Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers Read Online Free Page A

said “agent,” it sounded like he was referring to a piece of shit stuck to the sole of his shoe. He didn’t think much of federal agents, did he?
    The pissing contest between local and federal government was an eternal battle. I’d seen it play out in a dozen different states—any time that I had to cooperate with the cops and deal with all the bullshit that followed.
    They didn’t like having the feds fuck with their business, and they were taking it out on me.
    It had to be that because there was no way anyone would really believe I’d kill a woman.
    Problem was, I wasn’t who they thought I was. And I shouldn’t have even been there.
    Where the hell was Suzy?
    Kearney opened her mouth to ask another question, but I was tired of questions.
    “I want my lawyer,” I said.
    Interview over.

 

5
     
    I didn’t call my lawyer. I didn’t even have a lawyer. Who needed one when the OPA had the best legal department that taxpayer dollars could buy?
    Instead, I called Suzy. I was ticked off when she was at her desk to answer it. I’d been imagining her leading the cavalry to come and save me, riding in on her metaphoric white horse, and instead she was in our damn cubicle.
    “Cèsar. It’s you.” Her tone didn’t inspire confidence.
    I took a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Kearney wasn’t on my ass. She was at the nearby desk filling out paperwork. Ramirez was watching me, eyes wary, patiently watchful, but too distant to hear a whisper.
    I twisted my wrists, trying to get comfortable with the phone. My wrists were cuffed again and I was getting real sick of it. “What’s going on, Suzy? Why am I still here?”
    It took her a long time to answer.
    “I’m sorry, Cèsar.”
    My heart sank all the way down to my sneakers. Her tone was enough to tell me that the OPA wasn’t coming. No men in black to make me disappear. Nobody to say that I was innocent, this had all been a misunderstanding, their files were forfeit.
    “Do you have guys at my apartment? Are they investigating?”
    “Yeah. We’ve gotten involved, but the Union is handling the investigation.”
    Bad sign. Union procedure was a secret, even to me, but they only got called in when the shit had hit the fan more than usual. “And?”
    A sigh. “It looks bad. Real bad.”
    “You know I didn’t do this, Suzy.”
    “It doesn’t matter what I know. It matters what everyone else thinks. Look, I can hook you up with my lawyer. He’s a good guy. He’s done criminal law before, and if anyone can get you out of there on bail—”
    “I don’t need a fucking lawyer!”
    That part I’d said too loud. Kearney was staring at me. Ramirez was moving in.
    “I’m sorry, Cèsar,” Suzy said again. I was real sick of hearing those words. I didn’t think I could hear them again without losing it.
    The police station was so loud, so crowded. I was trapped in a sea of desks and concrete walls. Erin was still reaching for me with her cracked manicure, gazing at my ceiling with a look of postmortem horror, and I could smell that meaty scent of blood.
    I didn’t even feel it when Ramirez took the phone from me and hung it up.
    The Office of Preternatural Affairs thought I was guilty and they were shaking me loose before I dragged them down with me.
    I was on my own.
    + + +
     
    The holding cell was a temporary thing. Wouldn’t be long at all before I got face time in front of a judge and found myself in real deep shit—an actual jail, not a room with bars in the back of a police station.
    I still wasn’t worried about being found guilty. I hadn’t killed Erin and the evidence would prove it. It wasn’t my Glock on the table—it wouldn’t even have my fingerprints on it. Plus, there were security cameras around the apartment complex.
    We would find out that someone had come home with us. It would prove that I had struggled with the attacker, making the wreckage in my living room and kitchen. And then they would be able to prove that the