Free Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2) by A. Blythe Page B

started to turn away from me, but stopped short. "Good luck, Alyse."
    "Thanks," I said, perplexed. Jamie never wished me luck. Usually, he made a crack about my unruly hair, or chastised me for my expensive spending habits, but he never drew attention to the mission once he'd passed on the necessary communications.
    At the time, I assumed Jamie was experiencing some kind of mid-life crisis, that his comments were more about him than me. I didn't give the exchange another thought, even after I was cuffed. Now that he was dead, however, I needed to revisit my previous opinion. Maybe he'd been trying to tell me something—that I was in trouble. Then I remembered the birthday card I'd never read. Could there have been a message written in there? I'd taken out the microchip and tossed the card onto my dresser. There was no way it was still there after all these months. The Shadow Elite would have sent a team to clean out my place. It was protocol. I certainly couldn't go back there and make sure. It wasn't safe for me to leave Philadelphia.
    I remembered the small apartment, on the outskirts of Washington D.C. It was never really home, just a place to crash between assignments. I couldn't go there now, but I knew someone who could. I forced myself to wake up, so I could make the call.

    I t took a few pleas and a dozen apple cider donuts, but I managed to persuade Detective Thompson to pay a visit to Luciano Bendetti together.
    We were directed to the penthouse suite of a luxury condo building on the waterfront near Penn's Landing. With the cityscape on one side and the Delaware River on the other, it was a nice little oasis.
    Instead of bodyguards, a pair of deeply tanned girls in skimpy outfits admitted us into the suite where we were greeted by a funky redhead with thick, black glasses and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. He was in the middle of a heated game of beer pong against a guy in a classic O'Neill T-shirt and faded jeans. He was easily six foot four with a shock of white blond hair, a square jaw, and mesmerizing aquamarine eyes. Surfer Dude. At first glance, I thought he might be the mage or maybe a college intern. Did the crime syndicate have interns?
    "We're here to see your boss," I said.
    Surfer Dude swatted the ball with his paddle and the ball bounced over the net and landed in his opponent's cup with a splash. The redhead swore loudly before draining the contents.
    "My boss is unavailable," Surfer Dude said, getting into a defensive position. The other guy whacked the ball across the net and Surfer Dude blocked it easily and knocked it back.
    "We were told we could meet him here," I said. "But we seem to have stumbled into a frat party. No worries. We'll find our own way out."
    "We'll just follow the trail of spilled beer," Thompson said archly.
    "Hey Lucky," one of the women from the front door called. "The pizza's here. How much should I tip him?"
    "Twenty percent, babe," Surfer Dude replied. "Always."
    Lucky? My head snapped back to the hot beach bum. "You're Luciano."
    The redhead pushed his glasses up the bridge of his sloped nose. "Sure he is. Who'd you think he was?"
    I jutted out my hip and fixed Luciano with my mean girl stare. "You said your boss was unavailable."
    A faint smile played on his full lips. "And it's true. The Dragon doesn't hang out here. This place isn't fancy enough."
    Detective Thompson ambled over to his side of the ping-pong table, her generous hips bumping left and right. Even though she only came up to his elbow, she somehow managed to look intimidating. Not a bad trick.
    "My name is Detective Thompson."
    He grinned, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. Someone had braces once upon a time. Possibly last year from the looks of him.
    "I know who you are, Detective," he said. "Lord knows you've made enough waves in my jurisdiction over the years."
    "Over the years?" she sniffed. "You only look about sixteen now."
    His laugh was relaxed and good-natured. "A sixteen-year-old me would get