Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

“Is Brian still alive?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“We would like proof of life, please.”

“Very well.”

The phone went silent. Rynda clenched her fists.

“Hello.” Brian’s quiet voice echoed through the room.

Bug pushed a mic toward Rynda. “How are you?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“In pain,” he said.

“Did they treat your wound? Did they bring in a doctor?” Rynda asked.

“Yes, but it still hurts. Please give them whatever they want.”

“I love you,” she said. “I’m trying, honey. I’m doing everything I can. Please hold on for a little longer.”

“I love you too,” Brian said. He sounded dull, his words devoid of any emotion. Maybe it was his ear, and he was in shock.

Rynda clenched her hands into a single fist. She looked like she wanted to scream.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” the kidnapper said, “let’s get back to business, shall we?”

“It would help us a great deal if you told us what we’re looking for,” I said.

“You cannot believe that Rynda is that naive.”

“I don’t need to believe anything,” I said. “I’m a truthseeker, and I’m telling you that my client has no idea what you’re asking. The most I got out of Vincent, before he dove through the window, was that it’s something connected to Rynda’s mother.”

Another pause. Vincent mustn’t have told him. Ha.

“That should be good enough,” he said.

“We’re looking for a needle in a haystack and we don’t even know if it’s a needle. It could be a pen or an apple. We’ve gone through Brian and Rynda’s computers. We didn’t find it.”

“It’s not in the computer.” A note of irritation crept into his voice. “It’s somewhere in the house. Or outside of it, in a personal safe deposit box, or wherever else Olivia stashed it.”

“You want us to find we don’t know what in we don’t know where.”

“And you’ll find it, if you want Brian to survive.”

“Could you at least give us time?”

“Very well. You have forty-eight hours.”

I had expected twenty-four.

“I suggest you make good use of it. I hate to see children cry because they miss their parent, don’t you? If I don’t have what I need in forty-eight hours, I’ll deliver their father to them in pieces.”

The disconnect signal filled the room. Bug turned the feed off.

“Someone needs to squish him,” Arabella said. Red tinted her cheeks. She clenched her teeth. He really managed to piss her off.

I turned to Rynda. “You don’t have to worry about Brian for forty-eight hours.”

“But what happens at the end?” She hugged herself.

“We’ll deal with that then. Have you called Scroll?”

“Yes. They’re on the way.”

“Good. I need you to take this evening and think back over the past few weeks. They seem to be absolutely sure that whatever they want is in your house or somewhere where you would have access to it. Did your mother give you anything as a keepsake? No matter how unimportant? Ask the kids.”

She sighed. “I’ll do that.”

“I can talk to the children.”

“No.” She held up her hand. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

She went down the stairs.

I turned to Bug, held out my phone, and typed a text to Bern, holding the phone so Bug could see what I was typing. I didn’t want to take any chances that Rynda or someone else would overhear.

Talked to kidnapper. He’s absolutely sure that whatever we’re looking for isn’t on Brian’s computer. Could we check if Sherwood computers were accessed using Brian’s credentials from some unusual location?

“On it.”

I leaned to Bug and whispered. “Could you please check the route Brian took to work and find out how many cameras are facing that street?”

Bug blinked and ran to his workstation.

My cell rang. Please be something good. I looked at it. Rogan.

Here we go. We’d have to discuss Garen Shaffer. I knew this would happen sooner or later. “Hello?”

His voice had the calm, collected overtones of a Prime. “You promised me a dinner.”

My mind made a 180-degree turn and it took me a second to catch up. “Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half. Cocktail attire.”

Cocktail attire meant there was probably a reservation. I was wearing bloodstained ACUs.

“Do you need a dress?”

What was he up to? “No. I have one.”

“See you at seven.”

I exhaled and trudged back down the stairs to take a shower and get dressed.

Behind me Arabella spoke into the phone. “Catalina, what are you doing? . . . Can you cancel that? Nevada needs help.”

“Did he say what this was about?” Grandma Frida asked for the twelfth time.

“No.”

I sat at the kitchen table and tried to work on my laptop. Bern and Cornelius were still going through Brian’s correspondence, so I decided to scour his mushroom Pinterest account.

When you waited for an important phone call, ninety minutes seemed like an impossibly long time. When you had to go from blood and gore to some sort of presentable, ninety minutes was nothing. Luckily for me, my sisters had mobilized to help. The moment I stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around myself, Arabella attacked my hair. Catalina appeared with an airbrush I’d bought her last Christmas, because she kept worrying about her nonexistent acne and told me to sit down and not move my face. I was dried, styled, and had a liquid mist of makeup sprayed at my face. I drew the line at contouring. If I gave them free rein, I’d come out of my bathroom with skull-like cheeks and Cleopatra-style wings on my eyes. But because of them, I had finished in record time.

Now Rogan had to show up.

The word of his previous failure to appear must’ve spread, because the entire family found their way to the kitchen one by one. Bern was reading a textbook in the corner. Grandma Frida sat next to me and attempted to knit something that was probably a scarf but looked like a brilliant attempt at a Gordian knot. My mother rearranged the tea drawer, which she’s never done since we’ve had one. Arabella sat across from me, her gaze glued to her cell phone. Catalina sat on my left, texting furiously. Zeus lounged under the table by my feet, and Cornelius was drinking tea across the table. Even Leon wandered in and leaned against the wall, waiting.

Nobody was talking.

“Just out of curiosity,” Cornelius said, “if Rogan doesn’t arrive, will all of you skin him alive?”

“Yes,” everyone except me said at the same time.

I sighed.

The doorbell rang.

I clicked the key on my laptop. The view from the front camera filled it. A woman stood at the door, wearing a dark pantsuit, her silvery-blond hair caught in a ponytail. A little girl with dark hair stood next to her holding a large white cat. A large Doberman pinscher dutifully guarded both of them. Diana, Matilda, her cat, and Bunny.

“Matilda is here,” I said.

“Oh good.” Catalina got up and went to open the door. A few moments later, Cornelius’ sister and his daughter made their way to our kitchen.

“Daddy.” Matilda held out her hands. Cornelius got up off his chair, crouched, and hugged her. Arabella discreetly took a pic with her phone. I couldn’t blame her. Matilda was too cute for words.

Matilda blinked. She looked a lot like her late mother, Nari Harrison, but her expression, serious and somber, was pure Cornelius.

Behind her, Diana frowned. “What is that?”

Matilda’s eyes widened. “A kitty.”

“I have a surprise for you.” Cornelius smiled.

Oh. He hadn’t told them.

Zeus shifted under the table, a massive furry shape, and his huge head poked out half a foot from Matilda’s face.