by Martha Carr
“Cheyenne.”
“I don’t have a drow’s sixth sense for nothing.”
A low, rhythmic buzz filled the apartment. The girls glanced around for the source of it, then the halfling’s gaze fell on her backpack on the corner of the gray suede couch.
“Dammit. Right now?” She stalked toward the couch and jerked open the zipper on the front pocket.
“What’s going on?” Ember chuckled again, her blush fading now. Her smile faded too when she saw the halfling’s scowl.
“Fucking FRoE burner phone.” Cheyenne lifted it toward her friend, her lower jaw jutting out in irritation. “Those guys have a perfect track record for shitty timing.”
Ember stared at the clunky flip phone. “You gonna answer it?”
With a frustrated growl, Cheyenne cocked her head. “Well, now you get to watch me in action, huh?”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Cheyenne whipped open the burner phone and almost slammed it against her ear. “Yeah.”
“Halfling.” Major Sir Carson’s voice was low, scratchy, and almost hesitant.
He’s pissed about something and is calling me in as Plan B. Again.
She waited for him to start spouting commands at her as usual, and couldn’t help herself when he didn’t. “I’m assuming you called me for a reason. I’m waiting.”
“You need to get your ass down to the compound stat. We got a problem.”
“You don’t say?”
Sir cleared his throat. “I can taste your sarcasm, kid. Not my favorite flavor.”
Cheyenne frowned. “Yeah, well, I don’t like the taste of you dragging out this call and not giving me a reason for dropping everything for you on a Saturday morning.”
Muttered words were exchanged on the other end of the line, followed by a short, “Dammit.” The line crackled, and Sir’s voice came back loud and clear. “Sheila’s got fifty-nine out of the sixty kidnapped chicklets back to their parents. The last one won’t tell us a goddamn thing.”
“You still have one of them with you?” The heat of the halfling’s drow magic would have been tingling up her spine by now if she wasn’t wearing that damn pendant.
“I don’t want her here any more than you do. Since you’re the kid-whisperer, get down here and help us put this last one back where she belongs. Right now, halfling.”
Cheyenne hung up on him and flipped the phone shut. “What the hell are they doing?”
“I’m guessing that wasn’t a congratulatory phone call with a side of thank you.” Ember watched her friend with a concerned frown.
“I’ve only gotten one of those. Kinda.” The halfling shook her head. “I have to go, Em. Apparently, all the gear and fancy fell weapons fall short of getting one last kid back to her family.”
“The ones you rescued?” Ember wheeled across the living room, jerkily swerving around opened boxes and cluttered packing material.
“Yeah. Shit, if they’d just listened to me from the beginning, she’d be home right now with all the others.” Cheyenne snatched up her black hoody and jerked it over her head. Then she grabbed both phones, her keyless fob, and her wallet and shoved them into various pants pockets. “Two days. Two. That kid has to be freaking out by now.”
“Anything I can do?” Ember shot her a hesitant smile.
“Just hang tight, Em. Apparently, I’m the only one who can do anything about it.” The halfling blinked and glanced around their apartment. “Sorry to have to skip outta here like this.”
“Shut up. There’s a kid locked up with a bunch of assholes in black and a magical family somewhere who’s worried sick.” The fae girl shrugged. “I can handle being by myself for a few hours.”
“Okay. I have my phone, so if you need anything—”
“She’s a kid, Cheyenne. I’m just in a wheelchair. I can hold down the fort.”
With a wry chuckle, the halfling headed toward the door and turned around to point at her roomie. “I know you can, Em. Even if Matthew Thomas comes knocking on the door again. You have all this figured out, right?”
“Don’t make me push you out of here. With me in it, this chair packs a punch.”
Laughing, Cheyenne opened the door and slipped out into the hall. “I won’t be gone too long.”
“’Kay, bye.”
The door shut behind her, and Cheyenne jerked down the bottom of her hoody as she headed toward the elevator. If Sir hasn’t ripped Rhynehart a new one for leaving me behind, I am sure as hell about to.
