Free The Cowboy Genie's Wife: A Paranormal Romance (The Dirty Djinn Series) by Lyn Brittan

spoken for months, and all the bills are paid by some financial guy,” she said, pointing with the same hand that held the glass. She finished it and motioned for him to pour.
    “You shouldn’t mix your liquors.”
    “I’m discussing a missing corpse with an Algerian genie wearing a cowboy hat. I’ll have the drink.”
    “Point taken. As to the other,” he said, pausing to pour and reflect on the general absurdity of the situation, “I’m interested. Please continue.”
    “His credit card accounts can’t be traced. I mean yeah, his wife would still be using her card, but not in New York. Wouldn’t the guy that pays the bills have noticed if his boss stopped spending all of a sudden?”
    “Unless he didn’t.”
    “Exactly,” she said, voice strong with a heaping of confidence.
    “Or unless the bill isn’t due or he doesn’t check it. Don’t go getting your back heaving, gimme a minute and wish for my laptop.”
    The second it arrived, and it really was less than a second, he started typing. He had no hacking skills, but he knew people who did, and they owed him. In eight minutes, a list of charges appeared on his screen. “Someone’s been using the man’s credit cards.”
    “Where?”
    “Still in New York. Manhattan. Your body thief isn’t straying far.”
    “So we go to Manhattan,” she said, rising. Her once again empty glass clanged against his granite countertop.
    He grabbed her hand and nodded back to the chair. “Not yet. New York hasn’t gotten any smaller since we were last there.” Then his laptop pinged again, and he zoomed in on the image sent from his hacker. Their target had been caught on a sports store camera using the card. He flipped around the laptop. “You know this guy?”
    “Holy crap.”
    “So, yes?”
    “That’s Jimmy.”
    “Jimmy the accountant? Jimmy the drug lord? Jimmy the...”
    “Jimmy, the doorman.”
    * * * *
    T hey were on a flight that afternoon. Paranoia or caution, she didn’t know, but they’d agreed she’d travel the old-fashioned way—in the small djinn lamp tucked away in Fazil’s inner jacket pocket. She tried amusing herself with books and sorting through old clothes, but her mind focused on one thing.
    And it wasn’t Jimmy.
    As a djinn rule, it wasn’t the best idea for a genie to go into a fight with his lamp on him. On the one percent chance someone got the drop on Fazil, the last thing they needed was for some goon to see something shiny and take off with his lamp.
    When the plane touched down, Fazil walked them to the family restroom in the airport, and she was able to pop out of the lamp. It was always a bit disorienting, not knowing where she was for a second or two. Fazil’s presence made all the difference—a comforting balm in the crazy of all this.
    “You ready?”
    She shrugged. “I just need to get this over with.”
    “We will. Just stick to the plan. Yeah?”
    Fazil had placed the lamp on a golden chain around her neck. His plan, combined with the Neanderthal ooo-rah mentality Fazil suffered from, meant abandoning her in a restroom in the hotel across the street from the apartment building where everything had gone down. He’d given explicit orders to wait for him there.
    Said orders were repeated every three steps.
    “Fazil, if you tell me what to do one more time...”
    “We’re too close to having this thing settled. Your room key is waiting for you at the front desk. Go rest, have a drink, and let me handle this.” His head swiveled from one side to the other. The man looked primed, almost eager for an attack. Surely, he didn’t expect one here on the streets?
    “Because I can’t?”
    “Because you didn’t. Or, because you caused it. Pick one.”
    “Not fair.”
    But Fazil didn’t answer. Not really. He put one foot behind the other and backed away, palms raised upward until she lost him in the crowd of New York.
    Staying obedient didn’t suit her these days. She managed to stay only for as long as he