Master of None (19 page)

The feet stepped over me. “Don’t worry, Mr. Donatti. The effect is temporary.”

Quaid. I tried to curse him, but the words in my head emerged as a stream of loose vowels. How in the hell had he found me so fast?

The bounty hunter flopped me onto my back and knelt. “I don’t suppose you have it on you? Don’t bother answering. I’ll find out.” He frisked me with thorough professionalism, extracting the few tokens I had left. After he removed my shoes and shook them, he rolled me facedown and started over from the top.

My eyes watered in defense against the blades of grass thrusting into them. I warbled a protest. In response, Quaid cuffed me and flipped me over again. He sighed down at me, shook his head, and hauled me up to prop my sagging torso against the side of the truck.

“That’s an interesting trick your friend has, disappearing like that. But it doesn’t look like you can do it without him.” Quaid crouched in front of me and glanced up at the Acura. “Grand theft auto is a felony, you know. I’ll search this vehicle for the dagger in a minute. However, while I have your attention, I think I’ll attempt to reason with you.”

I tried to laugh. All I produced was a wheeze.

“This is not a complicated situation, Mr. Donatti. I’m not out to get you. All I want is my employer’s property returned. Just hand it over, and all of this will go away.”

Another wheeze from me brought him up short. Dudley Do-Right here actually thought Trevor would find out he’d brought Ian’s tether back to where I’d stolen it from, chalk it up as a loss, and forget about it. What kind of criminals did he usually chase—people who ripped tags off mattresses?

“I’m going to assume you disagree.” Frowning, Quaid stood and peered into a side window of the sedan. “I will find it, and I will return it. That dagger doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to my employer.”

“Actually, it belongs to me.”

Quaid whirled at the sound of Ian’s voice. A meaty thud sounded, and the bounty hunter dropped unconscious on the grass.

“What a troublesome human.”

I slurred indistinct agreement.

Ian made an exasperated sound. “Why are you still sitting there, thief ? We must go before he returns to consciousness.”

Glaring lost its effect with the inability to raise my head.
Can’t move, jackass. A little help here, please.

“Oh, for the love of the gods . . .” Ian reached down and pulled me to my feet. I sagged against him. “What is wrong with you, Donatti?”

“Aagh. Ee ohg ee.” Didn’t sound anything like
He shot me
. Drool filled my mouth and spilled over my lip, as it had when Trevor Tasered me. I gave a long sigh and tried to think louder.
I’m drugged. Can’t move.

“You are restrained.”

Nice going, Einstein. How about the paralyzed part?

Ian held me back with one hand and gestured with the other. The cuffs opened and fell off. My arms flopped at my sides like wet spaghetti.

“Have you been poisoned?”

“Eh!”

Muttering, Ian moved his fingers again. Sensation flooded me within seconds. I stiffened and gasped. Ian removed his supporting hand, and I toppled over like a headshot victim.

“Thanks,” I murmured into the ground. Pushing myself up required more effort than it should have. I gathered my scattered gear, stuffed my feet into my shoes, and snatched Quaid’s cuffs. “Help me with him.”

We dragged the inert bounty hunter to the nearest tree.
Quaid twitched a bit, and his eyes fluttered under his lids. After we’d secured him with his arms around the trunk behind him, I went through his pockets and located his keys. Not that he could unlock himself this time, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

He came around while I worked the handcuff key off a ring with a plain brass tab that held several interesting items, including a few safe-deposit keys, a slim penknife, and a mechanical lock-pick set. Quaid took stock of the situation and offered a disappointed sigh. “All right. We’ll do this the hard way.”

“You think this is easy?” I pocketed the cuff key and dropped the ring into his lap. “Nice toys you have there, Quaid. How did you find me this time?”

He tried to shrug. “I suppose I’m just lucky.”

“Uh-huh.” I glanced around and spotted another vehicle far back along the park road. Had to be his. I’d search it on the way out. “Look. You’ve got to drop this gig, or you’re going to get yourself killed. You’re not the only one after this dagger—and like my friend said, it belongs to him.” I couldn’t believe the word
friend
had just left my lips in association with Ian. Whatever’d been on that dart must’ve snapped a few circuits somewhere.

