Magic heist riley cruz b.., p.1
Magic Heist (Riley Cruz Book 3), page 1
Copyright © 2024 by L.A. McBride
author@lamcbride.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
Cover and Illustrations by NMT Design Studio
Ebook ISBN: 9781957445182
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
To Jilleen Dolbeare, who has been an inspiration, a wonderful friend, and an unfailing support. You should probably wait to read this book until you can laugh without it feeling like you just lost a knife fight.
CONTENTS
Newsletter Signup
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Next in Series
Note to Readers
Also by L.A. McBride
Acknowledgments
NEWSLETTER SIGNUP
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FOREWORD
This series takes place in the same world as the Kali James series. Each series can be read independently. Although every effort has been made to avoid major spoilers, the events in this book overlap with those of Kali’s series and include some shared details.
CHAPTER 1
“It’s about time you got yourself a stripper pole,” Bea called over her shoulder. She trailed the two shifters carrying the last section of the enormous pole up four flights of stairs.
One of the men stumbled, while the other coughed to cover his laugh. Neither of them said anything suggestive, though. Dating their boss seemed to have that effect. Men who used to joke and flirt with me when I bartended at the Sundowner now stammered politely and kept their eyes anywhere but on me. It was annoying.
On the bright side, they’d readily agreed to help muscle the metal sections to the top floor of my new headquarters. At Bea’s declaration, they were both eyeing it with more enthusiasm.
I hated to burst their bubble. “It’s not a stripper pole.”
The men exchanged a skeptical look before carrying the last metal section across the room to put it with the others. I’d had to do a lot of sweet talking and make a generous donation to the Friends of Firefighters charity to salvage it. The neighborhood fire station was being renovated, and apparently old-fashioned fire poles were out of vogue. Win for me.
“But it could be,” Bea insisted, fluffing her dyed blond hair and eyeing the stockier of the two shifters like he was an ice cream sundae.
I shrugged. There was no point arguing with her. The second it was installed, she’d be choreographing raunchy routines no matter what I called that pole. I sat the grocery bag on the bar Kali and I fashioned last week from a pile of reclaimed lumber we found on the third floor. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional. When my next job came through, I’d splurge on an upgrade, complete with a sink and running water.
After lining up the bottles of liquor and tomato juice, I tucked the chilled bag of blood into the nearby dorm size refrigerator. Then, I laid out paper napkins and red plastic cups. One day, I’d have a shelf lined with real drink glasses, but since I refused to wash dishes in the grimy bathroom sink, they’d have to wait.
The stocky shifter cleared his throat. “Do you need anything else, ma’am?”
It took me a full minute to realize he was talking to me. This was getting out of hand. “Riley,” I corrected.
He nodded but didn’t repeat my name.
“That’s everything. Thank you for helping me haul them inside.”
The men didn’t wait around to see if I had a change of heart.
I dug out the cheap Bluetooth speaker I brought and connected it to my favorite playlist while Bea organized her latest haul of books and magical supplies on my salvaged bookshelf. She’d scored them at an auction for the inventory left at Old World Occult & Curiosities when it went out of business. Since I had plenty of room, we’d set up a witchy library corner. When it came to magic, I could use all the help I could get.
Bea squinted down at the tiny speaker next to the Ouija board on the top shelf. “Does it go any louder?”
“Nah.” A cavernous space like this warehouse deserved a full sound system, but until I got paid again, this would have to do.
She patted my arm. “One thing at a time. Someday, you’ll get a big fancy stereo system.”
“Someday,” I agreed, stopping in front of the lone album cover I’d hung on the wall last week. I’d found it in a neighborhood thrift shop that specialized in old vinyl records and tattered movie posters. I ran my finger across the title—Point of Know Return by Kansas. It was a popular enough album, but finding it in West Bottoms felt like coming full circle. Back when I lived with my old alpha Carl in Santa Fe, I’d spent countless hours thumbing through the old albums in the pawn shop. This one had been the compass that pointed me to Kansas City all those years ago.
After straightening the album cover, I surveyed the warehouse I’d blown most of my last paycheck on. With its peeling paint, rickety floorboards, and patched ceiling, this level was in better shape than much of the building. Up here, most of the floor was solid, at least, save for a patch of busted boards in the corner. Everyone insisted that gaping hole was a hazard.
I saw it for the opportunity it was.
I peered down the opening to the floor below. “We’re gonna need a circular saw to make this bigger.” I wondered whether I’d use a saw enough to justify the investment. A quality battery-operated one could come in handy on jobs. I wondered if I could expense it.
Bea frowned—probably at the idea of me armed with a power tool. “You should ask Bennie for help.”
