Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(14)

“Nevada?” My name rolling off his lips was a caress.

“I just turned my family’s life upside down. Everything is in shambles. I need to be there tonight. If one of my sisters knocks on my door at two in the morning, I want to be there to reassure her. If my mom isn’t able to go to sleep and comes checking on me in the middle of the night, I want to be there. And I can’t do that if I’m over at your place, and you can’t be at mine, because you make me moan and scream, and that’s not what my family needs to hear.”

His face told me he didn’t like it.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m planning to kidnap you until the trials,” he said.

“We’ve tried that, remember?”

“I had the air-conditioning fixed in the basement,” he said.

“Is there a nice chain waiting for me?”

“No,” he said. “But I do have some handcuffs.”

“No,” I told him. “Okay, maybe. Who’ll be wearing the handcuffs?”

He grinned.

We reached the warehouse.

“I have to go,” I told him. I didn’t want to.

He opened his mouth and I put my finger on his lips. “Please don’t say my name. If you say my name, I won’t be able to get out of the car.”

He smiled against my finger. It was a wicked male smile, and it made him look both handsome and evil, like a demon.

“I mean it, Rogan. Don’t say my name, don’t kiss me good night, and don’t look at me . . . yes, like that. Don’t look at me like that. I have to go investigate your ex-fiancée’s husband’s disappearance tomorrow, and I need sleep.”

I still couldn’t move from the seat. He pulled at me like a magnet. It wasn’t the spectacular sex and it wasn’t his looks, although both helped. It was the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching him. Like I was the center of his universe. When he looked at me like that, I would do anything for him. It scared me that I could love someone that much, so I fought like crazy to keep every shred of independence I had left.

“I see Caesar’s shadow,” he said.

I did too. But until we had some evidence, jumping to conclusions did no good. “It does seem like a big coincidence—Rynda’s mother dies, then, within weeks, her husband disappears. But, apparently, he has a history of taking off when things get rough, and things are rough for her right now.”

He fixed me with his Mad Rogan stare. “If you find the connection between Brian’s disappearance and the conspiracy, I want to know about it. Not eventually, not when it’s convenient, but immediately.”

“Yes, sir. I was going to kiss you good night, but now I can’t. It’s against the rules to fraternize with my superior officer.”

“Hilarious,” he said.

I opened the door and climbed out.

“Nevada,” he called after me, sinking a world of promise into one word.

I kept walking.

His voice caressed me like a touch. “Come back and let me kiss you good night.”

“I can’t hear you.” I sprinted to my door, got inside, and closed it. It was a big thick door. I couldn’t possibly have heard him laughing behind me. I must’ve imagined it. Yes, that was it.

I walked through the house. The light in the kitchen was on. Voices floated to me. Everyone was still awake and waiting for me.

Tomorrow I would have to go to BioCore and start looking for Rynda’s husband. Tomorrow I would see Rogan again. But first, I had to get through tonight. I sighed, squared my shoulders, and went to talk to my family.





Chapter 3




It was morning. Bright sunlight, cheery blue sky, and a massive headache hammer that pounded the inside of my skull. I’d popped two ibuprofens as soon as I’d clawed my eyes open, because I had things to do today, but they didn’t even make a dent.

Last night I came home to all sorts of questions. And once I told them what happened, they came up with even more questions. My mother wanted to know about Victoria Tremaine, Leon wanted to know if he would eventually get a gun when we became a House, Catalina wanted to know about her trials, Arabella wanted to know if Michael was cute, and Grandma Frida said she met Linus Duncan once during the war and wanted to know if he still had that “hot, dark-eyed, Scottish thing” going. By the time I fought them off, it was close to two o’clock in the morning. I went upstairs, took off my clothes, fell into my bed facedown, and passed out. I dreamed of Rogan, woke up an hour later, and couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t in the bed. Now it was morning, and as I walked into our office, I felt like I was dragging a bulldozer behind me.

Cornelius was already at his desk. He wore a dark grey suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. His blond hair was neatly brushed back. Even at his worst, Cornelius always had a certain style. He was trim, neat, and calm. You’d never guess that the same man sang a horde of rats into devouring a living human being.

Today no rats were in attendance, but Talon, his chicken hawk, perched on top of the bookcase, glaring at me with amber eyes.

Cornelius raised his head from his laptop. His serious blue eyes widened. I was wearing a black Armani pantsuit over an expensive light grey blouse and Stuart Weitzman pumps, which had the wonderful advantage of being comfortable enough to run in, if the occasion required. My hair was straightened and pulled back from my face into a knot. My makeup was applied with all the skill I could muster, considering my headache.