Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(6)
“I thought I could count on you,” he’d said, resorting to a familiar tactic.
The jab would have hurt last year. This wasn’t the first time he’d thrown it, though. She had to remember: The highs and lows of the conversation weren’t due to his fear or the stress of the situation. He was high, and twenty grand in debt to a drug dealer. He’d paid for oblivion. Must be nice. “I’m doing what I can, Josh.” It was all Callie could offer.
Ford had snatched the phone at that point. “Did I hear I’m keeping this asshole for two weeks?”
Ugh. Even just a few words from Ford left Callie feeling like she was covered in thick tar. She’d fought through the viscous fear. “Yes, and you’re supposed to keep him safe, not high.”
His laugh had unsettled her. “He’s safest around here when he’s not in his own mind.” There had been too much knowledge in those words. A threat had been buried in there, too.
She’d wrapped her hair around her hand and lifted it into a makeshift bun. It hadn’t cooled the heat blossoming at the base of her neck.
“I need a couple weeks to get the soul secured for your job.” She’d rushed the words. The sooner the conversation was done, the better.
“The Charmer running low on stock?”
“I’m low on cash, unless you’ve changed your mind about fronting the money.” Getting the soul might cover her ass when she did a job for Ford, but that didn’t make any of this okay.
“I’ve fronted enough cash. That’s the problem.”
“I know,” she’d muttered, swallowing again and again as her brain had fought to keep the idiocy inside. “One of your men would be better at getting the information from—”
“Don’t say that shit on the phone,” he’d cut her off. Her cheeks burned from the verbal slap. She should have known better. Even a criminal rube like her knew talking about breaking into police records on the phone was dumb. “Your brother made an agreement. In my world we honor our word. You’re holding up his end of the deal. No renegotiating the terms. Two weeks is enough of a change in plans.”
Arguing the finer points of her involvement with a mob boss would only get her snuggled into the dirt. That much she knew. “Right.”
“I expect results.” Ford’s teasing tone had then disappeared. “I’ll keep your bro whole for now. He’s come in handy in the past. You drag this out, though, and we’ll be doing this exchange in pieces. You get me?”
She’d gotten him.
Callie shivered at the memory of her only face-to-face with Ford.
From the outside, Ford’s house was like any other rich asshole’s. A single-level adobe wonder sprawled in a private slip of desert. The mature juniper bushes surrounding the home made it blend into the skyline at night, but Callie doubted Ford had ever spent too much time enjoying the clear skies.
The entrance was where the peaceful fa?ade disappeared. The family portraits inside depicted men Callie had only ever seen in courtroom reports on the ten o’clock news. The henchman who escorted her to Ford’s office was short and wiry. The gun strapped to his hip was hard to miss. With each stutter-step she took, her shoes clomping against the tile, the exposed wooden beams above her seemed to drop, inch by inch, like she was living a video game from the eighties. The burnt-orange accent wall in Ford’s office was a welcome distraction.
“You’re Josh’s sister?” Ford’s back was to her. She’d seen him on the news, but in real life he was shorter, probably five-foot-seven. He wore blue jeans and a red polo shirt. His short hair was freshly cut, making it look like he was still in junior high.
“Yeah,” her voice shook in a the-guy-behind-me-has-a-gun kind of way.
“You sure he’s worth all this?” Ford turned as he spoke. He had a baby face—cherubic with dimples and gentle eyes. In another context, he might have struck her as the sweet boy down the street who’d offer to help the elderly woman rescue her cat. He wasn’t that boy, though. She’d never convince herself Ford was so harmless when there were three severed fingers resting atop a white sheet of paper on the desk next to his hip.
Her brain shorted at the sight, as if ceiling beams had crashed down on her neck. When she came to, they were in another room and she was agreeing to whatever Ford asked. She didn’t argue when he told her a different soul would be required to commit the robbery. Overlaying a second soul onto your own muddled DNA and fingerprints—the cops knew it, but the legal system hadn’t yet caught up to making it illegal. That made soul renting attractive to guys like Ford.
Callie’s mind returned to the present. Despite everything she’d gotten herself into over the past few days, she couldn’t undo the past. What was done was done, and she had to focus on moving forward if she had any chance of getting herself and her brother out alive. Working for the Soul Charmer couldn’t be that awful if it meant Josh wouldn’t be returned in brown butcher paper.
She made a turkey sandwich, but it wasn’t any more appealing than the chicken she’d served at the retirement home. She ate half, and then wrapped the remainder in plastic. Day-old sandwiches weren’t exactly the peak of leftover cuisine, but she’d at least save a few, much-needed bucks.
The air had turned crisp while she was inside. Snow would be capping the mountains in the distance soon. She stepped out and locked the door. An autumn breeze whipped through the exposed staircase at her apartment building. It didn’t cut through her hoodie, thankfully, but the blast cooled the nape of her neck and did nothing for her nerves. Better cold wind than a clammy palm on her neck, she tried to convince herself, but in that moment it was hard to tell the difference.