Steal the Light (Thieves #1)(36)

I, however, knew he was really just a horny old bastard who loved his whiskey a little too much, and twenty-year-old girls way too much.

There was one thing in Harry Wharton’s life that held his heart, and that was me. Sometimes this was a blessing, as every Christmas he showered me with gifts, but at that moment, it felt like a curse. He’d been meddling in my life for the last several years, and I was ready for it to stop.

It had all started, as most of the crappy things in my life, with Daniel’s death. Up until then, Dad was willing to cede protection of me to Danny. He trusted Danny and loved him like a son and knew that Danny would never let anything happen to me. Since his turn, Dad had decided to be overprotective once again. He’d interceded on my behalf during jobs when I first started working. I suppose that in a way it helped to build my reputation, but having Daddy bail me out when I could have handled it on my own rankled.

But this was the last time, I thought as my rage threatened to turn volcanic. He’d meddled in my life for the last time. This wasn’t just my fate he was messing with now. It was Daniel’s and Neil’s and Sarah’s fates as well. I led this crew, and I made the decisions. No wonder the demon had chosen me as his bitch when my own father thought he could manipulate me so easily.

“Sweetie…” Neil said, worry evident in his voice. “Maybe we should stop and get a glass of wine—or maybe three—and talk about this. You just seem tense. You know you shouldn’t go see your dad when you’re this pissed off.”

“Neil is right.” Sarah chimed in from the back seat. “You need to calm down. I’m sure your dad was just taking it someplace he thought was safer. He’s just trying to protect you.”

“Well, he needs to stop thinking about protecting me and start wondering about who can protect him,” I said between clenched teeth as I pulled into the circular driveway. My heart raced, but I chalked it up to adrenaline. So I was mad—madder than I’d ever been—but I had the right to be mad. I didn’t look back as I slammed the car door. The crepe myrtles that lined the drive usually held my attention at this time of year, but today I blew by their glorious blooms without so much as a glance. I used my key and threw the heavy front door open.

“Dad!” I yelled up the stairs. “Get your drunk Irish ass down here this minute and give me my money!”

I passed through the foyer. Somewhere along the way, one of my father’s assistants had decorated it in what passed for post-modern, but I ignored the art and tasteful accents as my impatience grew by the moment. I hit the stairs, taking them two at a time, which wasn’t easy given my short stature. I heard Neil and Sarah behind me but paid them no mind. I just wanted that money back in my possession. I realized my hands were shaking a little bit and the briefest of thoughts flitted through my brain.

Something wasn’t right and I knew it, but the overwhelming emotion I felt shoved aside that bit of logic.

I needed to get that money. That was all that mattered.

My father’s office was the first room at the top of the stairs. This was his private office. Dad kept two. The downstairs office was where he took clients and held meetings, and the second was a private office upstairs where he went about his business. The second floor office contained all the good stuff. This was where he kept his books on arcane treasures and magic, and all the files he compiled on various people of import. It was where the weapons were hidden and where the skeletons were kept. Well, there was only one actual skeleton, but he really tried to keep a careful eye on it because if it ever woke up…

“Zoey, what are you doing here?” Christine came out of the private office dressed in a too short, too tight skirt that she undoubtedly thought looked professional. Christine was one of those girls who was actually quite intelligent but seemed so unsure of herself, it took a while to realize she had a brain.

“Where is he?” I didn’t want to deal with Christine. Christine hadn’t taken my money.

She shrank back a bit at my tone. “He’s still in bed. He’s been sick all morning.”

I turned and dismissed her as I walked down the hallway straight to his bedroom. Christine would know he’d been sick since she shared that bedroom with him. The minute I moved out to go to college, the first in a long line of twenty-something assistants had moved in with my dad. Christine was the latest. Most of them knew very little about my father’s actual business. He billed himself as a private detective and security specialist. He tried to keep his “girls” out of the darker aspects of the work.

“I actually think something might be wrong with him.” Christine hurried to catch up with me. “I was just about to call you to see if you could help.”

Though it was starting to get difficult to think, I stopped. “Call a doctor. I can’t help him.”

“I was going to call you because a doctor isn’t going to know what to do with this. I found this in your dad’s pocket. If this is what I think it is, it could explain why he’s acting so weird.” She held up a small bag, about the size of a human hand. It was made of canvas, and I could guess what was inside. It was what anyone in the know would call a hex bag, or a gris-gris bag, depending on what part of the magical world you happened to be in. A hex bag accompanied a spell a witch was really serious about. It kept the spell active as long as it remained close to the object of the spell. It was filled with lots of gross stuff like bloody bones and hair and herbs you probably wouldn’t want on your Sunday dinner.