Ryanne was quiet where she sat across from Nash. Misgivings plagued his thoughts. Liz’s and Alastair’s warnings about putting Ryanne in harm’s way rose up in his mind and haunted him with what-ifs. What if Victor discovered she wasn’t Rylee? What if something terrible were to happen to her and Nash couldn’t get to her in time to save her?
“Are you all right, babe?” he asked in a low tone.
Her head whipped up, and she met his gaze. Her obvious anxiety bothered him.
“Talk to me, Ryanne. What has you troubled about all this?”
Her dark gaze shot to where her surly sister sat in the living room. “Everything about this disturbs me. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but I have this churning in my gut, and it’s getting stronger by the minute.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
Her expression softened when she met his serious gaze. “I know, and yet I feel as if I do. My sister is neck-deep in this crap, and ultimately she came here to, at the very least, steal the journal. At most, to brew up her special brand of mischief.” She set down her fork with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I need to do this.”
“I’ll text my father, and we can figure out how to get you in place.” He abandoned his own food, unable to drum up his appetite now that the subject of Victor was on the table.
As if the mention of Alastair sent out a cosmic bat signal, the air around them shifted and a rip in the fabric of space opened for the man himself. Similar to a wild animal scanning its surroundings for danger, Alastair cast a quick glance about the room. His nostrils flared, and he narrowed his eyes at Rylee. His shudder was subtle, and had Nash not been watching his father, he’d have missed it. Alastair seemed to sense things were not as they appeared.
Odd, but Nash had had the same feeling earlier when he left Ryanne to her shower. It was as if evil were gathering in the room. A malevolent vibe of sorts. Yet the dynamics hadn’t changed all that much. It was still the four of them, three of whom were on the same team. Perturbed, he studied Rylee.
Her eyes had taken on a wild look, darting back and forth before touching on their group, only to start the action all over again.
“What’s going on?”
Ryanne’s question nearly made Nash come out of his skin. Goddess, he was getting jumpy.
“I’m not sure.” He tried to relay his caution with a quick glance in her direction. “I think we need to adjourn to somewhere with stronger wards,” he murmured to his father.
“I agree, son. I’m not comfortable here. Something is off about this whole thing. The longer it goes on, the surer I am.”
“Thorne Industries?”
“My old offices.”
Alastair referred to when he was CEO of the company, before Aurora Gillespie-Thorne, in her state of stasis, had required his full attention and he had relinquished the reins to Nash. At the time, Nash hadn’t wanted anything to do with the company his father’s family had founded, but the Witches’ Council had strongly encouraged him to seize control and turn it into a tool for their benefit. Not wanting to move into the same space Alastair previously occupied, Nash had constructed his current office and hidden treasure room.
“Wouldn’t the wards on my offices be stronger after all this time?” Nash asked.
“It’s humorous you believe so,” Alastair returned. “My old office was built on sacred ground, son. Isis herself blessed that spot.”
Nash grunted. He should’ve done his homework, or at the very least, questioned why his father found it amusing that Nash had conjured up the new office building.
“I’ll bring our reluctant guest.” From inside his suit jacket, he withdrew the journal. “Here. Gather your lovely young woman and whatever else you need, then meet me at my offices. The wards will be lowered for you for exactly five minutes from the time I teleport, son.” Alastair graced him with a stern warning look. “Don’t be late. You don’t want to crash into the magical barrier. The shock will knock you on your backside.”
“Understood.”
As Alastair gripped Rylee’s arm, he cast Nash one last long look. “Five minutes.”
After his father disappeared, Nash waved an arm and restored the kitchen and dining area to rights.
An awe-inspired smile lit up Ryanne’s face. “I’ll never get tired of that.”
“When this is over, I’ll show you how to do that and more.” He picked up the journal from the granite countertop and held out a hand to her. “I can’t believe he smuggled this out last night. How did we miss that?”
“Maybe because we were distracted with other matters?”
“Most likely,” he agreed as he caressed her cheek. “Are you ready to go?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They arrived with two minutes to spare.
“Prompt, as always.” Alastair’s tone bordered on snide. He was surprised by his own malice if the expression on his face was any indication. “I’m sorry, son. I’m not sure why I said it that way.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s come up with a game plan. The sooner this is over and Ryanne is back home, the better I’ll feel.”
“I have a question,” Ryanne said, hand raised to gain attention. “If I understand this warding thing correctly, no one can enter a space that is magically protected unless they’ve been granted access, is that correct?”
Nash gave her a brief nod.
“If that’s the case, surely Victor will have warded his place, no? How will I be able to simply stroll in without consequences? And even if I can do that, how do I convey to both of you that I’ve gotten what I went for? I’m assuming one of you will need to get me out since I don’t know how to teleport.”
Nash wanted to swear a blue streak. His entire life had been filled with magic, and he’d gone on the assumption that he could simply spell Ryanne to look like her sister. But the reality was much more complicated than that. Ryanne was correct in assuming that Victor would have wards in place. He’d have a whole helluva lot more than that to detect intruders.
“We have to proceed as if magic doesn’t exist,” Alastair informed them. “Ryanne is correct. Anything more, charmed jewelry for communication, spells to alter her appearance, all of it will set off alarms. We have to assume Victor is prepared for anything.”
“Without magic?” Nash was highly doubtful they could pull this off without their standard powers. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“We alter her appearance with scissors and makeup, then send her in through the front door with a wire.”
The unease brewing in the back of his mind turned into a Category 5 hurricane of epic worrisome proportions. “I don’t like it. I say we scrap this idea.”
“Last night I did some light reading. We need to retrieve the Red Scorpion from Victor. That kind of power, in his hands, is devastating.”
In the privacy of his own mind, Nash let loose a string of curses a mile long. He’d known before his father spoke that this was a serious problem. Yet the idea of sending Ryanne into danger, as was his original plan, didn’t sit right anymore. Not since last night. Not after what they’d shared.
A single glance showed she mirrored his misgivings, but even as Nash watched, resolve settled onto her features.
“I can do this, Nash. We don’t have a choice.”
Still, he didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. If he gave the okay for her to step into Salinger’s compound and something happened to her, there was no way on this green earth Nash could live with himself again. No way he wanted to. Not without Ryanne.
“I love you,” he rasped.
Her face softened with her smile. “I love you, too.”
Nash chewed the inside of his lip and nodded. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“When did you become such a worrier?” she teased.
“He always has been. It’s the bane of the Thorne family,” Alastair inserted, his tone dry and his amusement obvious.
“Bite me, Sperm Donor.”
Alastair laughed and clapped him on the back. “There’s my disagreeable son. Welcome back. Now let’s get started.”
Anger welled up inside Nash, and the desire to knock his father’s hand away overwhelmed him. As he lifted his arm to do so, he realized his rage was misplaced. Where had it come from? It couldn’t simply be worry for Ryanne, could it? He shoved down the urge to snap.
“We need supplies. Do you have anything here, or do I need to make a supply run?” he asked.
“I can conjure scissors, and a simple phone call to your Uncle Ryker will get us a wire tap.” Alastair cleared his throat. “But I’m no hairstylist, boy, as my overall look prior to your sister’s makeover of my person should tell you.”
Nash snorted. He remembered well that his father had looked like a Hollywood villain of old before Summer worked her magic. “Fair enough. How about we give her and the sisters a call?”
At Alastair’s nod, Nash dialed Summer and explained their need. He then sent pictures of the inside of the office so she could form an image of the room and teleport freely.