The waiter filled our glasses and politely asked for the starter order. I went for the seared scallop.

“Make that two,” Garen said, and we were again alone.

He studied me, smart green eyes careful. “Let’s make a pact for tonight.”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s be honest with each other.”

“How honest?”

“Brutally. Ask me any question, and I’ll answer honestly. No shields, no attempt to block the probe. I ask the same in return.”

I swirled the wine in my glass. “That’s a dangerous game.”

“I realize that.”

“You won’t like my questions,” I said.

“I like to live on the edge.”

We faced off across the table, like two gunfighters, armed with glasses of wine instead of six-shooters.

“Go ahead,” he dared me.

“Have you or a member of your family ever lifted a hex with the purpose of finding the third piece of an artifact, which was located in the statue in the Bridge Park?”

I had considered that question carefully. That’s how the conspiracy showed itself the first time. They made a deal with a rogue Prime called Adam Pierce. Pierce wanted to burn Houston down, but he needed an artifact to amplify his power. The location of the artifact was a closely guarded secret, entrusted to the Emmens family. All members of that family, trusted with this knowledge, had a hex implanted in their minds to protect them from disclosing their secret. The members of the conspiracy had kidnapped the youngest member of the family and pried that knowledge out of his mind, despite the hex, the same way I had done with the oldest member of the family, except in my case he had volunteered to help me save Houston.

A truthseeker had cracked the hex in the younger Emmens, and I wanted to know if Garen was that truthseeker. Asking him about the Emmens family was useless. He may not have been told the name of the man whose mind the conspirators wanted unlocked. However, if Garen had anything to do with breaking the hex, he would know the location of the object.

“I don’t know what this is about, but that is oddly specific. No.”

True. Relief washed through me. Surprising. I didn’t realize that on some level, I liked him. I didn’t want him to be connected to the conspiracy.

He studied me, a hint of predatory anticipation in his eyes. Despite all his charm and disarming honesty, Garen was a Prime. “My turn. Are you really Victoria Tremaine’s granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

The waiter appeared with our appetizers and asked for our orders.

“Red snapper,” I said.

“Medallion de Marcassin à l’aigre-doux.”

I won the bet. He did order in French.

The waiter departed.

“Let’s continue,” Garen said. “Your move.”

“What is the significance of a wavy line?”

“I don’t follow.”

“When you’re facing someone with hard mental defenses, and you want to loosen their will instead of bashing through it by brute force, you draw a wavy line inside the amplification circle. Why do people freak out when they see it?”

Garen stared at me for a second, picked up his glass, and gulped all of the wine in one swallow. “Have you done this?”

“Yes. Answer the question.”

“They freak out, because it’s a spell of House Tremaine. Nobody else does it.” He leaned forward, focused on me. “How do you determine the pattern of the waves?”

“You tailor it to the specific defenses of the person. By feel.”

“I knew it.” He slapped the table lightly. “I knew it. We’ve been trying to duplicate it for years. Will you show me?”

“Maybe. It’s your turn.”

He thought about it. “In the office, when I asked you the last question about me being an only child, did you know I was lying?”

“Yes.” I cut a small piece off my scallop. It was getting cold, and it looked delicious. It would be a shame to waste it.

He leaned back in his chair. His eyes were shining and it wasn’t all wine. “Your turn.”

“Why did you come here, Garen?”

He paused. “I came to find out if you were the real thing.”

“I know that. That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s a more complicated question.”

Our food appeared. The red snapper looked divine and smelled even better, but I barely noticed.

Garen waited until we were alone again. “As I said, I came to find out if you were the real thing. If I determined you lied or your magic wasn’t of high enough caliber, I would have been on a plane home already.”

“But you’re still here.”

“I am.”

He pondered the meat medallion on his plate.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Wild boar. Would you like to try?”

“No, thank you.”

“I understand you and Rogan have a history,” he said. “A tumultuous, violent history, very exciting but full of danger, fear, and uncertainty.”

“Yes.”

“Has he requested your profile?”

“No.”

“Then he is a blithering idiot.”

I tried my snapper to keep from responding. It melted on my tongue.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” he said, “but it’s too late now.”

I smiled. “Are you afraid he overheard?”

“No. But you obviously care for him, and I don’t want to alienate you. I’ve made some inquiries. I’m sorry about your father.”

Well, that was a 180-degree turn. “Thank you.”

“You took over a struggling PI firm on the brink of failure and you saved it. You didn’t overextend and grow too fast, hiring people to churn through as many cases as you could. Instead you concentrated on quality. You were instrumental in saving Houston from Adam Pierce, yet you stayed out of the limelight. I suspect that being quietly competent is much more important to you than being the flavor of the month. Am I right?”

“Yes. We didn’t need that kind of attention. Our caseload is small but perfectly manageable. Our business puts food on the table.”

“You take care of your family. I do the same thing. I took over after my father was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I was eighteen. When I’d done an audit and realized how deep the problem lay, our firm was in serious jeopardy. For the next twelve years I lived and breathed Shaffer Security. I know exactly what it costs. You put your life on hold, and you get up every morning and plow through it, fixing it, building it up block by block, case by case, client by client. You lay awake at night, wondering how you’ll pay the bills. It takes dedication and perseverance. So when some idiot with a microphone comes along and shoves it in your face, wanting you to give him a good ten-second sound bite about a case you worked for eight months, you walk away, because that’s not what your work is about.”

“Baylor Investigative Agency prides itself on discretion. Our clients expect confidentiality.”

He nodded. “Going on TV and making the talk show circuit would send the wrong message.”

“Yes.” He did get it. “Did you save your company?”

“Yes. We’re the second-biggest security firm in the United States. MII is the third. Augustine Montgomery has been snapping at my heels for years.” Garen smiled. “Unfortunately for him, he’s destined to stay an ankle biter.”

The snapper went the wrong way down my throat. I coughed.

Garen grinned. “I thought you might like that. On a serious note, my personal net worth is over four hundred million and it’s rising. The company is valued at over a billion.”

“Why did you tell me that?”

“Because we promised to be honest with each other, and I want you to have all of the pertinent information, so you can make an informed decision.”

I paused with the glass in my hand. “Is there a decision at the end of all of this?”

“Yes. I’m asking you to marry me.”