Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (22 page)

“Have you heard from your investigator yet?”

Or not. Dammit. His phone rang right as he was about to answer. With his luck, it would be the damn P.I.

He glanced at the phone and couldn’t stop the scowl that spread over his face.

“I told you to go home and get some rest,” he barked into the phone.

Scott replied in a calm tone, “Circumstances have changed. Vicky’s body has been discovered in Nevada. We were contacted since she still held a valid Texas license with a Smithville address.”

“What the hell. How? When?”

Voice low, Scott replied, “I’m at work and don’t have long. They’re saying it’s likely she was suffocated. It couldn’t have been long after she arrived.”

“What the fuck?”

“Gotta run.” And the phone went dead.

John suppressed the urge to throw the phone across the room. Vicky had been a queen bee and a bitch, but she’d been Pack. She’d been one of theirs, and the moment she hadn’t been, she’d been killed.

Lizzie approached slowly and touched his arm. “What’s happened?”

“You know that Vicky was escorted to the airport. And that she flew out to Nevada yesterday.”

Lizzie nodded. “Banished. You never explained exactly what that meant.”

“What it doesn’t mean is executed. The local Las Vegas police just found her body.” He waited a heartbeat before he said, “There are signs that she might have been suffocated.”

Lizzie was shaking her head over and over. “I don’t understand. She left. She should have been…” She blinked and sat down. “Suffocated? This doesn’t have anything to do with what I did. Does it?”

“No.” He couldn’t be anything but truthful with her. “At least, not directly.”

Panic crossed her face. “What does
that
mean? I’m indirectly responsible?”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just saying—” What the hell was he saying? “Maybe someone—the person who did kill her—knows she caved under pressure. Maybe they were making a point to Vicky. Who knows?”

“Once the ward is gone, there can’t be any lingering effects. Not that I know of.” Lizzie gnawed worriedly at her lower lip. She closed her eyes, a terrified look coming over her face. Her eyes popped open and she said, “Oh my god, did I do this?”

“No. No way. Hell, her murderer is probably the woman we’ve been looking for—the spell caster who’s bankrolling the witch attacks. Think about it. Vicky gave us a description of her. A poor, vague description—but that means she saw her. Vicky was a witness and a loose end.”

“What if—no. I can’t think that way. She chose to help that woman. She betrayed you and the Pack. It’s not anyone’s fault but hers that she was sent away.” It sounded like Lizzie was trying to convince herself. John certainly wouldn’t argue with her, because she was absolutely right. “So—do we go to Vegas? Is that the logical next step?”

“Are you okay?” Just minutes before, she’d looked close to a meltdown.

“Yes. I have no idea why I’m still convinced my magic is going to take a turn out in left field and keep going. I know—I mean I
know
—it doesn’t work that way. I just wish that gut reaction that I’ve done something horrible or something wrong would go away.” Her face took on a sorrowful aspect. “It doesn’t help that I tortured that woman. Call it whatever, but it was torture. And worse yet, I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.” She turned sad eyes to him. “Doesn’t that make me a bad person?”

“Then what does that make me?” John asked. If she was so disgusted with her own actions, did she see him through the same lens?

“It’s not the same at all.”

“Because I’m already morally ambiguous. So whatever I do doesn’t have to follow a strict set of moral guidelines?” John said. He hoped that wasn’t how Lizzie saw him—but it sure as hell sounded that way.

“No, of course not.” She shook her head, looking befuddled. “You grew up with these rules. I grew up with different rules. I’m trying to bend my rules to fit into Lycan society and it’s a rough fit. That’s all I’m saying.”

“And all I’m saying is don’t judge yourself so harshly for doing what has to be done.”

Lizzie dropped it, but he was sure they weren’t done with that particular conversation.

“You never said—are we going to Vegas?” she asked.

“No. We’ll start here. The chances that she happened into the killer’s territory are slim. She must have been targeted here and followed to Vegas. Unless Vicky’s murder is completely unrelated.”

“She talks and shows up dead in less than twenty-four hours. It has to be related.” She put her heels on the kitchen chair and hugged her knees. “I didn’t like her, John. But I feel horrible that she’s dead.”

