Wildfire Page 10

  Oh for goodness’ sake. Really?

  “It was awful,” Rynda said.

  “You need to pack,” Rogan said, gently hugging her back. “I’m taking you and the kids out of this house.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything else. She stood for another long moment hugging him, then her hands dropped, and she took a step away.

  Rogan turned to me. He took in my sneakers, my ruined bloodstained dress, the bandages on my legs, and then I was in his arms.

  Chapter 6

  Rogan packed me into his Range Rover. I told him I was fine driving my own car, but he pretended to not hear me. Cornelius somehow managed to pack the cat creature into a Ford Explorer by laying down as many seats as he could. He informed us that the cat was a he and that we would call him Zeus.

  Rynda finally recovered enough to call the Sherwood chief of security. Before we left, several people in Sherwood House uniforms showed up to secure the house, led by the chief himself. Cornelius decided that would be an appropriate time to mention we had called BioCore and he had hung up on us. Rynda slapped the security chief. Rogan’s people confiscated Sherwood computers, loaded Rynda and the kids into an armored car, and our small convoy of five vehicles headed back to base. Two of Rogan’s ATVs led the way, Rynda and Cornelius were sandwiched safely in the middle, and Rogan and I brought up the rear.

  It was just me and Rogan in the car. I liked to watch him drive. He did it with calm assurance, focused on the road. I liked the lines of his muscular arms, the way he tapped the wheel with his left thumb at long stoplights, and the way he kept glancing at me as if reassuring himself that I was okay in the passenger seat. I didn’t like the darkness in his eyes. I’d seen it before. It was a bad sign.

  “Is it because of me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Are you brooding because of me?”

  “Brooding implies marinating in your own self-loathing,” he said. “I don’t brood.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I’m planning to kill Harcourt.”

  Rogan didn’t tolerate threats, and Vincent Harcourt was a threat. I didn’t want to think about how close I’d come to dying tonight.

  “He was really strong. I clamped him with my magic and lost him after only two questions. Ten, fifteen seconds max.”

  “Summoning is a will-based talent.”

  So was truthseeking. That explained why Vincent was so difficult to hold.

  “Victoria Tremaine would’ve melted his brain,” I said. “I barely managed to hold him for a few seconds.” And I was spent. I had very little magic left. The familiar fatigue of overextending was settling in.

  “You did more than anyone could ask. You bought more than enough time for Cornelius to deploy his iron pan and for Rynda to escape.”

  “Cornelius was trying to make friends with Zeus. Rynda was in shock.”

  He didn’t say anything, but the darkness in his eyes turned deeper.

  “Rogan, I’m in one piece. More importantly, the kids are okay.”

  “If Cornelius had walked up and brained that bastard while you held him, we would be having an entirely different conversation. Neither of them had the presence of mind to pick up a weapon or run away.”

  “You can’t blame Cornelius. He was fascinated with the cat. It was a compulsion, Rogan. He doesn’t think the same way we do and he stepped up in the end when it counted.”

  “You need better backup.”

  What I needed was someone to teach me the ins and outs of my magic. Truthseekers were rare and they guarded their secrets. I was practicing, but I’ve barely begun to scratch the surface.

  “Vincent’s mind was hexed. It felt familiar. I think it’s the same kind of wall I put into Augustine.”

  A week ago Victoria Tremaine had zeroed in on Augustine, the Prime who owned the large investigative firm that held the mortgage on our business. Augustine had helped me to save a little girl from slow death by arranging for me to pry open her kidnapper’s mind. Victoria had come to find out the identity of that truthseeker. To keep Augustine intact and to save myself, I’d put a wall in Augustine’s mind. It was a ruse, a fake hex, but it had looked real enough and there was no way to find out if it was false unless Victoria actually attacked Augustine. She decided not to risk it.

  “Was it false?” Rogan asked.

  “No. The one in Vincent’s mind was real.”

  “Better backup,” Rogan repeated, nodding to himself. “Someone trained. Someone who will put your safety first.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like me.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that from now on I’ll come with you. Just like before.”

