Dawson yanked open the door. Wrapped in a towel, he reeked of alcohol. He swayed on his feet, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled. Pinpoints of deep blue light flickering in his indigo wings. “I said we didn’t call.”
Laura swept her hands up, charging them with essence. “InterSec, stand down.”
Confused, Dawson stumbled back toward the frightened woman huddled on the bed. In the room windows beyond her, Guardian agents descended into view. Dawson hurried toward the bed as the windows shattered. Bolts of essence flashed through the room.
Laura rushed in, shouting, “Hold fire! Hold fire!”
Dawson jumped onto the bed and crouched over the woman. A Guardian raised an essence-charged hand. Dawson flung his hand out, feeble sparks of essence flickering blue around his fingers. Laura leaped forward, jabbing her shoulder into the middle of the Guardian’s back. His shot went wild as he lurched forward and fell against the foot of the bed. Still in motion, Laura rolled over him and activated her body shields as she landed on the disheveled bedding.
Dawson struggled to his feet, trying to stabilize his essence charge. “Thanks,” he said.
Laura grabbed him by the neck and thrust him facedown on the bed. “I’m not your friend, idiot.”
She put her foot on his neck as the Guardians jostled for space. The one who had fallen stood, his face angry as he raised his hands, charging up essence. Laura thrust her fist under his chin, bright gold essence light illuminating his skin. “I said hold your fire.”
He set his jaw but didn’t extinguish his essence. Laura pressed her fist harder, tilting his head back. “Go ahead. Try me.”
He glared, dousing his charge. Laura stared down the half dozen guards beyond her extended body shield. Behind her, the woman’s sobbing filled the sudden silence.
Aran entered. “Guardians, attend!”
They fell back to the perimeter of the room. Aran flicked his hand, and they exited. Laura lowered her fist and shot a small burst of essence against Dawson’s back. The man shuddered once and passed out. His essence didn’t match what she’d found in the morgue. He hadn’t killed Sean Carr.
Turning her back on Aran, she stepped off the bed and leaned over the sobbing woman. “Are you okay?” She didn’t answer. Laura pulled her to her feet. “Come with me. You’re safe.”
Wrapping her arm around the woman’s shoulder, she guided her around the end of the bed. She would turn the woman over to Guild security for protection. The operation had been a waste of time. Dawson was nothing more than a party boy who skipped out on his job. As she passed Aran, she glared at him. “He’s not our guy. I’ll be talking to Terryn about what happened here.”
She left him in the room to clean up the mess.
CHAPTER 36
INTERSEC REPORT FILES surrounded Laura in stacks, dozens from the day of the assassination attempt. As she read through each one, the information became embedded in her memory, years of druidic training enhancing her near-photographic memory. At first, reviewing files had been a welcome relief from the fruitless episode at the hotel the day before. After a while, though, the process became mentally taxing. Coupled with her lack of sleep over the recent days, fatigue was starting to take its toll.
She relaxed the mnemonic spell that boosted her memory retention. The information she had absorbed jumbled in her mind. In a day or two, it would settle into more coherent patterns on its own, but she had keyed her thoughts to focus on the events leading up to the finding of Sean Carr’s body in the attic. Report after report of the first responders showed a consistent pattern. Every person on the scene described Carr as dead on the floor upon their arrival. She had found no one who had claimed they fired on him nor anyone who mentioned they saw the strike. She surmised either a report was missing or whoever had done the deed hadn’t filed one.
She stared at the paperwork. Terryn’s sources claimed Draigen remained a target, but nothing in the data identified a source of the danger or the means. Even the time was vague—sometime before she left the States. Gut instinct told Laura the ideal time would be the reception, the only event left on Draigen’s public calendar. Her logical reasoning, though, made the reception seem too obvious. Someone planning an attack of this magnitude would know security had been hardened considerably. No, Laura thought, another assassination attempt would come from an unexpected direction, and an internal threat was much more likely.
