Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(32)

“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.”