Deadlocked (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 3)

by Lisa Emme

  Deadlocked

  The Harry Russo Diaries, volume 3

  by Lisa Emme

  Thank you for purchasing this ebook. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer.

  Thank you for your support!

  Copyright © 2016 Lisa Emme

  All Rights Reserved

  Kindle Edition

  ISBN 978-1-988117-00-3

  Cover design by

  The Scarlett Rugers Design Agency

  www.scarlettrugers.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s wild and crazy imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit Lisa at

  www.lisaemme.com

  Table Of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Last Word

  Also by Lisa Emme

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  In memory of my Dad,

  Not a day goes by that I don't miss you.

  Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

  And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

  -John Gillespie Magee, Jr. 1941

  Chapter One

  “Harry!” Tess’s voice interrupted my thoughts and I found myself standing with an unloaded bolt in my hand. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “No, sorry.” I gave her an apologetic smile.

  “Hmmph! Well, you better start paying attention. If Rigo catches you daydreaming with a weapon in your hand, you can kiss range practice goodbye.”

  Rodrigo Fuentes, Rigo to his friends and family, was Tess’s uncle. He owned and operated the Rockford Gym & Range, named after his favourite 70’s TV show. Tess, my best friend since forever, worked there too and was supposed to be walking me through the use of the new self-cocking crossbow pistols they had started to carry. It was the first projectile-firing weapon I had ever been allowed to train with. Rigo, a werewolf like Tess, was of the belief that battles should be fought either hand to hand or with the katana at close quarters. Only cowards or norms – that’s you non-magical folk - used guns as far as he was concerned. It was a prejudice shared by pretty much the whole supernatural community, probably one of the few things werewolves and vampires agreed on. Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t really know any witches or mages that use guns either. Why use a gun when you can hex someone?

  The only reason Tess was allowed to be certified in the use of both hand and long guns was because she was my unofficial bodyguard and needed to be proficient in any weapon that came to hand. I was pretty sure that I was finally being allowed to learn how to shoot something as a sort of reward for managing to stay alive (barely) the other day when I had been kidnapped by Elian Navarre, a psychopathic Fae Prince. Not only had I managed to keep myself alive and kill the deranged bastard, I had saved the life of Cian Nash, a member of the werewolf pack.

  So, I know what you are thinking. If I was that capable, why do I need a bodyguard, unofficial or otherwise? Personally, I don’t think I do, but try telling that to the Triad, the ruling council of the pack. Although I was raised a witch by my grandmother, my powers are a little more, how shall I put it? Freakish. I mean what else would you call someone that can not only speak to the dead, yes like the Ghost Whisperer, but control them? I’m talking full on zombie apocalypse here. Obviously, you can understand why they might be a bit concerned and want to keep an eye on someone who could raise their own undead army, but the real kicker is that I had the potential of being the secret weapon they needed against vampires, if the need ever arose. Being that they are dead, or more accurately un-dead, vampires fall onto the list of things I can bend to my will. Too bad I wasn’t that big of a secret anymore. I had accidentally outed myself to Salvador Arroyo, the Magister of the Cimmerian and the scariest, most powerful vampire in town, a few months ago and then proceeded to demonstrate my powers several times in front of an audience, mostly by accident. Now that the news was out that the first ever necromancer in generations was living in Riverton, I pretty much had a target on my back.

  “Try it again, Harry,” Tess said, interrupting my thoughts again. She pointed to the small crossbow pistol I held in my other hand. “Just push the clip with your thumb and then crack it before slipping in the bolt.”

  I did as I was told, grasping the flange at the back of the pistol and clicking the little button before placing my other hand at the front of the bow and pushing down. The flange easily pivoted down as well. It was just like I was cracking the entire mechanism in half. The bowstring was automatically pulled back, cocking the bow. The flange popped back up in place bringing the two pieces back together with an audible click. I dropped the small, four inch bolt into the slot and aimed at the target at the end of my lane.

 

  Nothing happened.

  “Hey!” I tipped the pistol to the side looking at it in confusion. “Damn, I forgot the safety again.”

  Tess rolled her eyes. “Maybe we should call it a day. I don’t think your mind is on the task.” She quickly cocked her own pistol and fired a bolt at the target at the end of her lane. It landed with a quiet ‘snick’ a split second later, right in the middle of the roughly man-shaped target’s head. Show off.

  “Just a couple more.” I thumbed off the safety on my bow and took aim again. The bolt flew across the space and shaved the side of the target’s head, landing in the whitespace at the edge of the black target. Maybe it would have taken off his ear, just enough to piss my assailant off. I rolled my eyes. I sucked at this.

