by Wren Weston
“Sergeant Jenkins, I’ll be in my office all morning. I’m not to be disturbed, do you hear me? No calls. No visitors. No interruptions. No exceptions.”
“Yes, madam,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
Lila shook her head, and he did not say another word. “Fetch me at a quarter to twelve if I’m not gone already. I have a lunch appointment with the chairwoman at Wolf Tower. You know how she hates to be kept waiting.”
“Yes, chief. As you wish.”
Lila stalked passed his desk and entered her office, scrolling through several programs on her palm. She found La Roux’s playlist from the night before and set it on an endless loop, placing it innocently in the cradle of her speakers.
Jazz filtered through the room, this time overshadowed by a husky, crooning singer. Lila snickered at what La Roux would find in the transcription file. Sometimes the programs became confused when sorting through lyrics. It usually turned the file into word soup.
If he did realize what she’d been listening to? He’d think she was besotted.
She closed her office door, returning to Sergeant Jenkins.
“As you were.”
“What in the world was that about, chief? No calls? No visitors? And when have you ever wished me a good morning?”
“I wish you a good morning all the time.”
“No, you don’t. You hate mornings. They’re all bad to you. Good afternoon, yes. Good evening, yes. Good morning? Not on—”
“I’m dangling bait. Don’t go into my office, and don’t let anyone else in, either.”
Jenkins nodded, eyes twinkling with confused mischief.
Gods, if she had to go to Wolf Tower, she’d take Jenkins with her.
“So the bait needs to stay put? If you recall, you were supposed to stay put, too.”
“I’m armed.”
“That’s not going to help if the assassin—”
“I know, but I can’t hide away. Not today.” She jerked her chin at his computer. “Would you mind terribly if I commandeered your workstation for a few moments?”
“I could use a break.”
“How about a mission? I need you to take a sample to the lab. Rush job, my eyes only. Tell the captain that her paperwork will be along shortly. After that, I need a new palm from the tech department, since mine is currently indisposed.”
“Certainly, chief.” Mr. Jenkins took the vial and slipped it into his pocket. Then he backed up his wheelchair and rolled around the desk, propelling himself forward with a quick, practiced shove on his wheels.
With no desk chair available, Lila knelt on the floor and placed a call to Falcon Home, sitting back on her heels, knowing her knees would not be happy when she stood up.
Her father’s face appeared on the screen, VR glasses perched on his nose. A plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs sat before his place at the dinner table. “Lila girl, I saw your name and I just assumed.” He chuckled, taking the glasses off. “Where are you?”
“At Sergeant Jenkins’s desk. I sent him on an errand.”
“You’re at work? Are we playing games this morning?”
“Perhaps.”
“I heard you went home with Senator La Roux last night even before I arrived at the ball.” He leaned back in his chair, elbows propped on both armrests. He cocked his head to the side as he considered her reaction.
“How many told you?”
“All of them. Then more people called me after Marie and I came back to Falcon Home. You picked well, I suppose. Senator La Roux has potential, though he’s a bit old to be stuck in a city senate.”
“He’s twenty-five, and Beaulac is only one step below New Bristol.”
“It’s still one step below. He’s not working hard enough if he’s still in Beaulac at his age.”
“Is that all you have against him?”
“His eyes are weird. They’re the color of snot. I’m torn between feeling glad that the fool is not anywhere near you and irritated that he left you alone so early in the morning. Why in the world would he do that? What possible excuse could the boy have?”
“The boy? A moment ago he was old. He had work, Father.”
“Work? What sort of work could possibly be more important than his lover’s bed?”
“A minute ago he was lazy for being stuck in Beaulac, now he’s too focused on work?”
Lemaire shrugged.
“Father, do you really want to talk about Senator La Roux right now?”
“No, not in the slightest.”
She smiled at his grumpiness, not wanting to spoil his fun for a few more hours, not wanting to talk about the asshole in that way again. “This might make you happier. I’ve found that spider you sent me to find a month ago.”
Lemaire sat up. “That’s good. It’s a weight off my shoulders. The chief’s too.”
“Yes, well, the chief and I will speak very soon. I just need time to do a little more research. Don’t message my palm. It’s bugged. I’ll send you details for my temp palm soon.”
Her father frowned, clearly not happy at that development.
“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m leaving it for now. I might be able to turn it to my advantage, perhaps more than I already have.”
It was that thought that forced Lila to wonder again about La Roux’s palm. Everything on it must have been bait, carefully designed to put her at ease, just like his words.
Just like Dubois’s introduction, no doubt. She wondered again if La Roux had partnered with his cousin, if Dubois knew his cousin’s true nature.
She’d thought Patrick Wilson was a pretty fool once. Perhaps Dubois had tricked her too.
Perhaps he wasn’t ready to let go of his career.
Lemaire rubbed his nose and sighed. “You really are playing games, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Father. Yes, I am.”
