“How is being an evil henchman treating you?”
“Can’t complain, ma’am. It’s a good gig if you can get it.”
Of course. Complaining wouldn’t be evil-henchman-like. Rogan’s people worshiped the ground he walked on. If Troy was any indication, he found them at the lowest point of their lives and offered them a chance to be somebody. To matter, to have a well-paying job they would be really good at, and to provide for their families. A pack of hounds raised from puppies couldn’t be more devoted. I just wasn’t sure he ever saw them as anything more than assets at his disposal.
Rogan turned to me. “Come with me to my house. I have some information you’ll want.”
Enter my lair, said the dragon. I have shiny treasure for you to play with, I’ll keep you warm and safe, and if it suits my purpose, I’ll chain you to the floor and kill your client by throwing quarters at him with my magic. Been there, done that.
“I don’t think so. But I’ll be happy to discuss things with you in daylight in a very public place. Would you like my card?”
When I was in college, one of my professors liked creative descriptions, and whenever he had to indicate that some historical figure was in a moment of monumental rage, he’d say he had thunder on his brow and lightning in his eye. I never understood what that phrase meant until Rogan’s face demonstrated it for me.
Cornelius took a careful step back. Troy backed up too. Yes, I did just tell Mad Rogan no, and look, the planet was still turning.
“Your card?” Rogan said, his voice very calm and quiet.
“It’s a little piece of paper that has my phone number, email address, and other contact information on it.” I waited to see if his head would explode. I shouldn’t have taunted him, but I was really pissed off. We’d had Forsberg until he butted in.
Rogan pivoted to Cornelius. “My condolences on your loss. It would be my honor to have you as my guest tonight. Permit me a chance to make up for our earlier misunderstanding.”
How nicely put. “You mean the part where you almost choked the life out of him?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t get into his car,” I told Cornelius. “He’s dangerous and unpredictable.”
“Thank you,” Rogan said.
“Your life means absolutely nothing to him,” I continued. “When he doesn’t like somebody, he hits them with a bus.”
“I have no desire to start a feud with House Harrison,” Rogan said.
Truth.
“I guarantee your safety.”
Also truth.
“And I have a recording of your wife’s final moments,” Rogan said.
Bastard.
Cornelius glanced at me.
“He isn’t lying,” I told him. “But if you get into that car, I don’t know if he’ll let you leave. Please don’t do this.”
Cornelius squared his shoulders. “I’d be delighted to accept your invitation.”
Damn it. Why don’t people ever listen to me?
Rogan opened the back passenger door of the Range Rover. Cornelius got in. Rogan leaned over the open door to look at Cornelius.
“Would you mind if your employee joined us?”
“Of course not,” Cornelius said.
Rogan turned to me. “See? Your employer doesn’t mind. If I’m such a villain, why don’t you tag along to ensure his safety?”
He was insufferable. That was the long and short of it. And getting into the same car with him was out of the question. The more distance between us, the better. Except now he had my client in his claws.
“I’ll follow you in my car. Cornelius, he also projects, so try not to think about anything you don’t want him to pick up.”
Rogan stepped close to me. Too close. I wished my body would stop betraying me every time he shortened the distance.
His voice was intimate. “I’m not one to judge, but it seems to me that you’re not taking me seriously as a threat. I could kill him en route.”
I crossed my arms on my chest. “Really? You’re actually going to stoop to direct threats now?”
“You think the worst of me, and you know how I hate to disappoint. Troy will be happy to drive your vehicle.”
Okay, something was definitely off with him. The Rogan I remembered was direct, but he could also be subtle. This wasn’t even remotely subtle. He had another car following him and usually he preferred to travel alone. He was twisting my arm trying to get me into his armored vehicle. The cars had parked so their bulk blocked us from anyone entering the parking lot. Troy wore his sidearm in plain view. This wasn’t about abducting Cornelius or forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do. This was about safety. Both Cornelius and I would be much safer in a state-of-the-art armored vehicle than in my minivan.
As much as I wanted to be away from Rogan, if he was concerned about safety, I’d be an idiot not to take it seriously.
I handed the keys to Troy. “Mazda van over there. She handles light.”
Troy nodded and jogged around the cars.
I walked up to Rogan’s Range Rover, sat in the front passenger seat, and buckled my seat belt. I’d just have to endure and not think of him sitting next to me.
You’d think two months of not seeing him would’ve made a difference, and it had. It made whatever was pulling me to him worse. Yeah, do you remember how you woke and ran downstairs, because you thought you saw him, and when you opened the door, nobody was there?
He shut my door and got into the driver’s seat, scanning the parking lot in front of us with a thousand-yard stare. “There is a Sig in the glove compartment.”
I opened the glove compartment, took out the Sig, checked it, and put it on my lap.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“I lost some people,” he said. There was an awful finality in his voice.
I hadn’t thought he cared. I’d thought he viewed his people as tools and took care of them because tools had to be kept in good repair, but this sounded like genuine grief—that complicated cocktail of guilt, regret, and overwhelming sadness you felt when someone close to you died. It broke you and made you feel helpless. Helpless wasn’t even in Rogan’s vocabulary. Maybe I’d been wrong then or maybe I was wrong now. Time would tell one way or the other.
I closed my mouth and watched Houston slide by outside the window, searching the warm winter day for something I might have to shoot.
Chapter 3
Most of the Houston Houses had mansions inside the Loop, a long road that encircled the downtown and the pricey neighborhoods such as River Oaks. Having an address inside the Loop was as much of a status symbol as driving luxury cars and owning personal yachts.
However, Rogan was a fourth-generation Prime. He had no interest in impressing anyone. We climbed northwest instead, leaving the city, and then the main road, behind. Old Texas oaks spread their branches over green grass, stoically enduring the rain of Houston’s December.
My phone rang. Bern.
“Yes?”
“Hey, the Internet is buzzing with some sort of disturbance at the Assembly.”
Well, that didn’t take long.
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“Forsberg is dead. I didn’t kill him.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m showing you moving northwest.”
He’d tracked my phone. “That’s right.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m going to Mad Rogan’s house.”
Silence.
“Don’t tell Mom,” I said.
Rogan grinned next to me, a quick parting of lips.
“I won’t,” Bern promised.
I hung up.