“That would be terribly cliché, wouldn’t it?”
Sweat broke on my hairline. Blood pounded through the veins in my head. “She’s been dead for days and you haven’t gone public. Are you scared, Gabriel?”
“She gave me nothing.”
Lie.
He smiled, a casual easy grin. “And you and I are not on a first-name basis.”
I smiled back. “Did you look at it?”
Nothing.
I needed to nudge him, just a little tiny bit, so he wouldn’t feel it. Just a tiny bit . . .
The dark spot faded slightly in response to my magic.
“As I said, she left me nothing. And if she had, if such a thing existed, I would have the good sense to put it somewhere safe from the outside world. Somewhere it would stay buried.”
“You looked at it.” I smiled wider. Circles swam before my eyes. I could barely see. “Where would it be buried?”
The dark spot faded completely for a moment.
“It’s safe in my bedroom.”
My hold on him slipped.
Baranovsky frowned. “My dear, as I said, if it existed, I would’ve destroyed it long ago.”
He didn’t even realize what he’d told me while under the influence of my magic. If that was accurate, then his memory of this conversation would be completely different from mine.
Baranovsky shrugged, his expression disappointed. “This conversation started out promising but sadly devolved into minutiae. I have no time for banality. Enjoy the rest of the party.”
He turned and walked away.
Get off the balcony before you get shot.
I forced myself to slowly walk into the hallway, resisting the urge to sag against the balcony rail. My chest hurt. My stomach too. Circles swam before my eyes.
Breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe . . .
I kept walking, without really seeing where or what was happening until I came to a staircase. Rogan caught up with me. I leaned on his arm and he walked me down into the ballroom. He was practically carrying my weight on his arm.
“Easy,” he said under his breath. “One step at a time.”
“I’m going to fall over and embarrass both of us.”
“You won’t fall over. I’ll keep you up.”
I leaned even more onto his rock-solid arm. I had to keep walking.
“Did you overextend?” Rogan asked, his voice controlled.
“A little.”
“Does Baranovsky know?” He was asking if he needed to fight his way out of the gala.
“He didn’t feel it. I was very careful, which is why I’m having trouble walking. She gave him a copy of the USB. He said it’s safe in his bedroom. Exact quote.”
The stairway ended. I tried to turn right toward the door, but Rogan turned left taking me with him.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Augustine.”
“Why?”
“Because Baranovsky maintains a workstation in his quarters. It’s not connected to the Internet and can’t be hacked from the outside. Any document uploaded to it is safe.”
“How do you know that?”
Rogan smiled, a narrow parting of lips. “I bribed his cleaning crew. There are few people more motivated than a parent with a child accepted into an Ivy League college and no way to pay for it.”
“Can you use them to get at his computer?”
“No. It’s too risky. That’s why we have to find Augustine.”
Augustine was an illusion Prime. He could assume any form. “You want Augustine to become Baranovsky, go to the bedroom, and get the data from his computer?”
“Exactly.”
“You’ll get him killed,” I murmured.
“He once walked around CIA headquarters for three hours, passing fingerprint and retina scanners.” Rogan’s mouth quirked. “Until they figure out how to do an instant DNA check, no facility is secure from Augustine. This will be child’s play.”
Ahead, Augustine stepped up from behind a group of people and began making his way to us.
“Connor,” a woman called from the left.
Rogan glanced in the direction of the voice. His face softened and he halted. “Rynda.”
A red-haired woman smiled at Rogan. She was about his age, slender, willowy even, with a heart-shaped face framed by loose waves of copper hair, a flawless complexion, and bright grey eyes, so light they almost glowed silver. I recognized her instantly. Her name was Rynda Charles, Rynda Sherwood now, after she married, and at some point in the distant past Rogan had been supposed to marry her. He’d mentioned it once in a casual conversation and I had looked her up.
“It’s nice to see you,” Rynda said. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”
“It’s not,” he said. “How are Brian and the kids?”