She paused as a strong wave of body essence filtered up the hall, then relaxed when she realized it was Genda. Even with the ward dampening in the Guildhouse, a Danann fairy stood out. She scanned her desk to confirm there was nothing she didn’t want seen.
Genda stopped at the door. She wore a white dress that shifted on subtle currents of essence, small images of orange flowers shimmering on the fabric. “There you are, love. I saw that you checked in. How is everything going?”
Laura glanced down at the folders. “Slow. I’m trying to get a lead on the assassination attempt.”
A guilty look mixed with amusement came over Genda. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I found something strange.”
She handed Laura a sheet of paper. The lists of numbers were similar to series she had seen for bank-transaction routing numbers. “What’s this?”
Genda stepped into the office, the guilt slipping away to satisfaction. “It’s my nature to look at the financials of everything. When I got the names of the missing Inverni, the first thing I did was pull bank records. Those are tracking numbers for Uma macGrath. I hope I didn’t overstep. Terryn used to provide me with data and access. I assumed that I had the authority to do this.”
Laura pursed her lips as she reviewed the numbers. Two substantial lump sums had been deposited into macGrath’s account—one before and one after the assassination attempt. “You’re clear, Genda. We have pretty broad authority to move quickly on things like this.”
Relief swept over her face. “Oh, good. I was afraid we might not be able to use this.”
Laura considered the numbers. “I’m not surprised she was paid. Sometimes in these situations, the perpetrator is motivated purely for political reasons, but money isn’t far behind.”
Genda laughed. “Oh, yes, definitely. Money’s behind most things. That’s what makes it so fascinating.” She leaned across Laura’s desk and pointed at a few lines of data near the top of the list. “For instance, look at this.”
“The first payment went into her account a day earlier, the second the day of the attempt,” Laura said.
Genda tapped the paper. “Exactly, love. But no second payment for Carr. He died, obviously, but it’s interesting macGrath was paid despite Draigen’s survival. Odd, no?”
“That’s a good point,” Laura said.
“I traced the wires. The payments came from an old Inverni shadow account in Wales. I haven’t figured out whose it was yet. There was some activity in the account prior to the payments, likely a transfer from the Caymans. Have you ever been? The water is amazing, but the clubs are filled with thugs in bad casual wear.”
Laura shook her head. “No, not in years. Are you suggesting someone in an Inverni clan hired macGrath to assassinate Draigen?”
Genda sighed dramatically, her hands fluttering to her sides. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m a numbers person. What do you think it means?”
Laura let the paper fall to the desk. “It could be the Alfreys. They’ve been rivals for centuries from what I understand.”
Genda played her hands through her hair. “Oh, that old feud. What a mess. Draigen should marry . . . What’s his name—Simon? The son? Seal the breach, as they say.”
“He’s in prison, Genda. He was the one who orchestrated the Archives attack.”
She tapped her temple. “Oh, right, right. I doubt it was them, though. They love Draigen.” She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, dear, but she’s the real sapling from the tree, you know.”
Laura tilted her head. “What do
you mean?”
Genda glanced at the door again, her face avid. “You’re too young to remember. Draigen’s the one who convinced her father to challenge the High Queen, and her politics haven’t changed much. It’s why the Inverni can’t get investors like the rest of the Celtic fey can. Too uncertain politically.” She shook her head in memory. “What a dashing man Aubry macCullen was. Very astute financially, too. I would have risked a scandal for a night with him, let me tell you.”
“Genda!”
She laughed, high and musical. “Oh, come now, Mariel. Clan rivalries are one thing. Romance is another.”
Amused, Laura shook her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anyway, my money’s on this whole assassination thing being internal politics. Draigen will probably find a way to blame the High Queen, though.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like Rhys talking.”
She shrugged. “Another brilliant man. Another man I’d”—she laughed self-consciously—“oh, never mind. So, what’s the next step with this information?”
