Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(36)

“Nevada Baylor.”

“I need to talk to you,” Mad Rogan said into the phone. “Meet me for lunch.”

My pulse jumped, my body snapped to attention, and my brain shut down for a second to come to terms with the impact of his voice. I’d slap myself except my mother and grandmother already thought I was nuts, and hurting myself would get me committed for sure.

“Sure, let me get right on that.” Hey, my voice still worked. “Should I bring my own chains this time? Or do you have bigger plans, and this is some sort of freaky murder foreplay”—why did the word foreplay just come out of my mouth?—“and I’ll end up cut up into small pieces inside some freezer at the end? I can just spray myself with mace and shoot myself in the head now and save you the trouble.”

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Just getting started.” I was so brave over the phone.

“Lunch, Ms. Baylor. Concentrate. Pick a place.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I work for you and you can give me orders. Let me fix that.” I hung up.

Grandma looked at my mom. “Did she just hang up on Mad Rogan?”

“Yes, she did. Did you know that Adam Pierce showed up at our house last night?”

Grandma’s eyes went wide. “He was here?”

“She met him outside.”

Grandma swung toward me. “Did you take any pictures?”

My phone beeped. Unlisted number again. I answered it.

“I’m not a man of infinite patience,” Mad Rogan said.

I hung up.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen!” Grandma declared.

I scrolled through my phone and pulled up the shot of Adam Pierce in a Mercer T-shirt. “There you go.”

Grandma grabbed the phone. It beeped. She answered it. “She’ll call you back. Nevada, can I email Adam’s picture to myself?”

“You have to hang up first.”

She hung up and clicked the phone, typing with her index fingers. “Arabella is going to flip.”

My mother sighed.

Grandma passed me the phone. “Here’s your phone back.”

Another beep.

“Yes?”

His voice was quiet and precise. “If you hang up on me again, I will slice your car into small pieces and hang them on your roof like Christmas wreaths.”

“First, destroying my property is a crime, just like kidnapping me is a crime. Second, how exactly is mincing my car into small pieces supposed to convince me to come to lunch with you? Third, if you’re close enough to slice my car, I’m close enough to shoot you in the head. Can you deflect bullets if you don’t know they’re coming?”

“I’m trying to be reasonable,” he said. “Come to lunch with me and we can exchange information or . . .”

“Or what? My mother and grandmother are right here. Shall I pass the phone to them so you can threaten them with terrible things if I don’t agree to lunch?”

“Will it do any good?”

“Probably not.”

“What would make you feel safe?” he asked.

“An apology would be a start.”

“I apologize for kidnapping you,” he said. “I promise not to kidnap you before, during, or after lunch. This is a business conversation. Where would you be comfortable meeting me?”

Comfortable? The memory of his magic was still burning my brain. There was no such thing as being comfortable where he was concerned. I could meet him in the middle of city hall, surrounded by SWAT, and he could nuke them and me without breaking a sweat. But I would have to talk to him. He wanted to meet me, and he would get what he wanted one way or the other.

“Ms. Baylor?”

“Hold on. I’m trying to figure out a place where nobody will recognize us.”

“If you prefer, I can acquire a windowless creeper van, and we can huddle in it and have greasy takeout.”

Huddle? “Tempting, but no. Takara, in an hour . . .”

He hung up.

I rolled my eyes.

“Is this a good idea?” Mother asked.

“I don’t know. He mentioned exchanging information, so he might have something to trade. I don’t think avoiding him will work. He won’t take no for an answer. I can meet him on my terms or on his. I’ve tried his and I don’t like them. Besides, Makarov said not to use shockers on anyone with low magic. Mad Rogan is a Prime.” I made grabbing motions with my fingers.

“Mom?” Mother turned to Grandmother.

“What?”

“She’s going to lunch with her kidnapper!”

“Take a picture for me,” Grandma said.

“This family will put me into an early grave,” my mother growled. “I’m coming with you. Mother, lock the doors and set the alarm. We’ll take the van and the Barrett.”

“Would the Barrett be enough?” Grandma Frida asked. “Isn’t he supposed to bounce bullets off of his chest?”

“It fires .50 cal at twice the speed of sound. It will hit him before he ever hears the shot.” My mother crossed her arms. “I’d like to see him bounce that off his chest.”





Chapter 7


Takara’s website described it as an Asian bistro, which in reality meant that they specialized in beautiful sushi and had a couple of traditional Chinese and Korean dishes on the menu. It occupied a large, modern building, all heavy brown stone and big windows. As I walked through the door, an eight-foot-wall fountain greeted me. The color palette was creamy beiges, soothing greens, and rich browns with a touch of metallic bronze here and there. The colors, the gentle sound of water, and the tasteful decor were soothing, yet the hostess in front of me and the three sushi chefs behind the counter looked distinctly freaked out.