Her first drive out to the FRoE compound on her own was as easy as if she’d made it a hundred times. When Cheyenne turned onto the unmarked frontage road and saw the gate towers ahead, she smirked. “Drow sense of direction plus Bianca Summerlin’s uncanny memory equals a halfling who never forgets. I’ll have to thank her for that.”
The Panamera rolled into the huge parking lot filled with FRoE utility vehicles, vans, and Rhynehart’s Jeep, all of them black and glistening, just like Cheyenne’s new ride. Spotting Sir’s bright-orange Kia was easy enough.
A laugh escaped her when she recognized Sir’s shitty parking job. The Rio sat diagonally behind Rhynehart’s Jeep like the man had followed his second in command in a hurry and hadn’t bothered to fall neatly in line with the rest of the vehicles. “It’s like he set me up for this.”
Cheyenne drove around the end of the lined-up vehicles and brought the Panamera in behind Rhynehart’s Jeep. She stared at the shiny back bumper just outside the driver-side door, shifted into park, and turned off the engine.
Plenty of room for me to get out. She opened the door and slipped out into the chilly morning air. The Panamera chirped when she locked it, and she gave the top of her car a loving pat before flashing Rhynehart’s Jeep the finger and stalking toward the building’s entrance. Let’s see him try to slip out of that one.
The unmarked door opened quickly when she jerked on the handle, then she stood in the secret organization’s front lobby. Empty again. Why is this room even here?
The halfling made her way across the lobby and down the short hall toward the common room. Low conversation and sharp laughs drifted toward her before she stepped into the larger room, which was half-full of FRoE agents in black combat fatigues, black sparring uniforms, and civilian clothing.
Bhandi sat in the same chair at the same table as the day she’d threatened Cheyenne into captivity. The troll woman’s scarlet braids were twisted up onto the top of her head, several stragglers hanging over the shoulders of the black t-shirt tucked into black combat pants. Her boots were crossed at the ankles, legs sticking out straight in front of her. “Well, look who it is.”
Cheyenne stopped and couldn’t help but return the agent’s smirk. “In the flesh, right?”
Bhandi held up her phone and wiggled it at the halfling. “Saw you got yourself a new ride.”
“What?” The halfling stepped forward to peer at the troll woman’s phone. “Why do you have the security cameras in the parking lot synced to your phone?”
“Eh, it was a department-wide alert. The system sends it out whenever someone rolls through the gates. Every goddamn time.”
“So, you like to spy on each other, huh?”
Bhandi shrugged. “I only pay attention when it’s interesting. Had to do a double-take when I saw that shiny new Panamera roll up. Then I watched you get out, and hey! That was interesting.”
Cheyenne snickered. They all got a personal shot of me sending my love to Rhynehart. Yeah, I’m gonna hear about that one. “I’m an interesting person.”
“Uh-huh.” The troll woman put her phone face-down on the table and folded her arms. “Nice set of wheels you picked up. Only now you and your car don’t match anymore, huh? Looks like Goth drow needs a makeover.”
“Bite me, Bare-ass.”
Someone barked a laugh on the other side of the common room, then a new round of low chuckling and jabs at Bhandi flew across the room.
“Yeah, hardy-har-har.” Bhandi flipped them all th
e bird and glared, but the smirk remained on her dark-purple lips.
“’Bout time you let yourself have a little more fun, Cheyenne.” At a table closer to the couches and the standing fireplace, Tate spread his arms and cocked his head. “I mean, I know we popped your Empty Barrel cherry, but you took it to a whole new level with that car.”
“Don’t expect me to be a chauffeur.” The halfling pointed at the troll man sitting beside some other agents. Then she glanced at Bhandi again. “And no, you can’t drive it.”
“Pshh. If I got behind the wheel of that thing, none of you assholes would ever see me again.”
Cheyenne glanced around the room and returned the other agents’ nods. “Where’s Yurik?”
“Who the fuck cares?” The goblin playing Texas Hold ’em with two beefy orcs chuckled and dealt another card.
