Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(66)

Silence stretched.

I concentrated on the emails. Usually there would be at least one or two new cases in there, considering I hadn’t checked it for at least ten days, but there was nothing. Houston was waiting to see if we would pass the trials. If we failed, our business would take a serious hit and I wasn’t sure it would recover. Yet more pressure, because I clearly didn’t have enough of it in my life already.

An email from Bern. I may have something for you in the morning. Well, that wasn’t cryptic or anything.

An email from Rivera. Odd. Good evening, Ms. Baylor. You asked the hospital to notify you when Edward Sherwood awoke. He is awake. I escorted Rynda Sherwood to visit him this evening. House Sherwood has a new security chief and Edward Sherwood is under 24–7 guard.

House Sherwood stonewalled me again. Idiots. I typed a quick thank-you note.

Rogan climbed into bed next to me and sat cross-legged, his laptop in front of him. He had one of the mousse cups in his hand, and he’d spooned a small mountain of whipped cream on top of it.

“It’s not set yet,” I told him.

“I don’t care.”

His laptop showed a picture of a yellowed page, the kind that came from a notebook, covered in precise neat cursive.

“What are you reading?” I asked.

“My father’s notes,” Rogan said, spooning more mousse into his mouth. “He kept a file on every potential threat. This one is on Sturm. You said you couldn’t cook.”

“I can’t. I don’t have the time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to cook some things.”

I nodded, scooted closer to him so we were touching, and went back to my emails. His fingertips brushed my back. He did it without looking away from his laptop. Just checking that I was still there.

This is what it would be like, I realized. We could come home to each other every night.

It didn’t have to be all blood and gore and fancy dinners. It could also be this, and this felt so good.





Chapter 9




I was sitting in Rogan’s kitchen, drinking coffee and eating another bear claw. The bear claw was dipped in a thin sugar glaze that crunched under my teeth with every bite and then melted in my mouth. It was probably ridiculously bad for me, but I didn’t care.

Across from me, Rogan was drinking his coffee. Last night, after I was done going through my emails, Rogan decided that we both needed a bit of exercise before bed. He was very convincing. I could’ve used another hour of sleep today. Instead I was up, drinking coffee and wearing my semi-professional work clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, and a soft oversized sweater that was big enough to obscure my gun.

Heart, Rivera, and Bug sat around the island, drinking coffee and talking in low voices.

“Where are we with surveillance?” Rogan asked.

Everyone went silent.

Bug cleared his throat. “No sign of Vincent. He’s laying low. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Harcourts. No movement there. No sign of Brian.”

“Sturm?” Rogan asked.

“He went back to his house after the restaurant and hasn’t left.”

“Victoria Tremaine?” Rogan asked.

Bug shook his head. “If she’s moving, I can’t see it.”

It was unlikely that Brian was being held at Sturm’s house. Too obvious and too damning if Brian’s presence was discovered. Most likely Brian was secured somewhere else. Vincent, on the other hand, would be at Sturm’s house, because if I were Sturm, I’d want him on a short leash after his last fun outing.

Rogan looked at Heart. “Fortification analysis?”

“I’ve sent people out to install additional lightning rods,” Heart said, “but there is not a lot we can do against a tornado. This building is solid and has a basement, and so do the two others we designated as barracks. I had the three basements stocked with first aid, water, and rations. We’re installing reinforced doors. We’ll drill evacuation procedures today.”

“The warehouse?” Rogan asked.

“It’s properly anchored and the steel walls will bend rather than break apart,” Heart said. “Technically, it’s rated to withstand 170-mph winds. Practically, it depends on who you talk to. If you ask steel building manufacturers, they’ll tell you stories of people who survived F-4 in one. But nobody knows what will happen if Sturm spins off a tornado and then holds it in one place.”

If Sturm did that, our warehouse would crumple like an empty Coke can.

“We need a shelter,” I said.

Heart nodded. “There are issues with that. The ideal shelter would be sunken into the floor; however, it would require engineering and careful construction to do it properly, because the shelter has to bear the weight of the warehouse and soil. That will take time, which we don’t have. The other option would be to construct a reinforced shelter within the warehouse; however, the warehouse is filled with heavy vehicles. When picked up by a tornado, they will become airborne projectiles, which have a high probability of crushing any shelter within the warehouse.”

“So our best option is to run to your basement,” I said.

“Yes,” Rogan and Heart said at the same time.

“Great.”

“Sturm and I are both offensive mages,” Rogan said. “Defenses are our weak point, so whoever throws the first punch has the advantage.”