by Martha Carr
Chapter Sixty-Three
Two FRoE operatives in black fatigues stood outside the front door. One of them had made it to the second stone step. Since he was closer, Cheyenne unleashed her fury on him.
The man didn’t have enough time to step back before she reached toward him. Black tendrils sprang from her fingertips and knocked the man off his feet. He skidded across the gravel drive on his back, and the halfling turned to take care of the other man.
Her lashing tendrils whipped toward him and wrapped around his midsection. Cheyenne flung him toward the other end of the gravel drive, then her attention was captured by the first SUV of three parked several yards from the stairs. She sent a crackling orb of black energy at the vehicle, which left a massive dent in the rear passenger door and rocked the SUV sideways on its wheels. The man in the driver seat leaped out of the car, and she sent another black sphere hurtling toward him. He ducked, and the halfling turned toward the two men stepping away from the second SUV and heading toward her.
It didn’t matter that they had their hands up, eyes wide in surprise. The drow halfling reached out with both hands, and the black tendrils from her fingers twisted around the FRoE operatives. The first one shouted as the vines of magic knocked him backward. The other guy got jerked six feet up in the air before Cheyenne tossed him aside. He landed with a hollow metallic thud on the hood of the SUV and slid off onto the gravel.
She sent two more orbs of sizzling black energy at the second vehicle again, crushing the hood and shattering the passenger-side window. All her rage and everything she’d held back in her mom’s study now burst out, with no regard for the unarmed men parked out front or the screaming protest from her semi-healed shoulder wounds or her recognition of one of the men who was pushing himself up off the gravel with a grimace.
“Cheyenne Blakely Summerlin!”
The sharp, commanding bark from her mother made the drow halfling pull back enough to see what she’d done. Her chest heaving, Cheyenne swallowed and took in the destruction. Three SUVs, two of them banged up from her magic. Half a dozen FRoE operatives in black fatigues, two of them bleeding, none of them wearing the protective SWAT gear she’d expected. No one trained a weapon on her because no one had a weapon. Glass littered the gravel drive in front of the second vehicle, and the man she’d thought she recognized stood scowling up at her.
Rhynehart.
Bianca stormed outside onto the front porch and stopped behind her daughter. Her voice was much lower this time, barely above a harsh whisper, but the warning and the disapproval in it were as powerful as if she’d shouted again. Maybe more. “Have you forgotten everything I taught you?”
Licking her dry lips with a tongue that was just as dry, Cheyenne forced her heavy breathing down into a semblance of normalcy and swallowed again. She couldn’t find anything to say, but she dropped the rage and powerful magic coursing through her veins. The next second, she stood there, not as a drow halfling, but as Bianca Summerlin’s Goth daughter.
Maybe I screwed this up, but these people shouldn’t be here.
The passenger door of the third SUV in line, which was parked in front of Cheyenne’s car and had been shielded from her magical damage by the vehicle in front of it, opened slowly. Sir stepped out with his usual self-confidence, his mustache twitching as his boots crunched across the gravel. The man Cheyenne had tossed backward beside the second SUV had regained his feet and stepped out of Sir’s way before gazing at the Summerlin women at the top of the stairs.
Cheyenne could hardly hear over the rushing in her ears, but she didn’t take her eyes off the man who supposedly ran the entire FRoE organization and who had undoubtedly ordered the tracker inserted into her flesh. He thinks he’s something, coming all the way up here to get to me. He thinks he won.
Her heart raced quicker as Sir climbed the broad stone steps with a small smile of amusement beneath that stupid graying mustache. The last thing Cheyenne expected was for the man to ignore her.
Instead, he headed for Bianca, who stood straight and composed next to her daughter, eyebrows raised in curiosity. At least, that was what she wanted everyone else to see on her face. I give up on trying to guess what she’s thinking now.
Sir stopped at the top of the stairs and extended his hand toward Bianca. “Ms. Summerlin. You may not remember me—”
“I know who you are.”