  “Connor . . .”

  He took my hand and squeezed it with his strong fingers. His voice was ragged. “I should’ve been there. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. You could’ve died. It scares the hell out of me.”

  I squeezed his hand back. “I didn’t die.”

  He held my hand.

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  “Bug found one of the cars exiting a rural road. He couldn’t see the license plate, but he swore it was the same vehicle. I took a few people and went to check it out.”

  He thought Brian might have been held somewhere on that road. “Any luck?”

  “There are five ranches on that road. He could be at any one of them, assuming that’s where they dropped him off. It’s connected to the conspiracy, so the trail will be well hidden.”

  “What could be in that file?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But if it exists in Rynda’s computers, Bug will find it.”

  “Bernard would find it faster.”

  “Fine. They can look for it together. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

  “I’m not upset that you weren’t there. I was doing my job. I don’t blame you for anything, Connor. Except not telling me that you had a lead. That wasn’t cool.” I lowered my voice, trying to match his. “When you have a lead, I want to know about it. Not eventually, not when it’s convenient, but immediately.”

  He didn’t rise to the bait. Apparently, he was determined to blame himself.

  “So, are we still on tonight? For our dinner?” I asked.

  “Hell, yes. We’re on for tonight. We’re on for tomorrow. We’re on for the foreseeable future. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

  And here I thought he was being romantic. “Would you like to wrap me in bubble wrap?”

  “If I can find the bulletproof kind.”

  “Rogan—”

  “I mean it.” He checked the rearview mirror. His eyes narrowed.

  I turned to see a massive black Jeep Wrangler closing in behind us. Heavily modified, it sat high on a lift and oversize tires. Custom bumper, light bar, and a grille made to look like fangs with a big M in the middle. The Jeep looked ready to bite our bumper.

  I reached for the glove compartment and pulled out my Baby Desert Eagle. I’d bummed some ammo from Rogan’s guys.

  The Jeep flashed his lights at us.

  “Someone you know?”

  “House Madero. Probably Dave Madero.” Rogan’s gaze gained dangerous intensity. He was calculating something in his head.

  “Why is he flashing his lights?”

  “He’s warning us that he’s about to use an EMP cannon.” Rogan pressed a button on his steering wheel. “Rivera?”

  “Major?” Rivera’s voice said from the speakers.

  “Drive on without me. I have something to take care of.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rogan took the Kempwood Drive exit. The Jeep followed.

  “We’re not running?”

  “No. The EMP cannon would stop the vehicle in the middle of the lane. The road is busy. I’m not taking chances with you in the car.”

  Rogan shifted into the far right lane. A narrow strip of grass, bordered by a wall of trees that was the
edge of Agnes Moffitt Park, rolled by us.

  “Madero is a gun for hire,” Rogan said. “He can harden his skin with a layer of magic and he is supernaturally strong. I saw him take a hit from an SUV at sixty miles per hour. It folded around him. Shooting him will do no good. The bullet won’t penetrate, but just to be on the safe side, he also travels with an aegis.”

  A protector mage, capable of projecting a shield of magic that would absorb gunfire. Great.

  “What did you do to Dave Madero?” I asked.

  “He isn’t here for me.”

  Victoria Tremaine. Alarm shot through me.

  The wall of trees ended. Rogan made a sharp right onto Hammerly Boulevard. The Range Rover jumped the curb, and Rogan drove across the grass onto the wide lawn and brought it to a stop.

  The Jeep came to a stop about forty feet behind us. Darkness had fallen, but the lights of the streetlamps flooded the park with light.

  The driver door opened and a man stepped out. At least, he was vaguely man-shaped. He had to be seven feet tall. He wore loose black pants and a black T-shirt. Hard muscle slabbed his chest and monstrous shoulders. His enormous arms rippled. His biceps had to be as big as my thighs. His blond hair was buzz cut to a mere memory. He looked like a caricature of a human, an action figure of a bodybuilder come to life.

  “Is he real?”

  “Yes.” Rogan shut off the Range Rover.