“Great.” She smiled again. She had a dazzling smile, the kind that lit up her whole face. If you put us side by side in identical dresses and let ten people into the room, they would flock to her, while I would be left standing alone. That was perfectly fine with me. I didn’t want anyone’s attention.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted Rogan’s attention. I was jealous, and my jealousy was a full-blown monster with needles, fangs, and claws. In my mind, Rogan was mine.
Crap. When did this even happen?
I chanced a quick glance at them. They were talking to each other with the easy familiarity of old friends. They looked good together. Rogan—huge, hard, and wrapped in broody darkness—and Rynda: sweet, light, almost delicate. And here I was, the third wheel, wanting to slap that sweet delicate smile right off Rynda’s face.
“Jessica is in the first grade and Kyle will be starting school next year,” Rynda reported. “Can you believe it? I’ll be all alone.”
“Feeling abandoned already?” Rogan asked.
“Yes. I know it’s completely irrational.”
I glanced in Augustine’s direction. Rescue me. Please, before she notices I exist and I make a fool of myself.
He was moving toward us, but not nearly fast enough for my liking.
“Who is your companion?” Rynda asked.
“Nobody,” I said.
Rogan glanced at me, surprised.
“We’re not together,” Rynda said. “We never were.”
If I could’ve disappeared into thin air, I would’ve. “I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood the nature of our relationship. Mr. Rogan isn’t my date. I work for House Montgomery, and he was simply kind enough to escort me. I think I see Augustine over there. Excuse me.”
I tried to separate myself from Rogan, but he slid his arm around my waist. I wasn’t going anywhere without drawing attention to myself.
Rynda peered into my eyes. “No, stay, please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I told her. “I simply didn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” Rogan said.
And the exact thing I didn’t want to happen happened. Both of them were now focused on me.
I glanced back at Augustine, desperately hoping he was close. For some reason he turned almost in mid-step and was walking to the left. In his place an older woman who looked like a carbon copy of Rynda except twenty years older was marching toward us.
Sweat broke on my hairline. Blood pounded through the veins in my head. “She’s been dead for days and you haven’t gone public. Are you scared, Gabriel?”
“She gave me nothing.”
Lie.
He smiled, a casual easy grin. “And you and I are not on a first-name basis.”
I smiled back. “Did you look at it?”
Nothing.
I needed to nudge him, just a little tiny bit, so he wouldn’t feel it. Just a tiny bit . . .
The dark spot faded slightly in response to my magic.
“As I said, she left me nothing. And if she had, if such a thing existed, I would have the good sense to put it somewhere safe from the outside world. Somewhere it would stay buried.”
“You looked at it.” I smiled wider. Circles swam before my eyes. I could barely see. “Where would it be buried?”
The dark spot faded completely for a moment.
“It’s safe in my bedroom.”
My hold on him slipped.
Baranovsky frowned. “My dear, as I said, if it existed, I would’ve destroyed it long ago.”
He didn’t even realize what he’d told me while under the influence of my magic. If that was accurate, then his memory of this conversation would be completely different from mine.
Baranovsky shrugged, his expression disappointed. “This conversation started out promising but sadly devolved into minutiae. I have no time for banality. Enjoy the rest of the party.”
He turned and walked away.
Get off the balcony before you get shot.
I forced myself to slowly walk into the hallway, resisting the urge to sag against the balcony rail. My chest hurt. My stomach too. Circles swam before my eyes.
Breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe . . .
I kept walking, without really seeing where or what was happening until I came to a staircase. Rogan caught up with me. I leaned on his arm and he walked me down into the ballroom. He was practically carrying my weight on his arm.
“Easy,” he said under his breath. “One step at a time.”
“I’m going to fall over and embarrass both of us.”
“You won’t fall over. I’ll keep you up.”
I leaned even more onto his rock-solid arm. I had to keep walking.
“Did you overextend?” Rogan asked, his voice controlled.
“A little.”
