Free Dangerous Calling (The Shadowminds) by AJ Larrieu Page A

surrounded by swampland in a turn of the river.
    “ There. ”
    It had never been in good repair, but the past months of neglect had sent it over the edge. One of the planks that formed the low dock had broken, and at least half of the paint had curled off, leaving the exposed wood open to wet and rot. I stopped worrying about whether the cash was still there and started worrying whether the building would support us while we looked for it.
    Shane bumped the throttle down to idle and took the boat around back. As we approached what remained of the dock, I caught sight of the swamp stretching out behind the camp and went still.
    “What—?” Shane began, picking up on my distress, but when he looked up he went quiet.
    For fifty yards around the camp, everything was dead.
    We were smack in the middle of a sweltering Louisiana summer. The trees farther from the camp were bright green and lush, thick with leaves and the bright signs of wildlife I could pick up with my powers. Closer to the camp, the trees were gray and brittle. Not only that—the underbrush was nonexistent. The lack of overhead foliage should’ve encouraged a swarm of smaller plants taking advantage of the unfiltered subtropical sun. Some grasses and smaller plants had taken root at the edges of the dead zone, but the center was barren.
    I’d scorched the marshy earth when I’d teleported from this spot months ago. I’d pulled from my surroundings to avoid killing Ryan. Here was the cost.
    Shane was quiet while he tied the boat off to one of the remaining pylons. We climbed the rickety ladder to the porch without speaking, and I held my breath while I waited to see if the planks would take our weight. A few of them bowed under my feet, but they didn’t break.
    “You okay?” Shane asked.
    I didn’t answer him. I stared at the wall of the camp, the one that formed the back of the porch. The pattern of peeled paint was odd, as though the destruction had grown from some central point like an organic thing, a starburst pattern with feathery arms. I walked forward and put my hand to the center, remembering. This was the point from which the ice my gift created had crept over the building.
    “Cass?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Should we go in?” His voice was careful and I hated it.
    “Yeah.” I walked past Shane into the camp’s austere bedroom. The door was still open; bills still littered the floor.
    “Jesus.” He hit his knees and began gathering them up. “How much is here?”
    “Like I said, no clue. I was more worried about getting back to you.” I went to the trap door and opened it.
    It was full of cash. Packed. Nestled among the bills was an open metal box I knew once contained Ryan’s gun. A box of ammo was tucked to one side.
    “How much do we need?”
    I looked up. Shane stood over me, his hands full of cash. There had to be thousands of dollars, here. Tens of thousands. The bills had gotten moldy in the months of damp. We were going to have to literally launder this money.
    I looked at the pile and the slivers of muddy water visible through the cracks in the floorboards. “All of it.”
    * * *
    I shoveled handfuls of bills into our giant, definitely not energy-efficient washing machine.
    “Which cycle do we use? Delicate or permanent press?” There was too much for a single batch, so we counted the rest while we waited. It came to over forty thousand dollars in ones, fives and the occasional ten. I only found a dozen twenties. With what was in the washing machine, we had probably had close to a hundred grand in cash. We had plenty of time to bundle it into hundred-dollar stacks while the dryer tumbled. It took longer than I expected, but I figured Annette was used to after-hours clients.
    I didn’t call ahead. I didn’t know what number I’d dial, anyway—Annette Perrin and her address didn’t have a phone number listed. I just walked right up to the front door and knocked as if I had every right in the world to pop by on a