Page 35 of Deadly Avarice
Huxley ended the call before I could so much as get out a goodbye. I stared at the darkened screen and felt my stomach knot. I didn’t think twice about my next move. If I had, I never would have pulled up Holland’s number and hit the send button. Holland answered on the second ring.
“What is wrong with my son?” Holland immediately asked, his assumption clear.
“Nothing that I know of. At least nothing immediate,” I clarified.
“That is not completely reassuring, Detective.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” I snapped back before closing my eyes and willing my temper to cool. I should have taken sometime to emotionally decompress before calling Boone’s father. I should have taken a breather and thought before instantly reacting. “Sorry,” I apologized.
Holland was silent for a beat before he said, “Accepted. You are normally more even-keeled than this, Detective. You have my attention and my concern. Tell me what this call is about.”
I blew out a breath. “To be honest, I’m not completely sure. I’m going by my gut on this one.”
“My son tells me yourgutis dependable. Erasmus trusts your opinion and I trust my son. Now, tell me what has engaged your protective instincts.”
Most of the time, Holland struck me as an arrogant asshole. However, when it came to Boone, Holland settled. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he pushed his arrogance aside, but it slid to the back burner.
“Tenzen Huxley,” I answered.
Dead silence was my answer. For a moment, I thought Warlock Holland had forgotten who Huxley was and said, “He’s the Director of—”
“I am well aware who Tenzen Huxley is, Detective O’Hare.” My shoulders stiffened at the coldness in Holland’s tone. “What has the director done?”
“As of yet, nothing bad. Hell, I’d say he’s done something great. He’s gotten the Warlock Council to release the names of necromancer mothers going back about thirty years.”
“I have not yet heard this.” Holland sounded annoyed.
“I think the news is new. Boone doesn’t even know yet.”
Another pause before Holland asked, “Then why are you aware?”
“Because Huxley just called me. The call ended not two minutes before I called you.”
“Just to be clear, Tenzen Huxley called you, not my son.”
“Yes.”
“And you believe this is odd.”
“Of course I think it’s odd. Don’t you?”
“Without a doubt.” Holland fell into another brief silence before he asked, “Did Huxley give you a reason why he chose to inform you instead of Erasmus?”
I barked out an unhappy laugh. “Sort of. Let’s just say that in not so many words, Huxley expressed hisconcernregarding my humanity and, thus, my inability to protect Boone. Whom, by the way, Huxley called a rare commodity.”
The low growl on the other end made me wonder if I’d imagined the sound. “Commodity?”
“I corrected his mistake and informed him Boone was no such thing.”
“A reasonable course of action,” Holland readily agreed. “While I cannot fault Huxley’s concerns regarding your magical shortcomings”—I rolled my eyes, glad we weren’t facetiming each other—“I do not appreciate where Tenzen’s thoughts have wandered.”
“Agreed. And how the hell does he even know who I am or how to contact me? I’ve never spoken to him before today.”
Holland verbally waved my concerns away. “He is the Director of the Magical Usage Council. I would be more surprised if he did not know of your existence and contact information. Tenzen’s resources and reach are long and deep.”
Somewhere along the line, I’d picked up a pen and began tapping it on my desk. I saw no reason to stop now and continued the jerky motion. “I don’t like it.”
“What?”
