Secret
Elemental - 4
by
Brigid Kemmerer
For my mother, who has always been there for me.
Always.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If you’ve read my books for any length of time, you know I always thank my mother first. This time is no different. She’s my constant inspiration. You wouldn’t be holding this book in your hands if not for her support and influence in my life. Thank you, Mom, for everything.
My husband, Michael, is my sounding board, my confidant, and my best friend. I can’t imagine spending a day without him. (Unfortunately, he spends many days without me, while I’m eating cake pops with the Starbucks baristas, *ahem* I mean, when I’m writing.) Thank you, honey, for always being there. And for suggesting Adam’s name. And for supporting me even when you weren’t sure about the topic of this book. It means so, so much. I hope you know that.
I have a close circle of critique partners. Bobbie Goettler and Alison Kemper Beard, you’ve been with me every step of the way, and I can’t thank you enough for your guidance, support, and friendship. I seriously could not do this without you guys. Could. Not.
My fearless agent, Mandy Hubbard, is beyond compare. Thank you for your support in this book and in my career. And thanks for not minding when I fling the F word into our e-mail correspondence. My editor at Kensington, Alicia Condon, is amazing to work with, and she had no idea that Nick Merrick was interested in boys until I sent her Breathless, Nick’s novella. It was a risk, and I’m lucky she and Mandy have supported me every step of the way.
Eternal gratitude to the wonderful people at Kensington books who work so hard to make my book a success, especially Vida Engstrand, Alex Nicolajsen, and Mel Saccone. Many, many thanks to the fine people at Allen & Unwin, my publisher in Australia, especially Jodie Webster and Lara Wallace. I’m so lucky and excited to work with all of you.
This book took a lot of research, in many forms. I am deeply indebted to Danny Rome, Jason Deem, Jim Hilderbrandt, H. Duncan Moseley III, Tradd Sanderson, and Wes Parker for sharing their life experiences and helping me to build well-rounded characters. Many thanks to Jim Kalinosky of the Baltimore County Police Department for being a continued resource about the world of law enforcement. Huge thanks to the brilliant Jonah Kanner for teaching me more than I ever thought I wanted to know about air pressure and physics. Many thanks to Sebastian Serra of the Orlando Ballet as well as Dena Stoll for their insight into the world of dance. Finally, special thanks and big hugs to my sister-in-law, Tina Kasten, and her talented daughters, Jenna and Lexi, for letting me shadow them at dance competitions and workshops so I could get an insider’s view. If I got anything wrong, it’s entirely my fault.
If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a community to write a book. Many, many people read early drafts or offered thoughts and insights or just kept me going while this book was in process. Extra special thanks to Jim Hilderbrandt, Sarah Gonder, Brenda Freeman, Joy Hensley George, Nicole Kalinosky, Becky Hutchinson, David James, Erin Kanner, Sarah Fine, and Nicole Choiniere-Kroeker. Additional thanks to Wendy Darling of The Midnight Garden and the many fine bloggers who participated in the Spirit Blog Tour in April. You guys are amazing.
This might sound ridiculous, but I owe many thanks to the fine people of Starbucks in Severna Park, Maryland. You put up with me for twelve-hour writing sprints, even though you have no idea who I am or what I’m doing there. Keep those cake pops coming.
Finally, the biggest thanks go to you guys, my readers. You all make this possible, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you. For everything. I’ll try to sneak more pics of hot guys at Starbucks, ’kay?
PROLOGUE
Gareth Brody sat in a chipped plastic chair in the prison waiting room, listening for the guard to call his name. He drummed his fingers on his briefcase, casting a dark look at the guard booth every so often, playing the role of an impatient young attorney.
In truth, the cinder block walls and barred doorways left him feeling claustrophobic. The air felt stale, the lighting artificial and too bright. Outdoors, the prison yard was barely more than a lengthy stretch of concrete, broken only by steel poles supporting basketball nets, all enclosed by chain-link fencing and barbed wire.
Silver must be going nuts in here.
Gareth would remedy that soon enough.
A loud buzz echoed in the small room, and the barred door swung open. “Mr. Brody? Your client is available now.”
Gareth followed the guard through the doorway, mentally calculating how quickly he could disable the man. Three seconds? Maybe four? This wasn’t a high-security facility, and this officer barely looked capable of guarding a box of donuts.
Two hallways, four turns, and three locked doors brought them into a small chamber. Gareth memorized the path, remembering which doors required a slide from the guard’s key, and which required a pin code on a pad mounted on the wall.
This would almost be too easy. Perhaps he could ask Officer Incompetent to leave the key on the table.
“Have a seat here,” said the guard.
Gareth dropped into the plastic chair—which sported a cracked seat—and plopped his briefcase on the table. The locks snapped open with a loud click.
Usually, he did this without files. But today he had several.
He and Silver had things to discuss.
He pulled a pen out of the briefcase and spun it through his fingers. He could eviscerate two people in less than five minutes with nothing more than this pen. Idiots hadn’t even checked his belongings. Typical. Flash a business card and a little hair gel, and they assume you’re legit. He should have just walked in here with a gun.
It was a miracle they’d been able to keep Silver here this long, honestly.
But then the opposite door clicked open, and another guard led Gareth’s client into the room.
The last time he’d seen Silver, the younger Guide had been in his late teens. Blond hair, too-dark-to-be-tan skin, slightly slanted eyes all topped off with a British accent and a talent for being ruthless. Silver had achieved control of the elements far younger than any other Guide—including Gareth himself.
Silver had no family, no attachments. He’d been given assignments early. Some had said he was too young, that he’d fail or crumble in the line of duty. That he’d abandon his task of killing pure Elementals.
Silver proved them all wrong. He’d killed without mercy, completing each mission without complaint or unnecessary mess.
He’d done well.
But now he was in an orange jumpsuit, wrists and ankles shackled to a chain that trailed from his waist. His right hand was mangled and scarred, but whatever injury had caused it had left enough wrist to keep him restrained. He was thin, too thin, and Gareth almost wished he’d thought to bring a sandwich.
If Silver was surprised to see Gareth, he didn’t let it show. He dropped into the chair when the guard gave him a shove.
Gareth glanced up, realizing he needed to keep up appearances, at least for a little while longer. He half rose from his seat, smoothing his tie as he addressed the officers. “Thank you, gentlemen. We won’t be too long.”
One of the guards gave him a mocking courtly bow on his way out. “By all means, take your time, your highness.” The other laughed.
Then the door slammed.
Silver’s eyes lifted from the table. He cut a glance at the door and kept his voice down. “Gareth. It’s been a long time. You’re looking well.”