The dark cave flashed before me. “Rats,” I said.
“Yes. Some nights the Cazadores were so close, there was no fire, no light, just the jungle and the hounds, always near, always listening and waiting. Rogan could’ve pulled the plug anytime. Instead he stayed and he took care of us. When Hayashi went down with infection, there was no way to get the stretcher through the growth, so we built a frame out of wood and strapped it to Rogan. He carried Hayashi for two days on his back.”
It didn’t surprise me. Not even a little.
“To get off the mountain we had to clear a Cazador camp, and we couldn’t walk around it. Rogan walked into it and let them take him so they would send a scout team out in the direction he came and we could sneak past. We went around the camp and had to wait until the next night to come back for him. They had him for fourteen hours. We heard him screaming.”
She swallowed.
“They only had prewar images of Rogan and by that point, after five weeks in the jungle, he looked a decade older. He gave them Gregory’s name and so they tortured him for a while, until Jimenez, the man in charge, decided that if Rogan were a Prime playing soldier, he would’ve broken by then. Jimenez finally ordered him shot. You probably saw Rogan’s dog tags. They’re not his. He killed Jimenez when they cut him down off the torture rack and took his tags. It’s his reminder that he survived.”
The tags were probably lost now, disintegrated by the teleport spell. Rogan would have to find something else to remind him that he was alive.
“We spent nine weeks in the jungle, fighting and starving, as the Cazadores bled us like wolves bleed an injured deer. Twenty-four people went in. Sixteen came out.”
Bug had said that Luanne was one of sixteen. Now it made sense. The sixteen who had walked out with Rogan.
“It’s my professional opinion that Connor Rogan died in that jungle,” Daniela said. “The war took Connor, crushed him down to powder, and reformed him into Mad Rogan. He had to become that to survive. I told you that my nephew Martin will adjust to civilian life with some help. Mad Rogan will never adjust. His world is black and white. There are enemies and allies.”
“And civilians,” I added.
Had Rogan put her up to this speech? No. Rogan wouldn’t have made her do it. Rogan took care of his own dirty work. Dr. Daniela must’ve taken it upon herself to spell things out for me.
“He does recognize noncombatants, although his definition of civilian is shaky. He won’t kill children. He tries not to take a life unless the person presents a direct threat, but if he chooses to kill, he does it. There are only two Primes in House Rogan: him and his mother, and she has no interest in involving herself. He has us, and we’ll do anything for him. We all tried to go our separate ways, yet we all ended up right back here. We’re good at what we do, but none of us are Primes. Rogan has to rely on himself and he likes the way he is. He thinks it keeps him sharp and alive, and he’s probably right. He doesn’t feel he needs to change and he doesn’t want any help.”
“You’re not telling me anything new,” I said. “I already know what he’s like. I’ve seen it.”
“Then you know there will be no normal with him. There will never be sweetness and light.”
You might be surprised. “I know.”
“Love makes you helpless,” Daniela said. “You think about the object of your affection all the time. Your happiness or misery depends on another person’s mood. You give up all power over yourself, hand it to the person you love, and trust that they will be gentle with it. Do you know what Major hates most of all?”
“Feeling helpless?”
“He’ll go to great lengths to avoid it. I don’t even know if he is capable of maintaining a relationship in the traditional sense. He’ll never change, Nevada. The best you can hope for is that he alters some of his behavior out of respect and consideration for you, but he won’t think that what he does is wrong. He’s ruthless and when he devotes himself to something or someone, that devotion is a frightening thing that doesn’t always survive collision with reality. Take my advice. Walk away.”
“No.”
“He isn’t here. He left you here and went home because he knows that you need time to think. He left the door open for you, so you can make a clean break. No guilt, no pressure. You can still meet someone normal and have a happy life.”
“Are you done?” I asked.
“Will talking more do any good?”
“No. I heard what you had to say. Thank you for worrying about my well-being.” I pulled my blanket back and swung my legs sideways.
“What will happen when you tell him someone aggravated you and he throws that person off the roof?”
“He won’t. He’ll trust me to handle it, because the only way I’ll ever respect his wishes is if he respects mine.”
