Saffin arrived with more files flagged with her color-coding system for order of importance. The number of blue tags amused Laura. Blue rhymed with boo-hoo, which was Saffin’s way of describing minor problems. Without being asked, Saffin straightened up the paperwork on the edge of Laura’s desk. Laura pulled the black-tagged—critical priority—and red-tagged—going critical—folders and set them aside. The rest joined the pile of untouched matters. She noticed the untouched stacks remained suspiciously the same height, and suspected Saffin was handling issues she ignored.
“You’ve been falling behind a lot lately,” Saffin said.
“I’m being pulled in too many directions,” she said.
Saffin continued organizing without looking up. “You need to say no more often. You can’t be everything to everyone.”
Startled, Laura snapped her head up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
With a defiant look, Saffin crossed her arms. “Permission to speak freely?”
“Of course,” Laura said.
Without looking, Saffin flexed a leg back and kicked the door shut. “I saw you on the news last night.”
She thought about the previous night, remembering her movements in relation to the news crews that had shown up at the Uma macGrath crime scene. She had stayed away from cameras. “Saffin, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The murder in the park. You were in the background of a news shot. Well, Mariel was.”
Laura placed her hands on the desk, staring down at them. “Saf, I can’t talk about that.”
Saffin waved her hand over the stacks of folders. “I know. I’m not asking about that. What I am asking is, how can you deal with all this and a murder investigation? That’s two full-time jobs. Hell, this desk is more than a full-time job. The Guildmaster uses you like his personal laptop, for Danu’s sake.”
Laura slumped back in her chair. “It’s . . . my life.”
Saffin tapped her index finger on the desk. “I don’t know everything, but I do know one thing. This isn’t your life, Laura. None of this is. Your life is what you do outside of all this. When’s the last time you went on a date with tall and humpy?”
She lifted her chin in timid defiance. “Night before last.”
Saffin’s eyes sparkled as she leaned on the desk. “Really? Where’d you go?”
“Dinner.”
Saffin pursed her lips. “And . . . ?”
“Then home.” Saffin squealed.
“Saf!”
She laughed. “Okay. Over the line. None of my business. But if your idea of a date is standing over a dead body and whispering, I know a good therapist.”
“There were no dead bodies.”
“I was talking about the tall guy with the hoodie on the news standing behind you in the park last night. I thought he was a cop, not InterSec. When did that happen? Oh, wait! Has he been InterSec all along and went undercover as a cop? I just thought of that.”
Dumbfounded, Laura stared. “You recognized Jono from a simple flash on the screen?”
Saffin rolled her eyes. “Hello? I watch the news on the Internet. I paused the shot. I couldn’t see the dead body very well, though. She looked like she was executed, poor thing.”
“What do you mean?”
Saffin shrugged. “She was on her side, and it looked like her arms were bound. Whoever killed her was a coward who she trusted to get that close. If you’re going to kill someone, at least have the decency to let them fight back.”
“She was bound. You frighten me sometimes, Saffin.”
“Me? You’re the secret agent.”
Laura chuckled. “Not a very good one if you can figure out my personal life from a long shot on the news.”
Saffin waved her hand dismissively. “I notice things. You know that. Is the murder related to the assassination attempt on Draigen macCullen? I’m pretty sure it was Brinen macCullen squatting by the body.”
Laura put her face into her hands. “Terryn would kill me if he heard this conversation.”
Saffin’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
Laura dropped her head back on the chair. “Any other time, I would say I’m joking, but lately his patience has been stretched pretty thin.”
Saffin held her hands up. “Not another word from me. You’re the greatest boss I’ve ever had. If you think I’d jeopardize that, you’re crazy.”
She smiled. “I am joking, Saf. I can’t stress enough how serious we take secrecy. If Terryn knew that you know about me, he’d . . .” She paused, thinking. “I’m not sure what he would do.”
She thought about the corner Terryn had backed Jono into. What would Terryn say about Saffin? She wasn’t trained in law enforcement, physical combat, or weapons.
“Well, you have my word not to say anything. I always look at part of my job as making you look good, boss. Is there anything you want me to take off your hands?” Saffin said.
Laura gazed at the paperwork on the desk. A red-tabbed folder caught her eye, and she handed it back to Saffin. “Can you categorize the guest list for Draigen’s reception? Resha doesn’t think about balance, and I want to make sure that he invited enough people from competing parties so no one will feels isolated. I can’t get my head around it right now.”
Saffin took the folder. “Do you want me to order lunch in?”
“No. I’ll get something myself.”
Saffin opened the door. “I’ll keep everyone out for about an hour so you can focus.”
Laura stared out the window. She made a mental note, the same mental note she had made before, never to underestimate Saffin Corrill. The brownie knack for detail impressed most people, but Saffin was special.
As she slipped papers out of a folder, she paused. Saffin’s comment about a fair fight tickled at her. Uma macGrath had been in the attic with Sean Carr. She escaped only to be murdered. Silenced. She thought of the report on Sean Carr’s death. He had been killed in self-defense according to the report. The dead woman gave her pause, though. If she had been silenced—murdered—maybe there was more to what had happened in that attic than the report said.