  The passenger door opened and a blond woman stepped out. That had to be the aegis.

  “If I get close enough, I can shock him.”

  “No, you can’t. You spent all of your magic restraining Vincent. You shock him now, you’ll die too.”

  Rogan swung the door open.

  “Stay in the car.”

  “Rogan!”

  He jumped out.

  Stay in the car, my foot.

  I popped the door open, circled the car from the hood, and sighted Dave Madero with my gun.

  “Her grandmother wants to speak to her.” Dave Madero sounded the way he looked, his voice deep and unhurried. “Your magic won’t work on me directly, Rogan. Nothing else here will do enough damage. Give the girl to me and we’ll go our separate ways.”

  “No.”

  “I get it. You don’t want to look bad. But I’m going to get her anyway and take her to her grandmother. She said to make sure she’s alive. She didn’t say in what shape and she didn’t say anything about you. Those things are up to me. You give me the girl, she won’t get roughed up.”

  I really wanted to shoot him.

  Rogan didn’t answer.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Madero’s skin bulged, turning a darker, flushed red. He started toward Rogan, slow and confident. Rogan watched him. He shouldn’t have gotten out of the car. He could do terrible things to a human body with his hands, but kicking or punching Dave would do no good. Rogan would just hurt himself. I would do anything to keep him from getting hurt.

  The aegis behind him stepped forward, a gun in her hands. She was my age, red-haired, and her eyes were uncertain. She watched Rogan with apprehension.

  I had to neutralize her. Rogan already had his hands full.

  I sighted her and channeled my mother. “You shoot, I’ll kill you.”

  “I’m an aegis.”

  “I know. I never miss.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. I did my best to look like I meant business, because I did. She couldn’t shoot and maintain her shield at the same time. The moment that gun came up, I would fire and I would hit her to save Rogan.

  “You can’t—” she began.

  “Test me and you’ll find out.”

  She stayed where she was, gun pointed to the ground.

  Dave Madero rolled his shoulders and moved forward, circling. He was at least ten inches taller and probably twice as heavy as Rogan, who towered over me. Rogan’s body was corded with hard, flexible muscle, but next to Dave, he looked like a teenager who had yet to fill out.

  Rogan moved too, with easy natural grace, focused on Dave. His whole body realigned itself, transforming him from a civilized man who had been driving a car just a minute ago into something else, something savage and almost feral. He moved toward Dave with a predatory anticipation. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

  Dave must’ve realized he was being stalked and slowed.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked. “It won’t be pretty. You think we’re gonna fight, you gonna punch, maybe throw some kicks. She’ll be impressed. It’s not gonna work like that. I don’t know what kind of training you have, but whatever it is, it’s not gonna be enough. This isn’t the dojo. We’re not gonna shake hands and bow. And your girl will be worse off when you lose.”

  “Stop talking.” Rogan’s voice was iced over. “Show me.”

  “Fine. Your funeral.”

  Dave swung. It was a slow, wide right haymaker. Rogan leaned out of the way.

  Dave threw a left. It fanned Rogan’s chest with plenty of space to spare.

  “Slow,” Rogan said.

  Dave rolled his eyes.

  “Every generation you breed bigger, slower, and dumber,” Rogan said.

  “Keep talking. We’ll see what kind of noises you’ll be making when I make you swallow your teeth.”

  They moved in a circle.

  Dave snapped a fast right hook. Rogan moved out of the way like his joints were fluid.

  “When the other families want a big dumb thug, they call you and here you are. Any job, any time. Kidnapping. Pain. Theft by brute force. Brute is the key word. You’re a House of idiots.”

  Dave locked his teeth. Rogan hit a nerve. He was pissing Madero off on purpose.

  “Soon you’ll breed out what little brainpower you have.”

  “Done?” Dave growled.

  “Almost. Just wondering when you will start wearing leashes. This generation or the next?”

  Dave hammered a shockingly fast jab. Rogan dodged by a hair.

  Jab, jab, hard right.