“Walk away,” Daniela said again.
“Did Rogan ask you to give me this speech?”
“He didn’t have to. I take care of him. We all take care of him. I don’t want to see him hurt. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
I faced her and I let whatever it was that made me Prime show in my eyes.
“I’ve sat here and listened to you talk for an hour. I heard you, I understand, and I’m done. I’m going to get up, get my clothes, and get dressed. Then you will arrange for a car to take me to where Rogan is. If you try to stop me or impede me in any way, I’ll shock the shit out of you. Do we understand each other, Dr. Arias?”
I took a deep breath and rang the bell on the front door of Rogan’s house. After I’d gotten out of bed, Rogan’s people had panicked. Well, panicked might have been too strong of a word. They sprang into action with agitated efficiency. A pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt were brought to me, and by the time I walked out of the building, a car and a driver were waiting for me, with Melosa in the passenger seat, followed by another vehicle filled with armed personnel. They delivered me to Rogan’s front door and beat a strategic retreat.
I did get a chance to ask Melosa about Leon. Apparently he had a feeling that something bad was going to happen to me and Rogan, so he stole a Glock out of our gun cage and caught a ride Downtown. His plan was that Melosa would shield him, while he heroically shot all of our enemies to pieces. Melosa admitted that he was so crushed when he realized that aegis shield worked both ways, that she almost felt sorry for him.
I waited, feeling stupid. Rogan was somewhere inside the house. Here I was, wearing some sweatpants and a wrinkled white T-shirt. My hair was probably greasy. The right side of my face was one big ugly bruise. I . . .
The door swung open and I saw Rogan standing in his living room.
It finally hit me. We’d both survived. We were both alive and he was standing there, and he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. I looked into his eyes and the iced over darkness stared back at me.
No. He was mine. There was a dragon under that ice and I would bring him out.
I walked across the threshold. The door stayed open behind me. He was giving me an escape route.
“You found me,” he said.
“You didn’t hide very well. And I’m a PI.”
“Nevada, nothing’s changed.”
“Yes. Some nights the Cazadores were so close, there was no fire, no light, just the jungle and the hounds, always near, always listening and waiting. Rogan could’ve pulled the plug anytime. Instead he stayed and he took care of us. When Hayashi went down with infection, there was no way to get the stretcher through the growth, so we built a frame out of wood and strapped it to Rogan. He carried Hayashi for two days on his back.”
It didn’t surprise me. Not even a little.
“To get off the mountain we had to clear a Cazador camp, and we couldn’t walk around it. Rogan walked into it and let them take him so they would send a scout team out in the direction he came and we could sneak past. We went around the camp and had to wait until the next night to come back for him. They had him for fourteen hours. We heard him screaming.”
She swallowed.
“They only had prewar images of Rogan and by that point, after five weeks in the jungle, he looked a decade older. He gave them Gregory’s name and so they tortured him for a while, until Jimenez, the man in charge, decided that if Rogan were a Prime playing soldier, he would’ve broken by then. Jimenez finally ordered him shot. You probably saw Rogan’s dog tags. They’re not his. He killed Jimenez when they cut him down off the torture rack and took his tags. It’s his reminder that he survived.”
The tags were probably lost now, disintegrated by the teleport spell. Rogan would have to find something else to remind him that he was alive.
“We spent nine weeks in the jungle, fighting and starving, as the Cazadores bled us like wolves bleed an injured deer. Twenty-four people went in. Sixteen came out.”
Bug had said that Luanne was one of sixteen. Now it made sense. The sixteen who had walked out with Rogan.
“It’s my professional opinion that Connor Rogan died in that jungle,” Daniela said. “The war took Connor, crushed him down to powder, and reformed him into Mad Rogan. He had to become that to survive. I told you that my nephew Martin will adjust to civilian life with some help. Mad Rogan will never adjust. His world is black and white. There are enemies and allies.”
“And civilians,” I added.
Had Rogan put her up to this speech? No. Rogan wouldn’t have made her do it. Rogan took care of his own dirty work. Dr. Daniela must’ve taken it upon herself to spell things out for me.
