White Hot Page 47
“Should I be worried about Rogan?” A mischievous light sparked in his eyes. Gabriel Baranovsky liked walking a tight rope.
“You should be worried about me.” I gave him a sad smile and for once actually meant it. “I’m a monster of a different kind. I think some would prefer Rogan over me.”
“What do you do?”
Wouldn’t you like to know? “Do you miss Elena?”
“Yes.”
Truth. My magic wrapped him, saturating the air but not touching. I could almost sense the hesitation in his words, something he was trying to hide. His will was strong, but unlike Rogan’s steel-hard determination, Baranovsky seemed flexible. Almost pliant. I could try to nudge him toward the right answers. Not enough pressure to compel a direct reply, but just enough to keep him talking more than he would have otherwise. I had never done it before.
If he sensed my magic, he would have me killed. Baranovsky wasn’t a combat Prime, so he would rely on more conventional means of security and he would have a great deal of it, because currently his house was full of people who shot lightning from their fingertips and belched fire. I knew for sure there was one sniper in the window. There were likely to be more in the garden. If I grabbed him with my power and made him tell me what I wanted to know, I’d never make it out of this gala alive.
“We were more than lovers,” he said. “We were friends.”
“Does it bother you that she died?” I kept pushing, trying to stay subtle, but keeping him on the balcony with me.
He leaned back on the rail and let out a sigh. “It’s the way of our universe. A never-ending chain of cannibalism: the stronger prey on the weaker only to become prey in return. The only way to win the game is to not play.”
“Do you know why they killed her?”
“No.”
Lie. Outright, direct, bold lie. He knew.
“Did you know Elena?” he asked.
“No,” I told him. “I met her husband.”
I focused on him so completely my voice sounded like it was coming out of a stranger’s mouth.
“Ah.” He’d sunk a world of meaning into that one sound.
“Elena is dead. Someone has to pay for it,” I told him. My magic slid tighter around him.
His smile fled. “A bit of advice. Don’t go digging in that grave. I don’t know what hold you have on Montgomery and Rogan, but they won’t risk themselves for your sake.”
In my head, somehow, he was glowing, an almost silvery figure with a dark spot to one side of his silhouette, on the left side of his skull. He was hiding something in that spot and I needed to get at it. I was concentrating so hard my head threatened to burst.
“She came to see you before she died.”
“You know too much about this.” He was staring at me carefully.
Gently, delicately I pulled the noose of my magic around him, tethering him to me. I pushed him, steering his answers to the place I wanted him to go.
“Did she leave anything with you?”
The spot turned darker. Yes, yes she had. What could she have given him?
“A memento of your relationship, perhaps?” The vision of the freckled soldier tossing a USB drive out of the window flashed before me. “A USB drive containing documents meant to be released after her death?”
“That would be terribly cliché, wouldn’t it?”
Sweat broke on my hairline. Blood pounded through the veins in my head. “She’s been dead for days and you haven’t gone public. Are you scared, Gabriel?”
“She gave me nothing.”
Lie.
He smiled, a casual easy grin. “And you and I are not on a first-name basis.”
I smiled back. “Did you look at it?”
Nothing.
I needed to nudge him, just a little tiny bit, so he wouldn’t feel it. Just a tiny bit . . .
The dark spot faded slightly in response to my magic.
“As I said, she left me nothing. And if she had, if such a thing existed, I would have the good sense to put it somewhere safe from the outside world. Somewhere it would stay buried.”
“You looked at it.” I smiled wider. Circles swam before my eyes. I could barely see. “Where would it be buried?”
The dark spot faded completely for a moment.
“It’s safe in my bedroom.”
My hold on him slipped.
Baranovsky frowned. “My dear, as I said, if it existed, I would’ve destroyed it long ago.”
He didn’t even realize what he’d told me while under the influence of my magic. If that was accurate, then his memory of this conversation would be completely different from mine.
Baranovsky shrugged, his expression disappointed. “This conversation started out promising but sadly devolved into minutiae. I have no time for banality. Enjoy the rest of the party.”
He turned and walked away.
Get off the balcony before you get shot.
I forced myself to slowly walk into the hallway, resisting the urge to sag against the balcony rail. My chest hurt. My stomach too. Circles swam before my eyes.
Breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe . . .
I kept walking, without really seeing where or what was happening until I came to a staircase. Rogan caught up with me. I leaned on his arm and he walked me down into the ballroom. He was practically carrying my weight on his arm.
“Easy,” he said under his breath. “One step at a time.”
“I’m going to fall over and embarrass both of us.”
“You won’t fall over. I’ll keep you up.”
I leaned even more onto his rock-solid arm. I had to keep walking.
“Did you overextend?” Rogan asked, his voice controlled.
“A little.”
“Does Baranovsky know?” He was asking if he needed to fight his way out of the gala.
“He didn’t feel it. I was very careful, which is why I’m having trouble walking. She gave him a copy of the USB. He said it’s safe in his bedroom. Exact quote.”
The stairway ended. I tried to turn right toward the door, but Rogan turned left taking me with him.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Augustine.”
“Why?”
“Because Baranovsky maintains a workstation in his quarters. It’s not connected to the Internet and can’t be hacked from the outside. Any document uploaded to it is safe.”
“How do you know that?”
Rogan smiled, a narrow parting of lips. “I bribed his cleaning crew. There are few people more motivated than a parent with a child accepted into an Ivy League college and no way to pay for it.”
“Can you use them to get at his computer?”
“No. It’s too risky. That’s why we have to find Augustine.”
Augustine was an illusion Prime. He could assume any form. “You want Augustine to become Baranovsky, go to the bedroom, and get the data from his computer?”
“Exactly.”
“You’ll get him killed,” I murmured.
“He once walked around CIA headquarters for three hours, passing fingerprint and retina scanners.” Rogan’s mouth quirked. “Until they figure out how to do an instant DNA check, no facility is secure from Augustine. This will be child’s play.”
Ahead, Augustine stepped up from behind a group of people and began making his way to us.
“Connor,” a woman called from the left.
Rogan glanced in the direction of the voice. His face softened and he halted. “Rynda.”
A red-haired woman smiled at Rogan. She was about his age, slender, willowy even, with a heart-shaped face framed by loose waves of copper hair, a flawless complexion, and bright grey eyes, so light they almost glowed silver. I recognized her instantly. Her name was Rynda Charles, Rynda Sherwood now, after she married, and at some point in the distant past Rogan had been supposed to marry her. He’d mentioned it once in a casual conversation and I had looked her up.
“It’s nice to see you,” Rynda said. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”
“It’s not,” he said. “How are Brian and the kids?”
“Great.” She smiled again. She had a dazzling smile, the kind that lit up her whole face. If you put us side by side in identical dresses and let ten people into the room, they would flock to her, while I would be left standing alone. That was perfectly fine with me. I didn’t want anyone’s attention.