Chapter 22
Lila powered down her laptop and slipped it into her satchel, glad that Pax was too busy at Randolph General to question why she’d spent her entire morning working in the converted nursery. After she’d returned from the security office, she’d eaten breakfast at his book-laden table and dug through piles of data, receiving quite a few confused looks from Isabel and Alex.
Luckily, Jewel and her mother had left for Wolf Tower before anyone could tell them of her strange behavior.
At eleven, Lila hopped up from Pax’s massive leather chair and ventured into her bedroom. She quietly dressed and hid her laptop in her closet’s secret compartment, exchanging her black trousers for crimson ones and a matching red leather coat. Though overly fussy, it brushed her calves and mimicked the cut of her blackcoat. As she twirled in the mirror, she knew she’d have several more made up in white when she took over as prime. It seemed like such a small thing, but she welcomed the familiar pull of so much leather. Perhaps she needed it.
The boots she’d been wearing all morning suited her too. They were comfortable and practical. With only a slight heel, she nearly felt like she had donned her militia boots for the day, gone to patrol in some far-off section of the estate. The only thing that annoyed her was that she hadn’t been able to slip her boot knife inside.
That would have to be amended. It wasn’t just the lack of a boot knife that bothered her; she felt naked without the weight of her Colt on her hip, without her short sword wobbling on the other. She still owned them, but she wouldn’t be allowed to wear them as heir, not even on the family estate. It wasn’t illegal for non-militia members to carry weapons; it was just unseemly for an heir to do so, even to defend her own life.
After all, there were blackcoats for that.
Perhaps that would be her first act of rebellion. Fuck tradition. Too many people wanted her dead lately to go around without a weapon, and one of them was still on the loose.
Lila put that tho
ught out of her mind as she left her room and jogged downstairs. Brushing past a young footman, she marched from the great house.
Near the wolf fountain, Sergeant Jenkins popped wheelies, his plastic front wheels clacking against the drive whenever he landed. He had a little black box in his lap, the size of a pair of shoes.
Jenkins winked as she approached and held out the box. Lila lifted the lid and fished out her bugged palm from the folds of a militia t-shirt.
Thank you, she mouthed.
Lunch? he mouthed back, his stomach grumbling so loudly that La Roux likely heard it on the other end.
She flicked a thumb toward the great house and returned the box. Stuff your face.
Grinning, Jenkins sprinted to the front door, his wheels carrying him away loudly on the stone. Chef had promised to feed Lila’s admin well for his troubles, not that she would know what those troubles were exactly.
Turning away, Lila marched along the gravel path toward the north gate, nodding to a militia patrol who broke away from the great house to follow her. She increased her pace, not to lose them, but so that she would not be late for Wolf Tower. She didn’t rush for her mother, though, for her matron had no idea that she’d be coming. She rushed for whomever La Roux would send to intercept her.
She had a pretty good idea who it would be.
Sliding her tainted palm into her pocket, she stopped before the mirrored skyscraper in the center of the estate, which rose forty-five stories into sky and dwarfed all other structures on the compound. Most people considered Wolf Tower imposing, with its jagged angles, mirrored sides, and steel beams that crisscrossed in sharp triangles up and down the structure.
Perhaps it was imposing, at least from the outside.
Lila opened the door and slipped inside. The warm interior had little in common with the exterior. Thick woolen rugs dyed to match the family’s colors dotted the smoked oak floors. Lush green plants lined the side of every staircase and covered whole walls, filtering the air, providing a bit of calming greenery as though a garden had been cut from the world and nailed to the wall. Priceless works of abstract art hung in each room. Very little light was needed, for sunlight streamed through the glass walls.
Here and there members of the Randolph family, as well as some highly paid and contracted workborn, bustled throughout the building, dressed in crimson finery that crossed from formal business attire into fashion. There was no such thing as casual dress in a Randolph office building, much less the main tower.
As it was the Saturday after the senate’s Closing Ball, attendance was sparse. Many highborn had likely not gotten out of bed yet, still tired from the night’s activities. Lila’s mother, on the other hand, would have been in her office by ten o’clock. She’d leave at six for dinner, returning for a few more hours before bed.
Six days a week and a half-day on Sunday.
That would be her life in a few days.
Leaning on the front desk, she smiled at the receptionist, Mr. Fitzgerald, who was engaged in redirecting a call on his computer. He nodded pleasantly to acknowledge her presence, but his eyes popped wide as soon as recognition hit. Shaking fingers hopped to the keyboard in his haste to pause the call, but Lila merely gestured for him to finish his work.
Before he could even end his conversation, the front doors to the building opened. Two blackcoats marched across the foyer, uniforms a collection of black and burgundy piping. Golden roses had been stitched upon their chests, and empty holsters protruded from their hips, tranq guns absent, short swords missing.
The Randolph militia had not escorted the pair inside.
“Inform Chairwoman Randolph that we need to speak with her,” the first officer drawled with his highborn accent, ignoring the fact that the receptionist was busy with a call. The man’s deep voice matched the body that went along with it. He had not bothered to shave that morning. His silent colleague was slight of stature, though equal to his partner’s bearing.
