Women of the Otherworld 10.5 - Counterfeit Magic (11 page)

I said, “I’ve seen enough dead bodies to know there’s no way, short of necromancy, that Davy Jones walked out of here last night. If you insist otherwise, then I’d like to speak to him. Refuse and I’ll get in touch with someone else. Dr. Phillips.”

I pulled a chair from the office and sat. “Did you know we have a file on Dr. Phillips? Seems there’s a reason he needs that extra cash. His daughter is up on drug charges in Orlando. I wonder what he’d say if we offered him a deal? He tells the truth about Davy and the fighter who died a few months ago, and Lucas will represent his daughter for free.”

“We didn’t kill anyone,” Ethan said.

“Never said you did.
But two fighters
are
dead.”

A pause so long I was ready to repeat my threat when Ethan finally said, “Yes. Davy died last night.”

“And you dumped the body,” Savannah said.

“No, we moved him to Dr. Phillips’ office where he can conduct an autopsy. As you said, this isn’t the first time it’s happened. In six months, we’ve had two deaths and one near fatality. The first time, we thought it was a fluke. It does happen, as hard as you try to avoid it. The fighter collapsed in the ring. We cleared the place out, as we did last night. Then we took him to his hotel.”

“And made it look like he’d died in his sleep,” I said. “Possibly from injuries sustained at the club. But with the doctor confirming he walked out, no one would blame you. You chalked it up to a freak accident.”

“Until it happened again,” Savannah said.
“And then again.”

“The second time, the fighter
did
walk out okay, and he’s still walking around. But if I hadn’t had an
epi
pen here, he’d be dead. Everyone knew he was allergic to nuts, so they figured that’s what it was.”

“You disagreed because he was in the ring, fighting, not sitting down to a meal that accidentally had nuts in it.”

When Ethan didn’t answer, I said, “You think someone’s killing your fighters. The obvious reason is cheating. Poison or magic to defeat an opponent, only occasionally the results are lethal.”

Tommy shook his head. “They’ve fought a different guy each time. In two cases, the victor would have taken the match anyway. No reason to cheat.”

“So what
do
you think the problem is?” I asked.

Silence.
Savannah waited five seconds this time, then stood.
“Fine.
You want us to figure it out for ourselves, we—”

“It’s the
Warners
,” Tommy said.

“We
suspect
it’s the
Warners
,” Ethan said. “They run—”

“A chain of fight clubs,” Savannah said. “We’ve done our research.”

The
Warners
owned the club in San Francisco and
a half
-dozen others, ranging from here to upstate Florida. They were a family of sorcerers who had once run a Cabal before being squeezed out by the big four. Now, having shed their corporate cloak, they operated everything from fight clubs to drug rings to brothels, all aimed at the supernatural market.

“When we first opened, they were fine with us,” Ethan said. “We were far enough away, and our place is a dive compared to theirs. They even sent patrons and fighters our way.”

“Yeah,” Tommy snorted. “The ones they didn’t want. We were their garbage pit. Only we wouldn’t take their trash and eventually our place was cleaner than theirs.
A lot cleaner.”

“So you started attracting the better patrons and fighters,” Savannah said. “
Which is when they decided they weren’t as happy having you here.
”

Ethan nodded. “They’ve offered to buy us out. Six months ago, they stopped offering… and we started having accidents.”

Homeward Bound

While we were with the
Gallantes
, Lucas had texted to say he suspected my theory was correct. Jared had hoped to use the money he’d made at the club for a down-payment on his gambling debt. Only Tommy took the money back, so Jared’s creditors beat him up. I doubt they’d meant to kill him—a corpse can’t pay back anything—but add the loan shark’s beating to Tommy’s, and the results had been fatal.

I left that investigation to Lucas. I had a new case to work. The
Gallantes
had hired me to investigate the deaths at their club. I’d start by getting an unbiased view of the situation with the
Warners
. Eventually, that would require a trip to San Francisco. First, we needed to read through files and put out calls to contacts. The boring part, as Savannah called it. Yet she volunteered. Savannah knew that private investigation wasn’t all fights and break-ins and tailing suspects, and she was determined to pull her weight.

There was, however, another reason she’d volunteer—she had contacts far more suited to researching black-market types like the
Warners
. Savannah cultivated a network of contacts who’d never work with me or Lucas. Former associates of her mother, they hoped to woo Savannah as an ally. Like her dark magic spells, she thinks we don’t know about them. Like those spells, I hate maintaining the fiction that we don’t know, but for now, it seems best.