“Can you keep trying to track the original source of funds?” Laura asked.
Genda nodded. “Of course. Absolutely. Shall we inform the macCullens?”
“No!” Laura said. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out so loudly. The Inverni Guardians are on edge as it is with the would-be assassin being one of their own people. Let’s wait for confirmed information before we give them more to be paranoid about.”
Genda nodded vigorously as she moved toward the door. “As you say, then. I’ll get right on it.”
“Before you go, Genda, I’d like to recommend InterSec provide security for Cress.”
She paused in surprise. “The leanansidhe? Are you serious?”
Laura spread her hands. “She’s one of our own, Genda, regardless. The Guild is not the best security for her under the circumstances. You have to keep in mind our own morale. If we don’t protect her, it’s going to cause anxiety for every InterSec agent undercover.”
Genda frowned. “Surely they don’t want to be seen as supporting her?”
“Not her, per se. The organization.” Laura hesitated, steeling herself to speak. “If you end up more than acting director, Genda, internal support from rank and file will be invaluable.”
As the thought settled in her mind, Genda’s face relaxed. “Interesting. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Feigning indifference, Laura shrugged. “Think about it, then.”
Genda winked. “I will.”
Laura took a deep breath. The idea that Terryn could lose his position made her almost feel physically ill. That Genda—with no field experience—might replace him made it worse. That she had encouraged that thinking made it awful.
Her phone chirped as soon as Genda left, and Laura checked the text message. Terryn wanted to meet with her and Sinclair later that night at the Guildhouse. She stared at the files. She didn’t think the Guildhouse was a good location under the circumstances. She texted Terryn and told him she’d send him a more secure location. Someone in the Inverni entourage wanted Draigen dead. It was too obvious to consider anything else anymore. She was afraid of where it would lead. And what Terryn would do about it.
CHAPTER 37
LAURA WAITED IN the dark of the Holy Rood Cemetery, old granite tombstones pale and silent around her. Terryn had given her the location in a sending, and she passed it on to Sinclair. In the distance, the Washington Monument glowed like a white spike against the deep azure sky. The graveyard had fallen into disrepair long ago, its occupants ancient and forgotten. No living descendants of the interred had visited in decades. Despite its proximity to Logan Circle, the place wasn’t high-profile or likely to draw attention. Which was what made it a convenient meeting place.
Sinclair arrived first, his tall silhouette recognizable as he strode up the hill from the street. Laura lingered in the shadows, watching. He avoided direct lighting and, once in the graveyard proper, moved along the darkened perimeter. His casual gait appeared to be that of a someone out for a late-night walk. She knew the moment he sensed her by a subtle shift in the angle of his path.
“You sensed me from a pretty good distance,” she said.
He smiled down at her. “Always checking out my abilities, aren’t you?”
She pursed her lips in pleasure. “Always questioning my motives, aren’t you?”
He playfully flicked a strand of hair off her cheek. “Hey, I’m not complaining. Anytime you want to check out my abilities, you let me know.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re calling that ‘abilities’ now?”
He handed her something small, and said, “Skills, then. I brought you something.”
Foil wrapping caught the light. “How’d you know I like dark chocolate?”
“I saw the wrapper in your trash the night we had pizza,” he said.
She slipped the candy into her mouth. “Thanks.”
He snorted. “What? No ‘how dare you look in my trash’? Or where else was I snooping?”
She crumpled the wrapper and poked him in the shoulder. “I’m not that bad.”
He leaned closer. “You’re badder.”
She laughed. “You don’t give up.”
“Are you telling me to?” he asked.
She pursed her lips through a smile. “I’m not telling you anything.”
They stood in amused, almost bashful silence. Laura broke eye contact and glanced down toward the street. As she faced him again, he put his hands on her waist and lowered his lips to hers. She closed her eyes. His lips covered hers, a warm, soft pressure that didn’t push for more. She returned the kiss, then eased away. She glanced over his shoulder as a faint dark blue spot appeared in the sky. “He’s coming.”
