Wildfire, Page 2

  “Have you ever held a job?”

  She frowned. “No. We don’t need the extra money.”

  That must be nice. “Do you have any hobbies? Any passions?”

  “I . . . make sculptures.”

  “Do you sell them?”

  “No. They’re nothing spectacular. I’ve never participated in any exhibits.”

  “Then why do you keep making them?”

  She blinked. “It makes me happy.”

  “Being a private investigator makes me happy. I’m not just doing it for the money. I’m doing it because sometimes I get to help people. Right now, you need help.”

  The laptop clicked. A new email, from Bern, popped into my inbox. Brian Sherwood, 32, second son of House Sherwood, Prime, herbamagos. Principal business: Sherwood BioCore. Estimated personal worth: $30 million. Wife: Rynda (Charles), 29. Children: Jessica, 6, and Kyle, 4. Siblings: Edward Sherwood, 38, Angela Sherwood, 23.

  Brian Sherwood was a plant mage. Rynda was an empath with a secondary telekenetic talent. That didn’t add up. Primes usually married within their branch of magic. As Rogan once eloquently explained to me in his falling-on-his-sword speech, preserving and increasing magic within the family drove most of their marriage decisions.

  I looked back to her. “I don’t know yet if I’m your best option. It may be that you would be better served by a different agency. But before we talk about any of that, walk me through your Thursday. You woke up. Then what happened?”

  She focused. “I got up. Brian was already awake. He’d taken a shower. I made breakfast and fixed the lunches for him and the kids.”

  “Do you fix their lunches every day?”

  “Yes. I like doing it.”

  Brian Sherwood, worth thirty million dollars, took a brown-bag lunch his wife made to work every day. Did he eat it or throw it in the trash? That was the question.

  “Brian kissed me and told me he would be home at the usual time.”

  “What time is that?”

  “Six o’clock. I said we’d be having cubed steak for dinner. He asked if fries were involved.”

  She choked on a sob.

  “Who took Jessica to school?”

  She glanced at me, surprised. “How did you know her name?”

  “My cousin pulled your public records.” I turned the laptop so she could see.

  She blinked. “My whole life in one paragraph.”

  “Keep going,” I told her. “How did Jessica get to school?”

  “Brian dropped her off. I took Kyle on a walk.”

  Lie.

  “I called Brian around lunch. He answered.”

  Truth.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Nothing serious.”

  Lie.

  “I’m not your enemy. It would help if you were honest with me. Let’s try this again. Where did you and Kyle go and what was the phone call about?”

  She set her lips into a flat, hard line.

  “Everything you tell me now is confidential. It isn’t privileged, like conversations with your attorney, which means I will have to disclose it in a court proceeding. But short of that, it won’t go anywhere.”

  She covered her face with her hands, thought about it for a long moment, and exhaled. “Kyle’s magic hasn’t manifested. I manifested by two, Brian manifested by four months, Jessica manifested at thirteen months. Kyle is almost five. He’s late. We’re taking him to a specialist. I always call Brian after every session, because he wants to know how Kyle did.”

  For a Prime, a child with no magic would be devastating. Rogan’s voice popped into my head. You think you won’t care about it, but you will. Think of your children and having to explain that their talents are subpar, because you have failed to secure a proper genetic match.

  “Your anxiety spiked. Why? Was it something I said? Is the specialist important?”

  “I don’t know yet.” She would be a really difficult client. She registered every emotional twitch I made. “Did Kyle manifest?”

  “No.”

  “What happened next?”

  She sighed and went through her day. She picked up Jessica, fed the kids, then they read books and watched cartoons together. She made dinner, but Brian didn’t show. She called his cell several times over the next two hours and finally called his brother. Edward Sherwood was still at work. He had happened to look out the window when Brian had left at his usual time and remembered watching him get into his car. Just to be sure, Edward walked down to Brian’s office and reported that it was empty. He also called down to the front desk, and the guard confirmed that Brian had signed out, left the building a quarter before six, and didn’t return.

  “How far is your house from Sherwood’s BioCore?”

  “It’s a ten-minute drive. We live in Hunters Creek Village. BioCore is at Post Oak Circle, near the Houstonian Hotel. It’s three and a half miles down Memorial Drive. Even with heavy traffic, he’s usually home in fifteen minutes.”

  “Did Edward mention if Brian was planning to make any stops?”

  “He didn’t know. He said he wasn’t aware of any meetings scheduled that afternoon.”

  “Did he sound concerned?”

  She shook her head. “He said he was sure Brian would show up. But I knew something was wrong. I just knew.”

  All the standard things someone does when their loved one is missing followed: calls to hospitals and police stations, driving the route to look for the stranded car, talking with people at his work, calling other family members asking if they heard anything, and so on.

  “He didn’t come home,” she said, her voice dull. “In the morning I called Edward. He told me not to worry. He said Brian had seemed tense lately and that he would turn up. I told him I would file the police report. He said that he didn’t feel there was a need for it, but if it would make me feel better, I should file it.”

  “How did he seem to you?”

  “He seemed concerned for me.”

