“I’m going to see Albert Ravenscroft.”
“That’s what I thought. I will come with you.”
“No. I have to do this alone.”
“Don’t be difficult, Catalina.”
“If the Abyss attacks me, I will take away his matrix node. I’ve done it once already.”
“I checked on Albert. He, his father, his mother, and his younger brother are all Prime psionics. I’m not letting you walk into that house without backup.”
“I can handle the Ravenscrofts.”
He pretended to think it over. “No.”
“You are not in charge of me. According to the contract you signed with Linus, I can order you to leave.”
He leaned forward and smiled a sharp, predatory grin. “Fuck the contract.”
Wow. It’s like that, huh?
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I told him. “If I move you out of my way, you’ll surrender the driver’s seat and I will drop you off when we get back to town. If I can’t, I’ll let you come with me.”
“Mmm . . .” He pondered it, his gaze on my eyes, my lips, my wings . . . “Sounds like a good deal.”
“Can I trust you, Alessandro?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t go back on your word?”
“I won’t.”
Got you. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
I put my right hand on his left wrist and ran my fingers up his arm to his shoulder, feeling the steel-hard muscle.
“Good start?” I asked.
His voice was rougher. “Excellent start.”
I stepped back, sliding my hand back to his wrist. He followed. A step, another. Enough room.
I grabbed his wrist, raised it, turned into him so my back was pressed against his side and chest, locked my other hand on his shoulder, and straightened my legs, throwing all of my weight into it. He was several inches taller than me, which gave me the perfect leverage. My arm became a lever, my back became a pivot point, and Alessandro flew over my head and landed on his back with a thud.
Stunned eyes stared at me. I crouched, kissed my fingertips, pressed them to his lips, and walked to the driver’s side.
He grinned and jumped to his feet without using his hands. “Good throw.”
Oh no. I popped the jaguar on the nose and now he was excited.
“Who taught you that move?”
“You don’t need to know. You just need to know that it works, and I have more. You lost. Get into your seat and be quiet. I’m driving.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I can find my way from here. I will see you tonight.”
“Suit yourself.”
He shut the door, and I drove off. He would be okay.
Albert Ravenscroft wouldn’t be.
Piney Point Village was my least favorite neighborhood. One of six independent villages in the Memorial Villages luxury bedroom community, it was officially the most expensive little town in Texas. The Wall Street Journal once called it the “(Multi) Millionaire’s Haven.” It was a place of old trees and old money, where ten-million-dollar estates perched among meticulous landscaping guarded by endless HOA restrictions.
I missed Alessandro.
The street ended in a cul-de-sac in front of a stone mansion, lit up by orange light. A couple of years ago, the house was a part of the Piney Point architectural tour and the pamphlet had described it as a chateau. The best French chateaux were solid stone structures under high-pitched roofs, carefully balanced to be graceful and stately. The monstrosity in front of me was anything but.
From where I sat, parked, I could see at least eight different roof lines, six chimneys, three different arches, a balcony with an eave that matched nothing, a single turret randomly mashed into a wall, a smaller servant’s entrance on one side under a cosmetic dormer, and a gated porte cochere, arched and decorated with quoins that weren’t anywhere else on the building. It was as if some drunken architects jammed chunks of different buildings into a bag, shook it, and let this ten-thousand-square-foot mutant fall out.
On second thought, it was good that Alessandro wasn’t with me. He grew up in Villa Sagredo, which started out as an ancient watchtower and became the center of a breathtaking mansion in the mid-Renaissance. Beautiful architecture was in his blood. This mess of a house would give him a seizure.
I stared at the mansion. The first time Albert approached me was at the Blue Bonnet charity event. I was there because Nevada had a conflict in her schedule and sent me in her place. Nobody knew who I was, and I was perfectly happy sitting at a nice table in the corner waiting for the opportunity to drop Nevada’s check into the basket at the end of the speeches. I sipped my mimosa, looked up, and there he was. He’d smiled at me and said, “Can I sit here? If I fall asleep, my family will never forgive me, and you are the only interesting person in the room.”
I didn’t want to hurt Albert.
But I had to know. We, as a House, had to know.
I got out of the truck, my tablet in my hands, and walked to the entrance. The wrought-iron gate securing access to the front door stood open and I rang the bell. A Hispanic woman answered and smiled at me.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening. May I have your name?”
“Catalina Baylor,” I told her.
“Cat?” Albert came around an ornate staircase. His face lit up. “You’re here.”
Ugh. Albert had determined at some point that I required a nickname, made one up, and persisted in using it. I hated it, but we had bigger things to fight about.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I followed him to the sitting area opposite the door, where plush beige chairs ringed a mahogany coffee table. A grand piano waited in the round niche on the left, raised on a dais. Albert’s mother was an accomplished musician.
Albert smiled at me. “What can I do for you?”
“Leon spoke to you about a girl he knows, Audrey.”
“The little stalker. I remember.”
“Did you tell anyone about it?”
The smile slid off his face. That clearly wasn’t the topic he was expecting.
“You told someone. Who did you tell? It’s very important to me.”
He tapped his knuckles against his mouth, thinking. “I don’t think I told anyone. Wait, I might have mentioned it to Dad. Yes, I think I did. Why?”
The bottom fell out of my stomach. That’s what I was afraid of. “Is your father home?”
Albert rolled his eyes. “It’s seven o’clock. Where else would he be? Come on, he’s in the study. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
“Eventually.”
We wandered through the mansion to the study where the travertine floor gave way to dark wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling shelves. Christian Ravenscroft sat behind his desk, sipping coffee from a mug. He still wore a dark suit and a burgundy tie, as if he had just come home from the office. His hair receded, pure white like his eyebrows. His once-handsome face had grown heavier with age, its sharp lines turning square and blocky. He gave me a smile but didn’t rise. House Ravenscroft approved of Albert’s marriage ambitions, but to them I was “a nice girl,” polite, quiet, unlikely to embarrass them and therefore a good future spouse, but not quite on their level.
“Cat wants to talk to you, Dad.” Albert invited me to go ahead with a sweep of his hand.
“I’ll do my best,” Christian said. I was being humored.
“Maybe it would be better to speak in private,” I said.
“I have no secrets from my son.”
I surrendered to my fate. No matter how hard I tried, Albert wouldn’t be spared.
“Who did you tell about the connection between my cousin and Audrey Duarte?”
Silence fell on the study.
Christian frowned. He didn’t like the question or how I asked it. “Why would I know who your cousin is or care who he associates with? And if I did, who would I tell?”