Face Off (12 page)

CHAPTER
19

IN ORDER TO
gain more time in her day, Laura had spent the night in Mariel Tate’s corporate suite a few blocks away. Skipping the commute from Alexandria saved her at least an hour. The elevator arrived blessedly empty in the parking garage. An empty elevator meant no curious stares from other passengers when she got off on the seldom-used back hall of the Guild accounting department. When the doors opened, she crossed the small elevator lobby to the door that led to her private room. She dropped the folders on the bed, making a mental note to retrieve them later. As she shifted out of her glamour, Mariel’s long dark hair swirled up and away back to Laura’s natural blond. She changed out of her gray suit. Mixing clothing between Mariel and Laura had been one of the ways Saffin pieced together her undercover work. She didn’t want to make that mistake again.

She sorted through the ranks of shoes along one wall and caught herself muttering. While the macCullen brothers’ demeaning references to Cress justified her anger, she realized she was also angry with herself. She understood their fears.
Leanansidhes
were dangerous. She had seen Cress’s power, and, yes, she feared it herself. The only thing keeping Cress from submitting to her inherent nature was force of will and the steadfast support of Terryn. Without both of those, none of them knew what would happen. Despite that, if she could try to put aside her deep-seated fears as she’d told Cress, so could the macCullens.

She slipped on her shoes and checked the outfit in the mirror. As Laura Blackstone, she always looked the consummate businesswoman, stylish and no-nonsense. In control. She had to be to maintain her public personas. Like Cress. But she also knew cracks were forming in the masks she presented to the world. She didn’t feel like herself. She didn’t know what that meant anymore.

If Cress let herself be herself, she would be draining the living essence from anything she could get her hands on, people in particular. She would be a serial killer, plain and simple. Or she could continue as she was now, keeping focused on assimilating into society without resorting to killing to survive. It wasn’t a choice, not for someone with any kind of conscience. And if Laura was feeling the stress of constantly presenting a façade to the world, what did that mean for Cress? What would happen to her if Terryn’s love and support were removed?

As she slipped through the closet into her public-relations office, Laura wondered if the situation made Cress more dangerous or less, and maybe Aran macCullen was right to advocate that Terryn move on with his life without a
leanansidhe
as a life mate. And that made her feel angry again, only this time at herself for betraying the best interest of one friend over another.

Laura made herself comfortable in her desk chair and not a moment too soon as Resha Dunne marched into her office. He stopped short in surprise. “Where did you come from?”

She rolled her eyes innocently. “Upstate New York. My father bought a small farm there.”

Confusion crossed his face. “What?”

Laura relaxed her face into a natural smile. “It was a joke, Resha. I just got back from a meeting.”

She sensed Saffin at her desk outside the door.
How long has Resha been here?
she sent.

How the heck did you get past me?
Saffin responded.

The door was locked. I came in the window,
Laura sent.

Really?

It was a joke, Saf. What was Resha doing out there?

He was on the phone.

“But I didn’t see you,” he said.

“You seemed very involved in your phone conversation. I didn’t want to interrupt. What’s up?”

Resha frowned in deeper confusion, an expression which, on a merrow, tended to look more like anger. “You walked past me?”

Laura drew her eyebrows together in concern. “Are you all right, Resha?”

His eyes shifted in thought as he stared at the floor. He shrugged. “I must have been woolgathering. I stopped by for your advice. The Legacy Foundation rejected our donation.”

That surprised and didn’t surprise her. Organizations rarely refused unsolicited monies that had no strings attached. In this case, though, Legacy was smart enough to know “no strings” meant “invisible strings,” but rejecting it outright was surprising. “Did they say why?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Tell your Guildmaster his guilt money won’t pay for the lives lost at the Archives.’”

“Who said?” she asked.

“Adam DeWinter. He’s the president of the board.”

Laura showed no sign to Resha that she knew DeWinter. She hated when her persona interactions crossed over. It sometimes made things difficult to keep separate. “While not exactly out of character, that’s still odd. Why do you think he rejected it?”