Bennie was the only werewolf other than the alpha who sustained eye contact with me these days. In addition to being my frequent karaoke buddy, he was also a skilled carpenter with a garage packed with tools.
“Good idea,” I agreed. He’d be able to give me advice on selecting a good dual-purpose saw good for both renovation and burglary. Unfortunately, Bennie was working tonight, so it would have to wait.
With one last look at the disassembled pole, Bea leaned in for a hug. “I wish I could stay.”
I knew why she couldn’t. The Kansas City coven had sent a formal summons to Helen and the girls requiring their attendance at the monthly business meeting tonight. Naturally, Helen told them to kiss her rosy, red ass. Even though Helen, Bea, Alyce, and Janis hadn’t been part of the local coven for decades, the follow-up summons came directly from the governing Witches’ Council. And that one they couldn’t ignore. They could, however, make the coven regret inviting them. Helen immediately went into combat planning mode, which involved cream-cheese brownies laced with laxatives and punch spiked generously with Alyce’s homemade moonshine.
I hugged Bea back. “I want all the juicy details tomorrow.” The first Saturday of the month meant homemade blueberry pancakes, thick-sliced bacon, and real maple syrup. Not even Helen’s promise of another round of magic aptitude testing could keep me away. The gossip was a bonus.
Bea patted the low-cut top she’d bedazzled this afternoon, the words “Snitches Get Stitches” dusted in gold glitter across her ample chest. “Oh, you can count on it, sugar.” She wore a wicked smile that didn’t bode well for the powers-that-be. She squeezed my arm as she passed. “And don’t worry so much about the magic. It’ll come.”
I wasn’t so sure. Thus far, I was proving to be a magical dud. After a lifetime of being the runt in the room, you’d think it would be easier to stomach. But when Zara Bellarose removed the block that held back my magic, that first flush of power rocked my foundation. It felt like change. Yet no matter how many simple spells I recited or potions I dutifully mixed under Helen’s watchful eyes, nothing happened. I might see magic now, but I still couldn’t channel any of it.
I tamped the worries down and walked Bea out. I’d spent twenty-five years as a magical dud and managed just fine. Better than fine, I thought, as I stood on the curb admiring the expensive warehouse I’d rented with money I’d earned. Magic or not, things had changed.
Before I made it back inside, Kali and Craig showed up for my Friday-night painting party. It was my latest brainchild—part free labor, part team building. My heist crew was star
Craig was dressed appropriately for painting in standard blue jeans and a t-shirt. Kali’s idea of work clothes looked a lot like Rosie the Riveter cosplay. She wore high-waisted jeans with a snug denim shirt knotted at her waist, a red and white polka dot bandana holding back her long, curly dark hair. I catcalled as Kali spun in a circle to show off the cute gingham patches she’d sewn on her back pockets.
“Where should I put these?” Craig held up the four gallons of paint he carried as if they weighed nothing.
“Upstairs.” I held open the door.
Kali followed Craig up, waiting for me at the top of the stairs. “Just us?”
“Helen and the girls can’t make it,” I said. “Everyone else should be on their way.”
She huffed. “And Mr. Big Shot?” She surveyed the dilapidated space. “What excuse did he make up to get out of this?”
I felt him behind me, even though I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. Volkov stopped with inches between us, his deep voice rolling over my shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. James.” He dropped a hand to the small of my back and nudged me further into the room. “I don’t make excuses.”
I looked between them. Despite coming to a prickly truce, Kali and Max Volkov were hardly friends. Now that Max and I were exploring whatever this thing was between us, Kali guarded my heart with the ferocity of a best friend. She cocked a hand on her hip and stared at him.
“You’re going to work?” She scanned him from the shoulders of his charcoal gray bespoke suit down to the tips of his expensive leather shoes. “Like that?”
Volkov eyed her outfit with a raised brow. Then he took off his suit jacket and tossed it on the oversized sectional in the middle of the room. He locked eyes with me as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves. “Like this.” He lost his tie next, those sharp blue eyes never leaving mine. “Are you ready to put me to work?”
The kind of work I was imagining had nothing to do with painting. Heat coiled low in my belly, and Volkov’s lips tilted up. That man knew exactly what he was stoking.
“Oh please.” Kali pretended to gag. “Get a room.”
Dez’s arrival cut her commentary short. “I come bearing gifts.” He lifted arms loaded with plastic grocery bags before heading for the bar.
I’d put Dez in charge of snacks, and he didn’t let me down. He filled the remaining space on the bar with bags of chips, pretzels, and corn nuts, along with two kinds of spicy salsa, guacamole, and a four-layer bean dip that looked homemade. I grabbed his arm as he finished laying out the spread and reeled him in for a bear hug. “You’re officially my favorite person.”
“I should be,” he grumbled. “I gave up my Friday night to help you paint your place.” He held up a chip smothered in guac, and I happily accepted his offering.
