“For what?” He scanned the room, searching for some clue that Loretta had been here.
“For being who you are. All my life, people have called me a witch, so fine, I act like one. Did people call you a robot?”
“I’m not a robot.”
“You act as if you have a stick up your rump. You’re a robot with suppressed anger issues.”
That would be thanks to his adoptive father and boss, but that was his issue and not for public consumption. He owed Stephen Stockton too much to complain.
Even if the genie really was the kid’s cousin—and it had to be a far distant relationship since her name wasn’t on his short list of the kid’s family—he still had to take Loretta back to school. Multi-millionairesses needed security.
“Witches don’t listen to Neil Diamond,” he countered, somewhat senselessly. Maybe the incense was affecting his brain. He searched for its source but could see no telltale smoke. His gaze fell on a crystal bowl of dried rose petals. Potpourri, not incense. From his experience with frauds, she simply didn’t add up.
“My aunt’s house, remember?” The popsicle-colored genie glared at the cards she’d laid out on the floor, picked up one that looked vaguely male, and ground it beneath her sneaker heel. She gave it an extra slam for good measure, and Jax winced. He was pretty certain she was seeing him in that card.
“I prefer Tchaikovsky.” She handed him a different deck from the one she’d laid out. “Shuffle, then lay out six on top, six underneath.” She indicated the square black plastic table beside his chair.
“Your tastes run to the 1812 Overture?” he asked in sarcasm. Maybe she laced her potpourri with narcotics, but he couldn’t see any sign of Loretta here. Or danger. As far as he knew, tarot cards didn’t kill.
“I’m not normally violent.” She disconcerted him by hitting close to the topic on his mind. “So, no, I don’t need cannon to enjoy Russian passion.”
She was talking about Tchaikovsky. Relieved, he threw the cards as instructed. The kid had run here for a reason.Know Thy Enemywas carved into his frontal lobe.
“But as Napoleon did the Russians in 1812,” she continued, “people underestimate me.” She flipped a thirteenth card onto the deck he’d laid out and sighed deep enough to pull her knit top tight across her breasts. “The planets hate me.”
He studied the card she’d thrown. It was labeledThe Magician.Glancing back at her, he saw her eyes widen and her pale eyebrows rise in shock.
Abruptly, she rose from the floor. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Did the woman ever sit still?
“Of course not.” Jax rested his weight on his feet to leverage out of the rickety chair, wondering what in hell had set her off.
“Then go back to Savannah and leave Loretta to me.” She rummaged behind the couch and picked up a manila envelope from a stack of mail and magazines scattered beneath the open window. “This document proves that I’m her guardian.”
With a snort of disbelief at the declaration and her filing system, Jax drew out the paper printed on Stockton letterhead. It looked amazingly genuine, which meant she must be a con artist of a far higher caliber than her online presence indicated.
He scanned the verbiage and the signatures in growing alarm. The document was dated after the one in the firm’s file. If the papers were genuine, he should have a copy, and he didn’t. But they looked damned real, and he’d have a hard time proving they weren’t. The signatures were even notarized. He memorized the notary’s name. If it was properly filed in court,it would give her complete control of Loretta’s fortune.
His temper started to catch up with his thoughts, and he glared at Evangeline Malcolm, presumably the Evangeline Serena Malcolm Carstairs mentioned in the guardianship papers. “This looks purely mercenary to me. What does it have to do with ghosts?”
Five
Evie couldn’t ignorethe frantic ghost hovering just over the intense Scorpio’s left shoulder. She crossed her arms and regarded Mr. Jax Jackson with her inner eye. She was starting to tune into his wavelength faster now. As before, his aura shot red-hot flares, but this time, she could connect the flares with his chakra. Finally, she had a better grasp of what she was dealing with—a literal-minded, ruthless control freak. No help for Loretta there.
An aura like that revealed intense focus and a buttload of passion—a character capable of killing or loving deeply. The dark shadows beneath indicated he’d already tried the killing. Soldiers killed, she realized. Still, she couldn’t take chances with Loretta’s life. Decision made.
“If you don’t believe in ghosts, then we’ll have to converse on levels you can understand.” She said it with more assurance than was justified given he was a lawyer who could have her locked up for the better part of her life if those papers were fake. Stupidity wasn’t one of her many flaws.
She forced her gaze not to drift past Jackson’s steely eyes to the furious shade behind him. “That document should be sufficient to convince the judge that I’m Loretta’s guardian. I want her school records transferred here. If you’ll arrange for a clothing allowance, I’ll see she’s appropriately dressed for the public schools. I shouldn’t need to touch what she calls her millions.”
Although, if the distinctly male apparition urgently shaking his head behind Jackson’s right shoulder was to be believed, Evie might have to recant that declaration in the near future.
Money might be necessary to escape a killer. What the heck did a dog walker know about killers?Nada.
Evie didn’t want to believe Macho Man was the psycho Loretta feared, but the specter behind him seemed quite adamant about wantingJaxJackson gone, which was a shame. She liked a good challenge and was starting to enjoy wearing his patience to a frazzle. Killers really ought to have muddier auras than his, shouldn’t they? She’d have to introduce herself to one to find out.
“You need to go now,” she told him firmly, collecting her scattered thoughts.