Booked for Kidnapping (Vigilante Magical Librarians Book 2) Page 2

  Somewhere, there had to be some sort of etiquette book dictating how President Castillo behaved when a notable politician died.

  I regretted my lack of knowledge about the man. President Castillo did the necessary pandering to society, making addresses in his distinct baritone, and favored using his deepest tones when he spoke about something of import. He used that tone when he said, “You have done the United States a great service, Janette. While you were unable to save Senator Maybelle’s life, through no fault of your own, you have demonstrated to our country that there are adepts with strong morals and superior ethics. Most would not have done as you have done.”

  How the hell had I gotten roped into talking to the President of the United States? When I escaped the memorial service, I would inform my friends and family they had been absolutely correct. I should have avoided the service with great enthusiasm rather than throw myself at it with reckless abandon. Once I admitted they’d been right, I would hide under a bed with my cat until I died of old age. Before I could turn my wheelchair or twist around to face the man, he came around, gestured with his head for the old, white idiot beside me to move over, and took the seat beside me.

  I swallowed. “Mr. President.”

  “Congratulations on your engagement are in order, although from my understanding of the situation, you have not yet made an official announcement?”

  How the hell had President Castillo heard about my engagement? In an effort to hide my surprise, I smiled and bobbed my head. “The shooting delayed things, although we’re in the midst of scheduling the first party.”

  Even Bradley had more enthusiasm for the party than I did. If given my way, the party would have been private, for two, and I’d encourage Bradley to take his shirt off. Even when he frustrated the hell out of me, he remained as handsome and desirable as always.

  I was a fool, plain and simple.

  “It’s a true pity about Samantha. She was one of the good ones. Dedicated to her causes, kind in her interactions with others, and a welcome voice in the senate she served so loyally.” President Castillo sighed, as though the weight of the world had fallen directly onto his shoulders.

  Something nagged at me, nibbling away at me, although I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong about his statement. On the surface, all seemed well, but I feared I waded through a sea of lies, and I risked falling into some trap no matter where I stepped.

  “She seemed like a kind woman dedicated to her causes,” I replied, and I turned my attention to the flowers surrounding the framed photograph of the fallen senator. “I can’t say I knew her well.”

  “She struggled with connecting with her public, although she was making good efforts before her murder. Such a tragedy.”

  On television, the President of the United States seemed like a charismatic enough fellow, but something about him set the little hairs on the back of my neck up on end, warning me of treacherous waters ahead. When I’d served as Bradley’s bodyguard rather than his future wife, I’d learned to be on guard during such times.

  I could only assume the presence of nearby Secret Service agents scrutinizing me held the blame for my reaction. To keep calm and as in control of the situation as possible, I played the game, forcing myself to keep a solemn demeanor. After what I hoped appeared to be a moment of reflection, I replied, “Yes, her death was a tragedy. If it matters to you, she didn’t suffer.”

  “Yes, it matters. You believe she didn’t suffer?”

  “I know she didn’t. She died instantly. I hope that brings some comfort to her family.” Senator Maybelle’s life had purchased another victim a second chance, although I wouldn’t remind President Castillo of that unless he pressed the point. I regarded my foot with a sigh.

  When I got home, I would have to address that problem in a better way than waiting for the ineffective antibiotics to do their job. I’d have to take off the bracelet controlling my magic and allowing my lungs to heal properly. If the miracles of medication couldn’t handle the healing work, my magic could.

  A little rebellion would do me a world of good, as would a good night’s sleep for a change.

  The President of the United States joined me in regarding my boot, and his expression implied interest. “The briefing mentioned you had been injured before the shooting.”

  “Yes. Damage from a car accident. I was undergoing treatments.” If he wanted more information than that, he could go digging for it elsewhere.

  “I had heard. Your fiancé had been in the car with you. He walked away with moderate injuries. The other individuals involved in the crash died. Would you be interested in helping to train members of the Secret Service in accident avoidance maneuvers? There are also a few exsanguinators in the Secret Service who could benefit from being tutored.”

  I stared at President Castillo for a long moment before frowning and checking my phone for the careful schedule I’d made for myself, with all of my cell activities listed under generally harmless labels, including doctor’s appointments and physical therapy sessions. My actual work for the library remained intact, although my boss had made sure to give me the time needed to go to my actual doctor appointments and work on the murder cases without losing my job in the process. “It’s a possibility, assuming they come to New York. My shrink would love the accident avoidance learning, honestly.”

  “Therapy for your crash?”

  “Yes. Talking about it helps.”

  Talking had helped, too. More than I thought it could when my shrinks, a married couple who took turns with me, had suggested I go make friends with Bradley’s baby.

  I’d been able to sneak over and visit the red beauty of an old car and give it a pat on the hood without falling to pieces. When certain no one could catch me, I’d thanked it for having been built strong enough to save our lives, too. Ren had been my only accomplice for that effort, and he’d displayed the patience of a saint while I’d worked through my various emotions.

  Piece by piece, I took back my life, returning to the ivory tower I’d left behind.

