Evil Ways by Justin Gustainis Read Free Book Online

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    Although white magic cannot be used to harm people, it does not prevent evil people from, essentially, harming themselves. Libby did not think that her practitioner's oath required her to save people who had just tried to kill her. In any case, if she tried to interfere with the water sprite's vengeance, it might well turn on her. Libby had no desire to share the fate of the two killers who were now, she was sure, in the process of drowning while on dry land.
    She was not looking forward to seeing what would be lying on her living room floor, but Libby knew she would have to go out there sooner or later, and sooner would be better.
    She had telephone calls to make.

    The man from the FBI was a compact, wiry-looking black man who had placed one of the room's easy chairs so that it faced the doorway. He sat there as Morris came in, both hands conspicuously in sight, one of them holding open the small leather case that contained his badge and ID card.
    Morris stood in the doorway, very still, then took a slow step into the room, and let the door swing shut behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was standing behind the door. He thought those kinds of adolescent shenanigans might still be in the FBI's playbook, but the man with the badge seemed to be alone.
    He stood up and took a couple of steps toward Morris, still holding out the ID folder, as if he thought Morris would want to examine it. "Special Agent Fenton, FBI," he said. "Although I guess you figured out that last part already."
    Morris was still holding his room's card key. Now he put it back in his pocket, his movements slow and careful. Some of these guys were always waiting for an excuse to show off one of the fancy moves they'd learned at Quantico —or worse, demonstrate just how fast they were on the draw. Morris had no desire to have his liver ventilated by a 9mm slug because some Fed overreacted to an innocuous movement.
    "To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Fenton?" Morris said evenly.
    "Answering that one is gonna take us a while. Maybe we should both sit down."
    Morris didn't move immediately. "Am I under arrest?"
    "No, you're not," Fenton said, sitting down again "Yet."
    Morris looked at him for a moment longer, then moved to sit down himself. There was another armchair in the room, but he chose the side of the king-size bed. In the unlikely event that things got physical, Morris figured he could get off the bed and into action a lot faster than someone sunk into a big, overstuffed chair.
    "You know," Morris said, "I do have an office in Austin. No secretary, but there's an answering service that makes appointments, and they're pretty reliable. All you had to do was call."
    "I'm aware of that," Fenton said. "Thing is, this can't wait, and I had no way of knowing when you'd be coming back. I mean, you have to go see Carteret first, don't you? Or were you just planning on a phone call to let him know that the job was done?"
    Despite himself, Morris blinked a couple of times. "I'd sure be interested in knowing how you got a warrant to tap my phone," he said. "Or did you just decide that I was a terrorist, and skip the warrant entirely, probable cause be damned?"
    Fenton gave him a satisfied-looking smile. "We didn't tap your phone, as a matter of fact," he said. "But we were able to get a warrant to look at some records. Your phone calls, both sent and received, for instance. And your bank records, which showed a recent wire transfer to your account from one James Tiberius Carteret. Southwest Airlines confirmed your booking of a flight to Los Angeles shortly thereafter. I was interested to see that you bought a one-way ticket. Didn't quite know when you were coming home, did you?"
    "Maybe I was hoping to meet some honey over on Rodeo Drive," Morris said. "Hook up with her and spend a week at her place in Palm Springs, playing house the way the rich folks do. You ever think of that?"
    Fenton ignored the sarcasm. "You were under