“Our place,” I corrected after I finished chewing. It was our new headquarters, after all. “That reminds me, we need a name.” When I sent the invite out via group chat, I’d told everyone to come up with names for our headquarters. I pointed to the stack of paper and rusty coffee can at the end of the bar. So far, the only person who had contributed suggestions was Bea, and from my quick snoop, none of them could be printed on a sign. “I’m giving everyone one week to add their suggestions to the pot. Next week, we’re voting.”
Dez groaned but scribbled something on a piece of paper, folded it in half, and tossed it in the empty can.
Nash Mitchell arrived next, an angry rooster tucked under his arm.
“You brought Garth!” I snatched the birdcage from him and sat it on a nearby table.
“I wouldn’t let him out if I were you,” Nash warned.
I ignored him, unlatching the door to pet Garth’s sapphire-blue chest. He crowed triumphantly at Nash before fluffing his feathers and hopping down from the table to explore the room.
Dez crossed his arms and scowled at Nash. “What are you wearing?”
Nash seemed his normal I-just-rolled-out-of-bed grungy self to me. As usual, his clothes looked like he’d rummaged them out of a laundry pile. Thanks to Kali’s recent makeover for our last job, Nash’s dark blond hair was short and stylish, but scruff already covered his jaw again. I didn’t understand Dez’s jab until Kali gasped and rushed over to stare down at Nash’s feet.
“Are those,” her voice cracked, “Crocs?”
They were indeed. In Kali’s book, those were a fashion sin that ranked right up there with my favorite heist fanny pack.
Nash scowled. “I didn’t have a choice.” He pointed at Garth, who was circling the bar as if gauging the best way to get to the food spread on top of it. “That menace shits in my shoes every chance he gets. These are easy to hose off.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to,” I tried.
Volkov’s rumbling laugh made Nash clench his jaw. “He means to. He ruined my favorite pair of cowboy boots and all of my runners.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the gift Helen sent for Nash. “I guess that explains this.”
Nash took the bracelet from me and held it up to the light. He examined the small charm dangling from the delicate silver chain. “Is this triangle some kind of powerful witch symbol?”
“It’s supposed to be a poop emoji.” I grinned. “Alyce’s idea.” According to Alyce, a poop-be-gone charm required an appropriate symbol to be effective. I was pretty sure she was pulling my leg, but what did I know? I was hardly a magical powerhouse.
Everyone studied the bracelet. If you squinted, you could see the shape better.
“And it’ll work?” Nash asked.
“One way to find out,” I said.
When Nash lunged for Garth, causing the poor bird to squawk and flap his wings aggressively, I stepped between them. “I’ll do it.” I made soothing noises as I fastened the little bracelet around Garth’s leg, right above his wicked-looking spur. He preened, holding his leg out for everyone to admire. I petted his chest feathers and cooed. “Aren’t you a pretty boy?”
Kali scrunched her nose and peered at Garth’s fluffy butt. “Where does it go? The poop, I mean.”
I shrugged. “You’d have to ask Helen or Alyce.” As long as it wasn’t on my floor or in my shoes, I didn’t care where it went.
Before I could distribute paint brushes and put everyone to work, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered without looking.
“Video call in half an hour,” Kage Sato said without preamble. “You’ll need to see this.”
CHAPTER 2
Thirty minutes was plenty of time to pour a round of drinks while Dez hooked up the giant flat screen and small camera he’d ordered. By the time the video call connected, we were sprawled out on my comfy new sectional, anticipating our next fat payday.
Despite the Pokémon Charizard shirt he wore, Kage Sato was all business. “Be ready to leave Monday.” He stood next to a wall-sized screen that made Dez’s eyes glaze with envy.
Before Dez could derail the conversation by demanding specs, I jumped in. “Where are we going?” I was half afraid Sato wouldn’t be able to tell me what I needed to steal or where I’d find it. It wouldn’t be the first time the Enclave sent me after a demon relic without a description or location. If it became a habit, I’d have to renegotiate my fee to account for the annoyance.
The camera Dez set up had a wide-angle lens that gave Sato a view of most of the room. Even on video, Sato’s dark eyes were unnerving as he took stock of my team while we waited for him to deliver our next assignment.
He frowned. “Are you having a party?”
I followed his gaze to the bar behind us. Between the abandoned warehouse aesthetic, the leftover snacks, and the half-empty drinks in cheap red plastic cups, it looked more like a teenage kegger than team building. I lifted my glass. “Sure am.” Unlike the cocktails I mixed for everyone else, mine held strawberry-flavored water since I wasn’t much of a drinker. I chugged it anyway and set the empty cup on the coffee table. “So, what’s the job?”