Resha eased himself into the guest chair, which was too small for his lanky frame. “I’m not sure. He seemed to be enjoying the reception. Senator Hornbeck introduced me. When I mentioned the Guild’s donation, he started lecturing me about the dangers of unchecked power among the fey and said the Archives incident was a major example.”

Laura tapped her pen against a pad. “Hmmm. I’m going with Hornbeck set him off. DeWinter used you, Resha. Don’t forget—Legacy is an antimonarchial group looking for political favor. DeWinter used you to establish his credentials with Hornbeck.”

Resha straightened in surprise. “Well, that was rather rude.”

“Didn’t you notice any animosity from the other attendees?”

He rolled his claw-tipped hands open on his lap. “Of course. I feel that wherever I go, Laura.”

His comment reminded Laura again of the race issues so many solitaries struggled with. On a day-to-day basis, she didn’t notice he was a merrow, but when he made a point of saying it, Laura cataloged the characteristics that gave humans pause—the white skin shaded blue and gray, the vertical ridge in his forehead, the sharp predatory teeth, and, of course, those small claws instead of nails on each finger. People who were not fey stared at Resha. He frightened them by existing. Like Cress did to the fey.

Laura softened her tone. “I’m sorry, Resha. I didn’t mean to sound like I was faulting you for anything. I’m frustrated because I thought the donation might quiet them down for a bit.”

Resha nodded in understanding. “Yes, I can imagine we don’t need anyone speaking ill of the fey with the Inverni in town.”

“True,” said Laura. Resha was no fool. Despite the Guildmaster’s contempt, Resha saw more than he let on. That he didn’t always exploit those things to the best advantage of the Guild was beside the point. He hadn’t gotten to be a Guild director because he was a total fool.

“Rhys will be upset with me. I was hoping you could advise me,” he said.

She considered the options. They needed Legacy to back off on criticism of the Guild in the short and long term. The last thing she wanted was the Guild complicating her InterSec investigation. “Does DeWinter work out of Legacy’s offices in Crystal City?”

“I believe so,” said Resha.

She smiled. “Invite him to the reception for Draigen. Legacy doesn’t like the current president. Drop hints that the president might not see the Inverni. DeWinter will like being seen with fey who don’t like the president or the Seelie Court. He’ll bite.”

“How will that play in the media?”

Laura shrugged. “It’s a closed reception. We can spin it in our favor.”

She watched as Resha let the idea sink in. She wasn’t convinced it was the best solution, but DeWinter would have a harder time distancing himself from the Guild while he was sipping champagne. Resha stood. “Thank you, Laura. Your advice is sound as always. I will let you know how things proceed.”

“No problem, Resha,” she said. She let out a sigh of relief when he left.

A moment later, Saffin walked in, folders clutched to her chest and an avid smile on her face. Her gaze shifted around the room. “I missed you coming in.”

“I was in a rush,” Laura said.

They faced each other for a pregnant moment. While Saffin knew about Laura’s undercover work, she had kept the knowledge to herself for years—not telling Laura she knew. At first, Laura was horrified to have been detected, but after some thought, Saffin’s awareness came as a relief. She didn’t have to sneak around her anymore, sending her on pointless errands or excusing cryptic phone calls. At the same time, no one at InterSec was aware of Saffin. After Terryn’s reaction to Sinclair’s knowing about her double life, Laura wanted to keep quiet about Saffin’s knowledge. and one way to do that was to keep Saffin on a strictly need-to-know basis. Saffin’s obvious curiosity about how Laura had arrived at least confirmed that she didn’t know about the hidden room, too.

Saffin dropped the folders in Laura’s in-box. “The usual divisions. I’m handling the media inquiries about the reception. The music is all set. One of the flutists asked me out, and the flowers are on order. The Guildmaster wants to meet with you regarding his welcome speech, and I replaced all your office plants because they don’t bloom in this light. In case you didn’t notice, the old ones were dead, and the new ones are lovely.”

Brownies’ inherent organizational skills gave them an ability to multitask on a level most people found exhausting. Saffin’s launch into the catalog of tasks brought Laura relief. Saffin wasn’t going to push the issue and ask too many questions. Laura gave her a sly grin. “A flutist? I didn’t know you were such a music enthusiast.”

