward the entrance. “There’s a bathroom in the lobby you can use to wash up.”
Delilah disappeared into a small closet at the back of her office. Cole’s tongue sat thick and heavy in his mouth at the prospect of getting out of the chair and walking to the bathroom…without bypassing it entirely and running right out the door. He sucked in a deep, courageous breath, and pushed himself out of the chair with shaky hands. Just in case, he set his car keys on Delilah’s desk where he wouldn’t be tempted to insert them into his engine. His legs felt like jelly as he wobbled toward the entrance, taking each step as carefully as a toddler walking for the first time.
When he crossed the threshold into the lobby, he focused only on the white bathroom door past the sleek gray chairs facing the reception desk. He cupped his hand against his eye to avoid looking at the front entrance. It’s not there. It’s just a wall. There is no way out. Just as he reached the bathroom door and tightened his palm around it, Avery cut him off.
She smacked her gum, staring at him with a look of disdain as she knocked his hand away. She pressed her back against the bathroom entrance, blocking him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
He fidgeted as the lure of outside, the lure of the cemetery, pulsed harder in his veins. Cole squinted at her. Bleached blond hair. Doe-like eyes. Waify body. He’d met hundreds of other cookie cutter images of this girl on the Strip, here for bachelorette parties or girls’ nights or simply to have a good time. “Should I?”
Her expression drew tight. “Fuck you!”
She stormed away, her blond hair whipping him in the face like a slap.
He huddled into the bathroom, leaning against the door with ragged breaths before splashing cold water on his face. He had no recollection of Avery. She was probably mistakin
g him for someone else.
That had to be it.
Cole heard angry voices. When he emerged from the bathroom, his mouth gaped at the sight in front of him. Delilah had shed her sophisticated business attire and replaced it with something that could only be described as…a cat suit. Tight-fitting black leather that hugged her curves like a second skin. She’d twisted her long hair into a sleek ponytail and traded her stilettos for athletic flats. He couldn’t stop staring at how amazing she looked, but then a loud shout drew his attention elsewhere.
“I can’t stay here. Not when you’re taking on assholes like him.” Avery ripped her phone charger out of the wall and threw it into her purse. “I quit.”
She thrust her middle finger up at Cole on her way out the door.
Delilah’s mouth hung on a severe slant. “What did you do to her?”
He held up his clean hands in surrender. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.” Before she went on accusing him of a crime he couldn’t possibly have committed, he changed the subject with a cocky smile. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about that outfit.” And how I can take it off, he thought. But then he reconsidered, wondering why she needed tight leather pants after six p.m. and why a clock strike would be the end of their collaboration.
She waved her hand dismissively in the air. “On the way, I want you to make a list of every plausible suspect who has the motive to want you dead. I’ll take care of figuring out who has the magical means.”
He shuffled after her, the swing of her hips intoxicating enough to make him forget the pull of the grave all the way to her car. “Where are we going?”
“To the courthouse. They keep records of all contracts.” She gave Cole the most beautiful grin he’d ever seen. “Even magical ones.”
CHAPTER THREE
COLE
When Delilah had said they were going to a courthouse, Cole had pictured something straight out of Harry Potter with a secret entrance in a dilapidated phone booth and people milling about dressed in eighteenth century robes. But instead Delilah drove him right up to the county courthouse that served the greater Las Vegas area.
As soon as they got out of the car, Cole’s feet turned in the wrong direction and he leaned into a sprint. He didn’t care how long he would have to run; he’d cut straight through traffic if it meant sinking his toes into the sweet earth of the grave.
Delilah wrapped her fingers around his arm with a firm grip. “Deep breaths,” she whispered against the scraping sound of a car parallel parking.
Cole sucked in a gulp and held the air in his lungs, his chest puffing out. He always prided himself on never being weak, but he felt the strongest urge to whimper. The hot air flowed from his lungs but iciness remained in his chest.
Keeping one hand on him, Delilah reached into her purse and pulled out a Ziploc bag of sage leaves and a lighter. She bit down on the bag to open it. “I need you to give me a light.”
Cole tilted his head at her. “You smoke?” He may have a lot of vices—gambling, aged scotch, girls in leather pants—but tobacco wasn’t one of them.
“Just incense.” She extracted a few of the sage leaves.
Cole grabbed the lighter and spun the wheel. A small flame danced on the edge and Delilah held a single sage leaf over the flame as her mouth worked in a barely audible incantation. The sage leaf curled to a burnt crisp, releasing an herbal scent into the wind. With a satisfied nod, Delilah shoved the sizzling embers into the pocket of Cole’s jeans, her warm hand pressing against his thigh for the briefest of moments. A sizzling sensation scorched through him at her touch.
“Um…I usually buy my dates dinner before they stick their hands down my pants.” His finger lifted off the lighter and the flame snuffed out.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not the kind of charms I deal with. This is a protection charm. It should dull the effects of the curse temporarily.”
