Skin Deep (10 page)

Without pausing, she went to the closet behind her desk and pushed aside the coat and extra outfit she stored there. To the casual observer, the closet was two feet deep. However, the back wall didn’t exist in the conventional sense. A masking spell created the illusion of a wall, tactilely and visually. The spell was keyed to her body signature, and it tingled over her skin like cobwebs. It allowed her to pass through to an office on the opposite side of the floor. InterSec had requisitioned the space for her. The people who worked in the nearby department thought the hall door on their side accessed an electrical closet.

A double clothing rack along one side held a variety of outfits. Beneath, dozens of shoes sat toes to the wall, everything from work boots to ballet slippers. An unmade bed took up most of the next wall. Two worktables, a bureau, and a desk filled the rest of the space. The room was cluttered and messy, the stale, filtered air tinged with the faint burnt odor of the herbs that she used for healing and meditation.

Laura slept in the room more often than she liked to admit. As the years went on, she spent more time in it, even thought of it as a home. There was no pretense about the room, no artifice. It represented a world of hidden agendas, but the room itself contained none. It was the one place where she didn’t have to be anyone. The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure what that meant anymore. Her life had become the room, closed off, contained, and hidden.

She stripped off her clothing. In the cramped bathroom, she examined herself in the mirror as she waited for the hot water to come up. The bruise from the gunshot hit was already fading, a testament to her fey constitution. Despite whatever Cress had done to boost her essence, she looked drawn and pale. She didn’t spend much time in the tiny, claustrophobic shower, staying just long enough to get the odor of the bar off her.

In the main room, her gaze fell on a vodka bottle next to the hot plate. Even as her hand reached for the bottle, she changed her mind, picked up the teapot, and filled it from the bathroom tap. A small burn ignited in her chest. After decades on the job watching colleagues disintegrate in an alcoholic rage, she was not going to slide into the trap now. It bothered her that she had reminded herself about it twice in two days. Instead, she made chamomile tea and added healing herbs.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wove a chant into the aroma from the tea. It flickered with healing essence as she sipped. Warmth spread in her chest and stomach, and she used her body essence to nudge the spell to her sore shoulder and head. The ache in both places lessened, as though under a mild anesthetic.

Turning off the lights, she stared into the darkness. She had spent too many moments gazing too long at Sinclair. She needed to pull herself together, remember her job, and not get distracted. Not by drinking and not by flirting with Jonathan Sinclair.

She sighed and rolled on her side. The only explanation she had for her behavior was exhaustion. Why else would she be almost actively slipping up? She needed a break, that much she was sure of. As she drifted into sleep, the image of Sinclair’s amber eyes floated through her mind. He was handsome. He was intriguing. He was interested. She reminded herself that none of those things were worth getting killed over.

CHAPTER 8

LAURA PLACED HER
hand on a granite panel beside the locked door to the InterSec unit. Her body signature—Janice Crawford’s body signature—interacted with the ward spell, tickling static across her palm. The spell recognized the glamour’s persona and the lock released. Over the years, she had taken pains to avoid connecting Laura Blackstone with InterSec. Whenever she worked on anything other than public relations at the Guildhouse, she wore the appropriate glamour. That way Laura Blackstone didn’t have to answer any questions about her presence in an area that had nothing to do with her day job.

Inside the secure area, Cress appeared in the hallway and smiled when she saw Laura. “Feeling better?” she asked.

Laura nodded. “Yeah. Sleeping did me a world of good.”

Little feathers of essence flickered over her body essence like small tongues as Cress examined her discreetly. Laura dealt with several different species of fey healers, but the way Cress touched her essence felt overly intimate and intrusive. Always behind it was the hunger of a
leanansidhe
, the palpable desire to drain essence, which Cress kept in check only by her own willpower. “The bruising from the concussion is gone. Are you remembering anything from the raid?”

Laura glanced at her palm, recalling the blood and Sanchez’s hand. “I think I had a flash of something, but it’s too vague to mean anything.”

Cress withdrew a notepad from her white coat and made a brief note. “It will come. Keep thinking about the people involved. Sometimes that rebuilds connections.”

