Skin Deep (13 page)

The next layer of security was a simple quartz crystal embedded in the zipper pull keyed solely to whoever was allowed to open the pouch. Touching the crystal released the lock and simultaneously disengaged another spell on the papers inside. If someone other than a designated person opened the pouch, the pages disintegrated. Laura opened the pouch and removed the dossier Terryn had prepared on Sanchez’s FBI connection.

She pulled a notepad across the desk. “This is for your eyes only, Liam. Please call this Aaron Foyle back and tell him I need a conference room on-site in Anacostia.” She wrote a list, ripped the page from the pad, and handed it to him. “Tell Foyle I want to see these three people. I will arrive at 8 A.M. and meet with him first. Have a car pick me up at noon with something wonderful to eat that won’t spill.”

Liam wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this here?”

She acknowledged his sympathy with a knowing look. “Sure. But these folks have several investigators coming after them. I’d rather invade their space than make the diva demand right now. I have a meeting to go to this afternoon, but I’ll call if I need something, okay?”

He looked crestfallen. “You just got here.”

She put on an apologetic face. “I’m here for a bit, though. Maybe we can have lunch in a few days?”

“Great,” he said. She knew he meant it. Because of their shared love of food, Laura treated him to lunch at the better restaurants in town or “accidentally” left expense-account vouchers for him when she heard about a new place.

She had a hard time deciding whether Liam had a crush on her or not. The vibe coming off him was intense interest, but it wasn’t lust. In general, humans were hard for her to read unless their emotional state was high. She got along well with Liam, but she never thought of him as more than a nice guy. Humans didn’t interest her often. They tended to take a much shorter view of circumstances than the fey. The fey, of course, took the long view of situations. If they lived well and took care of themselves, some lived centuries. Laura wasn’t that old, but she already had a different, more circumspect, perspective on the future than humans, and she was prone to think more about long-term implications. Which was why her attraction to Sinclair surprised and intrigued her.

She flipped through her mail, separating out a few larger envelopes. Out of habit, she reached for her crystal paperweight without looking and instead grabbed nothing but air. She went through the stack of paper in the in-box and elsewhere on the desk, but the crystal wasn’t there. She glanced at the credenza beneath the map. If she didn’t purposefully activate her heightened memory—and she might not have for an incidental thing like moving a paperweight—she was subject to the same vagaries of memory as any human. Occasionally, she used the crystal piece as a resonator for a spell and might have left it in her hidden room. She made a mental note to check.

Ignoring her messages, she placed the Sanchez file on the center of her desk and turned on her computer. She scanned Mariel’s email, amused and marveling at Cress’s ingenuity. Laura knew that Cress didn’t personally send the emails. Cress worked with an InterSec tech to create a life for Mariel. She read a couple of real messages from Terryn about InterSec administrative issues.

Laura opened the Sanchez dossier. The InterSec agent mole at the FBI had scant information on him—not even his real name—but had confirmed that he was involved in investigating low-level fey terrorists. Lawrence Scales, his field officer, was known as a straight-up guy, with major arrests notched on his belt. The InterSec report indicated that Sanchez had been working more important cases lately, an indication that he had been a rising star.

Laura leaned back in her chair and stared at the map across the room. She would find out what Sanchez had been doing. It was what she did. He had been undercover. Deegan had figured that out, but not everyone had the ob servational skills of a trained druid. Sanchez had trusted people to protect him. Deegan did, too. Their trust had failed somewhere. She found no suspicious references to Deegan in the file.

The circumstances of Sanchez’s death cast a troubling shadow over her. Whom had he trusted? In whom was that trust misplaced? She grappled with that issue every day of her life. Terryn and Cress never gave her any reason to doubt that they would protect her. She assumed Cress and Terryn thought the same thing about her. But she had lied to them on and off over the years. Sometimes it was to protect their position. Sometimes it was to have something to call her own. But what would that do to their trust in her if they found out? How would they handle it? What would happen to her then? The idea that she might be on her own path to the morgue was disquieting. In his lifetime, Terryn had had his share of betrayals. His family had a long history in the Seelie Court. She knew he hadn’t gone from being a potential heir to the throne of Faerie to the head of an InterSec section without making enemies or losing allies.