Cole blinked, spinning in circles on the gravel. He could still feel the grave, pulsing beneath his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. But the incessant desire to run straight there felt manageable. Like he could take a few steps in any direction, not just the direction of his demise. “Wow. Thanks.”
Delilah gave him a small smile. “Sorry, I meant to do the spell back at the office but then Avery…” She dropped her hand from his arm and a sharp blast of coldness replaced her touch. “Sorry about her too. She’s always been extremely hard-working.”
“I have that effect on people,” Cole said. “One sight of me and they fold.”
Delilah laughed. “People tend to run screaming from my office as well.”
Cole’s chest swelled. “I guess we’ve got that in common.” He ground his teeth. “But I’ve been thinking. Even though I don’t know what I did to her, she seemed to hate me and she has access to magic.”
Delilah’s face turned white. “I had the same thought.”
Cole followed Delilah inside, loving the view of her leather pants from behind, and they breezed past people in wedding dresses waiting in line for ill-advised marriage licenses at the array of DMV-style windows. The whole place reeked of second-hand beer. Delilah simply flashed a badge at one of the security guards blocking a mundane records room and waltzed inside with Cole at her heels.
“Do you come here often?” he asked even though what he really meant was “Do you come here often wearing that?”
“For cases, yeah,” she said, answering his first question only.
Taupe filing cabinets lined the walls in neat rows like Cole’s old gym locker room in high school, where he pretended to be good at sports even though what he was really good at was conning people. It had earned him a bad rep in high school but he cashed in on that rep after, using it to his advantage in the casino circuit—and the underground poker circuit.
Delilah strutted to the very back row with a swagger in her step that told Cole she enjoyed coming here. He could see she was in her element, this false divorce lawyer, who helped clients rid themselves from magic rather than people. He couldn’t help but smirk at her cleverness.
“This is the public records room.” Delilah yanked out the middle drawer in one of the back rows. Her fingers swept across the manilla envelopes inside before pushing the drawer shut and opening the next. “Copies of all legal contracts are kept here.”
Cole’s head pounded, trying to make sense of her words. “But—I’m under a curse.”
She gave Cole a devilish grin that told him she was waiting for this very question. “A curse is a binding contract against the laws of nature. These must be signed via blood from both parties. That’s the only way they take effect and once they’re binding, a copy appears here.” She thrust her finger to the corner, where a printer sat on a table, spitting out pages. “The printer’s enchanted to capture all contracts with nature. It turns them into documents.”
Cole pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. The enchanted printer wasn’t the weirdest part of her statement. He was still stuck on the signing in blood part. “I promise you I didn’t sign anything with blood.” He pursed his lips. “I mean besides the contract with you.”
“Not willingly. Curses are always against someone’s will. Whoever cursed you got a hold of your blood and created the contract. Their name will appear on it. Ah.” She pulled out a thick manilla envelope and carried it over to a small wooden desk. Cole’s name was emblazoned on the front in big bold letters. The document Delilah extracted from inside was dated yesterday. “Still warm from the printer. We got here just in time.”
He read over her shoulder, his heart beating fast, both at the prospect of learning who hated him and of being so close to her. She smelled like roses. “Who cursed me?”
Delilah ran a red nail along the page. “Huh. That’s weird.”
Cole’s stomach dropped like an anvil, but he let out a sharp, strained laugh. “Weirder than everything already going on?”
She thrust the paper at his face. “Can you read the name at th
e bottom?”
The contract looked like any other legal document filled with boring ass jargon that said simple things in a convoluted way and used ancient phrasing like heretofore and hence. At the bottom were two lines that would normally contain a signature. On the first, Cole Tiernan was printed neatly below the line and a drop of blood stained the page in lieu of a signature, just like the contract at Delilah’s office. On the line below, another drop of glistening red blood seeped into the paper. Cole could see that a name was printed below, but when he tried to focus on it, the letters blurred and a blaring headache throbbed in his skull. “I can’t read it.”
Delilah let out a growl that was incredibly sexy…and disturbing. “I was afraid of that. Whoever created the curse is powerful enough to mask their identity with magic.”
A cold, crackling sensation raced down his spine. “So we don’t know who did it?”
“No, but I can narrow it down to a time and place.” She read the contract again before tapping excitedly at a paragraph in the middle of the page. “It was formed last night at two o’clock in the morning in your apartment.” She set her green eyes on Cole. “You said a lot of people wanted you dead, but ignore the magic part for a moment. How many of them have access to your apartment?”
That ruled out Avery and narrowed down the list significantly. Cole went through his Rolodex of enemies before settling on three names. Just three people who once had his alarm code and preferred if the world would revolve without him. “There’s a guy. A bookie. Sean O’Malley. I swindled him out of over a million dollars. He once broke into my apartment to rough me up a bit. I changed the alarm code, but—I doubt that would stop him.”
Delilah nodded. “Okay, let’s go to—”
“And my ex-girlfriend, Britta Sinclair.” Cole didn’t want to clarify why she might hate him but Delilah seemed to figure it out anyway with the way she whipped her head toward him.