  “It would be beneficial for my team to see the full consequences of such a crash. It’s been a while,” President Castillo stated with pride in his voice. “They’ve done excellent work with security, and we haven’t lost an agent during my entire presidency.”

  That did impress me, as the President of the United States was a prime target of terrorism and assassination. What sort of men and women did the Secret Service employ not to have a single death in so many years? I suspected the man lied to me, as I couldn’t imagine such a dangerous job having zero casualties over such a long period of time. Rather than accuse the man of bullshitting me, I replied, “If they want to see such consequences, I can get copies of the crash pictures and my medical record.”

  Everyone had tried to convince me to look over the files and the photographs, but I’d declined. I already remembered more than I wanted, which complicated my life, and I held no doubt some of the photographs included a battered, bruised, and bloodied Bradley. I’d dedicated that part of my life to making sure I never witnessed him even bruised.

  One day, when I could afford to fall apart, I would take another walk down memory lane, but until I finished what I set out to do, I would continue to keep my memories of the crash locked away—or as locked away as I could.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget Bradley’s desperation when he’d realized he would walk away and I would likely die.

  I forced my thoughts back to the situation at hand. Before I gave the government anything, I would remove the more confidential bits, including intel on my spleen transplant and the injuries to my lungs. They’d get everything I had on my foot, including the damage done during the senator’s assassination.

  President Castillo reached into his coat, pulled out a business card and a pen, and jotted down several phone numbers with names and instructions. “I look forward to hearing from you, Miss Asurella.”

  I retrieved my wallet from my purse and tucked
his card inside. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Now, I’ll take my leave. I’m expected to sit on the other side of the aisle.” The President of the United States rose from his seat and nodded to the man he’d evicted. “Senator.”

  “Mr. President,” he replied.

  “Do try to stay civil. This is a memorial.”

  The senator grimaced. “Understood, Mr. President.”

  I read between the lines, identifying that the man seated beside me had some form of prejudice known to create trouble for President Castillo, and I fit the bill for his bad behavior in some fashion or another. Either he disliked younger women or exsanguinators. Either would create extra problems for me. Rather than create trouble for the sake of creating trouble, I took a picture of him and waited for the service to begin.

  The service took almost two hours, and the campaign went to extremes trying to prove their fallen senator had been a shining example of morality in a dark world. They dug through the worst trenches of society in an effort to paint her as a radiant being above all others. Some in the crowd mourned, but most watched with an unnerving calm, analyzing every word the campaign manager said, who handled the transitions between guest speakers. Most in the front row spoke, including President Castillo, leaving me as an honorable mention.

  I suspected the lack of a ramp had something to do with having escaped being forced to talk to a crowd of politicians and campaign supporters.

  The instant the ceremony and final prayers concluded, the crowd murmured, and within five minutes, the place reminded me of a crowd leaving a concert, boisterous and ready for a night on the town despite it being in the early afternoon. As I loathed the idea of trying to navigate through the masses in my wheelchair, I held off leaving, checking my phone for any news.

  The local media fixated on the service, and I wrinkled my nose at my presence in more than a few photos. There was even one of me chatting with President Castillo. Fortunately for my peace of mind, all the pictures depicted me as being polite and interested in what the man said, although none of them captured me smiling.

  I could live with neutral and serious rather than dour or cranky.

  I gave it twenty minutes before I dove headlong into the cranky territory, especially when I went home to a mess.

  Thanks to the ongoing disagreement with my family and friends, Bradley had my cat. Until one of us bent, he’d continue to be the caretaker of my fluffy goddess. Ajani would make me pay for my absence, too.

  I missed my fluffy ball of terror, which only made the realities of my life even worse.

  Before I could spiral down to the dark depths of general despair, one of the older white men opted to sit beside me. I recognized him from the countless meetings with the fledgling cell as Representative Kennedys, the author of the bill destined to create upheaval and countless deaths. “Quite the service,” he said in a pleasant tone, and I could understand how he captured the attention of his constituents. What looked pleasant must be pleasant in the eyes of many, and he took care with his appearances along with his voice. “I hope you are feeling better.”

  Interesting. As the first to inquire on my health, he won points playing the social game, although I knew better than to be charmed by his easy smile, voice, and the illusion of kindness he presented.

  Men like him wanted people like me to disappear. Permanently.

  “I am. Thank you for asking.” To play along, I sighed and regarded my booted foot with a scowl. “I might escape this thing one day.”

  “I heard that the bullet damaged your already injured foot.”

  “That’s true. It did. It made a mess of the work that had already been done to it. I got lucky. If things keep going well, I might be able to walk again.” I already could in a fashion, but it involved crutches, as the infection made the whole damned thing hurt enough I had cried the first and last time I’d tried. Rather than walk to exercise my lungs, I lifted weights until I gasped for air.

  I’d done a lot of weightlifting in the past few days to forget about the ongoing dispute with my family and friends.

  Some days, I wished I could disappear again, but I couldn’t afford to leave, not until I found answers and justice.

