Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(33)
Author: Ilona Andrews

“You think you can contain Adam Pierce?”

He nodded, his face confident. “Yes. I can’t guarantee he’ll be undamaged after I’m done, but I give you my word he will be alive.”

I folded my napkin and put it on the table. “Thank you for a lovely lunch. The answer is no. I already have an employer.”

“You’ve been employed to find Pierce, not Waller.” Mad Rogan flicked his fingers across the tablet. An electronic check appeared on its surface. “Type in a number.”

I could type in a number large enough to pay off my mortgage to MII. It was tempting. So, so tempting. But you don’t jump into the cage with a wild bear because he’s offering you some of his honey. Right now Pierce and I were just talking. Once Mad Rogan got involved, it would escalate to an open confrontation, and the kind of power he and Pierce threw around meant I could—no, would—get hurt. My life meant nothing at all to either of them. “No, thank you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re still upset about the basement.”

“Yes, but my personal dislike of you has nothing to do with my decision. This is a purely professional choice. You’ve broken the law by kidnapping me, and although you apologized, your apology wasn’t sincere. It was a means to an end. You’ve rearranged the restaurant, someone else’s property, to accommodate your personal needs, you lied to me during this conversation, and you tried to trap me into a spell after assuring me that I wouldn’t be harmed.”

“I assured you that you wouldn’t be kidnapped.”

“You are incredibly powerful, and you have a blatant disregard for laws and moral constraints. I’m guessing that you don’t think anything you ever do is wrong. That makes you very dangerous and a huge liability in my line of work. You will break laws and kill to get what you want, and if I manage to survive, I’ll be left with the fallout. So the answer is no.”

“This isn’t wise, Nevada. I take care of my employees.”

The sound of my name coming from him derailed me for a half second. Trading being in debt to MII for servitude to House Rogan. No, thank you. At least with MII there were rules. There was a legal, binding contract, and what they were doing to us was underhanded but within the bounds of that contract. My value to them was tied to my ability as an investigator. My value to Rogan was tied to me somehow getting him together with Adam Pierce, and Rogan wasn’t bound by any rules. I had no business getting in bed with him.

In bed.

With Mad Rogan.

My mind conjured him naked on dark sheets. I slammed the door on that thought so fast that my teeth shook.

I pulled two twenties out of my pocket and put them on the table. “I don’t have any reason to trust a word you say.”

He leaned forward. His body tensed, his muscles flexing under his clothes. His face turned predatory. All of that civilized veneer tore, and here he was, a dragon in all of his terrible glory.

“Do not walk away from me.” His voice vibrated with power. “You’re in over your head. Adam Pierce, House Pierce, and MII are out of your league. I’m offering to become your ally. Don’t make me into an enemy, or you will regret it.”

“And this is exactly why it’s a no.” I rose. “And the next time you choose to project into my dreams, do keep your clothes on.”

He smiled. It was a very male, self-aware smile, not just sexual but carnal. The predatory look in his eyes turned ravaging. I felt the need to grab a napkin and hold it in front of me like a shield.

“I can project, but I would have to be next to you to do it.”

Oh crap.

His voice turned smooth and sensual. A man had no right to sound like that. “Tell me, what wasn’t I wearing in your dreams?”

I rose, turned my back to him, and walked out.

The sound of his laughter caressed my back, almost like a sexual touch.

Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking. That was dumb. I just had to get that last word in. Would it have killed me to keep my mouth shut?

My phone beeped. I answered it.

“Drawbridge Security,” a brisk female voice said into the phone. “We’re showing a fire alarm at your residence.”

Grandma set the fire alarm off again. She’d test fuel or use some tool, and the alarm service called in a panic every couple of months. I had left them standing instructions to let the phone ring for at least a minute before calling the fire department. Sometimes Grandma took the time to put the fire out before answering.

“Did you let the phone ring?” I was almost to the door.

“We did. We’re registering two separate alerts, the workshop and the front door.”

Front door. The hair on the back of my neck rose. “Call the fire department now!”

I sprinted out the door and across the parking lot.

The van was already idling. I jerked the driver’s door open and jumped inside. “Our house is on fire!”

My mother snapped the rifle case shut, dropped into the passenger seat, and buckled. I stepped on the gas, and the van shot out of the parking lot. Mom dialed the house.

“Anything?” I took the corner too fast. The van careened and fell back in place, the springs screeching.

She put it on speaker. Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring . . .

“Is it the workshop?”

“The front door.”

We turned onto a side street. A slow-moving Prius blocked the lane. The line of cars in the opposite direction made it impossible to pass. Screw this.

I turned the wheel to the right. The van jumped the curb with a thud. I tore down the sidewalk.

Ring . . . Ring . . .

The Prius flew by. I dropped the van back into the lane.

Ring . . .

I made a sharp left. The warehouse loomed in front of us. It looked intact.

I screeched to a halt before the front door.

My mother swore. A huge chain blocked the door. Someone had cut holes in the walls and the door, strung an industrial-size chain through it, and locked it with a padlock. What the hell?

I stepped on the gas and drove around the warehouse to the workshop side. An identical chain blocked the back door. Damn it. I mashed the garage door opener attached to the visor. The massive door didn’t move. Disabled.

We had no tools that would cut the chain. Everything was inside the warehouse.

“Smoke,” Mother said.

A puff of black smoke escaped from the vent near the roof.

Grandma was inside. She could be burning to death.

“Ram it?”

“Go.” My mother braced herself.