Bug turned and looked at me, his face surprised.
I winked at him. “Garen knows how to read people. He watched them lie his entire life. It gives you a unique perspective. He knows how to obtain a confession. You do it by convincing the person you’re on their side. He started with that charming confession about being uncomfortable with choosing the wine and it only got better from there. He was sincere, disarming, and logical.”
“Is that magic?” Bug asked.
“No, it’s human nature. Shaffer is a professional interrogator. But so am I.” I gave Bug my best reassuring smile. “I can see into your brain, Bug. I know what makes you tick.”
He shuddered. “Don’t do that.”
Bern laughed in his chair. Rogan remained stoic. Still no dice.
“The good news is, Garen isn’t involved in the conspiracy, so he isn’t our problem. We can set this aside and move on.”
Rogan gave no indication he heard me.
“I have something to tell you, Rogan.”
His expression didn’t change.
“Rogan.” I touched his arm.
He came to, turned, and looked at me, his attention completely focused on me. The effect was overpowering. For this moment nothing existed in Rogan’s universe except me. I loved when he did that.
“Yes?”
“I have a strong reason to believe that Brian Sherwood is working with Alexander Sturm.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t satisfied with the way his family turned out. His daughter is an empath, which is useless as far as he’s concerned. Kyle has no magic, and it threatens Brian. His parents raised Brian as their golden child, whose only value was in his talent, which would ensure he would inherit BioCore and become a Prime of a certain standing. His entire self-worth is tied up in being Brian Sherwood, the brilliant herbamagos Prime and Head of House Sherwood. Brian knew since birth that he is special and he has grown accustomed to the world acknowledging it. He hates the idea that someone might question his ability to sire Prime children. He wanted out for a while, but as long as Olivia Charles was alive, he didn’t dare to make any waves in that placid pond. And since his wife became a social pariah, now he views her as a liability.”
He thought about it. “Olivia is dead. Why not just divorce Rynda?”
“Because Edward told him that Brian has certain responsibilities as a husband and father and if he shirked those responsibilities, Edward would retire, leaving BioCore in Brian’s hands. Brian can’t run that company. He has no idea how to do it. If Edward retires, all of Brian’s prestige evaporates. He knows he will run BioCore into the ground. He would no longer be treated with deference. Nobody would think he was important.”
Rogan’s eyes darkened, his expression harsh. “But if something happened to Rynda, and Brian became a widower, things line up rather nicely.”
“Yes. He wouldn’t hire a hit man. It’s too risky and he doesn’t even know where to look for one. He’s probably terrified that if he tried to find someone, they would turn out to be an undercover cop and he’d end up in prison. This way everything is taken care of: his new violent friends get what they want while he cools his heels in some mansion, and when the time comes to make the exchange, Rynda is tragically killed.”
Rogan nodded. “If not at the exchange, then shortly after. Perhaps the children die with her.”
“Yes. He’s then free to pursue his new life, and nobody is the wiser.”
“It’s plausible. How solid is this?”
“We know that the kidnapping occurred in view of one of only three cameras facing Memorial Drive,” Bug said.
“We can put Brian and Sturm together in a coffee shop two days before the kidnapping,” Bern said. “We also know that someone accessed his home computer that night, using Brian’s credentials, while Brian and Rynda were out.”
“We have Edward Sherwood, who told me about the conversation he had with his brother. He didn’t lie. And, the ear they sent us doesn’t belong to Brian,” I finished.
“Have you told Rynda?” Rogan asked.
“Not yet. But I will. She’s my client, and her life and the lives of her children may be in danger.”
“If she’s so empathic, how come she didn’t see this coming?” Grandma Frida asked.
“I listened to the initial interview,” I said. “She never said, ‘Brian loves me.’ She said Brian takes care of her and the kids. She talked about how much the kids miss him. I think she sensed the resentment. What I don’t understand is why the marriage happened in the first place. Rynda didn’t need his money, and as much as she craved stability, I find it hard to believe she saw something irresistible in him.”
“I can explain that,” Rogan said.
“How did you figure it out?”
“I asked my mother. Rynda is an NPTN WC variant.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“NPTN is a gene responsible for coding neuroplastin, a protein. Some variants of the NPTN gene are linked to higher intelligence,” Rogan explained. “Normally magic is passed on from parents to children, and it’s hereditary in power and type, which is why we have Houses.”
That made sense. If the parents were aquakinetics, water mages, their children likely would be water mages as well. There was some variation, but the talents didn’t vary widely. Two water mages might have a child who is psychrokinetic, able to control ice, or mistukinetic, able to control mist and fog. But they wouldn’t make a truthseeker, for example.
“People with NPTN WC variant roll the dice,” Rogan said. “WC stands for wild card. Their children may or may not be magic, and those who have power are unpredictable. If Rynda’s children have magic, it will likely be of a mental type. They might be empaths, telepaths, precogs, or harmonizers. There is no way to predict the exact nature of it. My father was willing to roll the dice with Rynda, because he was confident in our genetic line. He figured that at least one of my children would be a strong telekinetic, and if anyone could produce a telekinetic telepath, it would be Rynda.”