“Does Baranovsky know?” He was asking if he needed to fight his way out of the gala.
“He didn’t feel it. I was very careful, which is why I’m having trouble walking. She gave him a copy of the USB. He said it’s safe in his bedroom. Exact quote.”
The stairway ended. I tried to turn right toward the door, but Rogan turned left taking me with him.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Augustine.”
“Why?”
“Because Baranovsky maintains a workstation in his quarters. It’s not connected to the Internet and can’t be hacked from the outside. Any document uploaded to it is safe.”
“How do you know that?”
Rogan smiled, a narrow parting of lips. “I bribed his cleaning crew. There are few people more motivated than a parent with a child accepted into an Ivy League college and no way to pay for it.”
“Can you use them to get at his computer?”
“No. It’s too risky. That’s why we have to find Augustine.”
Augustine was an illusion Prime. He could assume any form. “You want Augustine to become Baranovsky, go to the bedroom, and get the data from his computer?”
“Exactly.”
“You’ll get him killed,” I murmured.
“He once walked around CIA headquarters for three hours, passing fingerprint and retina scanners.” Rogan’s mouth quirked. “Until they figure out how to do an instant DNA check, no facility is secure from Augustine. This will be child’s play.”
Ahead, Augustine stepped up from behind a group of people and began making his way to us.
“Connor,” a woman called from the left.
Rogan glanced in the direction of the voice. His face softened and he halted. “Rynda.”
A red-haired woman smiled at Rogan. She was about his age, slender, willowy even, with a heart-shaped face framed by loose waves of copper hair, a flawless complexion, and bright grey eyes, so light they almost glowed silver. I recognized her instantly. Her name was Rynda Charles, Rynda Sherwood now, after she married, and at some point in the distant past Rogan had been supposed to marry her. He’d mentioned it once in a casual conversation and I had looked her up.
“It’s nice to see you,” Rynda said. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”
“It’s not,” he said. “How are Brian and the kids?”
“Great.” She smiled again. She had a dazzling smile, the kind that lit up her whole face. If you put us side by side in identical dresses and let ten people into the room, they would flock to her, while I would be left standing alone. That was perfectly fine with me. I didn’t want anyone’s attention.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted Rogan’s attention. I was jealous, and my jealousy was a full-blown monster with needles, fangs, and claws. In my mind, Rogan was mine.
Crap. When did this even happen?
I chanced a quick glance at them. They were talking to each other with the easy familiarity of old friends. They looked good together. Rogan—huge, hard, and wrapped in broody darkness—and Rynda: sweet, light, almost delicate. And here I was, the third wheel, wanting to slap that sweet delicate smile right off Rynda’s face.
“Jessica is in the first grade and Kyle will be starting school next year,” Rynda reported. “Can you believe it? I’ll be all alone.”
“Feeling abandoned already?” Rogan asked.
“Yes. I know it’s completely irrational.”
I glanced in Augustine’s direction. Rescue me. Please, before she notices I exist and I make a fool of myself.
He was moving toward us, but not nearly fast enough for my liking.
“Who is your companion?” Rynda asked.
“Nobody,” I said.
Rogan glanced at me, surprised.
“We’re not together,” Rynda said. “We never were.”
If I could’ve disappeared into thin air, I would’ve. “I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood the nature of our relationship. Mr. Rogan isn’t my date. I work for House Montgomery, and he was simply kind enough to escort me. I think I see Augustine over there. Excuse me.”
I tried to separate myself from Rogan, but he slid his arm around my waist. I wasn’t going anywhere without drawing attention to myself.
Rynda peered into my eyes. “No, stay, please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I told her. “I simply didn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” Rogan said.
And the exact thing I didn’t want to happen happened. Both of them were now focused on me.
I glanced back at Augustine, desperately hoping he was close. For some reason he turned almost in mid-step and was walking to the left. In his place an older woman who looked like a carbon copy of Rynda except twenty years older was marching toward us.