“Rebuilds? Is something broken?”

Cress smiled. “You had a concussion, Laura. Brain cells died. Don’t worry about it.”

Laura poked her in the arm. “Oh, thanks. ‘Brain cells died.’ That doesn’t make me worry.”

Cress’s smile turned crooked. “Sorry. I’ll keep monitoring. Just get as much rest as you can.”

Laura sighed. “Yeah, right, Cress. Look at my calendar. Better yet, look at this face. I’m living two lives at the moment. Is Terryn in?”

Cress nodded. “In his office. He’s in a bit of a mood.”

Laura adjusted her jacket. “I’ll try not to provoke him.”

Cress patted her on the shoulder as she walked away. “Oh, please do. Dinner tonight will go more smoothly if he lets off some steam before he gets home.”

Laura shook her head as she continued down the hall. For all her conflicted feelings about Cress’s nature, she was still a person, still more than her nature. At the end of the day—literally in this case—even the
leanansidhe
sometimes had to deal with a cranky boyfriend like anybody else.

True to Cress’s word, Terryn was in a foul mood when Laura entered his office. He didn’t look up right away but frowned at something he was reading. “We need more info on what was going on at that apartment building.”

“Have you seen the case files yet?” she asked.

He gave her a small smile. “About an hour after the raid. All standard op. Several tips on drug manufacturing leading to surveillance to planning the raid and its timing. Nothing to indicate it was other than a straightforward raid.”

“There was a computer lab that looked heavily defended,” said Laura.

Terryn sifted a folder out of his pile. “I thought that was interesting, too. It was destroyed. Crime Scene hasn’t released anything yet, and I’m hearing rumblings that the FBI might take over.” Terryn pushed a piece of paper across his desk. “More bad news.”

She picked up the sheet, a memo on FBI letterhead, stamped SECRET and hand-delivered. She skimmed it and slipped surprise on her face. “Sanchez was working for the Bureau?”

Terryn nodded. “I confirmed the report through our back channel at the FBI. He was CTD.”

A spot of annoyance in her chest quickly blossomed into anger. “Counterterrorism? What the hell did I step in, Terryn, and why didn’t we know about it?”

He held up his hands. “I was as much in the dark as you were, Laura.”

She threw the memo on his desk. “
Dark?
I got
shot at
, Terryn, by our own side. You can’t get more
dark
than that.”

He frowned. “Laura . . . I know. I don’t blame you for being upset, but you’re getting angry at the wrong person. You volunteered for that mission, remember?”

She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Terryn. I have a headache, and I’m ticked off. It’s been a long two days.”

She wasn’t going to wait for an invitation or assignment to figure out what was going on with Sanchez and the FBI, not when her own life was in the balance. “Who was Sanchez’s field director?”

“Lawrence Scales.”

She knew the name. Good reputation from all she had heard. “Set up an appointment. I’m going.”

Terryn didn’t try to hide his amusement. “There’s the Laura I know. Would you like me to drive you to the meeting, or do I have your permission to run this unit while you go?”

She bit her lips in false embarrassment. “I’m sorry. What I meant was, may I have this assignment, sir?”

He inclined his head. “You may. It makes sense for you to go as Mariel Tate anyway. I already set up the appointment and sent a dossier to the Tate office.”

“Thanks. She’ll get right on it,” said Laura. Mariel was the most formidable persona Laura used. She was smart, powerful, and had the might of InterSec to back her up publicly. Mariel’s phone calls were always taken if someone was in, and the first returned if someone was out.

Terryn moved papers on his desk. “I’ve done some preliminary research on the SWAT team. Gianni, Sinclair, and Sanchez have done paid detail and other side work at a dinner club called the Vault.”

Laura nodded. “I know. I was there last night. Tylo Blume, of all people, owns the place. He offered me a job.”

“He’s an arms merchant,” said Terryn.

Laura’s eyebrow flicked up. “That I didn’t know. His firm is running some of the security for the Archives ceremony I’m working on for Guild public relations.”

Terryn dropped a corner of his mouth slightly. “Laura Blackstone and Janice Crawford have both met him?”

