Jack read the email one more time before shutting his laptop. An intriguing offer: free international travel, a hefty fee for the southerly jaunt to Belize, and an even heftier sum for a brief consult. No strings, no commitments. All he had to do was listen to the prospective client pitch a case. If the job wasn’t a fit for Spirelli Paranormal Investigations, he could walk away with a tidy little windfall. And if he did take the case, well, the payout would probably set him up for a year of property taxes and some repairs to the house.
It was a good deal. Probably too good. He could hardly overlook the fact that his prospective client hadn’t revealed his—or her—identity. But the cash…
He checked the time, then left his office in the back of The Junk Shop for the retail area. He wanted to catch Marin before she headed out for the night.
She was flipping the shop sign to closed, so he had about five seconds before she was out the door. To do whatever it was she did in her free time. He didn’t know—didn’t want to know—so long as she showed up to work at The Junk Shop and was available for cases. Their recent partnership agreement had already twined their lives closer together than was ideal.
He walked into the retail area as she was digging her car keys out of the bag slung over her shoulder.
“You ever been to Belize?” he asked as he walked between the display tables.
She paused, keys clenched in her hand. “Why? I thought we’d decided to give Belize a miss. No payday, remember?”
That was when Belize had been the focal point of a series of interesting events. Now it was a new HVAC system and a tree trim, not to mention his property taxes, if they took the case. His house had become a demanding mistress lately.
“And if there was cash involved?”
She flicked a few stray strands of bright red hair away from her face. “Is it enough to justify the cost of leaving the country and getting entangled in some kind of supernatural jurisdictional quagmire?”
He’d considered contacting Harrington. For about two seconds. As the head of the Inter-Pack Policing Cooperative, a European agency intent on becoming a global policing organization for all things supernatural, paranormal, or magically enhanced, Harrington wasn’t always concerned with the best interests of the little guy. Since Jack was very much the little guy, he only brought Harrington and IPPC in when it was absolutely necessary.
And Harrington could be a moralistic ass. Especially galling, because IPPC and even Harrington himself didn’t always stick as close to the ethical high ground as they might.
Screw it. The anonymous client paid better than IPPC. So much better that Jack was willing to annoy both Harrington and his new junior partner by taking the meeting…unless Marin knew something he didn’t. She had exceptional connections. Being a dragon—both long-lived and a part of the magic-using community—would do that.
Weighing his options had kept him occupied longer than he’d realized, because the sound of Marin clearing her throat interrupted his thoughts. When he met her gaze, she looked annoyed.
“Have you spoken to Harrington?” When he still didn’t answer, her eyes narrowed. “Eventually he’s going to get tired of being our own personal 9-1-1 service.”
Probably true. But that street ran both ways. Spirelli Paranormal Investigations was a solid resource that IPPC had relied on more than once. “No, I haven’t specifically mentioned this case. I don’t run all my cases by him. Do you?”
When she didn’t respond, he said, “Harrington has excellent spies. He probably already knows about this offer, as well as the migration of two former clients to Belize.”
“My point exactly; both of those cases involved IPPC. You still don’t think they need to be brought in on this one?”
Jack shook his head. “If they’re interested, they’ll have their own investigation. They might even have an explanation for some of the unusual news coming out of the area.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure migratory birds altering course to avoid Corozal Town, and the rodent population in a tiny village outside Corozal suddenly dwindling, would be flagged as suspicious by IPPC.”
“You noticed, and Harrington has an entire staff tasked with monitoring news for weird phenomena. I’m sure he knows. Hell, your dad is probably halfway through his investigation.”
“My dad’s on sabbatical.”
“I’m sorry—what?” Jack had the very strong impression that the head of the IPPC’s magical library never took vacation.
“Sabbatical. Three months.” Marin’s eyes flashed the creepy glowing green of an annoyed dragon. “Don’t ask. I don’t know why or even where he is.”
“Well, that answers the IPPC question. They’re already understaffed. They don’t need to get involved in this particular case when they’re down their chief of security.”
Marin crossed her arms. “All right, how much are we talking?”
Not everything was about money. Okay, most things were—but that was hardly his fault.
“A lot. And that’s to show up. More if we take the case.”
“And the client?”
“That’s tricky.” He’d forwarded the email to Chris, his go-to tech gal, but she was on her fourth kid—or was it the fifth?—and sometimes she was busy with life. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped to his email—where he found that she’d already responded. Maybe he’d imagined five—probably only two or three. “Chris says no-go on identifying the client from the email.”
Marin’s arms dropped to her sides. “That’s curious.” After only the barest of hesitations, she said, “Fine. If you’re in, I’m in. What? Don’t look so shocked. You think I like sweeping up, emptying the trash, and de-funking your and Bob’s bizarre finds?”
“Bob’s the man. Don’t knock his special finds. He’s keeping The Junk Shop in the black.” Thinking about the shy little fuzzy critter made Jack want to smile. Bob was like that; he was a smile waiting to happen. “You know what? I think you like tidying the place. You do way more cleaning than you have to. It’s a junk shop. People don’t expect pristine.”
It was an old argument. She thought their upscale clientele required a higher standard than he was willing to maintain, and now that she was a partner, she expected him to do more to maintain the place.
Not gonna happen.
Marin pursed her lips. “Getting out of the shop occasionally is a good thing. And it’s been two, three weeks since we’ve come close to being blown up. I haven’t even gotten a papercut. My body’s in shock from all the risk-free living.”
“Cute.”
“And it’s about time for the shop to shut down for a week or so. I’d hate to train our clients to expect regular hours.”
Jack shook his head. “And yet the shop needs to be tidy.”
“Being unpredictable fits our brand. Dirt does not.” She pointed a finger at him. “We take the case, but you’re dealing with any fallout from IPPC. Like I said, my trump card is on some mysterious sabbatical. When do we leave?”
“I haven’t said yes, so—”
“But you will.” She walked through the door.
Jack flicked the screen of his phone and pulled up his email again. He tapped a brief message to their new anonymous client: We’re in.