Free Wild Magic by Ann Macela

the stench.
    Oh, wait a minute. Alton hadn’t reeked of evil when they crossed paths before, had he? Before he’d used his Stone out of the protected place he’d obviously been casting from. Ubell might not smell, either. Nobody had thought of that particular point yesterday.
    On the theory Alton and another had been casting with the pieces for years, several people, herself included, thought the remnant was hidden in the mansion under a pile of shields and protections. It was the only way the item could be used in total privacy. The nineteenth-century building was sure to have nooks and crannies modern construction lacked. Oh, to be able to get into that house for a more thorough search.
    Ubell, however, had moved into the family homestead from his high-rise condo by Lake Michigan. According to their surveillance reports of this morning, he was running the companies from there and, except for Finster executives and his administrative assistant, not accepting visitors. Since Alton’s transfer to the private hospital Sunday morning, Bruce had not visited his cousin’s bedside.
    Did his reclusiveness guarantee the location of the Cataclysm remnant in the house? If so, where exactly? Had he and Alton truly been casting evil spells for years? Again, where? What had possessed Alton to cast with his piece out in the open? Too many questions, not enough answers.
    At least Uncle Dylan had found out who her fellow thief was—Jim Tylan, a DEA agent who had once saved the life of an ambassador. Assuming his agency was going after the Finster drug activities, what effect he and his agency might have on the Defenders’ search for the rest of the Stone concerned them all. Fergus had people researching Tylan also.
    Forcing her mind back to business, she exited the elevator on three and walked quickly down the hall. The box was beginning to slip off her hip, and her grip on the briefcase was loosening. Good thing her office was right around the corner.
    “Let me help you with that,” a deep voice said when she ran right into the man standing in front of her door.
    She froze and stared up, directly into the eyes of Mr. Mysterious. He caught the box just as she lost control of it.
    Now she knew what color his eyes were—green with gold flecks, a golden green. A stormy golden green. The turbulence in them went with the determined expression on his face. At the same time, the heat in his gaze made her want to throw herself into his arms so much she almost would have—if not for the box between them.
    She broke eye contact to look at the rest of him. His nose had still been broken. His hair was still curly. His shoulders were as broad in a sports jacket as they had been in a tux, but he seemed taller today.
    Idiot! You had on three-inch heels at the party, not flats. Wake up! He’s found you. She blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. Saw his gaze travel down to her chest, then back up. Men!
    “We need to talk,” he said, frowning at her.
    “What do you want?” she asked in, she hoped, a no-nonsense tone, and she forced herself to stand still when a hot shiver ran up her backbone and heated her center.
    “Do you really want to discuss our last meeting standing in a public hallway?”
    She gave him a hard look, which he returned—doubled. Reminding herself she was strong and couldn’t be intimidated, she opened the door.
    He followed her in, right on her heels as if he thought she’d try to shut the door on him.
    “Put the box over there,” she told him and pointed to the desk where her assistant would eventually sit.
    He did as she ordered.
    She continued into her own office, where she laid her briefcase and purse on her desk. She decided to see how much she could get out of him before luring him to the HeatherRidge and Fergus. Her hands on her hips, she turned to face him. “All right, who are you, and what do you want?”
    He came only as far as her doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the