Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(76)

"How many confirmed kills?" I asked. 

"Thirteen," Heart said. "It's difficult to determine exactly, because as Rivera said, your cousin lines up shots that kill people two rooms over. Your mother fired twenty-one times. Your cousin laughed or smiled seventeen times, so we estimate the actual kill count at seventeen."

Leon smiled when he killed people. I rubbed my face. "Maybe if I can get him some therapy . . ."

The four men at the island stared at me.

"He laughs when he kills people. He thinks it's funny."

"I don't care if he laughs," Rivera said. "As long as he's next to me shooting out, I'm good."

Rogan glanced at him. Rivera clamped his mouth shut.

"He isn't laughing because he's killing someone," Rogan said gently. "He's laughing because he's finally using his magic. This is what he was born to do. In the moment the bullet hits the target, he doesn't feel small, or weak, or useless, because it works. He would laugh the same way if he was shooting at sandbags. Think about how it felt when you used an amplification circle for the first time."

When I sent my magic into the circle and that first rush of power came back, surging through me, twice as potent as before, it felt like I had learned to fly. Leon had wanted magic so badly. He didn't even realize he had it.

"I hope you're right."

"Ask him."

"I will."

Rogan closed his laptop. "Please take Leon with you."

"You want me to bring my baby cousin with me in case I get into a firefight?"

"Please consider it," Rogan suggested.

"I'll think about it."

Rogan studied me. His power uncurled around him and wound around me, as if it too didn't want to let me go.

"Be careful out there," the dragon said.

"I'll bring my sword and shield," I murmured, brushed a kiss on his lips, and headed to the stairway.

Rynda stood on the stairs, just out of sight. She hurried up, pretending that I caught her walking up the stairs, but I would've heard her moving. No, she'd waited on the steps until I was leaving.

"How are you this morning?" I asked.

"I still don't have my husband," she said quietly.

"I'm working on it."

"I know."

There didn't seem to be much left to say after that, so I took the stairs down.

On the bottom floor, to the left of the open doors, someone had rigged a big-screen TV. Sergeant Teddy sprawled in front of it. Matilda sat in the crook of his paw, a big bowl of trail mix on her lap. Jessica and Kyle leaned against Sergeant Teddy's side. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

On the screen, Bear in the Big Blue House sang a song about cleaning. Matilda picked some dried apples out of the bowl. Sergeant Teddy opened his mouth, and she put the fruit on his tongue. The enormous grizzly chewed. The children watched the show, content.

I snapped a picture with my phone and went home.



Fullerton waited in my office, as lanky and grim as I remembered. I stopping humming "Come on everybody, let's clean up the house," nodded at him through the glass, retrieved the cooler, and brought it to my office.

"I've received a request from House Sherwood," Fullerton said. "Specifically, from Rynda Sherwood. She asked me to give you my full cooperation and assistance."

I opened the cooler and let him look inside. "Could you sequence the DNA and determine if this ear belongs to Brian Sherwood?"

"Yes." Fullerton looked at me, his long face thoughtful. "Is time of the essence?"



       
         
       
        

"Yes."

"Do you require confirmation or proof that would stand in a court of law?"

"Confirmation will be sufficient."

Fullerton pulled back his suit sleeve and held his hand above the ear, fingers splayed. Magic pulsed from him in a short, controlled burst. He raised his hand and tugged the sleeve back. "The ear doesn't belong to Brian Sherwood or any other member of House Sherwood."

I knew it. "Are you certain?"

"I'm never wrong," he said.

"Thank you for your services. Please bill me."

"I will," he said.

"Have there been any inquiries on our account?"

"No. I would've immediately notified you. Is there a particular inquiry you're waiting for, Ms. Baylor?"

"Yes. House Rogan."

Fullerton paused, his face thoughtful. "You can receive requests for the genetic profile. You can also make them. They wouldn't be honored until after your trials and the formal establishment of your House, but they can be made now. Good evening, Ms. Baylor."