Page 41 of Booked for Murder

“I’m not giving up my apartment, either.”

“Yes.”

“No.” I snagged another piece of orange chicken and crammed it into my mouth to make it clear I would not be sacrificing my favorite foods again, either. I chewed, swallowed, and grabbed another piece with my chopsticks. “Do you see this, Mr. Bradley Hampton? This is spicy, made of meat, and a necessary part of my diet. I cannot, and will not, not even under pain of death, sacrifice my orange chicken.”

I got it from a cheap place down the street and pretended it was spicy, something I did once every month or so because I could. The rest of the time, I got what was on sale and saved up for the next medical bill.

“Your diet’s a problem, Mom.”

“Seriously? Why are you bringing me into this?”

“Well, I brought her an entire box filled with meat and nothing but meat so she’d tolerate my presence in her apartment. If I try to take her back to the house, she’s going to look in the refrigerator and leave. I was pushing my welcome a little earlier, so I took your advice and offered food.”

A little? “You picked the right bribe, but next time, get something you can stomach so you’re not trying to suicide through peppers and lactose exposure.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bradley’s mother shot a glare at her son before giving me a dose of the eye, too. “All right, Bradley. You lured us here. Ren mentioned an investigator cell, your proposal to make Janette the shooter, and that you’re planning on sponsoring? I do not approve of making Janette the shooter, for the record. It’s even more dangerous than being your babysitter.”

I appreciated that his mother viewed the bodyguard position as a glorified paid babysitter, as I’d done a lot of keeping an eye on him during my time as his second shadow.

“Technically, Janette will be the adept sponsor, I will be paying Janette to cover the fees and play at being the sponsor, while Janette, under her not-quite-legal name, will be the group’s shooter. She’s the only person I know who has a hope of qualifying. I know you never liked Godrin, but someone needs to find out who is behind these murders and why. The police? They’re only interested in getting a conviction, and they’re going to start going after innocent people.”

“And with our magic? You simply can’t abide by injustice you can do something about.” Bradley’s mother shrugged. “It is what it is. Jezabella? You like telling me you’re an adult capable of handling yourself. Here’s your chance to prove it. You can spy on Janette and keep me updated on her condition, and I’ll be expecting you to snitch on the boy over there, too. Basically, you’re dealing with a bunch of children.”

I missed being a child. I even missed being a teenager fringing on becoming an adult, learning how to be a bodyguard so I could spend the rest of my life protecting Bradley Hampton. Growing up hurt. In my case, it hurt a lot, resulted in the use of a cane, a medical boot I’d have to clean properly before bed, and more painful memories than I knew what to do with.

“Mom, why are you calling me a child?” Bradley complained.

“That’s simple. You ran away from home, came over to a woman’s house, went on a lactose bender, and probably ruined her bathroom. Since that wasn’t bad enough, you probably passed out on her floor. That’s behavior a child would indulge in. The woman you’re visiting is a child because she’ll never not be. It’s a rule, and I just made it, and I expect you to abide by it. Instead of a little girl, I got you, so I have to make up for this by collecting little girls. Jezabella has fallen in line with my plans. Janette’s next.”

No matter what I said, I broke at least five of her rules, so getting Bradley into even more trouble with his mother seemed like a good idea to me, especially since she was being utterly ridiculous. There was zero chance in hell I’d categorize as her little girl. Not even my own father got away with that after I’d turned twelve. I’d made him call me his little lady, as he’d insisted I be polite and act like a lady rather than a demoness. “He almost made it to my bed. He tried. He didn’t succeed, but he did try.”

If looks could kill, I would’ve gotten a triple dose of death. Bradley and his mother I expected, but Jezabella had honed her glare over the years.

It beat my memories of her.

I smiled. “Ren carried him to bed and tucked him in.”

The bodyguard slipped, smirking before controlling his expression.

“I see your sense of humor is still slightly twisted,” Bradley’s mother complained. “It’s better than what I anticipated after I learned you’d given everyone the slip so well you’re presumed dead. I thought we’d be fighting by now.”

“But what would we fight about?” I could think of a few things. I’d been one of the most expensive investments she’d ever made in her son.

I’d been given a chance to run, and I had.

On second thought, I could think of a lot of things we could fight about.

She smiled. “I’ve been thinking about taking a baseball bat to that car of his.”

While my cane couldn’t compare to a baseball bat, I set aside my takeout container, picked up my cane, and offered it to her. “If you swing it hard enough, you might break something more expensive than he wants to replace.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “He’d cry, and Jezzie can’t handle watching a full-grown man cry. Keep your cane. I’d probably break it on his hard head when he tried to protect his baby car.”

I regarded Bradley with a raised brow. “Really?”

“I have more issues than you have car magazines under your bed. That’s my mother’s favorite barb right now, especially as she never bothered to cancel the subscriptions and has a new bookcase overrun with car magazines.”