When we made love, I called him Connor.Ī dry popping sound came from the street. They kept their clothes clean, their hair short, and they called Rogan Major. They moved from point A to point B with a definite goal in mind. Rogan’s people had all gone through armed forces in one way or another, and they didn’t wander or stroll. He was in love with me, and had decided that my home wasn’t assault-proof, and so he’d bought two square miles of industrial real estate around our warehouse and turned it into his own private military base.Įveryone wore civilian clothes, but they weren’t fooling anyone. Rogan’s views on security were rather draconian. Not as busy as it had been a few days ago, when I was helping Cornelius Harrison, an animal mage and now an employee of the Baylor Investigative Agency, find out who murdered his wife, Nari, but still busy. But now all my fears and stress were boiling over. I’d managed to keep a lid on my emotions all the way from the lodge to the airport, during the flight on the private jet, and through the helicopter ride from the plane to the landing pad four blocks away. And my mother would do her best to talk me out of the only logical solution to our crisis. If I panicked, my sisters and my cousins would panic too. Not only had I missed Christmas Eve, but I was about to deliver one hell of a terrible present. With everything that had happened, we had agreed not to exchange gifts this year. I would have to go inside and break the ugly news, and nobody would like what was going to happen next. Then Rogan’s surveillance expert texted him, and now here I stood, six hours later, my hair a mess, my clothes rumpled from being under a heavy jacket, in front of the warehouse that served as my family’s home. This morning I was at a mountain lodge playing in the snow with the most dangerous man in Houston. I paused with my hand above the lock’s keypad. One moment you’re walking along, worrying your little worries and making quiet plans, and the next you’re rolled into a ball, trying to hug yourself against the pain, frantic and reeling, your mind a jumble of scared thoughts.Ī Christmas wreath hung on our door.

When life hits you in the gut, it’s always a sucker punch.

Wildfire a hidden legacy novel