  Rogan kept moving. Dave was backing him into the Jeep. The aegis saw it and scurried to the side, keeping the gun ready.

  Dave drove a long straight jab, but palm up, turning it into an uppercut. Rogan ducked. Dave unleashed an insane hard right. Somehow Rogan dodged and Dave’s fist hammered into the Jeep. Metal screeched. The hood buckled from the impact. Dave growled and shoved the Jeep back with his left hand. The vehicle rolled thirty yards back, all the way to the tree line.

  Cold sweat drenched me. If Rogan took just one punch, even a glancing hit, it was all over.

  “The fight’s right here,” Rogan said.

  “You made me hurt my baby,” Dave said. “That’s extra. I’m gonna kill you for that.”

  He wasn’t joking. He would actually kill Rogan.

  Dave charged like an enraged bull. He pounded after Rogan, erupting in a whirlwind of punches.

  Jab, jab, cross.

  Left jab. Right uppercut.

  Left hook, right cross, left hook to the body.

  The hook grazed Rogan’s side and he flew five yards, landed hard, then rolled to his feet. Fear punched straight through my chest and down into my legs.

  Dave chased him. Rogan backed away, trying to dodge a wild barrage of punches. Dave was on him, swinging, his breathing labored and heavy. His face turned purple. He was sucking air in shallow gasps.

  Jab, overhand right, hook, cross.

  Rogan stepped into the punch, sliding between Dave’s arms, wrapped his left arm over Dave’s right, catching it in the bend of his elbow, so the giant man’s forearm rested on Rogan’s shoulder. He locked the fingers of his hands together and twisted, throwing all of his weight to the right. A loud pop echoed through the park. Dave howled, a raw, terrible cry of pure pain. He sounded like an animal screaming.

  Rogan moved away. Dave straightened, his face contorted by rage. His right arm hung useless at his side. Rogan had snapped his elbow like a twig.

  The aegis shivered in place, her
face pale.

  Dave charged, reaching for Rogan’s throat. Rogan backed up at the last minute, sapping the speed out of Dave’s attack, moved in, turning all the way to the left, so his right arm slid over Dave’s left, and bent his elbow, trapping Dave’s arm in his armpit. Rogan’s fingers locked on Dave’s wrist. There was another sharp pop. Dave screamed and collapsed on the ground, his wrist still in Rogan’s hand. Rogan moved his left leg over Dave, clamping the man’s arm between his legs, stepped all the way to the right, and twisted again. Another crack. Dave was screaming his heart out. The aegis shrieked like a dying bird.

  “Rogan, stop,” I called. “That’s enough.”

  “Are you done?” Rogan asked.

  “Fuck you!” Dave spat.

  “Dave!” the aegis cried out.

  “The man isn’t done. He’s still got two good legs left.”

  Rogan picked up Dave’s left leg, pulled it straight, and rolled back, sitting around it, so his right leg was locked over Dave’s thigh. He would snap Dave’s knee.

  The aegis flung her gun across the lawn and looked at me, her face desperate.

  I ran to Rogan and dropped on my knees by him. “Enough. Please. Please.”

  “Is it enough?” Rogan asked.

  Dave moaned. He was purple like a plum now, his breathing so fast, he wasn’t getting in any air.

  I put my hands on Rogan’s steel-hard calf. “Please. He can’t even talk anymore. He can’t tell you to stop.”

  Dave raised his palm and slapped the ground.

  Rogan released his leg and stood up in a single fluid movement. His voice could’ve frozen over the Gulf. “Don’t come after her. She won’t stop me next time. Tell your brothers. You come after her again, I’ll go through your House until none of you are left.”

  Dave deflated slightly, his skin turning a more human color. Sweat drenched him. He sucked in air, leaned on his side, and vomited.

  The aegis knelt by him, a water bottle in her hand.

  I wrapped my hand around Rogan’s arm. “Let’s go home.”

  We got into the car. I slid into the driver’s seat, started the Range Rover, and drove back to the street before Rogan decided to go back.

  He leaned back in his seat, his face calm. He had to be hurting.