Face Off lb-2 Page 8

  Laura thought about Terryn’s unusual abruptness and anger at her debriefing. “I noticed. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Cress stared. “You know Terryn. He deals with things in his own way.”

  The answer didn’t surprise her. Terryn held his emotions close—which was why his obvious level of annoyance at Sinclair surprised her. Cress was the same way, which ironically was what probably drew her and Terryn together. They were friends, but Laura never socialized with them outside the office except for an occasional dinner at their apartment. The dinners tended to be quiet and, frankly, dull. The three of them came together through work, and while they depended on each other more than most colleagues, they all maintained a personal distance that prevented a more intimate friendship

  Cress compressed her lips. “Have you ever met Draigen?” she asked.

  Laura shook her head. “We’ve never crossed paths.”

  Cress toyed with her salad. “She’s rather . . . conservative.”

  “Does she know about . . .” Laura was going to say “you” but realized it would be a little tacky. “. . . your relationship?”

  Cress didn’t look up. “So Terryn tells me.”

  The Inverni were a proud people and a many-times-defeated one. They tended to be suspicious of outsiders, and Cress was about as outside as a fey could get. “Are you worried about something, Cress?”

  She pulled her hair back and held it there as she decided what to say. “I’m worried she’ll kill me.”

  Laura struggled for something to say. “That’s ridiculous, Cress. Draigen macCullen is not going to kill you. You’re not only a leanansidhe. You’re a person. We know that. Everyone knows that.”

  “Not everyone.”

  Laura conceded that—to herself. Cress was right. It was hard to believe that a person whose nature demanded she murder others to survive was anything more than a monster. After all these years, Laura had a hard time putting the thought out of her head. But Cress had moved beyond her nature, figured out a way to control it and become a real person. “Have you talked to Terryn about this?”

  She shook her head. “He’s worried enough about Draigen’s visit. I don’t want to add to his stress.”

  Laura let out an uncomfortable laugh. Cress wasn’t joking, though. “Terryn wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Cress.”

  Cress looked away. “He can’t be with me all the time.”

  As regent, Draigen ruled the macCullen clan—and, by virtue of that, all the Inverni. The idea that she might put Cress in danger wasn’t far-fetched. Fairies could be vindictive. “Do you seriously think Draigen macCullen is going to kill you?”

  She stared. And stared. “No. I think she may want to, but she won’t.”

  Laura pointed at her. “Then you need to stop thinking about it. If you want the rest of the world to believe you’re not a danger, you need to stop thinking everyone believes it. You need to live your life, Cress.”

  She drew her words out with resignation. “You’re right. Old habits die hard.”

  Laura sipped of her iced tea while she considered what further to say. “If you want my advice, you and Terryn both need some time to yourselves and to stop worrying about what everyone else is going to do—including Draigen. I might not know her from a hole in the wall, but Terryn asked her to lead the Inverni because he knew she could handle it. And you have to remember this isn’t the sixth century. She’s not some warrior queen out to kill a ghostly demon.”

  Cress bunched her shoulders as she made a decision. “I think Terryn and I need to have a long talk.”

  Laura grinned. “Good. When you do, tell him if he doesn’t want my fragile ego shattered, he needs to knock off the cranky.”

  Finally, Cress smiled an honest smile. “I’ve been trying to do that for years.”

  CHAPTER 12

  AS SHE DROVE over the Potomac after lunch, Laura tried to shake off the melancholy from the lunch with Cress. Try as she might, walking in Cress’s shoes was not easy to imagine. Laura had been in plenty of situations where she was either not liked or treated with suspicion. But those were for roles she played. At the end of the day, she went home knowing that whatever had happened had been directed against a glamoured persona. Someone who didn’t truly exist. Cress was real. Her emotions were real. Whatever her history, it was history. If the fey were going to move forward as a people, they had to let go of the deep past. Convergence had changed everything for them, giving them an opportunity to start over. If they didn’t learn anything from Convergence, they might well risk another disaster.

  She had to shake it off, though. The afternoon was going to be her first foray into Legacy, and she had to remain focused on impersonating Fallon Moor. Instead of returning to the Guildhouse, she had swapped out the Mariel glamour for the newly created Moor. A short walk up the block to where InterSec had moved Moor’s car, and she was on her way to work, whatever that meant.

  The Legacy Foundation occupied offices in a nondescript building in Crystal City, across the river from downtown D.C. Laura drove Moor’s car into the building’s underground garage and found the section of reserved parking spaces for Legacy. She killed the engine and made a fuss of fixing her hair in the rearview mirror. Watching security tapes of Moor tipped her to the nervous habit. Or vain one. She gathered a bulky purse onto her lap and rummaged through it for Moor’s keys and an ID card.

  I’ve arrived, she sent to Terryn.

  Reconnaissance only, please, unless a viable opportunity arises, he replied.

