Marrakesh | Ebook

Marrakesh (The Jezebel Files 5.5)

Mother. Fucker. Gideon Stern, injured ex-cop, erstwhile partner, and reluctant wolf shifter had actually abandoned me.

I shoved aside one of the cheap rigged-up blackout curtains to let a sliver of moonlight into the decrepit apartment. The only proof he’d ever been here was the mattress on the floor—still warm from the depression of his body, thank you very much—the tossed-aside sheet I’d used to staunch his wounds, and his blood on my hands.

I grimaced and wiped them off on the fitted bodice of what had been a stunning red dress at the start of the evening.

Three hours and a million lifetimes ago.

It was bad enough that he had taken a bullet for me, the chivalrous asshole had then removed himself from the equation of what I did next with my life. All so I could keep a deathbed promise to my twin sister, Robyn.

Okay, yes, it was a very noble gesture, but it was also totally beside the point. Whether or not I used my magic serum to heal burn victims or reverse engineer the werewolf abilities he despised to remove them from his body was my call, not his. I kicked over a chair, knocking it into a rickety table and sending blown-out half-melted candles off their bases.

I should have been enjoying my twin victories tonight: finding my former boss and mentor, Dr. Richard Woodsman, unharmed, and reclaiming the flash drive with the last known copy of my formula. Instead, I was far from home in Marrakesh, with no mentor, no partner, no cake, and a decidedly uncelebratory mood.

A groan punched through the silence, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose almost as much as my shoulders.

Oh, this was just grand. I shot both fingers at the secret tunnel next to the pushed-aside carved wardrobe that Woody had waltzed through into the night. At least he and his buddies had taken the dead dude—that mangled hybrid of human and wolf shifter prototype—who’d attacked Gideon and me in the lobby of this boarded-up building. Trust me, I was in no mood to haul away a corpse on top of everything.

If the men in my life were going to bail, the least they could do was take all the Red Shirts with them. But noooo. Leave the woman with the final cleanup. I wasn’t up to my eyeballs in student loans for a PhD in chemical engineering to be on housekeeping duty.

Well, one way or the other, I had to deal with the asshole still here: Gus, aka the Smith, aka the duplicitous magic forger who’d led Gideon and me into a death trap on a separate occasion from tonight when he tried to shoot me.

There’d be no third time’s the charm for him.

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