“Yeah. That’s about how I feel.” He sat down at the kitchen table with Lizzie. Looming and pacing certainly wasn’t helping.

“So where do we start?” Lizzie dropped her feet to the ground and grabbed a pen.

“With some basic assumptions.”

“Okay. First assumption, her death wasn’t random. It was related to her involvement with the mystery woman.” She scribbled as she spoke.

“Or at least related to the recent attacks on the Pack,” John modified.

“Got it.”

“Second assumption, Vicky’s killer followed her to Vegas,” John said.

She continued her note-taking.

“How did the killer know she was heading to Vegas?” John asked.

They shared a look.

“Damn. She may have told the killer she was going there.” John said what they both were thinking.

“Or at least told someone and the killer found out. We have to get her cell phone, or access to her call list. Is that something your investigator can do?” she asked.

“I doubt it. But Scott may be able to. I need to find out who her emergency contact is. Her parents are gone. I may actually still be listed. It’s also possible I’m the executor of her estate.” He quickly explained, “It’s part of the job.”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “I get it. No need to explain. It would be helpful if you had some kind of official legal status. I guess you should find that out for sure?”

“Working on it,” he said as he sent a text to the Pack’s lawyer.

“And if she didn’t tell the killer where she was headed…”

“An informant?” John shook his head, answering his own question. “Not possible. Only Scott and Ben knew she was banished. And they certainly wouldn’t have told anyone. I’ll verify that, but it would be surprising.”

“Do you think there’s still someone here? Someone who’s reporting back to the killer?” He could see the shiver that passed quickly through Lizzie’s body.

He hated to say it, but he wouldn’t be dishonest with her or minimize the risks. “It’s possible. The town is small enough that we should be able to spot new people. The healer and witch team that helped Gregor bypassed that by staying in Bastrop and driving in. But I would think a spy would have to stick closer, and that would make him or her stand out in such a close-knit community.”

“And no one has,” she concluded. “So either it’s someone local or inside the Pack.”

“Or we’re back to Vicky telling her killer she was headed to Vegas.”

“All right, back to the list. You need the contact information, if there is any, for the healer and the witch.”

John interrupted her, “One or the other. Ben only got one name from the hotel.”

“Right. And you’re getting that from your P.I. We need Vicky’s text and call history—and IM and e-mail—to see if she might have contacted the killer.”

John interjected, “Even if I get her personal effects, I won’t receive them until after any investigation is closed. And her death must have sparked a homicide investigation.”

“Ugh. So you won’t get her phone for ages. You’re going to have to do something sneaky. Wouldn’t it be great if we could just clone it?”

“Or hack the phone records—but that has to be equally as difficult as breaking into a police station to clone or steal it. I’ll ask Scott if there’s any way to get near the phone—short of breaking and entering.”

“And you should definitely ask Max if he knows anyone with mad hacking skills. That is his superpower,” Lizzie reminded him.

“I can’t imagine hacking the phone company could be easy.” John wasn’t sure why the thought of someone hacking the phone company on his behalf made him uncomfortable. He’d done much worse, ethically speaking.

“I can’t imagine
hacking
is easy—but people do it every day. Here, let me call him.” She checked the time. “Wait. Is nine o’clock a reasonable time to call him? He’s been just as pushed and sleep deprived as the rest of us lately. I don’t want to rob him of any sleep.”

“Um, yep. That’s fine.” He wasn’t about to tell her that Max had likely been up for three hours writing already. That was Max’s thing, and if he didn’t tell people—well, okay by him.

She dialed, and Max picked up immediately.

“Hey, Max. John said you’d be up.” Pause. “Okay, great. Can I put you on speaker? It’s just John and me.” She clicked on the speaker and placed the phone on the kitchen table. “We need text and call history off of a phone—one that we don’t have. And—um, maybe the e-mail and IM, too. I don’t suppose you know anyone who could do that?”

“Sure.”

Lizzie shot John an I-told-you-so look. “That would be great. I knew you’d know someone.”

