Charmed & Deadly

A special thanks to Leslie Gelbman, Susan Allison, Anne Sowards, and the gang at Berkley for letting me tell this story and for believing in me. Sha-Shana Crichton, you are the woman. I’m so grateful to the readers of the Charmed & Dangerous series who keep asking for more, and to my fellow writers who help me hone my craft. I’m very lucky to have the friends I do, and I want you all to know how much I appreciate you and that you inspire me every day. David Blackstock, thank you for making me feel beautiful. Curtis S., your kindness and generosity are what make you so amazing. To my family, you are all so supportive and I’m so happy you are a part of my world and are with me on this journey.

Musical inspiration for this story was provided by U2, Joss Stone, the Wreckers, Bob Marley, Fern Knight, the Killers, Nelly Furtado, Evanscence and everyone else on my iPod.

“W
hat the hell is that?” A distorted male voice cut through the fog. I tried to open my eyes. They wouldn’t budge. Something cold and wet covered my body.

I’m dreaming. My last thought had been to send myself out to search for the missing men using astral projection, while I tried to sleep in the stupid tree. The safest place to doze in the jungle, Kaz, my guide, had told me. This after a run-in with a leopard that made me feel like a T-bone on a platter. I can’t believe I actually fell asleep with those eerie cat eyes staring at me all night.

“Jesus! It’s Bronwyn.” That voice I knew. Sam was in my dream. No surprises there. I’d been tramping through this godforsaken African jungle for days trying to find my hunka burnin’ love.

“Is she alive?” That was Azir, my favorite sheik. I could almost smell his sandalwood scent. It all seemed so real. “Where did
she
come from?”

Two fingers brushed my neck and a hand pushed the hair from my forehead. “Her pulse is weak, but her breathing is steady.” Sam again. “Bronwyn, can you hear me?”

Wow. This might be a really good dream. Sam and the sheik.

It was weird, though—I couldn’t take control of my dream like I usually did. I wanted to talk with them, to tell them I was on my way, but my mouth wouldn’t work.

“Bronwyn. It’s Dad. I need you to try and open your eyes.” Um, yuck. What was my dad doing in the middle of my sexy dream? “Come on, honey, you can do it.” My dad had his doctor voice on. Stern but kind.

I took a deep breath and the effort caused me to cough.

“There’s fluid in her lungs.” That came from my dork-faced brother. I hadn’t seen him in two years, and he sounded older, worried, and as annoying as ever. “Turn her onto her side.”

Bite a big one, Brett
. Dad had been a top-notch surgeon before Brett had been a zygote. Leave it to my brother to get all bossy. I sure as hell didn’t understand why he would be in my dream.

They turned me over, and that was when I realized it wasn’t a dream. Their hands poked and prodded. I was with them, but I had no idea how I’d done it. Had I accidentally astrally projected my body? No, I couldn’t have; I didn’t have that power yet. My brain felt like it had been sucked through some kind of vacuum and I couldn’t get my thoughts to gel.

Then I sensed an evil presence, strong and malevolent. The stench of sulfur filled my nose.
Crap
. I had to wake up. I had to protect them. I reached out and connected with Sam’s strong arm. I’d know those hard biceps anywhere.

“Talk to me, Bron.” He squeezed my hand. “She’s fading, how the hell is she doing that? Baby, say something.” I heard the worry in his voice. He loved me so much.

Straining to speak caused something weird to happen inside my head. As I slid back into darkness, I whispered, “Evil’s coming.”

Friday
9 p.m.
Amsterdam
Peeved witches: 1
Dead Guys: 1
Spells: 5

D
oesn’t matter what kind of job you have, some days suck more than others. My friend Zane is a rock star. Sounds exciting enough, but he goes through months of monotonous rehearsals before the big, exciting show. Simone is a demon slayer, and even
she
gets bored sometimes. Kira’s a librarian, and although I know she loves her job, I’ve caught her “resting her eyes” more than once on a slow Monday.

Me, I’m a witch who protects the British prime minister. Most of the time we sit around in meetings listening to the yammering of one diplomat after another. I read their minds and emotions and then let the PM know which way the wind’s blowing. Usually, the toughest thing I have to do is stay awake.

Then there are days like today.

This morning we landed in Amsterdam for a peace conference. As we made our way to the limo from the PM’s private jet, a bullet zinged past.

Sniper. Crap. It’s going to be one of those kinds of days
.

“My word. What was that?” The PM automatically ducked as another whistling bullet pinged into the tarmac inches from where we stood, two feet from the limo.

“Down!” I screamed as I shoved him behind the car. I threw a protective shield around us as I searched for the shooter. My magic can only hold out so long, and I needed to find our assailant fast.

I have the ability to open my mind and send it around the world in seconds. It comes in handy when I’m trying to keep track of my clients, a globetrotting bunch, who always seem to land in trouble.

Unfortunately, the talent isn’t foolproof. This assassin was protected by a dark magic and it blocked me, which is one of the reasons I hadn’t sensed him when we landed. Bullets riddled the car.

The rest of the PM’s security team crouched behind the second limo, pulling their weapons and firing toward the roof.

The PM’s nerdy assistant, Miles, talked on his cell phone headset and punched something into a small handheld computer. Clueless as usual.

“Miles get down, you idiot!”

Annoyed, he sneered at me, then there was a look of surprise as he realized what was going on. Before he could jump for cover a bullet hit him from behind, its force propelling him toward me. I pulled down the shield for a second so he wouldn’t bounce against it and yanked him inside. A dark red stain spread against his chest.

“
Oafff
,” Miles stuttered as he hit the ground.