  “You’re squeezing the trigger too hard,” Tess said as she came over to stand behind me in my lane. “Try it again, only this time instead of pulling the trigger, press it.”

  I gave her a skeptical look. “You know that’s the same thing, right?”

  “No, it isn’t.” She shook her head. “When you pull the trigger, you go too fast and the pistol moves. Think of pressing the trigger slowly. There will be less movement and your aim will stay truer.”

  I huffed out a breath with a shrug. Cocking the bow again, I slid in a bolt and thumbed off the safety. I took aim and slowly brought my finger to the trigger trying to press it rather than pull it. The bolt flew to the target and lodged itself in th
e target’s left eye or where his left eye would have been if he had one. “I did it!”

  “Good shot, Harry. Now do it again.” Tess smirked at me. “Prove it wasn’t a fluke.”

  “Ha! You watch.”

  ***

  Three more shots and I had mostly proven it wasn’t a fluke. Obviously, I had a ways to go before I could be considered reliable with the compact hand bow. Tess had been right though, my mind really wasn’t focussed. After the last couple of days I’d had, you couldn’t really blame me.

  My mind kept wandering back to the night before. I had totally blown a gasket in the hospital where I had been recuperating from my ordeal with Navarre and basically told a member of the werewolf Triad that while I may have been screwing her son, the aforementioned Cian Nash, I certainly wasn’t his mate. I had then encountered an old - and I mean positively ancient - man that handed me a card to deliver to my father, a father that I didn’t know existed. That would have been enough to distract anyone, but I wasn’t done yet. No, I had a real trifecta going on. Just to top off the night, I learned that my father was none other than Salvador. Did I mention that I was a dhamphir - half-mortal, half-vampire? Yet another reason for the target on my back.

  When I arrived home from the hospital after my little outburst, all I had wanted to do was take a long, hot bath. Instead, there was company - and I’m using that term loosely - waiting for me.

  “Salvador, it’s rude to just let yourself into other people’s homes.” I scowled at him and kicked off my shoes. We have a bit of a difference of opinion as to the current ownership of the old firehall I call my home and place of business. Salvador had signed it over to me, after buying it from the original owner, under duress I’m sure. It had been part of a deal that unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control and totally orchestrated by Salvador, had fallen through. We had renegotiated the terms, but despite having already given the deed for the building to me, Salvador considered it still his until our new deal’s conditions were met. Since that meant it would be another six months before I was free and clear of him, I was not a happy camper. It also meant that despite being a vampire and uninvited, Salvador could enter my home. Damn vampire loopholes.

  “Harry, my dear Harry! So marvelous to see you.” Salvador clapped his hands together like a gleeful three year old. “You look wonderful. None the worse for wear I see.” He rose to his feet with the grace of a panther from where he had been sitting on my couch. He took a step towards me and I admit it, I flinched. His smile faltered and was replaced by a calculating look. “Ah, I see. The cat is out of the proverbial bag, is it not?” He looked at Isaac who gave him a Gallic shrug. “Well, then,” Salvador continued, his smile returning, “aren’t you going to greet your father properly?” He held out his arms like he expected me to run and throw myself at him.

  “No thanks, I’ll pass.” I stepped back, putting more distance between us. I looked at Tomas, Salvador’s lieutenant and a fellow dhamphir, who had also risen from his seat. His expression was shocked, his normally ruddy Mediterranean complexion pale. I couldn’t help myself and I laughed. “At least I wasn’t the last to know.” Tomas scowled at me. We have a love-hate relationship. We love to hate one another.

  Salvador’s face became expressionless. He held out his hand, palm up, as if waiting to take my hand. He raised an eyebrow at me expectantly. This was one of the concessions he had insisted upon whenever we met, that he would be allowed to greet me like a gentleman, with a kiss on my hand. I thought it was just some weird, out-of-date greeting that he used to assert his dominance, but now I was beginning to think there was more to it.

  I huffed out an exasperated breath and stomped over and put my hand in his. He bent over my fingers as he had done a dozen times before. At the last moment he twisted my wrist, presenting the soft, veined underside to his lips. Before I could pull away or even voice a protest, his cool lips touched my skin and the floor dropped away. I was frozen in his grip.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the sight of Isaac and Tomas struggling together as Isaac jumped to my aid and Tomas to his master’s defense, but my attention was riveted on the scenes that flashed before my inner eye as Salvador used his power and connection to my blood to sift through my memories of the last couple of days. It was like watching a rerun of your life in double speed. I inwardly cringed as Salvador forced me to relive the death of Bellemare, reduced to an oozing puddle on the floor of his very illegal research facility. The pixies barely earned a flinch, but the redcaps with their woolen hats dripping blood down their craggy, sharp-toothed faces made me weak in the knee. I felt tears running down my face as I experienced the moments when I thought that Nash was dead all over again and then suddenly, it was over. Gasping, I fell to my knees on the floor, my wrist cradled in my lap.