“Yeah, I was doing some research for a book, and I found this girl. I guaranteed her anonymity. Anyway, I think I’ve still got her info.”

“You write?”

“Sure. Um, I figured John told you. That’s how I make a living.”

“Really. What do you write?”

“Suspense mostly. Okay, I still have her info. Let me contact her and I’ll get back to you.”

He hung up before Lizzie could ask him any other questions.

She turned to John. There was a small crinkle in her forehead—one that she always got when she was thinking really hard. “Would I know any of his stuff?”

“Hmm. Not sure. I haven’t seen much of what you read. You use your Kindle a lot.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re being evasive. And he was quick to hang up. What’s the deal?”

John sighed. It wasn’t like it was a secret—exactly. At least, not among friends. “He writes suspense novels under M.X. Thorn.”

“Seriously? If he was going to write under a pen name, why pick something so similar to his own name? He could just write under Max Thorton.” Her face scrunched up in concentration. “I don’t think I’ve heard of him. Man, he makes a lot of money for a guy I’ve never heard of. I actually thought he had a trust fund or some kind of family money.”

John shook his head. “No, just the writing. Uh, eh, never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I think I’ll check in with the investigator and see what he’s got.” He aimed for a bland expression and must have succeeded because she looked at him suspiciously but didn’t say anything else about Max’s writing. He dialed Jack’s number before she could dig any further into Max’s writing or pen names.

A few minutes later, he relayed the bad news to Lizzie. “Jack said he couldn’t find anything that matched up with our guy. The hotel employee described both men as thirties or forties, and the only name that he could find was for a seventy-year-old.”

“Don’t tell me. The older man reported having his identity stolen.”

John shook his head. “No idea. He may not even know. Especially if they’re not running up charges in his name. Our healer and witch paid cash for the room. They just used the credit card to check in.”

“And the driver’s license?” Lizzie asked. “They must have required ID at check in.”

“Definitely fake. It’s looking like this is a dead end.” Damn, this crap was making his neck hurt. He tried to rub away some of the ache. “It’s not surprising. It would have been more surprising if they’d left a trail.”

“Okay—so we wait to hear about Max’s hacking contact.” Lizzie nibbled on her lower lip. “Your investigator’s name is Jack?”

“Yes. And yes, my P.I. Jack is Kenna’s friend, Jack. After you and Kenna were home safe, Max looked him up. He’s a great investigator, and he already knows enough not to ask too many questions. So we put him on retainer.”

“Hmm. Max and Jack. That’s—”

“Strained,” John filled in for her.

“Yeah.” She covered her mouth as she let loose a huge yawn. “I guess we should eat some breakfast at some point,” she said, staring disinterestedly at her almost-coffee.

“You and Logan can scrounge something up together. I need to head over and fill in the Council. They’ve called an impromptu meeting this morning.”

Sitting up and looking suddenly much more alert, she asked, “When did that happen? And Logan’s on the Council. How can he be here?”

“I got a text a little while ago. And Logan’s coming because everyone else I trust is otherwise occupied right now. If you’re up for it, you might try practicing one of your new wards.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I might give the scent bubble a significant rest. It was bad enough when I faked a death threat using it, but for Vicky to actually be killed in some similar way… No, I’ll leave that ward for some time in the far, far future.”

“I was thinking about that masking trick, the one where you covered up the scent of your emotions. That’s a clever manipulation of scent. And, of course, your shield ward—my personal favorite. Have I thanked you for saving my life?” He reached down to pull her close, her familiar scent soothing him and making the ache in his neck fade.

She grinned at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You can never say it often enough.”

Chapter 28

“T
ell me how you did the scent mask the last time.” Logan stood at the stove, closely monitoring their breakfast bacon for the exact moment of perfect crispiness. That was one vice that she and Logan shared—a love of thick slice, extra crispy bacon.

Lizzie was guessing Logan had instructions to distract her, because he seemed convinced now was the time to perfect her perception-altering masking ward. His name for it, not hers. And she supposed it really was perception altering. She was basically lying with her scent.

“Imbuing a piece of paper with the scent I wanted to project worked great. But the masking part was less successful,” Lizzie explained.