“Probably scouring the internet for another of those sweaters just to make the rest of us puke when he wears it.”
Another round of laughter rose at that, which only partially covered the sound of boots clomping quickly down the hall from the medical wing. Just as quickly, the laughter died again, and heads turned toward the hall beyond the standing fireplace.
Cheyenne caught on to the switch in attention a little late and found herself turning to follow the agents’ stares with a grin. Her smile faded when she saw Rhynehart scowling at her with his arms folded. Someone cleared their throat. Another card flipped onto the table.
The halfling stared Rhynehart down. I’m not walking over there with my tail between my legs. He can say it, or we can stand here all day.
The little standoff lasted only a moment longer before Rhynehart tilted his head. “You gonna move it or what, kid?”
“Just waiting for you to ask nicely.”
Another agent snorted, but that was as far as the laughter went.
Rhynehart unfolded his arms and gestured down the hallway behind him. “Yeah, pretty please with a fucking cherry. Let’s go.”
Cheyenne glanced at Bhandi, who widened her scarlet eyes and whispered, “Goth drow in the hole…”
Rolling her eyes, she jerked her chin at the troll woman and headed across the room. A few of the other agents spared her quick glances and apathetic smiles. They all know I should’ve been here from the beginning, and no one’s saying shit in front of Rhynehart.
As she passed the chairs and couches in front of the fireplace, someone let out a massive fart, immediately followed by chuckles and groans of disgust. “Goddamn, Lunzi! What the hell are you eating?”
Cheyenne pressed her lips together and didn’t drop Rhynehart’s glare. When she reached him, he glanced briefly into the common room, then turned to usher her down the corridor.
“Trying to send me a message in the parking lot?” he muttered above the clomp of his boots.
“Looks like you got it.” The halfling shot him a sideways glance, and the agent shook his head.
“I made a call, Cheyenne.”
“Yeah, just one bad call after another, huh?”
Rhynehart looked aggravated. “You keeping secrets makes it pretty damn hard for me to do my job.”
“Me keeping secrets?” Cheyenne snorted and stared at the end of the hallway up ahead. “You’ve been setting the bar since the very beginning. I’m just playing your game.”
“None of this is a game, Cheyenne. You know that.”
“Okay, you can cut it out with the whole ‘big brother looking out for the drow halfling’ act. You put a tracking device in my shoulder, staged a break-in to see if I’d kill an innocent person because you said so, shot me up with a drow tranquilizer, and didn’t say a damn thing when I knew these kids were missing. That’s the short list. Should I keep going?”
“Yeah. How about you tell me what the hell went down in that mansion?” They turned right at the end of the hall, moving down the rows of closed doors and the FRoE version of hospital rooms behind them.
“Not until I hear you tell me you were wrong.”
“Secrets get good people killed in the field, Cheyenne.”
She stopped dead in the middle of the hall, and when Rhynehart noticed, he stopped too. He sighed, but he didn’t turn around.
“That’s funny, Rhynehart. ‘Cause the way I remember it, my secret saved your ass in that mansion. Did you hear a different version?”
The man stiffly turned just enough to glare at her from the corner of his eye. “And what happens when that secret decides to turn on us? Then we’re caught with our fucking pants down and no way to pull ‘em back up.”
“You mean, like you turned on me.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what happened.” Cheyenne’s fists clenched at her sides. I’d really love to go full drow for this. “You want to be able to trust me? Set a fucking example. That’s what someone does when they’re calling the shots.”
“Look, kid, when I’ve got two options in front of me and one of them’s following orders, it doesn’t matter what the other one is.”
“Yeah, that’s your problem. You don’t even look at the other option. That’s how you ended up with an O’gúleesh meathead pretending to be FRoE.” The halfling forced herself to walk toward him, hissing in frustration. “And you needed me to figure that one out for you too. If you don’t wanna be caught with your pants down, man, maybe you shouldn’t drop ‘em in the first place.”