Saffin smirked. “I’ve been told by credible sources he has a very nice flute.”

Laura shook her head. “I don’t know how you keep everything together, Saf.”

She shrugged. “I decide what’s important, keep focused, and make sure everyone around me knows where they stand on the list. Oh! And I cry myself to sleep every night.”

“Saf!”

She exaggerated the sway of her shoulders as she left the room. “Just kidding. I don’t sleep.”

CHAPTER
20

ACROSS THE RIVER
in Crystal City, Laura spent the rest of the day impersonating Fallon Moor. DeWinter had an oversight meeting, so she had a full day of uninterrupted time at Legacy trying to gain access to the computer system. Irony frustrated her—that Moor had clearance to look at classified information but Laura was unable to touch it without raising questions. If she asked for help for something as simple as a password, she risked alerting people, particularly DeWinter, that something odd was going on. Moor simply refused to answer any more questions, gambling that InterSec wouldn’t make good on its threat to send her to the Seelie Court. Laura didn’t fault her strategy. Capital punishment made the member governments of InterSec pause. It didn’t mean Moor would go free, but it did mean Laura’s threat might be empty. She had warned Terryn that might happen.

She decided to take a different approach to the problem. DeWinter’s office was at the end of the corridor, far from others and surrounded by conference rooms. His door was closed, the card-swipe mechanism glowing with its little red light to indicate locked. The mechanism was an extra layer of security on some offices as well as access to entire areas of the floor. Fallon Moor’s card let her into some of the latter, but she hadn’t lingered in them long enough to figure out what was being hidden. She didn’t want to raise suspicions unless absolutely necessary.

She paced in front of the plate-glass wall, aware that a ceiling camera recorded her every move. She looped back and forth, randomly nearing DeWinter’s door for a closer look at the card swipe. After a few passes, she made out the style and manufacturer of the unit. If InterSec could hack into the system, they might be able to produce a card that would get her in.

DeWinter’s reflection appeared in the window. She cursed to herself. She had hoped he wouldn’t stop in the office at the end of the day, and now she had no choice but to talk to him. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he joined her at the window and took in the view. “What are you looking at?”

She ran her hand through her hair, noting its coarseness, so different from her own. Her glamour effects extended beyond the visual, and she made it a point to remember that smells and touch were important to mimicking someone. She wondered what nuances DeWinter might detect that she had missed. Did her hair feel right? Her skin? Did she have a scent he liked that she had missed? He didn’t give an indication that something was amiss, but she worried. She jutted her chin toward the view. “I was thinking how new all that is. What is it? A couple of centuries old? That amount of time means nothing to the fey.”

“It will when we’re done. They need to learn that this is and always has been a human world. Everything else they’ve touched has been destroyed,” he said.

Laura pursed her lips. A philosophical argument on fey versus human goals was something she knew how to play. Over the years, she’d read enough theories and arrested enough radical dissidents to know the thought problems. “Will they learn or fight? Is what we’re doing any guarantee of long-term success? The fey held sway in Faerie a long time.”

In the reflection of the glass, she saw him cock his head toward her own reflection. “Are you having doubts?”

The response frustrated her. DeWinter’s intelligence training meant he wasn’t prone to talk. No spontaneous monologues about his master plan were likely. “No. Reflections. The monarchies are formidable opponents. Not to brag or criticize, but I’ve experienced that more than you have.”

He glanced up the corridor, trailing his fingers through the short tufts of hairs along her forearm. “Do you need more convincing?”

She let him touch her, deciding what to push with him and how. His voice reverberated with seductive tones, but whether he meant that as sexual or playful, she couldn’t tell. She responded in the same tone but kept the subject on business to see where he would take it. “For twelve million dollars I might.”

He glanced up the hall again. “Yes, thank you for your speed on that. I’ve already put the transaction in motion.”

“I know,” she said. DeWinter had found his benefactor, and she had routed the money into an offshore account. Everything had been done electronically, and no one had met in person. She kept the accounts flagged to monitor activity. DeWinter had moved half the money as soon as the funds arrived in the account.

