Booked for Kidnapping (Vigilante Magical Librarians Book 2) Read online

  “Well, you hadn’t played with her appropriately or sufficiently. That seems like a good reason to be mauled. Honestly, any reason is good enough for her. I swear she’s made a lot of progress since I adopted her.”

  “I know. I’ve handled the brush, and the imprints are fairly strong, even from when you first got her. She’s an angel compared to right after you got her and she clued in she was no longer dying.”

  Damn it. Life with Bradley was filled with unique perils. “Your magic is going to drive me more than a little crazy.”

  He smirked. “I know, especially when you think you can hide certain things. But don’t worry. I’ll only use such knowledge for your benefit. Realistically, our benefit. And while I have an advantage, all you’ll have to do, once that foot of yours is healed, is put on your boots to take full control of the situation. Those boots are going to drive me more than a little crazy. And patience. Those boots are a lesson in patience. It’s a lesson I’m really not appreciating right now.”

  Well, at least my boots were getting good mileage, and I hadn’t even gotten a chance to wear them. “I still have to pick the outfit I’m wearing with those boots,” I informed him.

  “And that’s my cue to go out and get us dinner, as I must go wrestle with my disappointment and interest in what you might wear with those boots. And despair, having a good understanding of how long it will be until you can wear those boots. I will also bring my librarian a new book as punishment for torturing us both.”

  I debated informing him about my new stash of birth control pills, the three boxes of condoms I’d acquired due to my absolute ignorance on sizing for men, and the various lotions and intriguing items I’d purchased the last time I’d managed to escape from the grasp of my family and friends under the guise of a doctor’s appointment.

  I really needed to thank Dr. Mansfield for having served as my scapegoat for that adventure. She’d even taken me to an adult store so I could browse the selection and get advice from a married woman with children. If Bradley checked under my bed, I’d be worse than sunk.

  Maybe I needed to ask him to fetch something out from under there to send more hints.

  I would worry about that later, after I evicted him long enough to work on my other project, which involved making dinner plans with a potential victim.

  To cover my thoughts, I grinned at him. “You don’t need to work on your bribes, although I’m accepting them because bribing me is much cheaper than chasing me around in that old car of yours.”

  “The savings are real, and I’m enjoying spending them on you rather than looking for you. In bad news, that means I do need to work tonight so I can continue lavishing us both with gifts. I enjoy being spoiled through my hard work. There’s also something to be said for earning my keep and being good at something.”

  No kidding. “Rewarding work is important. Bring some new notebooks back. I think we’re going to need them, especially with the new clues we need to hunt. Maybe some photo albums, too?”

  “I’ll get us a pair of tablets and styluses, too. That’ll let us manage digital and physical records better. I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, gathering his wallet, keys, and everything else he might need for an adventure into the wilds of New York. “Try not to get into any trouble without me.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised. Calling a senator wasn’t trouble.

  The trouble would come later, depending on what I learned.

  I waited until certain Bradley had left before dialing Senator Westonhaus’s number. I wondered if the man would answer, although I’d tested my phone and had confirmed it showed my name whenever I called someone.

  “Good evening, Janette,” an older man greeted. “I’m delighted you called. I had hoped you would. You’ve been making ripples in all political circles, and you’re notoriously difficult to reach.”

  I was? I eyed my phone, wondering how nobody had managed to get the number and call me. I suspected Bradley’s mother had something to do about that—or politicians had better manners than I’d thought. “Senator,” I greeted, already questioning what I was doing and how I’d get away with it. “I do plan to reach out to everyone who’d sent a card. It was very kind and generous of you.”

  “My wife is a retired librarian, and there’s nothing librarians love more than free trips to the bookstore, so they can continue to grow their personal hoards. My wife, when she learned why we were going to her personal version of heaven, supervised to make certain I didn’t do anything unbecoming.”

  “Giving a librarian a gift card involving books is never unbecoming. The only thing better than giving the librarian books is donating to their library.”

  Senator Westonhaus laughed. “Do you know my wife? She said the same thing. In fact, that’s part of why I asked you to call me. She thinks I should place a donation, as I’ve been informed your medical bills are being covered?”

  “Yes. Senator Maybelle’s campaign opted to use some of the remaining campaign donations to pay for the care of everyone injured during the shooting. They also are setting up a therapy program to address the trauma.”

  “That is very honorable of them. I’m impressed. Are the donators aware of how their funds are being used?”

  I’d dealt with that question from Bradley’s mother, the herd of attorneys she worked with, and everyone who knew me who worried about the charitable deed biting me in the ass later. “Yes. The campaign reached out to all donors and inquired if they were okay with their funds being used in such a fashion. Those who were not okay with their funds being used in such a fashion were refunded their contributions, along with the appropriate slips canceling their contributions.” I grinned at the idea of the selfish being made to pay for their actions. “The campaign also made a list of those who received their money back. They have opted to use complete transparency.”