Laura shrugged. “It’s a coincidence. I’ve been avoiding meeting with him about the Archives ceremony as Laura Blackstone because that ups the pressure to say yes to what he wants. Senator Hornbeck’s the actual connection. Foyle mentioned to him that he wanted a backup for Corman Deegan, his SWAT-team druid who’s out of commission. If you remember, Terryn, you were the one that wanted more contacts with local enforcement. I created Janice the first time Deegan called in sick.”

Terryn leaned back in his chair. “I remember. I also remember saying I thought the situation might produce a persona conflict.”

She had no choice but to agree. “Fine, you were right. I didn’t think the two personas would ever have a reason to cross. Once the Archives ceremony is over, the problem should go away. Did Corman Deegan work there, too?”

Terryn shook his head. “The SWAT-team druid? I don’t see any indications that he did.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still in the hospital with head-blindness,” Terryn said.

“Sanchez knew something, Terryn. Now somebody thinks I do and is willing to kill me because of it.”

“Maybe you do.”

She thought of her memory flashes, Sanchez pressing his finger into her bloody hand. She pushed at the moment, tried to make the scene step beyond what she remembered, but it drifted into nothing. “I think Sanchez did tell me something. He couldn’t talk. I remember him doing something to my hand. He might have been trying to communicate something.”

“Sign language?”

Laura looked at her palm. Something about the way the lines of her skin crisscrossed made her uneasy. She had never subscribed to palmistry, at least not the way the modern world did. She knew some fey could read health issues in the skin, but that had more to do with how essence points radiated than simple lines. Something about the way her life, heart, and head lines were arranged. “It was a shape, I think. He wrote something.”

“A name?”

She didn’t respond, but continued staring. The memory flickered on the edges of her awareness. Frustration grew within her, frustration that a druid, of all people, was having a hard time remembering. She shook her head. “It’s gone again.”

Terryn had the good grace not to look disappointed, but she felt it. “It’ll come. In the meantime, let’s do the footwork to figure out why the FBI was spying on the SWAT team.”

Laura gathered her things. “Will do. I want to talk to Corman Deegan first, see if he knows anything. I’ll catch up with you after that.”

On the way to the elevator, she passed Cress in the hall. “I made him smile. You owe me lunch.”

“A small price to pay, I am sure,” she replied.

CHAPTER 9

“WHERE THE HECK
have you been?” Saffin said.

Laura was tempted to tell her she had been impersonating a police officer and drinking with an arms merchant, but thought better of it. Instead, she rolled her eyes in shared exasperation as she walked through the public-relations reception area. “Sorry. I got pulled into a meeting yesterday, then had to do some damage control on something last night.”

Saffin handed her a stack of mail. “Hornbeck called again,” she said.

Laura shook her head as she sorted the mail. “He won’t let up, will he?”

Saffin made a sour face. “It gets worse. His office noticed that the two of you will be at separate Senate hearings on the same floor tomorrow. He wants you to meet him as soon as he finishes.”

Laura bit back a curse. She was participating in a fact-finding session at one of the Senate buildings about fey homeless shelters. “I forgot about the hearing.”

Saffin sighed and frowned in mock-frustration. “Did you not read the three email alerts I sent you? I can’t run your life if you don’t pay attention.”

Laura chuckled, but a sliver of guilt swept over her. She had neglected to check her email. Sloppy. Despite her joking, Saffin’s face had a shadow of gauntness about it that suggested stress. That was a minor hint that a boggart situation could evolve. Over the years, Saffin had never become more than highly agitated with Laura. Laura took that as a point of pride for both of them. It meant they knew how to work together.

Brownies didn’t like going boggie. The mental strain was bad enough, but the change was physical, too. Their bodies literally transformed, becoming elongated and taut, while their physical strength increased dramatically. Their minds slipped, too, normal rationality becoming suppressed as they became obsessed with completing the task that sparked the change. It happened like an adrenaline rush—fast, intense, and utterly exhausting when it was over. “I’m really sorry, Saf. I’ve been distracted. I think it’s time we pull Rhys into this to get Hornbeck to go away.”