“But most Primes don’t want to play,” I guessed. “Rynda could jeopardize the line.”
Rogan grimaced. “Yes and no. Some Houses would jump on the chance for variation, but most of these marriages wouldn’t be to the Head of the House. Heads of the House want their children to inherit the family throne. According to my mother, Olivia wouldn’t settle for anything less for her daughter, which is why she hated me. I ruined her perfect plan by breaking the engagement.”
“Brian offered all the right things,” I thought out loud. “He was the Head of his House. He owned a thriving corporation which would secure income for the House. He was stable, focused on safety, low-key enough to not upset Rynda with wild emotional swings, and susceptible to pressure. I bet Olivia had invested in BioCore.”
“You’re thinking like a Prime again,” Rogan said, appreciation in his eyes.
I nodded. “If he stepped out of line, she could apply pressure socially and financially. She was trying to keep her daughter safe.” Olivia must’ve loved Rynda so much.
My mother sighed. “Your world is screwed up, Rogan.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“And now my daughter is in it.” Mom put the half-unraveled scarf down. “I’ll finish in the morning.”
She left.
“It’s late for me too,” Grandma Frida declared.
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “We can take the hint.”
Bernard got up and shut down the equipment. The screens went black. Bug jumped off his chair and trotted outside. Rogan dipped his head to look at me. The mask slipped, and Connor was looking at me. I caught a flash of the upstairs room, with the shroud of night sky spread above us. It was quick and faint, a mere shred of projection. He must’ve crushed it the instant he thought of it, but I caught it anyway.
Come home with me.
Of course I will, Connor.
I
slipped closer to him, fitting myself in his arm. “I’m tired and my feet hurt.”
He chuckled. “Want me to carry you?”
He could and probably would if I asked. “No. I have an image to maintain.”
We walked out of the motor pool. The door rumbled shut behind us.
“What image is that?”
“According to Garen, I’m a young Victoria Tremaine, terrible and glorious.”
“Would you like me to commission a golden palanquin for you?”
“Possibly.” The night sky was endless above us. “I searched Rynda’s house. I thought whatever they were looking for might be in the paintings Kyle made. It wasn’t.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“The deadline is up tomorrow at four. We still have nothing.”
“I know. One good thing came out of this mess. At least we don’t have to worry about keeping that bastard alive. They’re not going to kill him.”
“And if they do, they would be doing us a favor,” I finished.
“So vicious.”
“This is the worst betrayal. It’s worse than an affair. He’s Rynda’s husband. He didn’t even have the guts to ask for a divorce.”
“We’ll get him,” Rogan promised.
“How did it go in Austin?”
“The Ade-Afefe are thinking about it. That was the best I could do.” His voice dripped with disappointment. “You win some, you lose some.”
“Stellar day for us both, huh?”
“Yes.” He fell silent. “Shaffer is right about one thing. When it comes to assuring the hereditary stability of truthseeker talent, his genes win.”
That’s what true love looked like. Shaffer wouldn’t know it if it was staring him in the face.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Everything was screwed up. The deadline was almost up, and I still had nothing. Sturm wouldn’t let it go. There would be repercussions, and we had very little protection against his magic. Tomorrow I’d have to explain to Rynda that her husband most likely plotted to murder her. My evil grandmother was still trying to kidnap me. Leon still wanted to be an assassin when he grew up. The trials were growing closer.
I just wanted a break from it all. I wanted to put it away until tomorrow, because if I thought about it too much, I’d collapse like an imploded building.
We took the stairs to the second floor. I thought about the room under the night sky, and the massive bed, and him naked, his weight on me, the feel of steel-hard muscle, the way he looked at me, the intoxicating taste of his magic dripping on my skin and setting my nerves on fire . . .
“Nevada,” he said, his voice gaining a harsh edge.
“Yes?”
“Move faster.”
I let him chase me up the stairs. He caught me on the landing and kissed me. I tasted Rogan, man and coffee, inhaled the scent of sandalwood on his skin, and felt his arms around me. Magic caressed my neck, hot and velvet-soft, and then the world no longer mattered.
The morning came too soon.
“You’re lying.” Red blotches appeared on Rynda’s cheeks.
“Unfortunately, no. Everything I told you is backed up by evidence and personal accounts. Edward will verify his part in it. He didn’t lie to me.”
She looked away from me. We sat on the balcony off the second floor, as far away from any audience as we could. The raw pain on her face made me ill. I had half convinced myself that she had to have known or at least suspected that Brian was in on the whole thing. I was wrong. She had no idea. It hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Why?” she said, her voice broken. “How? How could he do this to us? To me and the kids?”
“He’s selfish and manipulative. Adults don’t run away from stress and problems. We deal with them. The first time he ran away, someone should’ve sat him down and explained to him how much he worried everyone. And then they should’ve grounded him, so he wouldn’t do it again. Instead they encouraged it and he fell into a pattern. He’s afraid of confrontations. Killing you and the kids is easier than facing Edward or dealing with the divorce. You’re the empath, Rynda. You know him better than anyone.”
