The Cowboy Genie's Wife: A Paranormal Romance (The Dirty Djinn Series)

by Lyn Brittan

  He’d planned for that. He knew Emmanuel’s location down to the room number and which side of the hall. With all the wishes around here, and assuming he didn’t die when the doors opened, he might even make it there before she did.

  “Jimmy!”

  The lean, lizard-like man looked up from his stand, face drawn and pinched. “I know you?”

  “We need to talk, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy’s gaze shifted from the floor to the wall, and he tugged at the black and white collar of his uniform. “What you want?”

  “Just to talk. Talk to me, Jimmy. Man to man.”

  Jimmy shuffled his feet and honked into a stained handkerchief. “You need me to call someone upstairs?”

  “I need you to come with me upstairs. Something about a dead guy.”

  The wishes came furious as wet shit. The man wished for Fazil’s death. He wished for a gun. He wished to get the fuck away from there and that last one was all it took for Fazil to make it happen. He snatched the wish out of the air and whisked Jimmy to the room across the street, where he’d left his wife with strict instructions not to leave.

  It was empty.

  Lizard Jimmy’s head swiveled like a man possessed, and the top of his shirt darkened with sweat. “Where are we? You-you drugged me. How did we get here? What is this? Who are you?”

  “So many questions, Jimmy the Doorman. We’ll start at the end. Me? I’m the angel of unjust death.”

  Unbelievably, the fool agreed—assuming the growing puddle of urine at his feet was any indication. That and the immediate drop to the knees as Jimmy prayed for forgiveness.

  “Don’t pray to me. Pray to the big guy upstairs. Heaven knows, he’s the only one who can stop me from what I’m about to do.”

  “But it wasn’t me.” Jimmy scrambled over on his knees, one hand waving frantically above his head. “It wasn’t. It was that Puerto Rican bitch.”

  That earned Jimmy a lip-splitting punch to the jaw. “My wife’s American of Mexican descent. And since I can’t tell if you’re racist or stupid, I’m going to punch you again just in case.”

  The second time felt as good as the first. It didn’t, however, get him any further along with his investigation. Fazil sat in front of the kneeling man and crossed his legs over one of the bastard’s shoulders. “How did you know about this situation involving my wife?”

  “We watched.”

  “Who?”

  “Me and Timmy.”

  “Sorry? Jimmy and Timmy?”

  “We’re twins.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Okay, fine, and where is Timmy the Doorman?”

  The man tried rising again. Not happening. Fazil brought down as much weight into his heels as he could, shoving the man into the floor. Now prone, Jimmy managed to shake his head. “Tim works the security cameras.”

  “And he’s installed a few extra for his sick pleasure. Am I right?” The non-answer was his answer. “I bet you wish Timmy was here to ease up some of the pressure on you, huh?”

  “It was his idea! If he was here—”

  “You want him here?”

  “You’d see it wasn’t me!”

  A man in nearly identical garb popped up before them. They went through the usual “oh my gods” and “how did this happens” before getting to the juicy bits. The truth was well out now. The twins had a nice little racket of watching people. They blackmailed them when possible, simply jacking off when not.

  It took a broken nose to get his lips moving, but Timmy eventually offered that the body was rolled away in one of the hotel’s industrial-sized laundry bins and hauled out to a dumpster, never to be found. And while it was probably a great relief for the bastard’s wife, family, and anyone he’d ever crossed, no man deserved to go out that way.

  The twins had to pay for that.

  The twins had to pay for making Rosa cry.

  The twins had to pay for wasting his time.

  The twins had to pay for the room reeking of urine.

  “You know the power I have in my hands. You know that I can ruin your lives in an instant, just as you’ve ruined so many others. Quick question, though, do either of you wish the other would pay for all these crimes? Do you wish that one of you could shoulder the burden? Setting the other one free?”

  And in an unexpected act of brotherly love, they both did.