  Interesting. “For you? Not for Brian?”

  “For me and the kids.”

  “And Brian has never done anything like this before?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Rynda?”

  “He disappears sometimes when he’s stressed,” she said quietly. “He used to. But not for the last three years and never this long. You have to understand, Brian isn’t a coward, he just needs stability. He likes when things are calm.”

  That explained why his brother didn’t immediately sound the alarm and bring all hands on deck. “Can you tell me more about it? The last time he disappeared?”

  “It was after Kyle’s one-year birthday party. Edward asked him if Kyle manifested, and Brian told him no. Then Joshua, Brian’s father—he died a year later—said that Brian and I better get on with making another one, because Jessica is an empath like me, and a dud can’t lead the family.”

  He called his grandson a dud. Ugh.

  “Thank you,” Rynda said.

  “For what?”

  “For your disgust. Brian’s anxiety spiked. I felt an intense need to escape coming from him, so I told them that it was late and the children were tired. The family left. Brian didn’t come back to bed. He got into his car and drove off. He came home the next evening. That was the longest he had ever disappeared during our marriage.”

  “Did he say where he went?”

  “He said he just drove. He eventually found some small hotel and spent the night there. He came home because he realized that he had no place to go and he missed me and the kids. He would never leave me, and the last time I saw him, he was calm.”

  Truth.

  I rubbed my forehead. “Did you share this with the police?”

  “Yes.”

  And they dismissed her as being a hysterical woman whose husband bolted when the pressure became too much.

  “Do you have access to Brian’s bank accounts?”

  “Yes.” She blinked.

  “Can you check if ther
e has been any activity? Has he used his cards in the last few days?”

  She grabbed her purse, rummaged through it frantically. “Why didn’t I think of . . .” She pulled the phone out and stabbed at it.

  A moment passed. Another.

  Her face fell. “No. Nothing.”

  “Rynda, did you kill your husband?”

  She stared at me.

  “I need an answer.”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “No!”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No!”

  True on all counts.

  “There are several possibilities,” I said. “First, something bad could have happened to Brian as a result of House politics or his job. Second, something traumatic could’ve occurred during the workday on Thursday that caused him to go into hiding. I can look for your husband. Alternatively, I can recommend Montgomery International Investigations.”

  When Dad got sick, we’d mortgaged the business to MII, and their owner, Augustine Montgomery, and our family had a complicated history, but that didn’t change the fact that MII was her best bet.

  “They are a premier agency, and they are very well equipped to handle things like this. You can afford them. You should be aware that Baylor’s a small firm with a fraction of MII’s resources.”

  Rynda sat very still.

  Someone pounded down the hallway on small feet.

  “Mom!” A small boy ran into the kitchen carrying a piece of paper. He had dark hair and Rynda’s silver eyes. She opened her arms, and he thrust a piece of paper at her. “I drew a tank! They have a tank in their garage!”

  Catalina walked into the room, dark-haired, slender, a small smile on her face. “Kyle wanted to show you.”

  “That’s a scary tank,” Rynda said.

  “Come on.” My sister held out her hand. “I’ll show you more cool stuff.”

  Kyle put the paper in front of his mother. “It’s a present for you. I’ll draw one for Dad!” He took off at a run. Catalina sighed and chased him.

  Rynda watched him go with an odd look on her face.

  “I’ve talked to MII.” She swallowed, and I saw a shadow of her mother’s ruthless logic in her eyes. “Montgomery turned me down.”

  Augustine Montgomery declined to get involved. Interesting. I really was her last resort.

  “Very well,” I said. “I will look for Brian.”

  She shifted in her seat and blurted out. “I want a contract.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t want this to be an act of charity. I want to pay you.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I want things defined and professional.”

  “As do I.”

  “And our relationship is that of a client and service provider.”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  A door swung open. A thunderstorm appeared behind me and was moving through our house, churning with power and magic. Rogan.

  He reached my kitchen and loomed in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, his blue eyes dark and his magic wrapped around him like a vicious pet snapping its savage teeth. If I didn’t know him, I would’ve backed away and pulled my gun out.

  “Connor!” Rynda jumped up from behind the table, cleared the distance between them, and hugged him.

  And jealousy stabbed me right in the heart. He was mine.

  Rogan gently put his arms around her, his blue eyes fixed on me. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” Rynda choked on a sob. “Brian is missing.”

  He was still looking at me. I nodded. Yes. I’m okay.

  Rynda pulled away from him. “I didn’t know where to go. I . . .”

  “I’m going to take care of it,” I told Rogan.

  “Nevada is the best you can get,” he said, his voice perfectly calm.

  I checked my laptop: 5:47 p.m. “Rynda, I have some paperwork for you to sign. There are some preliminary things I can do today, but tomorrow I’ll go and knock on BioCore’s doors. It would make things easier for me if you called ahead and advised the family that I’ll be coming by.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said.

  “It would be best if I went by myself,” I told her. “People may say things to me that they might not mention in your presence. If I’ll require access to Sherwood family spaces or other restricted areas, I’ll definitely ask you to come with me.”

