Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(2)

I waited for the familiar buzz of my magic that told me he was pulling my leg, but none came.

Sergeant Teddy rose on his hind legs, blocking out the sun, and put his shaggy front paws around me. My face pressed into fur. I hugged him back. We stood for a moment, then the grizzly dropped down and proceeded on his walk, his leash dangling on the ground.

I looked at the ex-soldier.

"He must've felt you needed a hug," he said. "He stays in HQ most of the time, so you can come and visit him."

"I will," I told him.

The ex-soldier nodded and followed the bear.

I punched my code into the lock. I had been hugged by a giant, superintelligent, pacifist bear. I could do this. I could do anything. I just had to walk in and call for a family meeting. It was almost dinnertime anyway. On a Sunday, everyone would be home.

I opened the door and walked into the small office space that housed Baylor Investigative Agency. A short hallway, three offices on the left, and a break room and conference room on the right. The temptation to hide in my office almost made me stop, but I kept going, through the hallway, to the other door that opened into the roughly three-thousand-square-foot space that served as our home. When we sold our house trying to raise money for my father's hospital bills, we moved our family into the warehouse to cut costs. We'd split the floor space into three distinct sections: the office, the living space, and beyond it, past a very tall wall, Grandma Frida's motor pool, where she worked on armored vehicles and mobile artillery for Houston's magical elite.

I took off my shoes and marched through the maze of rooms. Garlands hung on the walls. My sisters had been busy decorating.

Faint voices came from the kitchen. Mom . . . Grandma. Good. This would save me time.

I walked past a big Christmas tree set up in the hang-out room, stepped into the kitchen, and froze.



       
         
       
        

My mother and grandmother sat at our table. A young woman sat next to my grandmother. She was willowy and beautiful, with a heart-shaped face framed in waves of gorgeous red hair and eyes so grey, they looked silver.

Ice gripped my spine.

Rynda Charles. Rogan's ex-fiancée. Olivia's daughter.

"Do you remember me?" she asked. Her voice was breaking. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face so pale, her lips seemed almost white. "You killed my mother."

Somehow my mouth made words. "What are you doing here?"

Rynda wiped the tears from her eyes and stared at me, her face desperate. "I need your help."



I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Mom made big eyes at me and nodded toward the table. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat.

"Drink your tea." Grandma Frida pushed a steaming mug toward Rynda.

Rynda picked it up and drank it, but her gaze was fixed on me. The desperation in her eyes turned to near panic. Right.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath from the stomach all the way up, held it, and let it out slowly. One . . . two . . . Calm . . . calm . . .

"Nevada?" Grandma Frida asked.

"She's an empath Prime," I said. "I'm upset, so it's affecting her."

Rynda gave a short laugh, and I heard Olivia Charles in her voice. "Oh, that's rich."

Five . . . six . . . Breathe in, breathe out . . . Ten. Good enough.

I opened my eyes and looked at Rynda. I had to keep my voice and my emotions under control. "Your mother killed an entire crew of Rogan's soldiers and four lawyers, including two women your age. It was an unprovoked slaughter. Their husbands are now widowers and their children are motherless because of her."

"A person is never just one thing," Rynda said, putting the mug down. "To you she might have been a monster, but to me she was my mother. She was a wonderful grandmother to my children. She loved them so much. My mother-in-law doesn't care for them. They have no grandparents now."

"I'm sorry for your and their loss. I regret that things went the way they did. But it was a justified kill." Dear God, I sounded like my mother.

"I don't even know how she died." Rynda clenched her hands into a single fist. "They only gave me back her bones. How did my mother die, Nevada?"

I took a deep breath. "It wasn't an easy or a quick death."

"I deserve to know." There was steel in her voice. "Tell me."

"No. You said you needed my help. Something terrible must've happened. Let's talk about that."

Her hand shook, and the mug danced a little as she brought it to her lips. She took another swallow of her tea. "My husband is missing."