She gathered her purse and keys and went out to Saffin’s desk. “I have an appointment I forgot about. I don’t know how long I’ll be. Can you cover for me?”
Saffin kept typing. “Leave your PDA on vibe.”
She paused at the door to the hallway. “And, Saf? So you know, you’re more than the best assistant I’ve ever had. I couldn’t have done this work all this time without you.”
Flattered, Saffin ducked her head and grinned. “And you wonder why I put up with you.”
CHAPTER 45
LAURA HAD ALL the files for Legacy spread around her on her desk in the InterSec unit. Too much data and too little data caused problems. Too little, and she was reduced to guess-work. Too much, and she risked overlooking something. Since she had left the public-relations department earlier, the volume of paper had increased, but she was no closer to figuring out what Legacy was planning.
Genda Boone sailed into Laura’s InterSec office in a rustle of green taffeta. “Ah, good, you’re here, Mariel. I’m on the run, but I have some follow-up for you.”
She dropped a memo on the desk. Laura stared at yet more series of numbers, financial transactions and dates. “What is it?”
“Remember those accounts I found for the snipers? Dead ends so far. Someone hacked them. The shadow account in Wales is an old Inverni account, and the Caymans account that the funds initially came from? Imagine this, it’s a Guild account. Obviously, neither of those entities would be involved with Legacy. I was researching them before Terryn left, and we’ve found a significant amount of money-laundering. I guess we can add embezzlement to the list now. I have to nail down the intrusion points.”
Laura frowned as she lifted the memo. “Terryn showed me that data. Why would they steal funds if they had so much untraceable cash flow?”
Genda tapped the paper dramatically. “Untraceable,
dear. That’s always the appeal when someone wants to move large funds quickly. Anyway, I can’t stay. I have a thing at the Kennedy Center. Opera. Can’t bear it myself, but there’s a gentleman I need to meet who has interesting connections in Germany. Don’t you love this dress? The material’s like grass on a sunny day.”
“You look smashing, Genda,” Laura said.
Coy, Genda shrugged. “The better to distract someone while he whispers sweet financial somethings. I’ve got to run.” She glanced down at the desk, her face becoming reserved. “You should go home, dear. You’ve been running yourself ragged.”
Laura smiled. “I will. And thanks, Genda. Another interesting piece for the puzzle.”
She smiled again as she bustled out the door. “I’ll bring you the program. Ta!”
Laura leaned her head into her hands. Piles of paper surrounded her, printouts from the Legacy files. She had found little of interest and nothing specifically tying the group to Draigen. A few vague references to the recent attacks on fey businesses were not enough for any sort of legal intervention that would make an impact.
She lifted her head at the sound of a knock. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Sinclair stood in the door but looked down the hall. “Is she gone?”
“Yes. Believe it or not, I think that was a work outfit.”
Sinclair dropped a duffel bag on the floor and sat down. “Any news?”
Laura swept her gaze back and forth at the surface her of desk. “Nothing. No notes. No calls. Whoever took Cress isn’t making contact.”
“How’s Terryn?”
She heard concern in his voice. It pleased her that despite everything between them, Sinclair wasn’t being indifferent to Terryn’s situation. “He’s in lockup. Genda’s trying to get him released.”
He rocked his head back in surprise. “Trying? I thought they would have cleared everything up by now.”
She leaned back with a sigh. “They’re holding him for interfering with an investigation. His neighbors are furious, which didn’t help.”
He shook his head. “I understand why he did that, but it was a mistake.”
Laura swiveled her chair in a small arc. “I’m shocked. He’s usually so levelheaded.”
“Yeah, that’s been my experience with him,” Sinclair said with sarcasm.
Laura let it slide. After their talk in the cemetery, she understood where it was coming from. She tilted her monitor so he could see it. “I’ve been watching this surveillance video over and over. Check this out.” She played the video. “Notice anything?”
He shook his head. “Looks like I remember it. I couldn’t see macGrath from where I was, but obviously that’s her.”
“No, watch the action on the sidewalk when the shots are fired.” She played it again.
“Well, it’s kinda fun to watch a macCullen get shot, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.
She stuck her tongue out, annoyed but playful. “Ha-ha. Watch again in slow motion . . . We come out of the lobby . . . Brinen moves in front of Draigen . . . I react to the ricochet and push Draigen down . . . Brinen gets hit.”
He arched his eyebrows. “And?”
“Brinen moves in before the ricochet,” she said.
Sinclair squinted at the screen as she played the video again. “You’re right.” He frowned.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Uncertain, he shook his head. “I want to say that implies he knew the shot was coming.”
She exhaled forcefully and dropped her head back. “Damn. That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Why would he plot to kill his own sister?”
Laura shrugged. “Honestly? I thought Aran was involved until I noticed this. Aran’s next in line for leadership after Draigen.”