She gazed out the window at the Mall and wondered if the day might come that he questioned her trust. Would any explanation justify some of the secrets she’d kept from him? Sometimes she worried that she played the persona game too much and forgot where the lines were drawn.

CHAPTER 12

LAURA ARRIVED AT
the Anacostia station house at a few minutes before eight o’clock. Liam had arranged the interviews for Mariel Tate as requested, and Foyle had requisitioned space for her. The conference room at the station house didn’t have the clichéd peeling paint and forty-year-old furniture. It did have the clichéd faux-wood table, pale blue generic office chairs, and dirt-hiding carpet that was twenty years old. Laura suspected the carpet had looked like dirt when it was installed.

She sat alone, checking her PDA and trying to keep Saffin calm. Between Hornbeck, the Guildmaster, and Resha Dunne, the brownie had her hands full running interference for Laura. Once Laura talked to Hornbeck, she hoped things would calm down, and they could get on with the ceremony.

She made clothing for Mariel part of the glamour for the day. Since she was beginning the day as Mariel and switching to Laura in the afternoon, it made life easier to wear a Laura outfit and glamour it with Mariel’s preferences for the morning. For the SWAT-team meeting, she appeared to wear one of Mariel’s basic business suits in deep charcoal, with a subtle flare at the jacket shoulders and a long, snug skirt. The image projected assurance and reflected the SWAT-TEAM uniform. She wanted the squad to feel that she was in control yet on the same team.

Foyle arrived wearing his dress uniform. She smiled that she wasn’t the only one projecting images. “Please have a seat, Captain Foyle. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Foyle sat opposite Laura, still and formal. “The pleasure is mine, ma’am.”

Laura folded her hands on the table and leaned toward him. “I don’t want to take too much of your time. This is preliminary for InterSec. We know you have other agencies you need to speak with. As co-investigators, we will have access to your other interviews and follow up as necessary.”

He gave a curt nod. “We appreciate that, ma’am.”

“Anything to keep the paperwork down,” Laura said. Foyle didn’t crack a smile. She opened a folder on the table and sorted through the various reports that had been filed. She wasn’t sure if Foyle was one of those who became unsettled during administrative hearings when druids didn’t refer to notes. She didn’t want him to feel the hearing was pointless or that a decision had already been made. Sometimes that was true, Laura admitted, but not always and not this time.

She pushed the paperwork away and leaned back. “What are you worried about, Captain?”

Foyle’s forehead creased. “Ma’am?”

Anger simmered below the surface of Foyle’s calm face. Laura didn’t want him angry. She wanted him comfortable. She gestured at the file. “I can read all this to you, but you know what it says. Off the record, I’m not all that upset by a bunch of dead drug dealers. I want whoever shot Janice Crawford. You want whoever killed your man. Tell me what you think went wrong.”

Foyle shifted back in his chair. “Bad intelligence and inadequate staff.”

“That’s what I’m seeing, too. Who is responsible for the intelligence?” she asked.

“I am responsible for the integrity of our information,” he said.

She nodded. “I know. You should be. But I recognize the fact that we can all be fooled. Where was trust misplaced here?”

Foyle’s anger dissipated into slight confusion and, oddly, a sense of hope. “Our primary contact was through an informant who is missing.”

She tilted her head, her expression curious. “Do you think you were targeted for disinformation?”

His confusion relaxed into relief, which could mean a number of things. If he wasn’t involved in the shooting, he wanted his team exonerated. If he was, well, he might be relieved she was on the wrong track and not going to implicate him. “It’s possible. My team is still responsible for its performance.”

Whenever he spoke, she nodded. She wanted to encourage the notion that they were in agreement. “I understand your feelings on that. Who found the intelligence sources?”

“Lieutenants Gianni and Sinclair. It’s in the files,” he said.

“Do you have any issues with their performance?”

“None.”

“Have they been involved in poor data sourcing before?”

“No.”

She moved some papers. “You were missing your regular team druid . . . Corman Deegan. Was that a factor?”