  After, I’d evaluate the tangled mess my life had become.

  “You carry a painful burden, and to have worked so hard to save the lives you could. That is an admirable thing. I had not known exsanguinators could hold such moral integrity.”

  Of course not. He wanted to see people like me eradicated. “It is thanks to prejudices like that I couldn’t become a nurse or doctor. Had I been allowed, many more lives would have been saved.”

  “Yet you knew how to save those people attending the rally.”

  “Livestock,” I informed him in as neutral a tone as I could muster.

  “Pardon? I don’t understand.”

  “I helped vets treat livestock, and I honed my skills helping butchers make certain the animals had a calm and peaceful passing. People like me are not invited to go to school to learn how to save lives.”

  Because of people like him. I somehow kept my gaze focused on my foot, and I kept my mouth shut despite wanting to inform him he was a hateful waste of air.

  “Yet you saved those lives.”

  I shrugged. “What was the worst that would happen? They would die? They were already dying. I did what I could. I succeeded, and that is all that matters. Nothing would have saved Senator Maybelle. She was dead before I reached her.”

  “So we were told.”

  “Exsanguinators are many things, but we can’t bring back the dead. But I can circumvent the heart in the case of a torn aorta, and I can staunch bleeding as easily as I can cause it. I can purge your blood of infection, I can detect, just by looking at you, if you have diabetes.”

  “Do I have diabetes?” Representative Kennedys asked, his tone curious.

  I glanced at him, narrowed my eyes, and concentrated. Sure enough, I detected the telltale signs of sugar imbalance in his blood, the sensation matching what I associated with someone in the early stages of diabetes. “It’s either early or well-controlled, but yes. You have diabetes.” I shrugged, and I focused on the flowers on the stage. “If you haven’t been diagnosed, you should see a doctor.”

  “Can’t exsanguinators fix it?” he challenged. “If you’re so good at such things.”

  I snorted a laugh. “No. I can’t control your pancreas and convince your body to produce insulin. I work with blood, not with faulty organs no longer able to properly do their job. If you had a blood disease, perhaps I could, but diabetes isn’t a disease of the blood for all it is detected in the blood. Diabetes is sourced from a failure to produce insulin, which is not an exsanguinator’s domain. You would have to ask a doctor for the specifics. It’s ultimately your choice how you handle your sickness. All I can do is detect the imbalance of sugars in the blood, but the blood isn’t the cause of your problems. I am not a doctor, nor am I a nurse.”

  Technically, I lied. I could—and had—helped purge excess sugar from the blood in last-ditch efforts to save diabetes victims close to death. I couldn’t stop their diabetes, but I could temporarily rebalance their bodies while doctors worked at managing their insulin needs.

  And sometimes, not even my magic could stop death. There was only so much I could do, no matter how hard I tried.

  “Yet you saved those people.”

  “Yes, I did. If you had been the one shot, despite your obvious loathing of who and what I am, I would have tried to save you, too.” Fed up with asshole politicians, I unlocked the wheels of my chair and eyed the crowd for the best path to escape to the street, where I’d have to wait for a ridiculous time for somebody to cart me back to my apartment. “Have a good day, Representative Kennedys.”

  “Wait,” he ordered.

  “I am not yours to boss around, Representative Kennedys.”

  “We got off on the wrong foot, I see.”

  “You only have yourself to blame for t
hat.” Already regretting my choice to brave the crowds, I turned my chair and began the slow journey across the park to the street.

  “Perhaps you are right. I apologize. You are not what I expected from an exsanguinator of your strength.”

  Muttering curses under my breath, I stopped and turned my wheelchair to face him. “Well, yes. You decided to believe in a common prejudice without bothering to get to know me. It doesn’t matter how many lives I save when it comes to the prejudiced like you. I am still an exsanguinator, and that is all you need to know, isn’t it?” I allowed the merest hint of my scorn to show in my voice. “Unless you have something important to discuss, I have better things to do than pander to some politician who doesn’t even like me.”

  The man gaped at me as though I’d kicked him in the groin.

  I raised a brow and waited.

  “Nothing in my information on you said you were quite so bold.”

  “Haven’t you figured out what you’ve been told is probably colored by the opinions of those who know nothing about me? On paper, I’m an exsanguinator. What else do you actually know about me?”

  “Very little, apparently.”

  I nodded. “That’s correct. You know very little. You know I am an exsanguinator, and you know my name is Janette. You also know I’m capable of saving lives, but you don’t understand why I would want to. Have I missed anything?”

  “I think that covered the bases,” he admitted. “Rumor has it you are engaged to the heir of the Hampton family. Is that true?”

  Bradley might be the death of me one of these days. I’d been warned my engagement with him would create trouble, but I hadn’t believed it would bring politicians knocking at my door, including the President of the United States. “It is true.”

  “Is it true he holds your contract?”

  “That information is available to the public. I’m sure you could ask one of your aides to verify my contract status if you really wanted.” I planned on spending at least an hour snarling curses over news of my engagement to Bradley having hit political circles already.