Face Off (23 page)

CHAPTER 41

THE HIGHWAY CURVED
around the Pentagon, the Capitol Building rising above the skyline behind it. Laura loved Washington at night. During the day, its iconic buildings had a stiff, formal look of history made. At night, lighting made those same buildings appear dramatic, as if the true work of the government were happening. She spent a lot of time in those offices, but it was in the restaurants and bars and private parties, or, in this case, a limo, that the real work was done. Having dinner with DeWinter was more work than stealing the data. It was almost over. In a few minutes, Sinclair would stop the limo in front of Fallon Moor’s apartment, and she would disappear from DeWinter’s life.

“You’ve done phenomenal work, Fallon,” DeWinter said.

She lowered her eyes and smiled modestly as she stared at the amber fluid in her glass. “Thanks. It’s been a challenge.”

She settled herself more comfortably in the darkened limo. The soft red fabric of her dress rode across her lap, exposing her thigh through the short slit on the side of the dress. She crossed her legs, her rising knee catching DeWinter’s eye. Placing his hand on her bare skin, he leaned forward to retrieve a decanter from the bar. Laura held her crystal glass steady as he refilled it. Returning the decanter, he settled back, his hand remaining on her thigh.

Dinner had gone more smoothly than Laura anticipated. She had maintained subtle control of the conversation, poking around in his knowledge of Fallon Moor’s life. She had made up stories to fit time periods in Moor’s life he apparently didn’t know about. For all the heated looks and promises of better times the last few days, DeWinter didn’t appear to know Moor that well at all.

DeWinter trailed his fingers up and down her thigh, a bemused expression on his face. “Why don’t you come work for me full-time? I can make it very attractive.”

Laura glanced through the glass panel separating them from the front seat. As if sensing it, which she doubted, Sinclair’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Sinclair had hidden any surprise that she had walked out of the Legacy building with DeWinter. He was handling undercover well, though she knew he would complain later about sitting in the car while she had an expensive dinner.

She smiled into her glass. “It’s tempting, but I like being free to make my own decisions.”

DeWinter shifted his position, one hand on her knee, the other draped along the back of the seat. “You know, as I watched you work, I became fascinated with you.”

“I’m flattered,” she said with as much meaning as she could muster. DeWinter didn’t impress her as much as he impressed himself. He was like so many men who confused money with invincibility. She sensed a warping in his faint human essence that meant he carried a gun. DeWinter was the type who thought he could handle anything thrown at him, so he didn’t bother with an entourage or bodyguards. His most visible trappings of wealth were the clothes he wore and the limo service. His CIA service had been administrative. He had probably never fired a gun outside the practice range.

“You know, the article was perfect bait,” DeWinter said.

She chuckled. “Bait?”

He nuzzled her ear. “The article in the
Financial Times
. The one discussing polling algorithms that tested global time differences. I found it incredibly timely considering my team was looking into the issue.”

She knew the article. It had been in Fallon Moor’s file. The brownie had written it before being hired by Legacy. Now Laura realized that was how Moor had ended up at Legacy. She let them think they wanted her, not the other way around. “Timing is everything, Adam. I’m glad I could help.”

She leaned forward to retrieve a napkin from the bar setup, forcing DeWinter to remove his hand from her neck. Though she had done such things in the past, romancing him was not going to be a part of the evening no matter what Moor’s relationship with him was. The job was over.

She avoided looking at Sinclair. Wherever their relationship was going, it would be going nowhere if she got physical with him watching. She had what InterSec needed. She didn’t need DeWinter anymore. Saying no and getting out of the car at the apartment were going to be simple.

“Who do you work for?” he asked.

She feigned confusion, but she didn’t like the question. “What do you mean?”

DeWinter’s hand slid farther up her thigh. “FBI? InterSec? MI6?”

Sipping her drink, she laughed. “What in the world are you talking about? I think my politics answer for themselves, Adam.”

He moved in on her ear again. “Don’t take me for a fool, Fallon. I fell for the article, true. Did you think I would let you into our systems unattended? We found the tracking program.”

Annoyed, she pursed her lips while he kissed the side of her neck. She had some skill, but the planted software had come from InterSec. Someone was going to get a good reprimand for sloppy work when she returned to the office.

Get ready, Jono. My cover’s blown,
she sent. Sinclair’s gaze wandered to the rearview mirror.

Still, she held out a hope of getting out of the situation unexposed. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Adam. I lied. We thought you might be working for someone else.”

