Dark Lily: Shadows, Book 4 by Jenna Ryan Page B

important then. Or if it had, he’d set the knowledge on a back burner while CJ entered the political arena and began his laborious uphill climb.
    CJ’d had the background for politics. He’d also had the main-line pedigree. All he’d needed was some extra monetary clout and to be in possession of as many dirty secrets about his opponents as Leshad could muster.
    The man had no scruples whatsoever. No morals, no ethics, no loyalty to anyone but himself. He had a right-hand man—CJ had met the guy once or twice—but the nature of the invisible beast being what it was, he figured Leshad would turn on the bastard in a heartbeat. If Leshad actually had a heart. And if that heart had ever beat.
    CJ hated that he owed everything he’d achieved to a fucking lunatic. He would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so sick. So terrified. So sure every shadow held the threat of a slow and painful death.
    When his toss-away cell phone rang, CJ took a moment to unclench his fists before regarding the screen.
    “Perfect,” he murmured and stopped the ring. “What is it, Baxter?”
    “Stubbins is dead.”
    CJ absorbed the news like a kick to the stomach. “How?” he asked through clenched teeth.
    “He fell on his own knife. I was too far away to help him fight the guy off.”
    The tightness in CJ’s jaw threatened to crack crowns. “What guy?”
    “The guy who’s with the bitch you sent us to bring back.”
    CJ kept his voice clipped, his tone tight. “Give me a name, Baxter.”
    “Mitchell Stone. Word around Voodooville is he’s the new police chief.”
    Better than perfect. CJ was tempted to pound his head against a wall while he wept, but that was exhaustion, surely. And the prospect of watching his limbs go through a meat grinder.
    Baxter went on. “I don’t know if Stubbins fell on the knife or if that’s just a story Stone and the bitch cooked up. But he’s dead, and that’s a fact. Job’s mine now. I want his share.”
    CJ dragged himself out of the meat grinder. “You want—what?”
    “More money, my friend.”
    Anger began to usurp fear. “Why do you think you should get Stubbins’s pay?”
    “Because I’m what’s left. Stubbins, he had a line on you. You can deny it, Senator Best, but before you do, let me fill you in on his source. He got a call from Leshad. It wasn’t the first call he’d ever gotten either, because Stubbsey, he was good at what he did.”
    “How do I know you’re not making this up?”
    “Seven question marks on the screen, Senator, followed by a voice from hell on the other end. Leshad told Stubbsey we’d be taking our orders from you. But only so long as those orders didn’t conflict with his. Am I making myself clear?”
    “As Mississippi mud.” CJ’s stomach, already in his toes, ran with loose, slippery knots. “Fine. You want Stubbins’s money, it’s yours. Deliver the girl. I’ll deliver the cash.”
    “What about Stubbsey’s body?”
    CJ contained a vaguely hysterical laugh. “Let it rot on Bokur Island while his soul rots in hell.” Blackness, thick and viscous, seeped into the crevices of his mind. “Just remember one thing, Baxter. Better to rot in hell than ever disappoint Leshad.”

Chapter Nine
    “I don’t actually expect to find any ghosts, you understand.” Tulane University art history professor Emily Dillard waved the absurd notion off. “What I’m hoping is that they’ll find me and reveal themselves in some way.”
    She was a stout, sturdy woman who’d paired rubber boots with a drab print dress. She wore a floppy brimmed hat to keep the sun off her face. For some reason, Gaby thought Mother Nature , and listened to her prattle while Mitchell went in search of the other guests.
    “These certainly aren’t the best accommodations I’ve ever had,” Emily continued. “Why, this very morning I was forced to break into a linen cupboard for fresh hand towels.” She waved her sketch pad around like a baton. “But then efficient staff is