"Is it always this bad?"
"No. You grow numb to it." The sound of David Howling's neck breaking popped in my ears. Leon didn't need to know about that. He didn't ever need to know how that felt. I would move heaven and earth to make sure he never found out.
Two armored SUVs pulled into the parking lot and ejected Rivera and six of Rogan's people. The cavalry had arrived in record time, but they were too late.
They raced toward me, Rivera barking orders. "Guard here, here, and there. I want no blind spots. If something aims for this parking lot, I want to know about it before it gets here."
People peeled off from the group. He crashed to a halt before me. "Are you okay, Ms. Baylor?"
Define okay. "Everything is fine."
"Where is Frank Madero?"
It took me a second to remember that he would be in constant contact with Bug and Bug would've identified Frank the moment he popped into existence. "In the ER."
"Should we take him into custody?"
"No."
Rivera looked uncomfortable. "Do you want guards on his room?"
"No." He wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
"Bug said there were survivors. Do you want us to chase them down?"
"I don't think that's necessary."
The four remaining ex-military badasses looked almost desperate.
"The Major was very specific." Rivera's face had the expression of a man walking across hot coals. "We're supposed to render assistance and keep you safe. We weren't here."
Now it made sense. Rogan told them to guard me and they let me get attacked and got here after the fight was over. That's why they were sweating bullets.
"When the Major returns, you can tell him that you did your job. There was an altercation, it's over now, and I'm safe. If he asks about details, tell him to ask me."
Rivera didn't look convinced.
I sighed. "Would you like to render some assistance?"
"Yes."
"What exactly did Rogan say you could help me with?"
"Anything you need."
"Please gather the dead people and identify as many of them as possible. Someone teleported Frank in front of me, and it would be good to ID the teleporter mage. Please follow whatever protocol Rogan uses and notify the authorities that a violent confrontation took place between House Madero and Baylor family. If we could get Rogan's legal department involved, it would be great, because I need to be home in the evening, and I can't spend the rest of the day in the police station being interrogated. I also need phone numbers for the Madero family and Victoria Tremaine. I'd like new tires for the Vault. It's worth two hundred and fifty grand and we're going to take it home to my grandma. And once everything has been taken care of and the authorities release us, I would appreciate an escort home. That should keep the Major happy."
"Yes, ma'am."
In less than a minute Bug texted the two phone numbers, one for House Madero, ruled by Peter Madero, and the other for Victoria Tremaine's rented penthouse office suites at Landry Tower. I sat on the curb next to Leon and watched Rogan's people move the corpses.
Madero or Tremaine first? Tackling Madero would be simpler. I'd looked them up after Dave's attack. House Madero consisted of Peter Madero, the patriarch, who was in his seventies; his daughter-in-law Linda; and her sons David, Frank, Roger, and fourteen-year-old twins, Ethan and Evan. Roger was married and his wife was pregnant.
Judging by Dave and Frank, their grandpa Peter would be nasty and tough as nails. First, he sent his grandson after me and Rogan, then after Rogan made an origami crane out of Dave, he sent his other grandson. Peter didn't give up easily, but he didn't survive this long without some wisdom.
I dialed the number and put the call on speaker.
"House Madero," a woman chirped into the phone.
"This is Nevada Baylor. Let me speak with the Head of the House."
"And who the hell are you?"
"I'm the person who just put Frank into the ER. Put the call through."
There was a pause, then a gruff male voice came on the line. "So you're the bitch Tremaine wants."
Aha. I've got your number. "Charming. Your family is short on brains, so I'll say this slowly. Frank is in the Houston Memorial ER. I put him there. If he makes it, he'll tell you that he brought twelve people with him against me and my sixteen-year-old cousin. Eight of your people are dead. Four ran off. I'm taking your fun wagon as spoils of war."
"You fucking whore."
"That will be Prime whore to you."