Cheyenne blinked and looked from Sir to her mom, who’d historically insisted that interrupting someone, especially a guest, was the crassest type of insult imaginable. Bianca made it sound polite and inviting anyway. She took Sir’s hand for a brief shake. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again anytime soon. Or at all.”
“Well, circumstances have changed.” Sir offered a tight smile, clasped his hands behind his back, and tipped his head toward her. He didn’t have to, but he turned ever so slightly to meet Cheyenne’s gaze.
“Yes.” Bianca smoothed the sides of her blouse and nodded. “I imagine they have. Would you care to come inside?”
“That would be lovely, yes. Do you mind if some of my men join us? The rest will stay outside.”
With a slight tilt of her head, Bianca stepped aside and gestured toward the open front door. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Neither of them looked at Cheyenne as they headed into what had once been her home. Bianca did leave the door open, and if it wasn’t an invitation for her daughter, it was definitely left open in invitation for the FRoE operatives previously selected to accompany their superior—one of the two men Cheyenne had tossed off the steps and Rhynehart.
The men walked up the stairs together. The man she didn’t recognize stopped and wiped blood from a cut on his face. Rhynehart stepped toward Cheyenne and introduced him, gesturing at his colleague. “This is Parker.”
“Good for him.” Cheyenne lifted her chin at the operative and clenched her teeth.
Rhynehart leaned a little closer. “You made things harder than they had to be, halfling. Pulling a stunt like that.”
“Which stunt? The one where I protected my identity and my mom’s by scrambling the pingback on that stupid phone you gave me? Or the one where I knocked you on your ass again? Don’t tempt me a third time.”
His nostrils flared, but he kept his hands clasped behind his back. “We came here to talk. That’s it.”
“Right. With a caravan of three SUVs. All the way out here for a friendly chat. That makes a hell of a lot of sense.”
Rhynehart grunted and gestured down the stairs toward the other operatives collecting themselves, one guy being helped to an SUV while clutching his back. “None of these men are armed, halfling. Does it look like we’re here to do anything else?”
Cheyenne raised her eyebrows. “Does it look like I care?”
He huffed out a breath through his nose and studied her gaze. “No. It doesn’t. It also doesn’t change that we’re here or that we’ve been invited inside. So let’s go.”
Without waiting for her to reply, Rhynehart stepped past her and headed into the house, Parker on his heels. The drow halfling gazed at the train of black SUVs, and the FRoE operatives shot her dirty looks mixed with apprehension. She strode inside and didn’t care that she broke one of Bianca’s longstanding rules in this house—no slamming doors.
I believe I broke the rule about attacking unannounced guests at the front door, too. If that was a rule. But I don’t live here anymore.
Rhynehart and Parker stood in the foyer, gazing at the high vaulted ceiling and the intricately carved banister of the enormous winding staircase up to the second floor. There was no sign of Bianca and Sir.
On the halfling’s right, Eleanor cleared her throat. “Follow me, please.”
The woman was clearly speaking to the men standing in the foyer, but when Eleanor headed toward them to lead the way, she shot Cheyenne a wide-eyed glance that asked, “Why are they here, and what do they want?”
Rhynehart and Parker followed the housekeep
er through the formal living room and past the open French doors to Bianca’s study. Cheyenne caught Rhynehart stealing a glance inside, and she remembered the copper puzzle box sitting on the edge of her mom’s desk. If he saw it, he didn’t react. He kept gazing around the extensive house as Eleanor led them toward the glass doors that opened onto the veranda.
They passed the dining room table and the winding staircase with a panoramic view of the open space behind the Summerlin home. It was already set for three, steam rising off platters of baked chicken, roasted asparagus, fingerling potatoes, and a large bowl of dressed salad. Cheyenne’s heart sank, if only because Eleanor had been excited to serve a nice dinner.
We’re gonna have to wait a while for that.