  “You fucking bastard,” I glared at Salvador and then angrily brushed the tears from my face.

  Isaac came to my side and helped me to my feet. “That was unnecessary,” he said to Salvador.

  Salvador shrugged. “It was expedient.” He turned and smiled at me. “You did well, my child.” He seemed to relish using the familial term.

  “Like I give a rat’s ass what you think of me…Salvador.” I refused to call him my father.

  Salvador feigned a wounded look. “Harry, Harry, Harry.” He shook his head. “Will you let a little word come between us? I thought we had begun such a wonderful friendship.”

  “How long? How long have you known?” I stepped away from Isaac’s support to stare at Salvador, hands on my hips.

  “How long?” Salvador sat back down on my couch casually. “Why, my dear Harry, I have known who you were from the moment you were born. Did you really think that I would have a child alive on this Earth and not know about it?” His voice had an edge to it.

  I frowned at him. “You’ve known all along? Even before that first time at Dante’s?”

  “But of course. We are connected, you and I, connected by the blood that flows in your veins.”

  “So then why…” I paused, not really sure what I wanted to know.

  “Why didn’t I rush to your side when you were left orphaned as a babe by the untimely death of your mother?” Salvador smiled wickedly.

  “Well, yeah. Sure.” I crossed my arms petulantly.

  Salvador arched an eyebrow at me in a most parental fashion. “And raised you where? In the bowels of Dante’s among the pain sluts and blood whores?” He gave me a ‘you can’t be serious’ look.

  “No, of course not.” I shifted uncomfortably.

  “Harry, my dear child.” Salvador leaned forward in his seat. “Your grandmother was the only parent you needed and what a marvellous job she did.” He smiled at me. “I had to keep you safe. As you can imagine, it would have been dangerous for anyone to know whose child you really were.” His face became more serious. “We must think on this new development and whether we want it public just yet.”

  “A little late for that,” I said with a scowl. “As you said, the cat is already out of the bag.” I pulled out a small, white card and placed it on the table in front of Salvador. “A strange man found me at the hospital and told me to give this to my father. He acted like he knew exactly whom he meant and expected that I would too.”

  Salvador leaned forward and snatched the card from the table. He looked at it with narrowed eyes and then flipped it over to see the date printed there. “Tell me about this man. What did he look like?” His voice was harsh, demanding.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “Just some old guy; like really old. He was bald and wrinkled, and dressed in a fancy black suit. Kind of looked like an undertaker.”

  Tomas laughed out loud. I looked at him with a frown. Salvador turned to look at him as well and the smile dropped from his face. Suddenly Salvador rose from his seat and strode across the room to the door. I fell back in s
urprise, jumping out of his way.

  “We must go,” he said.

  Tomas scrambled past him and opened the door. Salvador paused in the doorway and looked back at Isaac. “We must prepare for the arrival of the Mariposa and all that will entail.”

  Isaac gave a brief nod and Salvador disappeared out the door. I really didn’t think that I wanted to know what a visit from the Mariposa, whatever the hell that was, entailed.

  Chapter Two

  After jogging back home from the gym and taking a long, hot shower, I plunked myself down in front of Bryce’s computer and gave the mouse a little jiggle. The screen popped on, the now familiar robot jumping to his feet to yawn and stretch comically. He picked up a sign that read “Hold yer drawers, Beeyatch” and proceeded to roll his eyes and pretend to whistle. I laughed. These little screensavers were getting more inventive every day.

  Bryce was...well, Bryce was a ghost who happened to live in my computer. A computer hacker and online security expert in life, in death he had chosen to hang around, somehow discovering a way to inhabit the World Wide Web via my old POS computer. A POS, piece of shit, it was no more. Thanks to Bryce and his offshore - probably illegally earned - funds, my computer had been upgraded beyond recognition. I wasn’t going to complain though, since it meant I had access to more of the internet than probably Homeland Security did.

  While it was cool to have access to a world of information at my fingertips, it wasn’t always readily available. Bryce had taken to his new unfettered existence and was known to roam the far reaches of the web, especially its deep, dark side. He was also a terrible voyeur and I’m sure there were women around the globe that kept their laptops open in their bedrooms that would slam them shut in horror if only they knew what could be done with a webcam.