White Hot
Page 60
“That may be a problem,” Cornelius said quietly. “We have a small House. We act cautiously and we don’t get involved. My parents maintained this policy for years and now my sister preserves it.”
The same sister who had sent a card and some flowers when she learned her youngest brother’s wife had been murdered.
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow,” Cornelius said.
Tomorrow might be too late. If that video hit the Internet, there would be riots. I didn’t almost die about ten times trying to save Houston from being burned only to see it tear itself apart.
I turned to Bug. “Can I have a copy of the video, please?”
He glanced at Rogan.
I pretended to sigh. “This is getting tiresome. Rogan and my employer signed a contract, and that contract goes both ways. If we have to share evidence with you, you have to share evidence with us, especially since my employer obtained it. I would like a copy of the video, please. Email would be great.”
“Do as she says,” Rogan said. He was smiling. I had no idea what was so funny.
My phone chimed announcing a new email.
“Thank you.”
“Take your time, Cornelius,” Rogan said. “Like I said, paperwork takes time and Lenora may not even see us tomorrow considering the Baranovsky mess. This is a delicate matter.”
“If my sister refuses, I’ll proceed on my own, but our case would be stronger with us both.”
I got up. “Where is the bathroom?”
Rogan pointed to a door in the far wall.
“Thank you.”
I got up, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. Was there conflict of interest? I had promised Cornelius that I would give him the name of his wife’s murderer, but I had made it abundantly clear that I wouldn’t kill that person for him. Cornelius’ agreement with Rogan technically had nothing to do with me. It only specified mutual cooperation and bound Rogan’s hands.
No, there was no conflict of interest. I was in possession of a video showing the murder of two citizens. It was my obligation under the law to report it. I texted Bern. This is very important. I’m going to email you something. Can you find a way to send it to Lenora Jordan so it won’t be traced back to us?
No answer. It was three in the morning.
I’m sorry to wake you, but this is really important. Please wake up. If I blew up his phone, the beeps would wake him up.
Sorry.
Wake up.
Sorry again.
Wake up.
A reply popped onto the screen. I’m up. On it. Are you okay?
Yes. Thank you so much.
I exhaled. He would find a way to do it.
I put my phone away and looked at myself in the mirror. There were bags under my eyes and they weren’t Prada. I was so tired all of a sudden, I could barely stand. I had to get out of this bathroom, because the floor was beginning to look nice and inviting.
I washed my hands, came out, and sat on the couch. They were still talking about something, but I could no longer follow. My eyes were closing. I tried so hard to keep them open, but someone had attached weights to my eyelids. Augustine said something I couldn’t quite hear. Rogan answered and then the world turned soft, warm, and dark, and I sank into the welcoming blackness.
Chapter 11
The tantalizing scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted over to me. I opened my eyes. The ceiling didn’t look familiar. I wasn’t in my house. That meant I was . . .
I sat straight up. I was in Rogan’s command room, on one of his huge black leather couches. Someone had put a pillow under my head and a blanket over the rest of me. At the far end of the room, Rogan poured coffee into a large black mug. He wore a white T-shirt and black pants. The T-shirt molded to his biceps. He looked like he’d spent the last hour working out and had just taken a shower.
He saw me and grinned. It was an evil kind of grin and all of the alarms blared in my head.
“What time is it?”
“Ten past nine.”
Terror shot through me. “Morning?” Please don’t say morning.
“Yes.”
“Oh no. Did you tell my family where I was?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
“But I imagine Cornelius did when he went back to your warehouse.”
Ugh. I lay back on the couch and pulled the blanket over my head. I would never live it down. Grandma Frida and my sisters would be merciless. “So you spent the night with Mad Rogan? How was it? When is the wedding?”
The blanket moved down, revealing Mad Rogan standing over me, way too close for comfort. He looked even larger from this angle, which was a neat trick considering he was already huge. He had shaved, his jaw completely clean. I liked stubble better. It made him . . . more human. Now he looked every inch a Prime, except for a narrow red gash on his cheek.
I see a Prime . . . Prime or not, Rogan and I still weren’t equal. We probably would never be.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“We’re waiting on the dispensation from Cornelius’ sister. There was no point in waiting here, so everyone went home.” He smiled a wicked smile, as if I were a delicious lamb who’d somehow wandered into his wolf den. “Except you.”
I sighed. “You might not want to count on that dispensation.”
“I gathered they’re not close.”
“His sister hadn’t seen Matilda since she was a year old.”
“Are you afraid of what your family will think?” he asked, drinking his coffee.
“I’m not afraid. I’m mentally preparing myself for a vigorous defense. You should’ve woken me up.”
“You overextended yourself,” he said. “Your body needed rest.”
“I just closed my eyes for a moment.”
“You passed out,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth. A man had no business being so handsome first thing in the morning.
“I did no such thing.”
“Did you know you snore?” he asked.
“I don’t.”
“You do. It’s adorable.” He winked at me.
I threw a pillow at him. It stopped a couple of inches from his face and streaked back to its spot on the couch. He crouched by me. The distance between us suddenly shrunk. His coffee mug moved to the side table.
“You know what I think?” he asked. His gaze snagged on my hair. He reached over and touched one blond strand. “I think your family will expect that you stayed over here and you and I had unforgettably dirty sex.”
My mind went straight to the gutter.
“Especially after they see your hair.”
I pulled my hair out of his fingers. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It’s the special style called the morning after.”
I touched my head. Last night’s hair spray, rain, and my pillow had clearly conspired to create a once-in-a-lifetime mess on my head. My hair felt like it was standing straight up.
Rogan was looking at me and in the depths of his blue eyes, I saw the same icy darkness. Not again.