Rhynehart’s nostrils flared as he ran his tongue across his top teeth. He glared at the wall for a moment, then met her gaze head-on. “That’s what I’m trying to do this time. And you’re making that impossible.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Your ignorance is not my fault, and I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
His jaw worked as he narrowed his eyes.
The halfling could smell his aftershave and the waffles he’d had for breakfast. Yeah, he’s feeling the sucker punch.
“You know what? You take as long as you need to let that sink in.” Cheyenne gestured down the hall. “I came here for that kid, not for you. We owe her the reassurance that she’s getting back home in one piece. Which I’m sure she’s starting to doubt after you’ve had her locked up in this place for two days. Trust me, I know the feeling.”
The FRoE agent sniffed and turned back down the hall without a word. Shaking her head, the halfling followed him.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
They went almost to the end of the medical wing before Rhynehart stopped at a door on the right and knocked twice. He didn’t wait for an answer before opening it and gesturing for Cheyenne to step inside first. He followed her in and stood beside the door with his hands clasped behind his back.
What the hell is going on in here?
Sir stood beside two armchairs, his arms folded. In the chair closest to him sat a huge orc woman in black fatigues, her back perfectly straight, green palms lying flat on her thighs. In the other chair was Durg’s teenage Goth orc niece. They all turned to look at the drow halfling in their midst, but Cheyenne could only focus on the girl’s yellow eyes staring at her. “I have your necklace.”
It was the only thing she could think to say, but the message hit home. The girl’s eyes widened, and she dipped her head in silent acknowledgment.
“What the hell kinda fucked-up secret girl code is that?” Sir asked, glancing back and forth between them.
Cheyenne grimaced at the FRoE’s head honcho. “That doesn’t jog your memory, huh? Okay, let’s try this, Major. Remember when I told you I recognized some of that stuff in the huge pile of clothes we found at the construction site?”
Sir grunted.
“That wasn’t code either. Good thing I figured it out before anyone else.”
Sir turned to shoot Rhynehart a questioning look. The agent blinked and dropped his gaze to the floor.
He’s really stepping into his coward shoes, isn’t he?
“So, what’s her name?” Sir scowled at the halfling and gestured toward the teenage orc girl, who was still s
taring at Cheyenne. “Every single one of those kids gave it up within two minutes of Sheila sitting down with them for a little chat. This one hasn’t said a goddamn word.”
Cheyenne cocked her head. “Did you try saying please?”
“You’re on thin ice, halfling.”
“Yeah, walking across it to keep you from falling in.” Cheyenne nodded at the massive orc woman in the other chair—Sheila without her human mask. “Anything you want to add?”
Sheila tilted her head. “I haven’t been able to get through to her either. The way I see it, she’s either still shell-shocked, or she doesn’t want to go home.”
“This one’s a tougher nut to crack than you are, halfling.” Sir glanced down at Durg’s niece again and snorted. “If you have any bright ideas, I’m all ears.”
The girl still hadn’t taken her eyes off Cheyenne, but she finally took a deep breath and opened her mouth. “I’ll talk to you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Sir threw his head back to scowl at the ceiling. “That’s it, huh? She says something about a goddamn necklace, and you two are best friends?”
Cheyenne ignored his outburst and nodded at the orc girl. Then she shot Sir an unamused glance. “Give us the room.”
“Not gonna happen.”
The halfling gritted her teeth and forced herself not to rip the Heart of Midnight pendant off her neck again just to blast Major Sir Carson across the room. “Look, if you’re trying to make a point that doesn’t include getting this girl back home, you shouldn’t be here.”
Sir stared at her, and the halfling joined him in a standoff she knew she would win. Bring it.
Sheila cleared her throat. “Sir.”
“What?”
“I suggest we give the room to Cheyenne and the girl.”
“Oh, you do, do ya?”
“First words in forty hours, Sir. Yes, I do.”
With a growl of frustration, Sir rocked his bottom jaw back and forth, then broke away from the halfling’s gaze. “Fine.”
Cheyenne nodded at Sheila, who raised an eyebrow and stood from the armchair.