Neither man betrayed any hint as to the reason for their visit.
“Actually, Mr. Fitzgerald, I will take care of them myself,” Lila said. “Send someone into the Red Lounge with a pot of chocolate at your first opportunity.”
The receptionist bobbed in his seat.
Lila led the two officers through a long hallway and ushered them into a room that had been painted in Randolph red. It was as though the designer had dipped it straight into the paint bucket, shook it out, and shoved it deep inside the building away from the windows. The little crimson couch and plush sofa chairs inside matched the walls exactly, and had been cut several years out of fashion, with frayed cushions and a few missing buttons. The coffee table was missing a leg, but its designer had ensured the family that it would remain perfectly balanced up to two hundred kilograms. The room looked so shabby that most any highborn would deem it an insult to step inside.
The Red Lounge had been designed to provoke such feelings.
Lila sat upon the couch and gestured for the men to sit on the chairs across from her. Sergeant Muller, clearly the superior, withdrew his palm and set it on the three-legged coffee table, studying it uneasily.
“I am the chief of security for Wolf Industries,” Lila told the men as a slave entered in crimson breeches and a matching coat. A pot of hot chocolate perched on a tray at his shoulder. He poured it into china and served her guests. Lila did not reach for her own cup. The hot chocolate served inside the Red Lounge would be thin, cheap, and cold.
The slave bowed his way out of the room.
“We are well aware of you who you are, Chief Randolph,” Muller said curtly, and winced as he sipped the cold chocolate. He put down his cup, eyeing his partner, who did the same. “It’s lucky we caught you en route to see your mother. You’re much more suited to answering our questions than she is. I’m Muller. This is Davies.”
“Good afternoon, Sergeant Muller and Sergeant Davies.” Lila’s eyes flicked to the lone star on each of their collars. “Is there something specifically that I could do for you today? Are you here about the logins? If so, you are wasting your time. I have not changed my mind, and this is borderline harassment.”
“You are aware that we are recording?”
“Yes. I’m fine with it if you are.”
Muller nearly picked up his hot chocolate again, then awkwardly slid back on the crimson sofa chair. “Very good, then. We’ve come by to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts two days ago.”
“Two days ago?” Lila asked, crossing her legs. “Is this about Shiloh?”
“No, madam, it is not. Your whereabouts?”
“I visited my father.”
“Do you mind if I ask what sort of visit you had, when you arrived, and what time you left the prime minister’s presence?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“Are you refusing to cooperate?”
“Are you refusing to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
“We’re here to search your property, your living quarters, and your offices, including every computer you’ve had access to in the last week, as well as your network log.”
Lila forced a smile. “You thought that you could just waltz inside my home without a warrant and ask for such a thing?”
“Are you refusing?”
“Most people would.”
“It’s no matter. The warrant is coming,” Sergeant Davies said. “We will begin in your living quarters, if you would care to lead the way.”
“I would care.” Lila intertwined her fingers in her lap, refusing to stand. “I will see the warrant first.”
“You know how this works, chief. We do not need a physical copy of the warrant with us when we begin our search. It will come through on our palms before we are done.”
The blackcoats stood. Muller gestured toward the door. “If you will lead the way? I’d hate to call for bac
kup. If I had to arrest you, the media would have time to gather. Your story would probably kick the Holguín’s scandal off the front page of the New Bristol Times.”
Lila pulled out her tainted palm. “Tell me the case number for this investigation. I’ll need to verify that much before I lead you around the compound.”
“Your living quarters, chief, before we are forced to call Bullstow and make your life more difficult.”
Lila did not move. “No, you should stop this ridiculous charade before I make your life more difficult. If you actually had a legal warrant, or if you were in the process of getting one, you would have brought more of your little friends to do the grunt work.”
“How many men does it take to search a few rooms?”
Davies scowled at his partner. “How do you like that? We try to save her family from scandal, and she threatens us.”
“Let me save your family from scandal, Sergeant Davies, for your family can hardly afford it right now. You have no warrant to search anything at all on the premises. It has been a very nice chat and very informative, but I must regretfully take my leave, as should you. The chairwoman is expecting me for lunch.”
She straightened her coat and opened the door, motioning for them to exit, her grip tight upon the doorknob.
The men did not budge.
“Chief Randolph, are you declining your right to be present when your property is searched?” Muller asked. “We do not need you to be present. It’s only a courtesy, after all.”
“You should leave now, Sergeant Muller and Sergeant Davies. We both know what will happen if you do not.” Anger boiled within her, perhaps too hot to keep back. She might have hung above a firepit with only a thin violin string to keep her from the conflagration below.
Muller locked gazes with Lila.
He looked away seconds later, his shoulders falling slightly.
“Muller?” Davies interrupted, annoyed by his partner’s paralysis. “Take us to your office, Chief Randolph. Now.”
His command and his grating voice pushed her too far.
