White Hot (Hidden Legacy 2)

“What deals do you secure? Who are your clients? Drug dealers? Murderers?”

“Murderers, yes. But only if their name is attached to a House. I’ve never secured a drug transaction. I know of the underworld, and it knows of my people. We pass each other like two strangers on the street, aware but never interacting, and that’s the way I like to keep it.”

True. “Why do you do it?”

“Information,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “I exist outside of Prime society by choice, but I know more about them than those who are entrenched in it. Information gives me power, and when necessary, I use it.”

Another gust of wind hit me. If Baranovsky didn’t show up in the next two minutes, I’d freeze to death.

Rogan glanced at the garden. A canvas canopy tore from the rest, shot toward us, and wrapped the balcony on the left side, shielding us from the wind. In response a dark shadow shifted behind the window on the third floor, about five hundred yards from us, across the garden. Rogan’s gaze checked the window and he turned away. He saw it too. We were being watched, probably by someone with a sniper rifle.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. I refused your jacket, so you went over my head. You aren’t taking my wishes into consideration. At all.”

“You want to be cold?” He stared at me.

“Yes.” And that sounded stupid. I sighed at myself.

“Nevada, we both know that you’re freezing. I can hear your teeth clicking. If you’re doing this to prove a point, I already understand it. This is childish.”

I faced him. “It’s not childish, Connor. You’re trying to take over my life. You do things for me, even when I specifically ask you not to, because you feel you know better. I’m desperately fighting for my independence and my boundaries, because otherwise there will be no me left. There will be just you and I’ll become an accessory.”

Rogan turned and half closed a mirrored door behind us. The glass caught my reflection. The black dress sheathed me like armor. My blond hair crowned my head. The look on my face brought it home: there was something defiant and almost vicious in my eyes. I barely recognized myself.

I didn’t like it.

Rogan moved to stand behind me, his resolute face tinted with regret. “What do you see?”

“I see me in a leased dress.”

“I see a Prime.”

True. He meant it. Breath caught in my throat. Deep down I had known it. I just didn’t want to deal with all the things that title meant.

His voice was quiet. “This isn’t you playing dress-up. This is you, Nevada. This is what you truly are.”

Why did he sound like he was hammering nails into his own coffin?

“You must’ve realized it by now. It can’t be that much of a surprise,” he said, his voice quiet. “Augustine knows it too. He isn’t an idiot. Sooner or later he’ll try to lock you into vassalage. He’ll try to offer you a deal, probably what will seem like a great sum of money attached to handcuffs and a chain. In reality, whatever he offers you will be a pittance. If he could lock you in, your value to House Montgomery would be enormous. Your value to any House would be beyond measure, especially if you don’t know what you are and you submit, allowing yourself to be controlled and used.”

Like offering me over a million dollars to walk away from everything I’d built. My instincts had been right, but the trap did prove so tempting.

Rogan stepped toward me and gently draped the jacket over me. The heavy warm fabric felt heavenly on my icicle shoulders. He loomed behind me, grim and slightly scary.

“Your debts are like this jacket, Nevada. A small favor that costs nothing. You don’t yet realize how infinitesimal their total amount is, because you’re still clinging to the illusion of being ordinary. Soon you’ll make that money in a blink. You’re an emerging Prime and it’s a dangerous time for you. People will use you, manipulate you, pressure you. Everyone will want a piece of you. I simply shielded one of your pressure points until you were ready to shield it on your own.”

If I took everything he said at face value, it meant that he was guarding me. Protecting me. If he expected anything in return, he hasn’t said what it was. But nothing in the world of Primes was free.

“What other measures have you taken for my safety?” I asked.

“You know everything I’ve done.”

True.

“I didn’t do it to control you. I did it because you were vulnerable.”

“Did anyone attempt to purchase my mortgage from you?”

“Yes.”

True. “Who and when?”

“A boutique bank, yesterday. My people are tracking it down. We’ll know who’s behind it in the next twenty-four hours.”

I had a strong feeling it would lead back to House Montgomery. “Why do you care what happens to me, Rogan?”

“It amuses me.” Neither his voice, nor his face betrayed any delight.

“Really, Connor?” I turned and looked into his eyes. My magic licked him and liked the taste.

“If you do this to a member of a House, it’s a declaration of war,” he warned, his eyes dark. “Keep your magic to yourself.”

“Then answer the question so I don’t have to go to war with you.”

Rogan turned and walked away, leaving me standing wrapped in his jacket.

I pulled the jacket tighter around myself and looked back at the garden. If we had calculated correctly, Baranovsky would approach me.

Measured steps broke the silence behind me. Someone walked out onto the balcony and leaned on the rail next to me. I turned my head. Baranovsky looked at me with his remarkable eyes. In the hallway, the two bodyguards waited, far enough to not obviously intrude on the conversation but close enough to shoot me in the head and not miss. I pretended not to see them and turned back to the garden.

“Enjoying the brisk air?” Baranovsky asked.

“Yes,” I said. I wanted to babble to ease off the pressure, but the more we spoke, the less mysterious I would seem.

We stood in silence.

“A woman of few words,” he said. “A rarity.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You’re too sophisticated for that remark.”

A self-deprecating smile stretched his lips. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re a collector. You value each item in your collection for its unique charm. A broad generalization, especially one so ham-fisted, would be out of character for a connoisseur.”

His eyes narrowed. He was looking at the bruise on my neck. “And you believe me to be one?”

“You had an affair with Elena de Trevino, a woman with perfect recall, who can reproduce every wrong thing you have ever said to her.”

“One could say every woman possesses such power.”

I shook my head. “No, we only remember things that emotionally wound us. Elena remembered everything.”

Baranovsky shook his head, smiling. “This is a dangerous conversation.”

“You’re right. You should save yourself and gracefully retreat.”

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice holding a note of wonder.

Got him. Now I just had to keep him. “And guest.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s how I was announced. And guest, one of many. Nameless, anonymous, here for one night, and then gone.”

“But hardly forgotten.”

I looked back at the garden.

“Do you know why I’m drawn to roses?” he asked.

“You like their thorns?” He couldn’t possibly be this lame.

“No. Each seedling is unique. Two seeds from the same cross, originating from the same two parent plants, will show variation in color, in the shape of petals, in the whorls themselves, even in how long the bloom will last.”

“See? A connoisseur of dangerous women and flowers with thorns.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he said, still smiling.

“Only a little.”

He offered me his arm. “Walk with me.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re right—this conversation is too dangerous for you.”