  Fine with him. By this time tomorrow, all of the tapes would have been destroyed, and while they’d have forgotten exactly what they saw, they would both have admitted to a long history of peeping tom behavior. This all came at a terrible risk. Their memories were old. No doubt they’d fudged in their recollections. Between the two of them, they may have had years of despicable behavior.

  Oh, well.

  Fazil’s eyes slammed shut, and he zeroed out everything, blocking the sights and blaring horns of the city. He did the best he could, but that didn’t mean good things for these two. Their sanity could snap now, a decade from now, or never. He’d had to go far, but regardless, they’d confess their crimes by the end of the day and never be in a position to take advantage of anyone else again.

  He couldn’t muster up a lick of sympathy.

  Now, he needed a wish to get out of the city. And in New York, they were everywhere. He did spare a moment, a brief thought—a prayer even—he wouldn’t find Rosa at the nursing home. She could have gone for lunch or a walk. He prayed hard that maybe she’d trust him, and that maybe he could even trust her.

  Then he snagged a wish, blinked once, and left the hotel.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosa ran up the rosebush-lined steps of the home to her Manny. Whenever she came before, the smells of bleach and powder brought a smile to her face. Now, she was on borrowed time.

  Fazil knew her better than anyone. It’d taken him all of three seconds to realize where she’d gone. She had to hurry.

  A smile plastered on her face, she waved at the nursing staff who’d treated her brother so well all these years. Would she be able to provide him the same level of care on her own?

  Nope.

  But crap, she couldn’t leave him now. He was family, and he’d never be abandoned by her. Not again.

  Fazil would forgive her. Someday. After Manny passed on, she’d plead for forgiveness, and he’d do it. He couldn’t help it.

  “Ro?”

  Her baby brother looked up at her behind glasses as huge as pop bottles. They made his enormously beautiful eyes temporarily razor thin. She dropped her bag at his feet and kissed his hands. “Hey, Uncle Manny.”

  “I wondered where you’d gone off to, mija. It’s been too long.” He paused for a liquid-filled cough but shook his head when she offered him a drink from her bottled water. “I’m fine, fine. Just old. It happens, huh?”

  For the most part. “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong? Your worry is written all over your face. You’re too pretty for that.”

  Wrong? Everything. Her half-baked plan was roasting as kindling before her eyes. She couldn’t move him like this. Manny couldn’t spend the rest of his life on the run, and who was she kidding? You don’t outrun a djinn unless he’s willing to let you. “I ... it’s ... complicated.”

  “I see.”

  “You really don’t.”

  “Don’t get uppity with me, young lady,” he said with a chuckle. “You have something to tell me, but you don’t want to tell me. Yes?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Are you dealing with it alone?”

  “No. Yes. Kinda.”

  “You told me you had a good husband looking after you. Why haven’t I ever met him?”

  “Umm...”

  “Is that complicated too?”

  “Very.”

  “I see.” Manny leaned back in his chair, wheezing and laughing in the way she remembered her grandpa used to do. The sound brought on a fresh round of tears, but Manny wasn’t having it. He thunked two gnarled and arthritic hands against her temple. “Knock it off. You’re young. Healthy.
And happy, or so I thought. Has he hurt you?”

  “No!”

  “Have you hurt him?”

  “Not directly.”

  “Mm hmm. Go to that drawer. Next to the Vaseline, you’ll find a small bag. Bring it to me.”

  The drawer had a little more than Vaseline. Among the Bible, the porn, the chocolate, the hardcore porn, and an image of the Holy Mother was a tiny leather satchel. “Is this your important stuff drawer?”

  Manny’s eyes twinkled, and he shrugged. “God delights in our joy. Hand it over.” When the bag hit his hands, his eyes closed and lips moved in a prayer too soft for her ears to hear.

  At least, she thought it was a prayer.

  His eyes snapped open, cold and impassible and not the Manny she’d grown to love. He flipped the bag. Stones tumbled out onto the hospital table, rattling as they did. “What are you doing?”

  “Shh...”