I ripped off my white blouse and shoved it toward the prime minister, whispering a healing spell as I did. “Sir, I need you to hold this against the wound to stop the bleeding.” Miles’s pasty skin had gone even paler.
Damn, damn, damn
. I couldn’t stand the nerdy jerk, but I didn’t want him to die.

“I’ll take care of him, Bronwyn. You get that bloody bastard.” The PM is good under stress and always has that British stiff-upper-lip thing going for him. I haven’t ever seen him lose his cool. Even when he was dying once, he was still quite dignified. The man always looks like he stepped out of
GQ
with his graying temples, chiseled chin, and extremely high fashion-IQ.

I nodded and made my way around the end of the car. We’d landed at Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport. They have incredible security, as people are always trying to smuggle one thing or another out of there. Thanks to some powerful magic, the sniper had made his way to the top of the building undetected.

The gunfire ceased, which meant he or she was on the run. Physically, there was no way I could reach the roof, but I didn’t have to.

Dropping the protective shield, I focused on tracing the magic. I found one of the holes where a bullet had hit the car and put my hand on it. Opening my eyes I saw the trail of magic. Tiny wisps of black smoke leading to the roof. The hint of sulfur made the tiny hairs in my nose burn.

I couldn’t see the sniper, but the magic was concentrated in one area on the roof. I threw a binding spell and held the assailant with my mind, but I couldn’t get into his or hers, which was protected by a powerful warlock or witch.

Airport security personnel in short buses and an ambulance raced onto the tarmac. Holding their guns at the ready, they surrounded us.

My Dutch isn’t so good, and I didn’t want to freak them out by talking in their heads.

“Prime Minister, tell them the sniper’s on the roof and to hurry. I can’t hold him much longer.”

The PM barked orders and I could see the police speaking into walkie-talkies. Normally, it isn’t such a big deal for me to hold someone like this, but the magic protecting him was beyond strong.

“They have him surrounded, Bronwyn.” The PM interrupted my concentration.

I let the sniper go and fell to my knees, temporarily drained, but I couldn’t rest long. Miles needed me.

I pushed through security. The paramedics already had him on a gurney. The curly-haired, snippy jerk had lost consciousness.
Please, God, let it be because he’s a major wuss
.

Someone tossed a blanket around my shoulders and I pulled it around me. I’d forgotten I was half naked. Thank goodness I’d worn a decent bra, one of my new purchases from La Perla.

I moved to the PM’s side as they lifted Miles into the ambulance.

“I should go with him.” The PM’s voice was tinged with anger. He hated that his position put those around him in constant danger, but that’s just the way it was. Crazy people always want to take out those in power. It is my job to make sure it doesn’t happen.

“Sir, I need to question the gunman, and you need to be there.” The PM wasn’t traveling without me. Whoever hired the sniper wouldn’t be happy about the botched job, and they would try again. Bad guys always have a plan B.

The PM had spent the last ten minutes rolling around on the tarmac, but he didn’t look it. His Savile Row suit was no worse for the wear.

Turning to the nearest police officers he said something in Dutch. They nodded and spoke into their walkie-talkies again.

That’s when we heard the shot. Everyone ducked, and I landed on top of the PM. My breasts smashed into his face. I heard him muffle words.

“Sorry.” I moved so I was by his side.

“Bronwyn, we’re fine,” the PM said while he tried quite hard to avoid staring directly at my breasts, which were still only inches from his face. “I can hear what they are saying over the radio. The suspect committed suicide. That’s the shot we heard.” He sat up, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeves.

I pulled the blanket around me again. “Huh. Guess we’ve had a change of plans. Let’s go see how the twer—er—Miles is holding up.”

The pilots, who had stayed inside the plane through all of this, brought out our bags. We stuffed the luggage in a limo and took off for the hospital.

Five hours later, Miles was out of any immediate danger and the doctors told us he was doing better than expected. I couldn’t decide if I was happy about that news or not. Miles really does get on my nerves.

The PM thanked me. The healing spells had worked their magic.

We finally made it to the Dylan hotel, which is located on the Keizersgracht, one of the city’s most famous canals. It looks like a big mansion on the outside, but it’s modern, chic, and small, making it easier to protect the PM. He’d postponed his meetings for the evening, and for that I was grateful. My energy had been drained and I needed to sleep in order to recharge.

Usually his security staff stays with him, and I take a room nearby. This time I stayed in one of the extra rooms in the suite. I put protection wards on every door and window and swept the area with my mind. Seeing no immediate threat, I decided to get some rest.

I walked into my room. It was an explosion of color. Raspberry and cream stripes covered the comforter and canopy. Red lacquered boxes sat at the foot of the bed, and deep, rich mahogany tables sat on either side. A bit Cirque du Soleil for me, but the cushy-looking mattress beckoned me.

I had to sleep, but something niggled at my brain. You know how when you pack for a long trip and you can’t think of what you might’ve left behind? That’s how it felt. I’d missed something important over the last few hours, but I couldn’t think of what it might be.

Climbing under the covers, my thoughts floated to Lulu’s fried chicken back home. I’d been traveling with the PM, who has a penchant for grilled chicken and vegetables, for too long. It had been a while since I’d had a real meal and forever since I’d been to Lulu’s café in my hometown of Sweet, Texas.

I turned my thoughts to home and Dr. Sam. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past month and I missed him so much. Depending on the time zone difference I’d call him when I woke up.

Mmmm. The last night we’d been together we’d discovered new ways to enjoy apple pie. My mind wandered back to that sexy night. He’d made me “Bronwyn a la mode.” I snuggled deeper into the pillow and my body relaxed.

That’s when the thought that had bothered me for hours finally exploded in my head. Damn, if someone hadn’t screwed with my head.