“Assuming Terryn doesn’t take it back,” Sinclair said.
She gazed at the computer. “Assuming. Of the siblings, Brinen is Terryn’s biggest supporter. I don’t get it.”
They stared in silence as the video played again. Sinclair shook his head. “You said it yourself. Fairy politics are crazy.”
Laura rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to see Terryn tomorrow and tell him about it. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
“Careful he doesn’t get all defensive on your butt like he did with me,” he said.
She snorted. “He likes me better than you.”
Sinclair chuckled as he leaned down and opened the duffel bag. “I brought you something to see.”
He lifted a helmet out of the bag and placed it on the desk. “We did training exercises with these today.”
“I’ve seen this.” Laura shuffled the stacks on her desk until she found a thick folder. She flipped through the first few pages, then held up a detailed schematic of the helmet. “Tempered glass with a strip of quartz in the back. It looks like it’s modeled on a Guild-agent helmet.”
Sinclair took the folder. “They told us it would prevent essence attacks.”
Laura lifted the helmet. “The glass definitely would dissipate essence, but I’m not sure it would completely eliminate it. It’s heavy as hell.”
He leaned down and pulled a hardened plastic harness from his bag. “It rests on this to take the weight off the head. Still heavy, though.”
Laura ran her hands over the surface. “It’s an interesting design. More waved toward the back. Were you doing combat maneuvers?”
He lowered the helmet to the desk. “The usual practice sessions, only with the helmets and uniforms. I hate to say it, but these guys work really well together. Their coordination is impressive.”
She slid her finger down the strip of quartz on the back. A mild static sparked between her skin and stone. “I don’t get what the quartz is for. An essence residue came off it, but there wasn’t enough for me to figure out what it was supposed to do.”
Sinclair flipped through the file. “They didn’t say. I don’t remember sensing any essence from it.”
Laura put her hand inside and propped the helmet on her fingers. “Was there essence involved in the maneuvers?”
He nodded as he read. “Some brownies fired on us. Not very powerful. The helmet did what they claimed. I felt the pressure of the hit, but it flowed over my head.” He paused to read. “Lot of stuff in here about conductive and resistance properties.”
Laura placed the helmet back on the desk. “Well, that’s something out of this junk. We can turn it over to the R and D guys, see if they can make some use of it.”
Sinclair frowned. “Hel, is this a medical report? Is this thing doing something to my brain?”
He handed Laura a sheaf of papers from the back of the folder. She rifled through the pages, skimming over dense paragraph discussions on the mechanics of essence flow. “I don’t know. It’s old, theoretical stuff. It reads like research from the Druidic College.”
Another set of documents detailed a medical evaluation. “Hello,” she said, holding up the first page. “Look who wrote this.”
Sinclair leaned forward. “Ian Whiting? The guy who jumped off the Key Bridge last week?”
Laura continued reading. “This isn’t a coincidence, Jono. I’m thinking Whiting might not have gone over the side by his own choice. He worked with Cress back when she was trying to stop absorbing other people’s essence.”
Sinclair turned the helmet in his hands. “These guys are into defense against the fey. A leanansidhe absorbs essence. It doesn’t project it, right?”
A chill ran over her as she read another document. She jumped to her feet. “This is Cress’s medical file, Jono.” She pawed through the other folders. “Why would Legacy be concerned about the leanansidhe? The leanansidhe are no one’s allies. There must be something more here.”
Sinclair grabbed her hands. “Slow down. You’re panicking.”
She pulled her hands away and slid them up into her hair. “You’re right. I am so frustrated right now. Every time I think I have something, it gets messed up.”
Sinclair sat against the edge of the desk and pulled her between his thighs. “Not true. You’re worried. You’ve got one friend in a cell and another one missing. You will figure this out. It’s what you do.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders. “What if I’m too late? What if something happens to Cress before we find her?”
He pulled her closer. “What if you focus instead of thinking of failure?”
She pushed her lower lip out. “I’m surprised you can say that. I screwed things up for you. What makes you think I won’t do that to someone else?”
He shook her lightly by the hips. “What makes you think you screwed things up for me? I might not be happy about how Terryn’s treating me, but I’m still right where I want to be.”
She stared into his eyes. Truth. Everything he said, he believed. He was doing everything he could to help. He had set her thinking in directions that she had not intended—bringing in the helmet, recognizing the crèche as a medical lab, pointing out the dark side of what InterSec did. She was tired of doubting every word he said. Listing those things triggered a cascade of thoughts. “Danu’s blood,” she whispered.
He smiled. “You can kiss me now.”
Caught up in her thought process, she pulled away and grabbed the medical research again. Pushing stacks of folders out of the way, she found the crèche blueprints. Notes and formulas from the research correlated with the specifications for the crèche. They were connected—the crèche a direct product of the leanansidhe research. It was a tool for channeling a powerful fey—but not Draigen. It was specifically tailored for the abilities of a leanansidhe. “The crèche fits the description in this research. It’s meant for Cress, Jono, not Draigen. Legacy has Cress.”
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