  Several minutes passed. A nurse came in, but she shooed the man away, not wanting to interrupt whatever the heck this was.

  Maybe she should have. Manny had usually prayed over lunch or a heavily betted upon game of whist. Prayers of love or hope. This, however, was new. Heavy. She reached out and the mood snapped.

  The warmth returned to Manny’s eyes, and an impish smile twitched his lips. “Your husband. Dark? Tan? Handsome boy. Older? Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “By many years?”

  “Uh, a few.”

  “A few,” he said, chuckling and going back to the smooth and glistening stones. “Why do you think Mama let you go?”

  “Wha-what do you mean?”

  “I mean, why do you think Mama let you go?”

  “You’re confused, Uncle Manny. I’ll call back the nurse and...” She pretended to rise, not really sure what to do. Her plans didn’t involve anything close to the truth being discovered.

  Many didn’t care crap about that. “You come from a family of brujos, hermana. They knew you and knew him and saw the love long ago. I don’t think they expected this,” he said, waving his hands in front of her. “But they knew you’d be protected.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. After a few false starts, she sucked some air back in her lungs. A tight grip on the back of Manny’s chair kept her upright. “I don’t know what you think you know, Tio—”

  “Hermano.”

  “Tio Manny, or what a brooha is, but—”

  “Brujo.”

  “Brujo is, but my husband—”

  “Nice fella. He stopped by just before you came.”

  Forget the back of the chair. She shoved over Manny’s stack of crossword puzzles and damn near fell onto the plastic bed. “You’re kidding.”

  “Too old for that. Might die in the next ten minutes. Shut up and listen. The second I saw that man, I knew he was something Other.”

  “No. No, no, no. You’re confused. I ... even if, let’s say you were a whatever, how?” she asked, both hands over her face.

  “A brujo knows.”

  “What on earth’s a brujo?”

  “What!” Manny popped up like a man a third his age, waving his cane in front of her. “That’s the problem with people today. They get married and never talk to the person again.”

  “I know you’re not getting on me about being a good wife right now.”

  “I am. You should have brought that man here to meet me the instant you found me. He’s family. And if you’d done that, we wouldn’t have wasted all this time on secrecy.”

  “Even if what you say about him is true, he wouldn’t want what he is getting out. Assuming he’s something Other in the first place.”

  Manny yanked her arm, pulling her upright with surprising force. “More lies and half-truths. A brujo is like a witch, but it runs through the male line. He saw me, smiled, and shook his head. Right there,” he said, pointing to the sidewall. “He told me that he loved you. Who, not what, but who he was, and that he prayed you wouldn’t show up here.”

  “To keep his secret.”

  “To keep his trust. He trusted you, and all he wanted was for you to trust him.”

  “But—”

  “But you didn’t.” Manny shook his head and hobbled over to a stack of papers on his dresser. One hand clutched the cane as fiercely as the other held on to a set of documents. He sighed and eased his way back to the chair.

  “Plane tickets. We leave in two days. He said he needed the time to get things straight for me. He left right away. Said he wasn’t in the business of leaving his animals alone to chase after people who ought to know better. Horses, he mentioned. A real horse farm? Pigs too?”

  But she couldn’t share his joy or his wonder. It was impossible while feeling so very small inside.

  Small?

  Her hand flew to the chain around her neck and fresh tears clouded her vision. He’d trusted her with his lamp and thus his life, power, and eternity. He’d needed her to trust him only once, and she’d failed completely.

  Manny laid his hand on her knee and gave it a shake. “He said he’d go, knowing you’d come back to him, but he didn’t look so sure. I think he left you with options, and he’s hoping you choose the right one.”

  “I don’t deserve this...”

  “Probably not, but I’m hoping you take him up on it anyway. Damned if I don’t want to see some horses.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Fazil backed out of the way of the staff from the medical supplies company and checked his wife’s flight status on his tablet. The woman and her brother ought to be touching down soon.

  The woman.

  The liar.