  “Very clever. Most won’t refuse if they know they will be doxed for their greed.”

  “It only took a handful to get the point across, apparently.” As Westonhaus intended to donate to my precious library, I would show him my best side. “Were you aware the branch I work at is being renovated?”

  “I hadn’t heard,” he admitted. “I do know you are located near the Met, and the building is considered to be a historic site.”

  “Yes. We had two floors that we hadn’t been able to fund, and those will be opened for patrons as soon as the renovations and cleaning is completed. A generous donor provided the base funds required for the major renovations, but we can discuss how you can make meaningful contributions to the branch.”

  Senator Westonhaus made a pleased noise in his throat. “Excellent. This sort of discussion is best done over dinner, and that will give me a chance to review the specific information for the donation.”

  “I have the information here if you’d like it. The library was given a special account specifically for renovation donations, and I can draw up the appropriate tax receipts for you. We can discuss how the funds will specifically be used over dinner, along with addressing any of your concerns. But that way, you can address the payment itself at your leisure.” I grabbed my laptop and made sure to check my calendar. “Outside of doctor’s appointments and renovation work I can’t miss, I have a relatively open schedule until the library fully reopens.”

  “Even better. Let me get to my computer real quick, and I’ll set up the wire now. While I hadn’t heard about the renovations, this works exceptionally well. It’s become rather apparent to me that we need to expand public services.”

  The last I’d checked, Westonhaus redefined what it meant to be conservative, and that included public spending. “I had no idea you supported public services so extensively, Senator.”

  “It seems there are an unfortunate number of people who lack education on certain elements of our society. Certain public services can rectify this, and places like libraries do help the unemployed find meaningful work. These should be preserved.”

  I resisted
the urge to snort, as I witnessed, day in and day out, the consequences of poor education. One of my duties as a librarian was to help those lacking that education to get the learning they needed to be able to function in society.

  Day after day, I questioned how much good I did, but I refused to quit.

  My stubbornness proved to be my salvation as often as it proved to be a prison.

  “That is but one facet of our duties as librarians,” I replied, wondering how people handled mincing every damned word as part of their daily life. “Whenever you’re ready, I have the wire information. Once the wire arrives, you’ll be issued your donation receipt.”

  I still questioned how I’d gotten saddled with working with the library accountants on gathering and processing charitable contributions, but I refused to complain about it.

  “Just give me one more minute. I’m just logging into my bank account now.” According to the sounds of his typing, the senator typed faster than most secretaries or played some sort of game that required he bang the keys at an insane rate.

  I made a note to practice typing, as I wasn’t about to let some damned politician beat me at anything.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  I relayed the wire information, careful to repeat the account and transit information so it would reach the library’s charitable contributions account. I instructed him to leave his phone number in the additional information box so he could be texted with a copy of his receipt and given an option to receive another copy by mail or email. “It can take up to 72 hours for the wires to be fully processed, depending on the bank. If the bank is open, you’ll usually get your text within five minutes of the wire being received.”

  “At this time of night, I expect it’ll happen sometime tomorrow. Excellent. My wife has already explained some of the financial burdens libraries face. She informed me the computer systems are often a significant problem, especially for the librarians themselves. Is this true?”

  “Very. We often will try to make certain the computers the patrons use are sufficient, which results in the private computers having some issues in terms of age.”

  “Well, I would definitely like for some of that money to be used to upgrade the computer systems, then. That’s important, especially when job searching. I’m certain the amount sent will be sufficient for that cause. Is it possible to put a placard up in memory of Senator Maybelle and Senator Godrin?”

  “Absolutely. I can make the inquiries. I’ll bring a tablet to make notes of these requests. The library board needs to approve everything like that, but I don’t anticipate there being an issue with such a placard in a suitable location.”

  “That sounds good. My wife had warned me there might be hoops to jump, but I’m relieved to hear you are willing to make the effort.”

  I rolled my eyes at his implication I wouldn’t, especially when it involved paying the library money to upgrade the computers. “Such requests don’t take long to send over to the board. The library often refuses requests that are intended to support businesses, but memorial placards are often approved depending on the situation. We do bar mention of political affiliations, but as long as the memorial placards are neutral or leave a wholesome message, they are typically approved. When the library reopens, I can show you several we have in our branch. You can also go to one of the other branches the next time you are in New York to see how we handle them.”

  “I think I’ll do just that. So, when would be the best time and place for a dinner meeting?”

  “I’ll have limited mobility for the next few weeks due to my foot, so anything without excessive stairs. I can manage, but it’s not ideal.”

  “Yes, I have noticed that New York is not precisely accessible. My wife complained about that, especially now that she has to use a cane sometimes. She broke her foot two years ago, and when the weather sours, she limps.”