Quaid smiled. “Oh, I know all about Mr. Maddock. He originally tried to purchase the dagger from my employer, and when his offer was refused, he hired you to steal it.”

I cringed at the idea of anyone referring to Trevor as Mr. Maddock. “All right. If you know about Trevor, then you have to know why I can’t take you up on arresting me. Don’t get me wrong. It’s tempting. I’m not enjoying this, and I hear they make a great pot roast in prison. But whether or not you get the dagger, Trevor’s still going to kill me. And I really don’t
want to die.” I decided not to go into the whole djinn thing. The less he knew, the better.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic, Mr. Donatti? I’m sure Mr. Maddock wouldn’t actually murder anyone.”

“Oh, man. You . . .” I struggled to hold back laughter. “Yeah. He’s a fine, upstanding citizen. Someday you might realize it’s a good thing I got to you before him. Honestly, though, I hope you don’t. Come on, Ian.” I started for the car.

“Are you just going to leave me here?”

I turned. “The park rangers will find you before dark. Don’t worry, Quaid. It’s only temporary.”

Quaid’s assured gaze didn’t leave me while I climbed in and drove away. I had no doubt he’d find me again. My life would’ve been so much easier if I just killed him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Only Trevor inhabited my list of people I wouldn’t hesitate to murder.

I’d just have to hope I lived long enough to escape Quaid next time.

When we’d put a few miles behind us, I broke the bad news to Ian. “He’s got a GPS locator in his car.”

“And this means what to us, exactly?”

“He’s tracking us. That has to be how he found us so fast.” I refused to believe Mr. Grand Theft Auto Is a Felony had some kind of psychic ability that led him straight to me. Maybe he was lucky, but luck didn’t explain his performance so far. He knew exactly what he was doing. “He couldn’t have bugged the vehicle, because he wouldn’t have known I’d steal this one. Has to be on one of us. Ian, did he touch you at all back at the hotel?”

“No. Wait . . . yes. He grabbed my coat while I was securing him to the bed.”

“Okay. Look for something you don’t recognize. It’ll be small, probably plastic.”

After a minute, he held up a slim black square about the size of a driver’s license.

I flashed a grim smile. “Jackpot.”

“Should we destroy it?”

“No.” I glanced out the window. Ahead, a sign announced five miles to Cortlandville. “I’ve got a better idea.”

When we entered the town, I pulled around to the back of the first convenience store I saw. I left the engine running and turned to Ian. “Gimme that thing.”

He handed it over with a wary expression. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing the dog off our scent.” I ducked out and headed for the front entrance.

Inside the store, the young cashier didn’t look up from the newspaper she was reading. There were two security cameras—one near the front of the store, the other above the beer coolers. Four customers occupied the place. A middle-aged man browsed the magazine stand, his gaze flicking up to the blacked-out skin rags encased in plastic on the top row as if he was trying to screw up the guts to touch one. In front of the soda display, a teenage couple huddled over a cell phone, laughing. An elderly woman shuffled down the center aisle and stopped occasionally to pick something up from a shelf, sneer at it, and put it back.

She’d be perfect.

I palmed the transmitter and started through the aisle next to the old lady. Keeping my head down, I stayed just ahead of her and waited. She grabbed something that rattled gently. A bottle of pills, I guessed. “Eight dollars,” she grumbled aloud. “How is anyone supposed to afford anything these days? Eight dollars, and for twenty-five pills. It’s a crime, that’s what it is.”

She placed the box firmly back on the shelf. It clattered a bit, and she went on her way.

I strode to the end of the aisle and waited, feigning interest in rows of peanuts and diet bars. When she stopped again, I
rounded the corner, walked straight into her, and slipped the bug into an outside pocket of her oversized maroon leather purse.

“Oh!” The old woman glowered at me.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said.

She wasn’t impressed. When I stepped aside, she harrumphed and moved on.

I left the store fast, hoping we’d have a few days before Quaid caught up with us. Competent bounty hunters were worse than thugs—at least men without morals were predictable.

W
E
MADE
F
REMONT
AROUND TWO IN THE AFTERNOON
. I PARKED the Acura behind a gas station half a mile from Lark’s place, shoved the panel back on the steering column, and wiped everything down for prints. No reason to lengthen my record.