  “What do I do now?” She was looking at Rogan, not at me.

  “Sign the paperwork and go home. Brian might call or show up,” Rogan said. “You’re not alone, Rynda. Nevada will help you. I will help you.”

  “I hate you for killing my mother,” she told him, her voice strained.

  “I know,” he said. “It couldn’t be helped.”

  “Everything is falling apart, Connor. How can it all just crumble like that?”

  “It’s House life,” he said.

  Rynda’s shoulders stooped. She turned to me. “Where do I sign?”

  I walked her through the paperwork, fees, and stipulations. She signed and went to collect her children.

  Rogan waited until she was out of sight and stepped close to me.

  “She’ll need an escort home,” I said. “And someone to watch the house.” There was no telling where this investigation would lead, and extra security was never a bad idea.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, and kissed me. It was a sudden, hard kiss, fierce and hot. It burned like fire.

  We broke apart, and I saw the dragon in his eyes. Rogan was preparing to go to war.

  “Your grandmother is in the city,” he said, and pressed a USB drive into my hand. “You must decide tonight.”

  He turned and walked away, the memory of his kiss still scorching me.

  I took a deep breath and plugged the USB into my laptop.

  Chapter 2

  The family sat at the dining table. I took the head spot this time. A stack of papers sat on my right, covered with a folder. I’d printed out the contents of the USB drive.

  My two sisters had taken the chairs next to me, Catalina on my right, Arabella on my left. Catalina, who was a week shy of turning eighteen, was dark-haired, serious, and calm. She liked math, because it made sense to her, and would do just about anything to not be the center of attention. Arabella, still fifteen, was blond, athletic, with bigger boobs and a curvier butt, and calm wasn’t even in her vocabulary. She liked forensics and humanities. “Calling people out” was her preferred method of dealing with issues. The high school debate club, which made the fatal mistake of snubbing her because she was a freshman at the time and their roster was full, lived in mortal terror of her.

  Bernard, the oldest of our two cousins, sat next to Catalina. Over six feet tall, with shoulders that had trouble fitting through narrow doorways, Bern was built like he broke people for a living. He had wrestled in high school and still went to judo a few times a week, which he claimed he was doing to balance long hours spent writing computer code. When he was a kid, his hair had been the color of straw and curly. The curls were all gone now. His hair had turned dark blond, and he kept it cut short and messy.

  His brother Leon was just about his exact opposite. Lean, dark, and fast, Leon alternated between sarcasm, excitement, and total gloom as quickly as his sixteen-year-old body could produce the hormones. He hero-worshipped his brother. He also thought he himself was a dud without any magic. I knew he wasn’t, and I was doing my best to keep that knowledge to myself, because there was only one type of job open to someone with Leon’s magical talent, and it wasn’t a job any of us would’ve liked him to have. Right now, only Bug, who was Rogan’s surveillance expert, my mother, and I knew what he was capable of, and the only reason I told Mom was because his talent would explode into light sooner or later, and if I wasn’t around, someone else would have to handle it. Sooner or later I would have to tell Leon.

  My mother sat at the other end of the table. She used to be a soldier, but
her time as a POW left her with a permanent limp. She was softer now, her brown hair braided and pinned at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were brown like mine. When Dad got sick and after his death, Mom kept us together. I was just now beginning to understand how much it had cost her.

  Grandma Frida sat beside Mom. One of my earliest memories was playing on the floor of the motor pool with little model cars, and Grandma Frida, who still had some blond in her hair back then, humming softly as she worked on some giant vehicle. Most people smelled engine oil and rubber and thought mechanic. I thought Grandma.

  Family.

  I loved them all so much. I had to do everything I could to keep them safe. This would be a Christmas we’d never forget.

  “Victoria Tremaine knows who we are,” I said.

  The words hit the table like a pile of bricks. Arabella paled. Catalina bit her lip. Bern became very still. Leon, oblivious, frowned at the pinched expressions he saw. Nobody spoke.

  Truthseeker talents like mine were very rare. There were only three truthseeker Houses in the United States. House Tremaine was the smallest and the most feared. It had only one member—Victoria Tremaine. And she was coming for us.

  “How sure are you?” Mom finally asked.

  “She tried to purchase our mortgage.”

  Mom swore.

  “I thought House Montgomery owned our mortgage,” Leon said.

  “House Montgomery owns the mortgage on our business,” Bernard said patiently. “The mortgage on the warehouse was held by a private bank until Rogan bought it.”

  “To bring everyone up to speed,” I said before they could go off on a tangent, “Dad was Victoria’s only child. He was born without magic, and she hated him for it. He ran away after high school, met Mom, and lived quietly, so she never found him. But now she knows. She’s the only member of her family. Once she dies, House Tremaine will die with her.”

  “How did I not know this?” Leon asked. “Am I the only one who didn’t know this? You guys knew and didn’t tell me?”

  I raised my hand. “The point is, Victoria Tremaine desperately needs us. She’s the only surviving Prime of her House.”

  “The House is everything,” Bern said quietly. “She needs you and the girls to qualify as Primes so she can keep her House alive.”