He chuckled deep in his throat and pulled back to look at her. “We? That’s interesting. Who’s ‘we,’ and why did you need to steal data you had access to?”

Laura compressed her lips. She was going to give the tech team high hell for this. “I didn’t steal any data, Adam. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

DeWinter continued caressing her. He moved his hand higher, his fingers slipping under the edge of her underwear. “Where’s the data drive, Fallon? Did you hide it somewhere you thought I’d never see again?”

She had passed the data drive to Sinclair when he helped her into the car earlier. She didn’t know whether to laugh or punch DeWinter. She had no idea where he thought the situation was going. He clearly had no idea she was a druid, never mind his marked indifference to the possibility of her going boggie. Maybe he liked it rough. His hand slid under the fabric of her panties and tickled the front of her hip.

Brace yourself,
Sinclair sent.

“What?” she said aloud, startled.

“I said . . .” DeWinter began.

Laura grabbed the door and lurched forward as Sinclair slammed on the brakes. DeWinter flew across the floor and hit the front seat. She called up essence and shot DeWinter in the head before he could recover.

Laura frowned as she got out of the car. “I had the situation under control, Jono.”

Sinclair jumped out and peered in the back. “Is he dead?”

“No. I stunned him. What the hell did you hit the brakes for?”

“You looked like you needed help,” he said.

She glowered. “Really? Or did it look like someone was going for my crotch, and you couldn’t deal with it? Get this through your head, Sinclair. If we’re going to work together, you have to keep your head clear. I am not your damsel in distress.”

He grinned. “You’re wearing a short skirt and fuck-me pumps. That’s damsel wear.”

She jabbed him in the chest. “Try femme fatale, you idiot. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

He affected surprise. “You speak French, too?”

She rolled her eyes but allowed herself a smile. For some reason, despite calling him on it, he amused her. They stared down at the unconscious DeWinter.

“Now what do we do?” Sinclair asked.

Laura scanned the interior of the car. DeWinter had fallen facedown. Her glass lay on the floor next to him. “Let’s keep you in as long as possible. I don’t think DeWinter saw me hit him with essence. When he wakes up, tell him something ran in front of the car, and he must have hit his head when you braked. Then tell him I jumped out and ran off.”

Sinclair looked dubious. “You think he’ll believe that?”

She withdrew from the car. “Play dumb and embarrassed. If he shoots you before you get him home, it’ll mean it didn’t work.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s reassuring.”

She grinned. “Having second thoughts about the job?”

He let the smile slip back on his face. “Not when I get to see you dressed like that.”

She held out her hand. “I’ll take the data drive back.”

He handed it to her, and she slipped it inside her bra again. She leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. Turning, she walked toward the nearby highway ramp. “Good luck.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he called out.

She walked backward. “I’m going to the Guildhouse.”

“On foot?”

She shrugged. “It’s a nice night. I’ll see you at the office. I hope.”

He grinned again. “You’re crazy, you know.”

She pointed at the car. “Keep your eyes in the rearview mirror.”

DeWinter wasn’t going to shoot Sinclair. For all his swagger, she doubted he had ever been in a physical fight. It was all show, including the gun. He would wake up embarrassed, probably angry, with a nice headache for his trouble.

She withdrew the glamour essence from the stone around her neck. The wispy blond brownie hair faded to her natural softer hue as Fallon’s image faded. Her red dress felt shorter now that she had resumed her normal appearance. She felt mildly ridiculous walking down a highway ramp dressed so provocatively, but she had been in worse places with less clothing. When she reached the end of the ramp, she smirked as she pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial, wondering if Sinclair believed she was going to walk all the way to the Guildhouse.

“This is Laura Blackstone. I need a car, please.”

CHAPTER 42

AN HOUR LATER,
Sinclair entered Laura’s InterSec office and dropped in a chair. He still wore the suit he used for driving the limo. Laura didn’t visibly react to his presence as she reviewed DeWinter’s files, taking his arrival as a nonevent. “Oh, good. He didn’t shoot you,” she said.

“Nice to see you, too,” he said with a smile.

She leaned back with a chuckle. “I told you it would be fine. What happened?”

He shrugged. “A lot of screaming and swearing. He bought my story. He didn’t seem surprised. Fallon Moor apparently has a reputation for being erratic.”

“Yeah, well, I played into that the last couple of days.”