So Savannah headed home to do her part. I stayed in Santa Cruz, but made plans for a trip of my own—to Los Angeles.
Time to pay a surprise visit to my husband.

Unfortunately, I had no idea where Lucas was staying. Savannah called and hinted for details, but he didn’t bite. I ran a credit card check, but there were no transactions in the last day. Ava must have been footing the bill for his hotel room, which was odd. We usually submit expenses together. But if she’d insisted, he wouldn’t have argued.

Before Savannah left, she said, “Forget surprising him. Just tell him you’re coming.” So I called and told him Savannah was researching the
Warners
.

“So while she handles that, I’m free.”

I paused, expecting him to ask me to join him. When he didn’t respond, I said, “That means I could come there. Help you out.”

“Ah.”

Ah?
“That’s a no? Okay. I, uh, guess you’re close to wrapping this up anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that.
Unfortunately.”

There was a pause before the last word, as if he’d had to remind himself to say it. He hurried on, listing all the tasks he still needed to accomplish and insisting, regretfully, that he probably wouldn’t be home for a few days.

Lucas was an expert liar, but I’d learned to recognize the signs when he was prevaricating.

“You’re going home, then, I take it?” he said.
“Today?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. There should be a flight back later this afternoon. Take that, go home and rest. No need to rush off after the
Warners
.”

I smiled as I realized where this was heading. “I don’t know. If I get in early, I really should head to the office. Get caught up.
Help Savannah.”

“Absolutely not.
You deserve a rest. Go home.”

“Should I call you when I get in?”

A pause.
“You can try, but I suspect I’ll be out. I have several leads to follow that can only be done at night, and I may have my phone turned off.”

Lying about the case being almost done.
Making sure I was going home.
Warning me not to expect to hear from him.
Someone was planning a surprise visit of his own.

“All right then,” I said. “I’ll have a relaxing evening. Savannah was planning to go back to Adam’s place and hang out.” She’d said no such thing, but I was sure I could convince her easily enough. “She’ll probably just crash there.”

“Good.
Excellent.
You’ll get a decent rest, then.”

I smiled. Oh, I wasn’t planning on doing much resting tonight.

* * * *

I managed to get a seat on a flight heading home just over an hour later, barely squeaking through security in time. Savannah had taken my car from the airport lot, so I caught a cab and made a pit-stop at my favorite lingerie store.

I spent the next hour stocking up on supplies. I bought champagne and strawberries, plus everything I’d need for breakfast in bed. I grabbed a few more things, too—a travel book, sunscreen and a Hawaiian shirt. Then I went home and printed off pages for Maui sell-off vacations I’d bookmarked the night before. I didn’t dare to actually book a vacation for us—too risky with our schedules—but this would do. I tucked the pages into a suitcase with the book, sunscreen and shirt, and hid it in our room, where I could pull it out while we were catching our breath.

Final step—change into my new bustier, panties and garters, then put on the low-cut green silk dress I usually saved for romantic dinners out. After that… well, after that, there wasn’t much else to do but wait.

Savannah had e-mailed me pages on the
Warners
, and I was just settling in to read those when my phone blipped, telling me I had a text. I smiled and grabbed it, only to find a message from Ava, wanting me to call her ASAP.

Lucas must have left already. She was probably trying to get in touch with him before he got on the plane, tell him she urgently needed him back, only to find he’d turned off his phone early.

I considered not calling her back, but that would be petty. I should thank her. She’d highlighted hairline fractures in our marriage, which I was going to repair before the stability of the whole was in danger.

When I called, her line was busy. Had she gotten hold of Lucas? I hoped not. If she made up a plausible enough
story
, he’d feel obligated to go back.

I texted her and returned to reading the files. Nearly an hour later, she texted to say she was busy right now, but could I phone her in an hour? Lucas had left a message and wanted to be sure I got it.

Call in an hour?
A message from Lucas?
If my husband wanted to speak to me, he was quite capable of using either text or e-mail. Ava Cookson was up to something.

* * * *

Savannah texted me at eleven to say she had a lead on someone who owed the
Warners
a lot of cash. She was investigating now and we’d discuss it in the morning. I considered calling her back, but I wanted to find out what Ava was up to first. Lucas could be in a cab heading home right now, so I wanted to get this over with.

When Ava didn’t answer after three rings, I almost hung up and called Savannah back. Then the line clicked and her sleepy voice said, “Hello?”

“It’s Paige Winterbourne. You asked me to call.”

She swore and bedsprings creaked, as if she was sitting up fast. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”

“That’s fine. If it’s urgent, have Lucas—”