  And unfortunately, the love of his life. No, he hadn’t been the perfect man, but he was a product of his time. Plus, he’d been trying to change. Not her. Nope. She was the same as she’d always been—spoiled and stubborn.

  Well, stubborn.

  But he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge the toughness of a woman ruthlessly determined to protect her family. Hadn’t he been guilty of the same? “Damn!”

  “Sir?”

  “No, nothing.” He waved off the men delivering the lift bed for Emmanuel and reconfirmed the company’s nurse would swing by first thing in the morning. He’d briefly considered placing his brother-in-law in a home nearby, but that was before meeting him.

  Although elderly, the man was tough as shit and his magic was no small matter. It was practiced and ancient. Most magic stayed with a person, but every so often, magic rested in the blood—transferring from one generation to the next. Something moved into him the second he was born. Had Manny been a father to sons, it would have gone into one of them too. Very little surprised Fazil these days, but djinn loved to hear of skills other than their own. It could be a blast learning from the man. Besides, there was never harm having someone close whose wishes you could trust.

  He pushed on a rising nail on a plank of the front porch and scrolled through his neglected business in-box. As he did, the Nederson kids he’d hired to watch the place came up for payment. He sent them off with fatter wallets, for their time, and his sincere thanks.

  While the dust from their vehicle swirled, another series of cars rumbled up the road, and he checked his calendar. Everyone who ought to be here was here.

  Rosa and Emmanuel? No way that could be them. Not unless they caught an earlier flight.

  Something about the speed of all this didn’t set well either. Never mind the sheer numbers.

  The pit of his stomach burned and twisted. A niggling that this wasn’t right. Magic?

  The ache seethed and curled, until his knees buckled beneath it. He might call it panic, but that made even less sense. Still the cars approached. Sirens he hadn’t noticed, or that hadn’t been turned on before, were so loud they threatened to punch a hole in his eardrums.

  When the cars came up the drive, the shield on the side glowed in the sunlight. ICE? Immigration and Customs Enforcement. What? They were barking up the wrong damn tree here.

  The sunlight bounc
ed off one of the windshields. He blinked against it, shielding his face with his hand. When his eyes refocused he saw that he was still wrong. Not ICE but the ATF. That made even less sense.

  His beating heart slowed while his head muddled through the bull-crap in front of him. They had to have the wrong ranch. He had no clue who’d ticked off the feds this much, but he pitied the crap out of him.

  The lead van shifted again as they rounded the final corner. Then all the vehicles lined up one by one, and he found that once again, he’d misread the shields. Not ICE. Not the ATF.

  But the FBI.

  And that’s when he knew he was totally and completely fucked.

  * * * *

  “Holy crap.” Rosa floored the accelerator of the rental car as she neared the ranch and the billion flashing lights surrounding it. “They know.”

  “Know what?” Manny sipped on his ice water, surprisingly calm. Why shouldn’t he be? While coming somewhat clean, she’d failed to mention the teeny-tiny fact that she’d killed a man.

  Something must have happened. She’d been too shy and, well, scared to call Fazil, and now the FBI was here. God knows what they were doing to him. “I wish the FBI would go away.”

  Through squinted eyes, always a bad idea while driving on a winding road, she was horrified to find that nothing had changed. Did the FBI live-record things? They must. It was the only reason Fazil wasn’t sending them on their merry freaking way.

  “Rosa?”

  “Right. So, yeah.” She turned to explain. The man was as blasé as if she’d brought in the morning paper. “Sorry, would you mind putting down your drink for a minute?”

  “Why?”

  She knocked back against the headrest. “I’ve gotta go to jail.”

  Another slurp. “For?”

  “Not important.”

  “The cops seem to think so.”

  “Can we do this sibling squabble later?”

  “Thought you were going to jail.”

  “Really? Right now, really?”

  His hand landed on hers as she put the car in park. Manny’s smile carried so much optimism and youthful expectation that her heart ached with jealousy of it. “What happened to your faith in your husband? Trust in him. Try it, Hermana.”