  Ah-ha. I found many people changed their tune when they had to watch a loved one suffer. The changes the Hamptons had made to their household after the accident reminded me on a daily basis that I’d become more than a purchased acquisition.

  I needed to unload some of my personal baggage before it crushed me beneath its weight.

  “Any restaurant with limited steps will be fine, although if it isn’t within a block of my home, I’ll have to make transport arrangements.”

  “I would be pleased to pick you up for the evening. I’ll make sure I bring a car suitable for your needs. Do you think you’ll require a wheelchair?”

  “It’s a possibility,” I admitted. “My doctor doesn’t want me to put unnecessary weight on it.”

  “Does your chair fold?”

  “It does.”

  “I’ll make sure to bring the right vehicle. My wife is really good at that sort of thing, so I’ll impose on her before she heads out of town on a trip.”

  “Thank you, Senator. That’s appreciated. Why don’t you pick the restaurant? According to my fiancé, if given the choice, I will go to my favorite Chinese restaurant every time, without variation, in an attempt to flash-fry my remaining taste buds. I’ve convinced him to try some of the gentler foods, and he is slowly coming around, but he has a long way to go.”

  “I asked a restaurant once to make me the spiciest dish they could, and I had to ask for something to make it hotter,” the senator replied with pride in his voice. “There is a South Korean restaurant that makes stellar Buldak. Have you had it?”

  “I haven’t had any type of Korean food,” I confessed.

  “I’ll take you there. They have a dress code, but as long as you’re not wearing jeans, it will be fine—and I can warn them you’re suffering from health problems, so they’ll relax the code for you, I’m sure.”

  “I have business, business casual, and formal attire,” I assured him. “Which is ideal?”

  “Business,” he replied. “It’s a popular spot for us to talk business, as every table in the restaurant is a semi-private booth.”

  “That sounds wonderful. What day and time?”

  “Do you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow evening?”

  I checked, sighing to discover someone had added an appointment with Dr. Mansfield. I suspected Bradley as the primary culprit, as the sole person who knew my foot needed work because of the infection I’d purged. “My appointment ends at three, so I should be back home and ready by four.”

  “I’ll pick you up at five. May I have your address?”

  I gave him my apartment’s address, made a note in the calendar I would be busy from five to eight, with a note my appointment might last longer, and I shared it with everyone so they’d know I would be busy. Five minutes after Bradley’s phone notified him of my addition, he would be calling to confirm I wouldn’t be doing anything dangerous. To limit the concern, I described the event as speaking to a library donor at a dinner meeting.

  My boss would be proud of me.

  “I shall see you tomorrow at five, then. Have a good night, Janette.”

  “You too, Senator.” I hung up, and I turned my attention to my next job, which involved learning everything I could about Senator Westonhaus and why he wanted to speak with me in person.

  FIVE

  You’re not just an exsanguinator.

  Dr. Mansfield needed to work as a police interrogator. Bradley had given her just enough intel to hang me with, and after a short but brief dispute, which she won, she discovered my fiancé had opted to unlock the bracelet so I could break her rules. That earned me a twenty-minute scolding, although the scolding resulted in a proper examination of my foot using my talent to help make sure the infection packed its bags and left.

  We both compromised, and she agreed to leave the bracelet unlocked as long as I agreed to only turn it off three times a day to manage the infection properly, rather than attempt to use my various organs as an untraditional storage method for impurities in my blood. Then, as my day could always get worse, she gave me a prescription, one with the slimy, creepy feeling I disli
ked—and had polluted Senator Maybelle’s blood.

  “You’re not just an exsanguinator, you know,” my doctor announced while rattling the pill bottle at me. I’d learned when she rattled the bottle, she meant business, and good patients listened when she meant business.

  “Really? I’ll take anything at this point. Any other talent than just exsanguination.”

  “Your ability to sense how a drug will interact with the human body is a mending talent. I suspect you are a mid-range mender who uses exsanguination as the foundation of your mending work. I’ve been thinking about the shooting, and I’ve been talking with pure exsanguinators confirmed to lack any other talents. Then I spoke with some other menders, and I found a match in a chemist. The chemist uses their mending talent to learn how drugs might react in the body without testing on live humans, and he has just enough of an exsanguination talent to be able to address some of the bloodwork problems. You have a far stronger exsanguination talent, but you have a weaker mending talent. I think you’re instinctively doing that. The pure exsanguinators I spoke to are also unsure they could mimic how you save lives. Some think they can do similar, but you have a far more refined level of control than they do. I suspect your mending abilities are helping you. You’re essentially the perfect healer for anything involving the circulatory system.”

  “Am I?” I considered her words, wondering what it would change for me. From the first time I’d done a shift in the ER, I’d decided saving lives appealed far more than taking them, although I could kill with a mere thought. I worked hard to make sure I never put myself in a position I might accidentally harm someone. “Does that mean you won’t hang me from the rafters when I check on my foot more often than you like?”