“He does recognize noncombatants, although his definition of civilian is shaky. He won’t kill children. He tries not to take a life unless the person presents a direct threat, but if he chooses to kill, he does it. There are only two Primes in House Rogan: him and his mother, and she has no interest in involving herself. He has us, and we’ll do anything for him. We all tried to go our separate ways, yet we all ended up right back here. We’re good at what we do, but none of us are Primes. Rogan has to rely on himself and he likes the way he is. He thinks it keeps him sharp and alive, and he’s probably right. He doesn’t feel he needs to change and he doesn’t want any help.”
“You’re not telling me anything new,” I said. “I already know what he’s like. I’ve seen it.”
“Then you know there will be no normal with him. There will never be sweetness and light.”
You might be surprised. “I know.”
“Love makes you helpless,” Daniela said. “You think about the object of your affection all the time. Your happiness or misery depends on another person’s mood. You give up all power over yourself, hand it to the person you love, and trust that they will be gentle with it. Do you know what Major hates most of all?”
“Feeling helpless?”
“He’ll go to great lengths to avoid it. I don’t even know if he is capable of maintaining a relationship in the traditional sense. He’ll never change, Nevada. The best you can hope for is that he alters some of his behavior out of respect and consideration for you, but he won’t think that what he does is wrong. He’s ruthless and when he devotes himself to something or someone, that devotion is a frightening thing that doesn’t always survive collision with reality. Take my advice. Walk away.”
“No.”
“He isn’t here. He left you here and went home because he knows that you need time to think. He left the door open for you, so you can make a clean break. No guilt, no pressure. You can still meet someone normal and have a happy life.”
“Are you done?” I asked.
“Will talking more do any good?”
“No. I heard what you had to say. Thank you for worrying about my well-being.” I pulled my blanket back and swung my legs sideways.
“What will happen when you tell him someone aggravated you and he throws that person off the roof?”
“He won’t. He’ll trust me to handle it, because the only way I’ll ever respect his wishes is if he respects mine.”
“Walk away,” Daniela said again.
“Did Rogan ask you to give me this speech?”
“He didn’t have to. I take care of him. We all take care of him. I don’t want to see him hurt. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
I faced her and I let whatever it was that made me Prime show in my eyes.
“I’ve sat here and listened to you talk for an hour. I heard you, I understand, and I’m done. I’m going to get up, get my clothes, and get dressed. Then you will arrange for a car to take me to where Rogan is. If you try to stop me or impede me in any way, I’ll shock the shit out of you. Do we understand each other, Dr. Arias?”
I took a deep breath and rang the bell on the front door of Rogan’s house. After I’d gotten out of bed, Rogan’s people had panicked. Well, panicked might have been too strong of a word. They sprang into action with agitated efficiency. A pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt were brought to me, and by the time I walked out of the building, a car and a driver were waiting for me, with Melosa in the passenger seat, followed by another vehicle filled with armed personnel. They delivered me to Rogan’s front door and beat a strategic retreat.
I did get a chance to ask Melosa about Leon. Apparently he had a feeling that something bad was going to happen to me and Rogan, so he stole a Glock out of our gun cage and caught a ride Downtown. His plan was that Melosa would shield him, while he heroically shot all of our enemies to pieces. Melosa admitted that he was so crushed when he realized that aegis shield worked both ways, that she almost felt sorry for him.
I waited, feeling stupid. Rogan was somewhere inside the house. Here I was, wearing some sweatpants and a wrinkled white T-shirt. My hair was probably greasy. The right side of my face was one big ugly bruise. I . . .
The door swung open and I saw Rogan standing in his living room.
It finally hit me. We’d both survived. We were both alive and he was standing there, and he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. I looked into his eyes and the iced over darkness stared back at me.
No. He was mine. There was a dragon under that ice and I would bring him out.
I walked across the threshold. The door stayed open behind me. He was giving me an escape route.
“You found me,” he said.
“You didn’t hide very well. And I’m a PI.”
“Nevada, nothing’s changed.”