They watched as Terryn dropped out of the sky, landing effortlessly next to them. Laura felt uneasy as Terryn’s gaze shifted back and forth between them, as if he wasn’t approving of something. “My apologies for being late. There were some last-minute details on security for Cress.”
“No problem. We were necking while we were waiting,” Sinclair said.
In the long pause after he spoke, Laura fought feeling self-conscious. Even though by now Terryn knew he said things to provoke reaction, she knew that Terryn wasn’t a fool. He had to know she was interested in Sinclair. “Why are we meeting here, Laura?” he asked.
She looked toward downtown. “Privacy. Too many eyes are on you right now, Terryn. From here, I was able to watch if you were followed.”
“And why would that be a concern?”
She hesitated. Coming right out and saying what she was thinking was going to be difficult. She decided to avoid it for the moment. “I’m close to accessing the files at Legacy.”
Terryn ignored Sinclair. “Is Genda monitoring the case?”
She shook her head. “She thinks I’m closing it down. She wants me to focus on Draigen.”
“Has she made any unusual requests?” he asked.
“Not particularly, although she’s complained that you don’t keep very good files.”
Terryn considered. “We need to keep her distracted until I return.”
“How’s the vacation going?” Sinclair asked.
Terryn’s body signature shifted, a flash of essence that Laura knew meant anger. Terryn leveled a cool gaze at Sinclair. “I begin to tire of your disrespect, Sinclair. Don’t push me further.”
Sinclair slid his hands in his pockets. “Or what? You’ll tell Rhys you’re doing an end run around the successor he had them pick for you? Or that you’ve been employing agents off the books? Or that you’re running your own op outside channels?”
Terryn stepped toward Sinclair. Sinclair dropped the cocky grin. “Come on, big guy. Take a shot. Just remember, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
Laura held her hand on Terryn’s chest. “He’s immortal, Jono.”
Sinclair shifted hi
s eyes toward her, then back at Terryn. “Fine. The rest of my life.”
“Are you boys done? Because I have work to do,” Laura said.
Terryn moved away. “What’s your report, Sinclair?”
Sinclair glowered, not speaking. Laura elbowed him gently. “They have a crew doing urban-assault exercises,” he said. “There’s an old warehouse complex about fifty miles west of the city. They’re training us for something but haven’t said what.”
“How many?” Terryn asked.
“Several dozen. Maybe a hundred people total.”
“Fey or human?”
“All human,” he said.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Laura said.
“Bullets work very well against the fey,” Terryn said.
She paced in thought. “Even so, they’ve got to know we’re on high alert. If they’re planning another assault against Draigen, men with guns against Inverni Guardians is a big tactical disadvantage. We’re missing something.”
“I agree. The answer might be in the Legacy files. How soon can you acquire them?” Terryn asked.
She had hoped Moor would come through with the information when she calmed down. She hadn’t. An idea drifted through her thoughts, one that she had threatened Fallon Moor with. She had bluffed about seducing the information out of DeWinter. It could be a shortcut, one she didn’t want to take. She avoided looking at Sinclair, as if he could read her thoughts. “I’ll speed up the timetable as best I can.”
“My back channels tell me that whatever they’re planning, it will happen soon. Draigen’s here for a few more days, then we can relax,” he said.
Laura snorted. “Yeah, that happens.”
Terryn frowned at her. “Don’t let Sinclair rub off on you.”
“I’ll rub whoever I want, thank you,” Sinclair said.
She glared at Sinclair, annoyed as much at herself as at him. Terryn was wound tight. It was bad enough she was about to add to it. She didn’t want him to think she was being frivolous. She took a deep breath. “Terryn, the real reason I didn’t want to meet at the Guildhouse is because I’m concerned something’s going on with your family.”
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