Sir and Bianca were out on the veranda with a good three yards between them. Cheyenne’s mom was half-turned toward the open doors, waiting for everyone else to join them. Sir had his hands wrapped around the rail at the edge of the space as he peered out over the wide valley and the gorgeous view.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” Bianca said with a curt nod.
Sir removed his hands and turned around to see the housekeeper, two of his men, and the drow halfling joining them.
“Will there be anything else?”
“Yes. Bring out the good Scotch, please. And five glasses.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper left to tend to her task.
The good Scotch, huh? We’re gonna be here a while.
Sir watched Eleanor disappear inside, and through the long wall of windows, he noticed the set table in the dining room. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything, Ms. Summerlin.”
Bianca shot him a quick glance, then looked out over the valley. “You are. But everything else can wait. I couldn’t very well turn you away from my doorstep after you made the trip all the way out here.”
“And that is very much appreciated. Should we sit?” Sir gestured toward the table.
“We’ll wait for the drinks. Then yes. We can sit.”
Sir blinked at her and bowed his head to hide an amused smile. Rhynehart turned away, presumably to hide his own smile and make it seem like he was studying the rest of the veranda.
Cheyenne stood outside the doors and crossed her arms. She had no problem watching everyone’s reaction.
Mom’s pulling rank. I didn’t think Sir had it in him to take a jab like that and let her call the shots. At least he knows how things work.
The veranda remained tense and silent, and nobody moved until Eleanor bustled outside with another silver tray. This one carried a bottle of the Glenmorangie single malt Bianca reserved for special occasions. Most of the time, that was when a particularly esteemed client or colleague called.
Eleanor set the tray on the wrought-iron patio table, then swiftly headed back inside. She pulled both glass doors shut, and the veranda beneath so much fresh air and a clear evening sky was transformed into a private meeting between two people Cheyenne definitely didn’t want to be in the same room with at the same time.
Bianca gestured toward the patio table. “Now we can sit.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Two of the glasses remained untouched on the tray in the center of the table, since Rhynehart and Parker had declined drinks after Bianca had poured. They’d also politely declined to take seats. Cheyenne wouldn’t have been surprised if she found herself unable to breathe under all this open sky and sitting so near the intense staring contest between Sir and her mother.
She lifted her glass of Scotch to her lips and took a gentle sip. Her eyes never left Sir’s face. “Before we begin,” Bianca said, “I’d like to ask a question you may not have planned to answer during this conversation.”
Sir took his own first sip of the well-aged Scotch, closed his eyes in appreciation, and nodded. “By all means. Ask away.”
“Did you insert a tracking device into my daughter’s shoulder?”
Sir’s glass paused on its way back down to the wire mesh of the tabletop.
Cheyenne almost choked, and she hadn’t tasted the Scotch yet.
“That is an excellent question,” Sir replied, “and I think it’ll serve as an excellent segue into why I decided to make this visit personally after so many years.”
“Wonderful.” The way Bianca said it didn’t sound wonderful.
Sir folded his hands on the table beside his glass. “As you are no doubt aware, Ms. Summerlin, your daughter possesses a vast array of…abilities that are of interest to my organization.”
“To which abilities are you referring? Cheyenne’s skill with computers and technology in general, or the abilities that nearly laid waste to your entourage parked in my driveway?” Bianca lifted her glass to her lips.
“Both, actually. Now, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of our operations, but I will say your daughter found herself in the middle of one such operation last week. Whether she knew what she was getting into doesn’t change that she interfered with a high-security campaign to—”
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” Bianca shook her head, set her glass down, and pressed both hands toward the table without touching it.
More interruptions. She doesn’t like this guy.
Cheyenne hid her smile behind the rim of her Scotch glass.
“I would very much like to know what organization you work for.” Bianca’s smile was bitter and strained.
“That’s classified, Ms. Summerlin.” Sir did not sound amused, but so far, he’d held his own under Bianca Summerlin’s scrutiny. “May I continue?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. As I was saying, your daughter stepped on some toes last week. We normally don’t employ individuals who make things more difficult for—”
“’Employ?’” Bianca raised an eyebrow at her daughter. Cheyenne shook her head. “Has Cheyenne signed an employment contract with your organization?”