“Let’s go in my office,” he said. He withdrew his ID card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. She lingered behind him, amazed at her luck. He was going to use the keycard in front of her. She hid her interest by gazing at the view across the Potomac. As he punched the combination into the keypad, the soft tones of his tapping finger, barely audible, tickled her ear.

“Fallon?” he said.

She turned from the plate-glass window, acting like he had prodded her out of a daydream. The access code settled into her mnemonic memory. Six digits. Hit the enter key twice.

The office was utilitarian, made to look more so with hard, modular furniture. DeWinter settled behind his desk. “Let me check my email.”

She didn’t respond as she draped herself near the end of a low-slung couch upholstered in a stiff orange fabric. The office revealed nothing about the man. The modernist furniture didn’t feel personal; the abstract paintings on the walls didn’t relate to each other. Everything seemed selected to project an image, but it lacked personality. Either DeWinter decorated it in a deliberate attempt for neutrality, or someone had been given simple instructions to do it.

She eyed his computer setup. His desk was almost a sculpture, all glass and steel, with no drawers. Easy access. She decided to take advantage of the opportunity. “Can I have a drink?” she asked.

He glanced up. “What’s your pleasure?”

She grinned seductively. “Give me a drink, and I’ll tell you. I think I saw some fruit juice in the kitchen.”

He grinned back and rose from his seat. “Don’t move. I like seeing you on my couch.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and chuckled as he left. She waited a heartbeat, then hurried to his desk. She pulled out a memory stick that she had been keeping with her since she arrived at Legacy. Plugging it into the back of his computer, she downloaded a keystroke program onto his system. InterSec had designed it to be small and unobtrusive. She went to the door to check the hall. Empty. She pulled the memory stick out and resumed her position on the couch.

DeWinter returned a few minutes later and handed her a glass of orange juice. He sat on the couch, trailing his hand along her leg. “We haven’t had a moment alone in over a week.”

“I’ve been working on something,” she said.

He toyed with a strand of her hair. “Can you tell me about it?”

Smiling as she sipped, she shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll have to check before I bring you in.”

He leaned over and kissed her. She forced herself to return the kiss. He brought his hand to her cheek and pressed against her. Her mind raced for an exit strategy. She didn’t want things to go any further. It wasn’t necessary for what she needed. As his lips found her neck, she closed her eyes, realizing that she was not going to let anything sexual happen. This time, she thought. Or anytime, she hoped. She didn’t want to face Sinclair and admit that, yes, they were sort of seeing each other, and, yes, she’d had sex with someone else. For work. They didn’t have any commitment to each other, didn’t have any rules or parameters about their relationship. The fey were more open-minded about sexual relationships—even outside committed relationships—but Laura had no idea what Sinclair thought about it. He might have more-human attitudes. There were human words for people who traded sex for things, for money, information, access. She didn’t agree with that. Not always. That she worried what Sinclair would think surprised her. Lying on a couch with DeWinter was not the time to sort it out, though.

She draped her hand over the back of the couch and released a small burst of essence at the window. It hit with soft bang, and she pretended to be startled. The juice sloshed onto her dress as DeWinter pulled away. “What was that?”

She stood, brushing at her damp skirt. “I don’t know. Something hit the window. A bird maybe.”

With his head tilted down, he smiled at her. “Your outfit’s a mess. Maybe you should take it off.”

She laughed and tousled his hair. “Not here. Let me take care of this before a stain sets.”

She strolled away, letting him get a good look at the roll of her hips. At the door, she trailed her hand along the wall as she left the room. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She left him grinning on the couch. The upside to playing cloak-and-dagger games with people who played cloak-and-dagger games was that when someone disappeared on a moment’s notice, no one pushed for explanations unless deep doubts existed. If DeWinter had noticed small clues that something was different about Fallon Moor, Laura’s handling of the funds transfer had probably allayed those suspicions for the moment. Rather than risk being alone with him on his own turf, she decided to disappear for a bit. DeWinter was going to find himself waiting for nothing.