“I stopped,” she said. Her eyes were haunted.
“You stopped what?”
“I stopped scanning him years ago, after Kyle was born. The indifference was too much to take. I couldn’t handle it. Indifference from him, derision from his parents, disappointment from my mother. I shut it out. I hadn’t used my talent in years.”
Not using magic was like cutting off a chunk of your soul. It must’ve hurt so much to know what Brian really felt for her. For their kids.
“The only people safe to scan are the children and . . . the children.”
And Edward. She’d almost said it.
“And I don’t need empathy to know what they are feeling. They’re my babies. I grew them inside me, and I gave birth to them. They are a part of me and a part of him. And he wants them dead. How do I tell them that?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I’m a pity fuck.”
“I’m sorry?”
Rynda turned to me, her eyes red. She was on the verge of tears. “I’m the daughter with the useless magic talent, a disappointment to my mother. She loved me, but she couldn’t hide it. An abandoned bride. A match nobody wanted because of her wild genes. A wife whose husband didn’t love her. A mother who didn’t manage to pass the right DNA to her children.”
Well, that progressed into a complete catastrophe. I had no idea what to say.
Rynda sniffed.
I got up and brought her a box of Kleenex.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be an empath. People look at you like you’re some horrible freak.”
I leaned forward. “Victoria Tremaine is my grandmother.”
Rynda drew back as if I had thrown a venomous snake on the table between us.
“I don’t need to be an empath to know you’re horrified.” I smiled.
“I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“The first time I made a man tell me his secrets against his will, he curled up on the ground and cried. He was an experienced mercenary, but he cried like a hurt child, because I’d violated his mind. So you and I have things in common. You’re not a disappointment to anyone. You don’t need anyone’s approval.”
She closed her mouth and sat up straighter. “Does Rogan know about Brian’s betrayal?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“My family, Cornelius, Bug, Edward, and Edward’s security chief. Possibly your mother-in-law.”
“What happens now?”
“We proceed as if we don’t know about Brian. We still have to find the thing they want. They’re not going to stop until we do, or until we end the whole organization permanently.”
She got up. “I’ll have to tell the children. They must know that they can’t trust their father.”
“Rynda . . .”
She walked away.
Well, that went well.
I picked myself up and went across the street to our warehouse. We had hours until the deadline was due. I could practically feel the time ticking away. It ate at me. We had to find Olivia’s secret. I had to find it. Rynda and her little family wouldn’t be safe until I did. If Sturm didn’t get what he wanted, he would retaliate. He’d probably retaliate anyway. Rogan almost killed him in the steakhouse. Sturm wouldn’t let that go.
Everything went wrong for Rynda. Everything went wrong in this investigation, period. This one thing had to go right.
Inside, Catalina’s shrill voice sliced at my eardrums. “I don’t want to talk about it!”
Whenever she got upset, her voice shot up into piercing notes.
I rounded the corner.
“Catalina!” Arabella chased her. Matilda trailed her, her fluffy white cat following her. I didn’t know she was still here.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” The door to Catalina’s room thudded shut.
&
nbsp; “You’re being ridiculous,” Arabella growled.
“What is it?”
“She deleted her Instagram account.”
“Why?”
“Alessandro Sagredo.” Arabella put her hands on her hips.
“Did he say something to her?” If he said something mean to my sister, I’d skin him alive.
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Arabella whipped out her phone and stuck it under my nose. “He looks like that!”
The man on the phone looked about twenty and he was stunning. Square jaw; full, perfectly drawn mouth; strong nose; narrow, almost green hazel eyes under dark eyebrows. A mass of chocolate-brown hair, trimmed in an expensive haircut, framed it all, setting off the strong lines of his face that promised to become chiseled with time. Life hadn’t beaten him up yet, and there was still something fresh about his face, but the harshness had begun to break through. He looked like he was the son of a Roman gladiator about to enter the arena for the first time. And he stood leaning against a beautiful silver and blue Maserati.
“He follows like three people on Instagram,” Arabella said. “And Catalina. She woke up with six thousand followers, so she deleted the account, because she is an idiot!”
“Are you going to marry him, Catalina?” Matilda asked seriously.
The door swung open, revealing Catalina. She stabbed her finger at Arabella. “Stay out of my business, you little psycho. You too, Matilda.”
She slammed the door shut.
Matilda looked at the door, looked at me, and laughed like little silver bells ringing.
“I don’t have time for this.” I started down the hallway. It was morning, therefore Bern would be in the kitchen, eating his second or third breakfast.
“Nevada, do something!” Arabella snarled behind me.
“No time.”
“I hate this family!”
“We hate you too.”
“Hehe!” The silver bells rang.
Bern sat at the kitchen table, putting away a bowl of cereal.
“Will you please come with me to Rynda’s house? I want to look through it one more time in case I missed something. I don’t want to go by myself, and I don’t want to ask Cornelius because he’ll bring Zeus and I have trouble concentrating when he’s around. I don’t want to take Leon either, because I don’t want to be responsible for him shooting anyone. I just want to think quietly.”