“Stellar day for us both, huh?”
“Yes.” He fell silent. “Shaffer is right about one thing. When it comes to assuring the hereditary stability of truthseeker talent, his genes win.”
That’s what true love looked like. Shaffer wouldn’t know it if it was staring him in the face.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Everything was screwed up. The deadline was almost up, and I still had nothing. Sturm wouldn’t let it go. There would be repercussions, and we had very little protection against his magic. Tomorrow I’d have to explain to Rynda that her husband most likely plotted to murder her. My evil grandmother was still trying to kidnap me. Leon still wanted to be an assassin when he grew up. The trials were growing closer.
I just wanted a break from it all. I wanted to put it away until tomorrow, because if I thought about it too much, I’d collapse like an imploded building.
We took the stairs to the second floor. I thought about the room under the night sky, and the massive bed, and him naked, his weight on me, the feel of steel-hard muscle, the way he looked at me, the intoxicating taste of his magic dripping on my skin and setting my nerves on fire . . .
“Nevada,” he said, his voice gaining a harsh edge.
“Yes?”
“Move faster.”
I let him chase me up the stairs. He caught me on the landing and kissed me. I tasted Rogan, man and coffee, inhaled the scent of sandalwood on his skin, and felt his arms around me. Magic caressed my neck, hot and velvet-soft, and then the world no longer mattered.
The morning came too soon.
“You’re lying.” Red blotches appeared on Rynda’s cheeks.
“Unfortunately, no. Everything I told you is backed up by evidence and personal accounts. Edward will verify his part in it. He didn’t lie to me.”
She looked away from me. We sat on the balcony off the second floor, as far away from any audience as we could. The raw pain on her face made me ill. I had half convinced myself that she had to have known or at least suspected that Brian was in on the whole thing. I was wrong. She had no idea. It hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Why?” she said, her voice broken. “How? How could he do this to us? To me and the kids?”
“He’s selfish and manipulative. Adults don’t run away from stress and problems. We deal with them. The first time he ran away, someone should’ve sat him down and explained to him how much he worried everyone. And then they should’ve grounded him, so he wouldn’t do it again. Instead they encouraged it and he fell into a pattern. He’s afraid of confrontations. Killing you and the kids is easier than facing Edward or dealing with the divorce. You’re the empath, Rynda. You know him better than anyone.”
“I stopped,” she said. Her eyes were haunted.
“You stopped what?”
“I stopped scanning him years ago, after Kyle was born. The indifference was too much to take. I couldn’t handle it. Indifference from him, derision from his parents, disappointment from my mother. I shut it out. I hadn’t used my talent in years.”
Not using magic was like cutting off a chunk of your soul. It must’ve hurt so much to know what Brian really felt for her. For their kids.
“The only people safe to scan are the children and . . . the children.”
And Edward. She’d almost said it.
“And I don’t need empathy to know what they are feeling. They’re my babies. I grew them inside me, and I gave birth to them. They are a part of me and a part of him. And he wants them dead. How do I tell them that?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I’m a pity fuck.”
“I’m sorry?”
Rynda turned to me, her eyes red. She was on the verge of tears. “I’m the daughter with the useless magic talent, a disappointment to my mother. She loved me, but she couldn’t hide it. An abandoned bride. A match nobody wanted because of her wild genes. A wife whose husband didn’t love her. A mother who didn’t manage to pass the right DNA to her children.”
Well, that progressed into a complete catastrophe. I had no idea what to say.
Rynda sniffed.
I got up and brought her a box of Kleenex.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be an empath. People look at you like you’re some horrible freak.”
I leaned forward. “Victoria Tremaine is my grandmother.”
Rynda drew back as if I had thrown a venomous snake on the table between us.
“I don’t need to be an empath to know you’re horrified.” I smiled.
“I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“The first time I made a man tell me his secrets against his will, he curled up on the ground and cried. He was an experienced mercenary, but he cried like a hurt child, because I’d violated his mind. So you and I have things in common. You’re not a disappointment to anyone. You don’t need anyone’s approval.”
She closed her mouth and sat up straighter. “Does Rogan know about Brian’s betrayal?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“My family, Cornelius, Bug, Edward, and Edward’s security chief. Possibly your mother-in-law.”
“What happens now?”
“We proceed as if we don’t know about Brian. We still have to find the thing they want. They’re not going to stop until we do, or until we end the whole organization permanently.”
She got up. “I’ll have to tell the children. They must know that they can’t trust their father.”
“Rynda . . .”
She walked away.
Well, that went well.
I picked myself up and went across the street to our warehouse. We had hours until the deadline was due. I could practically feel the time ticking away. It ate at me. We had to find Olivia’s secret. I had to find it. Rynda and her little family wouldn’t be safe until I did. If Sturm didn’t get what he wanted, he would retaliate. He’d probably retaliate anyway. Rogan almost killed him in the steakhouse. Sturm wouldn’t let that go.
Everything went wrong for Rynda. Everything went wrong in this investigation, period. This one thing had to go right.
Inside, Catalina’s shrill voice sliced at my eardrums. “I don’t want to talk about it!”
Whenever she got upset, her voice shot up into piercing notes.
I rounded the corner.
“Catalina!” Arabella chased her. Matilda trailed her, her fluffy white cat following her. I didn’t know she was still here.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” The door to Catalina’s room thudded shut.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Arabella growled.
“What is it?”
“She deleted her Instagram account.”
“Why?”
“Alessandro Sagredo.” Arabella put her hands on her hips.
“Did he say something to her?” If he said something mean to my sister, I’d skin him alive.
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Arabella whipped out her phone and stuck it under my nose. “He looks like that!”
The man on the phone looked about twenty and he was stunning. Square jaw; full, perfectly drawn mouth; strong nose; narrow, almost green hazel eyes under dark eyebrows. A mass of chocolate-brown hair, trimmed in an expensive haircut, framed it all, setting off the strong lines of his face that promised to become chiseled with time. Life hadn’t beaten him up yet, and there was still something fresh about his face, but the harshness had begun to break through. He looked like he was the son of a Roman gladiator about to enter the arena for the first time. And he stood leaning against a beautiful silver and blue Maserati.
“He follows like three people on Instagram,” Arabella said. “And Catalina. She woke up with six thousand followers, so she deleted the account, because she is an idiot!”
“Are you going to marry him, Catalina?” Matilda asked seriously.
The door swung open, revealing Catalina. She stabbed her finger at Arabella. “Stay out of my business, you little psycho. You too, Matilda.”
She slammed the door shut.
Matilda looked at the door, looked at me, and laughed like little silver bells ringing.