Sinclair gave her a measured look, one that told her he wanted to know what she meant. She wanted to clarify for him on the one hand that nothing serious happened but on the other hand disliked feeling answerable to him. The pause in conversation lengthened. He didn’t say she was answerable. She realized she wanted to tell him, but that didn’t mean she had to. Things were too new between them to expose every detail of her life. “Let me show you what I’ve found so far,” she said instead.

The tension broke, and he leaned forward as she turned to her computer. She flashed one document after another onto the screen. “More financial data. More anti-fey rhetoric, and these . . .”

“Blueprints?” Sinclair asked.

She tilted her head from side to side as she looked at the screen. “But of what buildings, I can’t tell. I’ve been in most of the major terrorist targets in the city. I’m not recognizing anything here. This one looks like a lab.” She zoomed in on the document.

The page showed a simple building layout. The first floor showed room after room of the same size, plumbing run into all of them for wash stations and complicated tangles of electrical and gas lines. “It looks hardened against the fey,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Sinclair pointed at the blueprint of the basement—no windows, limited access points, fewer but larger rooms with electronic security systems on the doors. “Look at this section. These rooms are lined with glass and stone. Remind you of anything?”

“Holding cells,” she said.

He leaned back with a satisfied expression. “Yeah, I’ve probably had more experience with those lately than you have.”

She smiled grudgingly. Terryn had been quick to hold Sinclair in a cell when they met. “I’m not going to argue that. I think you’re right. Good call.”

She stared at the blueprints, trying to resolve them into something she recognized. “Could be Quantico or Stafford. I haven’t been everywhere in either place. Look at this part. It looks like a medical facility.”

A large room held an oblong shape that the notes identified as quartz. Smaller round shapes ringed the oblong in a border. “That sort of looks like a healing crèche,” she said.

On the rare occasion when the fey fell ill, essence formed a major component of the healing process. The crèche had been developed, stone beds that could be charged to supplement weakened body signatures as well as deliver targeted healing spells. “It’s a lot bigger than the ones I’ve seen,” said Sinclair.

Puzzled, Laura shook her head. He was right. Most crèches were not much larger than a standard hospital bed. “Maybe I’m wrong. It struck me as one.”

“So, let’s play it out. Why would a crèche be that big?” he asked.

“Maybe for someone gravely ill. The more stone you have, the greater the holding capacity for the essence. Maybe whoever it’s for is suffering from some kind of severe essence depletion and needs a large field to supplement it.”

“There’s room in that thing for a couple of people,” he said.

She gave him a significant look. “Or one very powerful one.”

He pursed his lips. “Draigen? I thought we hadn’t found any firm connection between Legacy and the threats against her.”

“Not yet, but under the circumstances, I’m not ruling it out until Draigen leaves the country.”

“But why a medical facility? She’s not ill,” he said.

She stared at the blueprint. The crèche had several kinds of quartz, not that unusual when treating an injured fey. Different stones had different properties, and sometimes it was necessary to create buffers between them to prevent interference. Suppressing essence was another form of healing, too. That thought sparked an idea. “What if it’s not for healing but modified as a holding cell? We use ward stones all the time in holding cells to prevent someone from using essence to escape.”

“You think they’re planning on kidnapping her instead of killing her?”

Laura rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t know. DeWinter talked about an acquisition, but, as much as I’m worried about it, Draigen’s being the target bothers me, especially after the assassination attempt. She’s so high-profile and secured, you’d have to be a genius or a nut to think you could take her out at this point.”

Sinclair snorted. “I vote nut. Isn’t that the defining characteristic of a terrorist?”

She leaned against her hand and closed her eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m so tired I’m not thinking clearly.” She stretched. “Let’s make copies of this. I’ll get the research guys to take a look at it. Can you make a meeting in the morning?”

“I have some kind of training at Legacy tomorrow. No can miss,” he said.

She wasn’t about to press him on it. He was doing his part. She knew what it was like to get pulled in more than one direction. “That’s okay. You need to keep a lower profile around here anyway, Jono. Someone’s bound to notice a mysterious tall guy who keeps showing up.”

“Now let’s get out of here. We both need to get to bed.”

His face brightened. “Did you just ask me to go to bed with you again?”

She gave him a long, slow smile as she came around the desk. Bracing her hands on the chair, she leaned down with closed eyes and kissed him on the lips. She opened her eyes, smiling inches away from his face.

“No, I didn’t. Work first. Play later,” she said.

Sinclair dropped his head back and laughed. “Evil. Pure evil.”