“Not officially, no.”
“And unofficially?”
Sir leaned forward to readjust his position in the patio chair. “We’ve made a verbal agreement if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“But no signed employment contracts, even unofficially?”
Cheyenne had to stare at the bottle of Scotch on the silver tray to keep her blank expression. She’s ripping him a new one.
“Correct, Ms. Summerlin. And in that capacity—”
“Excuse me one more time, please.” Bianca pressed her hands together and smiled. “I know you have quite a bit you’d like to say to me, but before you go any further, I must ask you not to mince words during this discussion.”
“I’m sorry?” Sir glanced from mother to daughter and back again, his mustache bristling on his upper lip.
“You said you didn’t make a habit of employing individuals who make things more difficult for your organization, if I’m correctly assuming that was the end of your sentence. But you haven’t officially or unofficially employed my daughter in any capacity, correct?”
“We’ve made verbal agreements—”
“For employment? Which, to be clear, is defined as the condition of having paid work.”
Sir cleared his throat. “No, ma’am. Our agreement did not include monetary compensation for services rendered.”
“Then please choose a different turn of phrase when you’re recounting these circumstances for me. I don’t appreciate being spoken to as if I lack a full understanding of the English language and its many nuances.” Bianca took another drink of Scotch.
For a second, it looked like Sir was about to call the whole thing off, but he pushed through. “Understood. After our original meeting, I provided your daughter with a prepaid cell phone under the condition that she keep it on her at all times and answer it whenever either one of my men or I made a call to that same phone. I was aware of her abilities, such as those she demonstrated earlier this evening outside your home, Ms. Summerlin. I was not previously aware that she is also quite skilled at…manipulating certain technologies to her own ben
efit.”
“I see.” Bianca blinked but didn’t choose to interrupt the man this time.
Cheyenne shot her mom a sideways glance. She’s working on something, though.
“When my associate discovered your daughter had removed the tracking device implanted in the phone and constructed a separate…obstacle limiting our ability to keep an eye on the location of this phone, I was forced to make a decision. So, to answer your question, Ms. Summerlin, yes. I did have a tracking device implanted in your daughter’s shoulder since she had disabled every other means by which we could keep an eye on her for the foreseeable future. And when we saw that she’d come here, to your home, which is listed under your name, I was reminded of my first encounter with you and the reason I first contacted you twenty-one years ago.”
“And that’s why you’re here?”
Sir nodded and took another drink, looking very pleased with himself for having delivered all that information so succinctly. “Yes.”
He’s trying so hard, and he’s way out of his element. Sounds like he’s reading a script, too.
Cheyenne sat back in her chair beside her mother and folded her hands in her lap.
“Cheyenne.” Bianca turned toward her daughter with a patient smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like these men came all the way out here to our home because they failed in all their other attempts to intimidate you into complacency.”
Rhynehart coughed into a fist, then dropped his chin to his chest and clasped his hands behind his back. Parker had his eyes clenched shut and looked constipated. Sir looked like he’d been caught with his pants down. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sure you heard me. Sir.” Bianca gave him another polite smile with a sharp edge. “You do very well with mimicry, so please, give yourself points for that. But I’ve been navigating the world of reading between the lines, and on occasion, writing those lines myself for a lot longer than you have. This is what I heard you say: Cheyenne found something you didn’t want her to find. She didn’t break it, obviously, or we wouldn’t be here having this conversation, and that’s not how I raised my daughter. But you saw enough of her abilities that it caught your interest because I’m also quite sure that what she can do is something you and your organization don’t have. You held something over her head. I don’t believe for a minute that it was a cell phone since my daughter already has a cell phone, and she’s been paying for it on her own. Which is something that adults do, and also something I instilled in her at a very young age—the importance of self-sufficiency.”