“Did you call House Howling?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Why? Would you like to watch?”
“Maybe.”
The same sister who had sent a card and some flowers when she learned her youngest brother’s wife had been murdered.
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow,” Cornelius said.
Tomorrow might be too late. If that video hit the Internet, there would be riots. I didn’t almost die about ten times trying to save Houston from being burned only to see it tear itself apart.
I turned to Bug. “Can I have a copy of the video, please?”
He glanced at Rogan.
I pretended to sigh. “This is getting tiresome. Rogan and my employer signed a contract, and that contract goes both ways. If we have to share evidence with you, you have to share evidence with us, especially since my employer obtained it. I would like a copy of the video, please. Email would be great.”
“Do as she says,” Rogan said. He was smiling. I had no idea what was so funny.
My phone chimed announcing a new email.
“Thank you.”
“Take your time, Cornelius,” Rogan said. “Like I said, paperwork takes time and Lenora may not even see us tomorrow considering the Baranovsky mess. This is a delicate matter.”
“If my sister refuses, I’ll proceed on my own, but our case would be stronger with us both.”
I got up. “Where is the bathroom?”
Rogan pointed to a door in the far wall.
“Thank you.”
I got up, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. Was there conflict of interest? I had promised Cornelius that I would give him the name of his wife’s murderer, but I had made it abundantly clear that I wouldn’t kill that person for him. Cornelius’ agreement with Rogan technically had nothing to do with me. It only specified mutual cooperation and bound Rogan’s hands.
No, there was no conflict of interest. I was in possession of a video showing the murder of two citizens. It was my obligation under the law to report it. I texted Bern. This is very important. I’m going to email you something. Can you find a way to send it to Lenora Jordan so it won’t be traced back to us?
No answer. It was three in the morning.
I’m sorry to wake you, but this is really important. Please wake up. If I blew up his phone, the beeps would wake him up.
Sorry.
Wake up.
Sorry again.
Wake up.
A reply popped onto the screen. I’m up. On it. Are you okay?
Yes. Thank you so much.
I exhaled. He would find a way to do it.
I put my phone away and looked at myself in the mirror. There were bags under my eyes and they weren’t Prada. I was so tired all of a sudden, I could barely stand. I had to get out of this bathroom, because the floor was beginning to look nice and inviting.
I washed my hands, came out, and sat on the couch. They were still talking about something, but I could no longer follow. My eyes were closing. I tried so hard to keep them open, but someone had attached weights to my eyelids. Augustine said something I couldn’t quite hear. Rogan answered and then the world turned soft, warm, and dark, and I sank into the welcoming blackness.
Chapter 11
The tantalizing scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted over to me. I opened my eyes. The ceiling didn’t look familiar. I wasn’t in my house. That meant I was . . .
I sat straight up. I was in Rogan’s command room, on one of his huge black leather couches. Someone had put a pillow under my head and a blanket over the rest of me. At the far end of the room, Rogan poured coffee into a large black mug. He wore a white T-shirt and black pants. The T-shirt molded to his biceps. He looked like he’d spent the last hour working out and had just taken a shower.
He saw me and grinned. It was an evil kind of grin and all of the alarms blared in my head.
“What time is it?”
“Ten past nine.”
Terror shot through me. “Morning?” Please don’t say morning.
“Yes.”
“Oh no. Did you tell my family where I was?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
“But I imagine Cornelius did when he went back to your warehouse.”
Ugh. I lay back on the couch and pulled the blanket over my head. I would never live it down. Grandma Frida and my sisters would be merciless. “So you spent the night with Mad Rogan? How was it? When is the wedding?”
The blanket moved down, revealing Mad Rogan standing over me, way too close for comfort. He looked even larger from this angle, which was a neat trick considering he was already huge. He had shaved, his jaw completely clean. I liked stubble better. It made him . . . more human. Now he looked every inch a Prime, except for a narrow red gash on his cheek.
I see a Prime . . . Prime or not, Rogan and I still weren’t equal. We probably would never be.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“We’re waiting on the dispensation from Cornelius’ sister. There was no point in waiting here, so everyone went home.” He smiled a wicked smile, as if I were a delicious lamb who’d somehow wandered into his wolf den. “Except you.”
I sighed. “You might not want to count on that dispensation.”
“I gathered they’re not close.”
“His sister hadn’t seen Matilda since she was a year old.”
“Are you afraid of what your family will think?” he asked, drinking his coffee.
“I’m not afraid. I’m mentally preparing myself for a vigorous defense. You should’ve woken me up.”
“You overextended yourself,” he said. “Your body needed rest.”
“I just closed my eyes for a moment.”
“You passed out,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth. A man had no business being so handsome first thing in the morning.
“I did no such thing.”
“Did you know you snore?” he asked.
“I don’t.”
“You do. It’s adorable.” He winked at me.
I threw a pillow at him. It stopped a couple of inches from his face and streaked back to its spot on the couch. He crouched by me. The distance between us suddenly shrunk. His coffee mug moved to the side table.
“You know what I think?” he asked. His gaze snagged on my hair. He reached over and touched one blond strand. “I think your family will expect that you stayed over here and you and I had unforgettably dirty sex.”
My mind went straight to the gutter.
“Especially after they see your hair.”
I pulled my hair out of his fingers. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It’s the special style called the morning after.”
I touched my head. Last night’s hair spray, rain, and my pillow had clearly conspired to create a once-in-a-lifetime mess on my head. My hair felt like it was standing straight up.
Rogan was looking at me and in the depths of his blue eyes, I saw the same icy darkness. Not again.
“Did you call House Howling?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Why? Would you like to watch?”
“Maybe.”