“Are you sure the owner will get it back?” Ian asked as we headed away.

“Yeah. The gas station’ll have it towed eventually. They’ll run the plates and track the owner down.” I smirked. At least, whoever drove that thing would never leave the doors unlocked again. Hell, I’d just done a public service. “Come on, we’d better move.”

I set a fast pace. I wanted to get in, find out what Lark knew, and get out before then. No sense dragging anyone else into this. Of course, getting Lark to open up to me could prove problematic. The last time I’d asked him to trust me, he’d ended up in traction.

“Who is this Lark person again?” Ian asked.

“He’s a hookup. The guy who can get stuff.” I left off the part about him despising me. Ian didn’t need to know that yet.
I veered off the road and cut through an abandoned lot. From here, it was a straight shot up a hill to his place. “Weapons, equipment, connections—pretty much anything. He’s a one-man Walmart for criminals.”

“I see. And he knows of the djinn?”

“Unless you copied that symbol you use on the mirrors from something else, I’d say he does. It looked like he was collecting them.”

Ian nodded. “He must know something. Though I cannot imagine how.”

“Yeah. Let’s just hope it’s not because he’s cozy with Trevor.” I doubted that—Trevor put guys like Lark to the curb with devastating regularity—but I’d been wrong before. “There it is. We’ll go around to the front.”

The place looked deceptively small from the outside. A ranch-style cabin with a wraparound porch and a massive stone chimney suggested a summer vacation spot. However, the house extended belowground, and the lower level was easily four times the area of the surface floor. Lark practically had his own catacombs.

I stopped at the side of the building and glanced back at Ian. “How are you doing, powerwise?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, thief?”

“Nothing. I just thought it might be better if he didn’t see you right away.”

“Why?”

I cleared my throat. “I might need some leverage.”

“You want to use me as a bargaining tool?”

“Uh. See, Lark doesn’t exactly like me. I kinda dropped him off a building once. Accidentally.”

“You seek help from a man who hates you?”

“I didn’t hear you offering any brilliant ideas.”

Ian huffed. “Do not expect me to jump in front of any more guns for you.” At once, he winked out of sight.

I headed for the front yard with a sigh. Behind me, Ian grumbled under his breath in his language. The disembodied-voice bit creeped me out, but at least I knew he hadn’t taken off. Up a wooden ramp that hadn’t been here before, across the deck. I tried to keep myself angled away from a straight shot with the security camera mounted above the door while I hit the buzzer.

Maybe he wouldn’t recognize me right off. If I’d been thinking, I would have grabbed a few random brochures from the gas station and pretended to be a Jehovah’s Witness. At least then he’d be furious for different reasons.

Two minutes passed before the door finally opened. The guy on the other side wasn’t Lark, unless he’d grown two feet and dyed his hair. And gone tanning. And started wearing eyeliner.

Speaking of eyes, his were just like Akila’s—gray-green irises filling where the whites should have been and a slim black ring around the edges. Crud. This raven-haired, coffee-skinned, tall drink of angry looked suspiciously like a djinn. So much for leverage. Was there a convention around here or something?

My mouth twisted down. “I don’t suppose Lark is around.”

“Who are you?”

“An old . . . friend.” I realized Ian couldn’t see inside from his position and stepped back, hoping to give him a glimpse and a chance for recognition. For all I knew, this guy could be one of the Morai. “I wanted to do business with him, if he’s available.”

“He’s not. Leave your name and go.”

Come on, Ian, do something.
“Can I ask who I’m leaving my name with?”

“I’m Tory.” He moved forward and let the door swing open. “Now, who—”

“That is not what I have called you, Taregan.”

The sound of Ian’s voice would’ve been a relief, if I hadn’t remembered what he’d said about this guy back at the hotel. I hoped their parting of ways hadn’t been as abrupt and violent as mine and Lark’s—otherwise, we might’ve had better luck knocking on Trevor’s door and just asking him to drop the whole assassination attempt.

If Tory had a gun, he probably would’ve shot me. “How do you know that?” he snarled. “Answer me!”

“Hey, whoa.” I held my hands up and backed away. “Not me. Him.” I jerked a thumb in Ian’s direction. At least he’d made himself visible again.