The curt nod again. “I believe it was. His substitute was not as skilled, from what I understand.”

“Janice Crawford. I believe you requested her?”

“I did, ma’am. She’d performed adequately on two or three previous missions. She seemed up to the task.”

Laura nodded. “I see. Do you think the outcome would have been different if Deegan had been with you?”

Foyle hesitated. “Maybe. We still don’t know what happened when Sanchez was shot. Crawford is claiming amnesia.”

“Yes. The concussion. She was shot, too.” A flicker of doubt washed out from Foyle. Laura almost broke her cool demeanor. Foyle had doubts about what had happened to Janice. What had happened to
her
. “You said ‘claiming amnesia,’ Captain. Do you have concerns about her diagnosis?”

His emotions shut down except for suspicion. “Crawford has been less than forthcoming.”

Laura picked up a random page from the file and pretended to read. “From what I understand, temporary memory loss is typical of a concussion of this type.”

Foyle shifted in his seat. “She was found at the scene covered with Sanchez’s blood. She was with him when he died. No one else was reported in the area. To the best of our knowledge, the fey attacker did not use a gun. I asked her whether Sanchez said anything, and she told me she didn’t remember. I think it’s important to know his last words.”

Mariel nodded. “I do, too, Captain. Agent Crawford was wounded. Your man was killed. If something Sanchez might have said could lead to the perpetrator, InterSec wants that to happen, too.”

Foyle nodded, his body signature shifted into mild doubt. Mariel didn’t blame him. Despite the multiple-agency cooperation, humans worried about the motivations of the fey. “I appreciate that.”

Laura pursed her lips and nodded. “Let’s get started then. Please send in Lieutenant Gianni.”

She followed Foyle to the door and held it closed when he left the room. Pulling out her cell phone, she hit the speed dial for Foyle’s office. His voicemail picked up. Janice’s voice was a variation on Laura’s own, so she didn’t need to swap glamours to use it. “Foyle, it’s Crawford. My SUV blew a tire on the bridge. I’ll be there ASAP. Sorry.”

She disconnected and returned to her seat. She took several pages out of the file and laid them across the table without any organization. During the brief times she had been with Gianni as Janice, she knew he didn’t think much of women. Coming on strong would probably not work, so she decided her best course was to play into his condescension. Mariel Tate would act disorganized and indecisive. A knock on the door sounded. “Come,” she said.

Gianni stood at attention next to the chair Foyle had vacated. Laura gestured to it with an overly earnest smile. “My name is Mariel Tate, Lieutenant. I have a few questions for you regarding your recent mission.”

Gianni relaxed into the chair. She felt calm self-assurance from him, colored with impatience and cockiness. “Shoot.”

He tried to maintain eye contact with her, but failed. She picked up a page from his mission report. “Lieutenant, I’d like a few more details on your report. You state that you met Captain Foyle and Lieutenant Sinclair at the door to the warehouse workroom. Correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who arrived first?” she asked.

“I believe they did,” he said. His voice had an odd sense, as if he were telling the truth yet lying.

“Together?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They were there.”

She sorted through the papers, pretending she couldn’t find something. Foyle reported he had met Sinclair and Gianni at the door, so Foyle had to have arrived last, not Gianni. She lifted a sheet and smiled with relief. “Um . . . so you were alone from the time you left the computer lab until you met them?”

He nodded. Laura didn’t like the nod. Gianni projected resistance. While her empathy picked up emotions, hearing someone speak clarified the emotion.

“Okay,” she said. She sorted through papers again. “Who called the medics in?”

“Sinclair.” Fast. Assured. Truth. Sinclair’s report stated the same.

“Oh, right. There it is,” she said. She paused and read the report. The longer she read, the more amusement flowed off Gianni. “Okay, um, did you see anyone else near the door before or after you entered the room?”

Gianni shifted in his seat. “Just the medics.”

Laura nodded, staring at the report. “And . . . um . . . okay.” She switched to another report. “Lieutenant, how did you find the informant who provided information about the warehouse operation?”

He shrugged. “Street contacts. Sanchez put us onto someone.”