The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) 📕

over to my reading chair and plopping down. Tabitha regarded me dully before closing her eyes again. “After you dropped me off.”

“Related to the case?”

“Three of Arnaud’s blood slaves jumped me, warned me to stay away from Ferguson Towers.”

“Did they say why?”

“I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.” I moved my jaw around. The knot was gone but the right hinge remained sore. “They didn’t say much other than that it was none of my business.”

“Good work, Croft. Be sure to turn in your hours. We’ll take it from here.”

I sat up. “Wait a minute. What are you talking about?”

“If Arnaud’s involved, the killer’s probably one of his.”

“Yeah, but you can’t just take an elevator up to his office and ask him.”

“Why not? He’s made himself a person of interest.”

I remembered my meeting with the vampire back in October, one that saw me offering Arnaud my throat before Grandpa’s ring blew him off me. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve told you what he is, but you can’t possibly understand.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s dangerous, Vega. Like, super dangerous.”

“Right, and you said the vampires have survived by keeping a low profile. Offing an NYPD detective doesn’t strike me as fitting that M.O.”

She had a point—under normal circumstances. But if Arnaud was as desperate to make this go away as I suspected, the normal rules might not apply.

“Well, give it a couple of days,” I tried. “Maybe he’ll take care of the matter himself.”

“We don’t have a couple of days,” she cut in. I didn’t have to see her face to know her brows were crushing together. And it was my fault for telling her about last night’s encounter, dammit. In my just-woken state, I hadn’t been thinking clearly. I should have kept the run-in to myself.

“Why don’t…” I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “Why don’t you let me talk to him?”

“One, you’re a consultant, not an investigator,” Vega replied. “And two, how would you even get downtown?”

Good question. The last time I’d made it past the wall that fortified the Financial District, I’d very nearly gotten shot. Scratch that—the last two times. A third run at the Wall would be testing fate.

“Then let me come with you,” I said.

“You’re still on the forbidden entry list. I can’t even get you through.”

An idea hit me. “I might be able to do something about that.” I carried the phone into my bedroom and over to where I’d thrown my tuxedo onto the back of a chair. I stooped toward the jacket, inspecting the fabric closely.

“Are you gonna clue me in?” Vega asked impatiently.

“Aha!” I plucked out a curly brown hair and held it up in triumph. “Just be here in an hour.”

“I don’t like surprises, Croft.”

“Oh, and grab me an ID.”

“What?”

I hung up and tried Caroline. Voice mail again.

I set the phone on the counter and held the hair I’d plucked closer to my eyes. I would have to put my concerns for Caroline aside for the moment.

I had a potion to cook.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Vega said, staring over at me.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” I shrank against the passenger seat as Vega jerked the steering wheel, narrowly missing the back of a stopping bus. We shot into the center lane of Broadway, Saturday morning traffic honking and hooking from our path. Vega swore and laid on her own horn. After seconds that felt like minutes, the view outside the windows stopped wobbling. “Sweet Jesus,” I sighed, releasing my death grip on the door handle.

She glanced over at me. “A little warning next time?”

I looked down, smoothing the tie over my now-ample paunch, and tugged my brown polyester jacket straight, part of the suit I’d picked up at the corner consignment store while my potion was cooking. “I warned you the copycat potion could take effect any minute.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d look just like him.”

I swung down the visor until my eyes stared back from the mirror. Detective Hoffman’s eyes, actually. I studied his damp red face, then turned my head slightly, combing thick fingers through the wreath of curly hair. The same hair my tuxedo jacket had picked up in his car last night.

“Well, I’m not sure how long it’s going to last,” I said. “I didn’t have a lot of his material to work with. Meaning we’re going to have to get through pretty damned fast.”

I watched the approaching Wall, a giant concrete barrier that fortified the Financial District from the rest of Manhattan. Sweat was already soaking through the back of my shirt as Vega slowed toward the short line for official vehicles. Ever since I’d climbed into the car, my wizard’s intuition had been tingling in the bad way.

“Be cool,” she said.

“And you be careful,” I replied.

The car ahead of us pulled through, and a pair of armored guards waved us forward with automatic rifles.

“ID,” the one on Vega’s side said.

The guard on my side tapped my window. I powered it down and squinted up at him. Though the private security guards all looked like steroid-infused clones, I recognized this one’s square jaw. He was the same guard who had tried to wrench Grandpa’s ring from my finger in the fall.

He caught me staring. “You got a problem?”

“No, no problem. ID’s right here.” I pulled it up by the cord around my neck.

He aimed his shield sunglasses at the card, then at my face. “What’s your business down here?”

Vega ducked to peer past me. “We’re following up on an investigation.”

“I asked Porky here,” the guard growled.

Though it was actually Hoffman he’d insulted, the muscles in my jaw bunched up anyway. I forced a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re following up on something,” I said as sedately as I could.

“With who?”

“Arnaud Thorne,” I said. “If he’ll see us.”

According to Vega, ever since I had used her car to leap the checkpoint, security at the Wall had become more stringent. If a vehicle, even an official one, didn’t