  Despite the fact that Moor kept few files of interest at home, Terryn wanted Laura to keep a low profile the first day in the office, confirm Moor’s data sources, and investigate other avenues to explore. A hard insertion with little prep was risky, but despite Draigen’s imminent arrival, they did not want to blow her cover by moving too aggressively the first time out.

  As she walked across the garage, she pictured Terryn working in the Guildhouse a few miles away. In the basement holding area, Moor remained in glass-lined enclosures to prevent her from doing sendings. Terryn waited outside her cell so he could relay Laura’s questions if necessary to Moor by intercom and send the responses back.

  A whistled catcall echoed through the concrete space of the garage. At the far end, men loitered in a service area reserved for limos and black cars. They wore nonchalant smirks as they eyeballed her. With his height, Sinclair stood out from the others. He was smirking, too. She liked to think he was doing it to fit in, but it wouldn’t have surprised her if he was the one who’d whistled. Instead of scowling, she smiled self-consciously as she turned away, aware by now that Moor was more than a little vain.

  As the elevator doors opened on the twelfth floor, Laura took a deep breath and proceeded down the hall. This moment always gave her a trickle of anxiety. A glamour she created from her own imagination was malleable, with a look, history, and personality able to change according to circumstances. A glamour based on a real person was tougher. She was going to meet people who knew Fallon Moor, and Fallon Moor moved in a high-stakes world. A false step could be deadly.

  The hushed quiet of the offices was like other places she had worked—cold, sterile rooms decorated to look fashionable and comfortable but with a manufactured air. No true personality interfered. Over time, the blandness of certain places had become a first indication that something wasn’t right, that something other than the stated business at hand was going on. Secrets were about what was revealed as much as what was hidden. On an individual level, hiding one thing among many exposed ones was easy, but that didn’t work as well for a corporation. Better to hide everything than risk leaving a clue.

  She received mumbled greetings and sideways glances as she made her way to Moor’s office. No one stopped her to chat. She worried that she might be doing something wrong, tipping off that something was not right about Moor. But the behavior was consistent with everyone. I’m getting the sense our informant isn’t the most popular kid on the
block, she sent to Terryn.

  She’s not making many friends here either, he replied.

  Laura smiled at his response. Terryn’s humor tended to be dry and subtle, but lately it had been missing entirely. It was nice to hear him sound normal.

  The windows in Moor’s office provided an impressive view of the Potomac and D.C. The river meandered below as if underlining the spread of the city’s iconic buildings. While it wasn’t the usual coveted corner office, Laura thought it interesting that Moor had achieved some level of importance within Legacy.

  She sat at the desk, pulled the computer keyboard closer, and logged on to the network system. So far, so good, she thought. The user ID and password were correct, so Moor hadn’t played any petty games on that front. She searched the network, scrolling through directories to note where Moor had open access. Terryn wanted her to use the day for surveillance and not touch anything until they assessed what was interesting and available. Copying and transferring data might be noticed, maybe not right away; but they didn’t want to risk it until they had decided what they needed.

  At the sound of knock, she lifted her head toward the door. She recognized the dark-haired man standing there as Adam DeWinter from the staff dossiers InterSec had for Legacy. He was listed as the firm’s director of technology and president, which was true. What was not on the company letterhead was that he was ex-CIA with extensive security experience.

  With a friendly, chastising smile, he leaned against the doorjamb. “You didn’t return my phone calls.”

  Feigning surprise, she picked up her cell phone and scrolled through the messages. Moor wasn’t in the habit of logging in her contact names. Few calls came in on the line anyway. The one number that appeared often was a disposable cell, which Laura assumed now must have been DeWinter. “Really? I’m sorry. I had some things to take care of and forgot to check my messages.”

  DeWinter pushed himself with his shoulder off the doorjamb and sat on the edge of her desk. “More important than talking to me?”

  His tone had an undercurrent of seduction. Cocky and self-assured. A little too self-assured. His familiar attitude wasn’t simple office banter. Laura twisted her lips in a playful smirk. “Are you feeling neglected?”

  He chuckled. “Should I?”

  I think Moor held back a relationship with DeWinter. Ask her the status, she sent to Terryn.

  Laura leaned back and smiled at DeWinter. “Of course not. I think we both know where things stand.”

  Amused, he dropped his eyelids half-closed. “I wasn’t thinking of standing.”

  Lovers. We’re having a discussion about what else she might have neglected to mention, Terryn sent.

  Laura mentally swore. She had no delusion that Moor was being fully cooperative, but risking exposing her like this was skating close to the edge of breaching their deal. She leaned forward and slowly drew her finger across the back of DeWinter’s palm. “You’d be surprised what I can do standing.”

  He playfully tapped her on the nose. “Someone’s going to hear us.”

  She affected an innocent air. “I didn’t say anything.”

  Amused, he moved back to the front of the desk. “I want to go over some financial details before my meeting.”

  Laura bit her lip and checked her watch. “Can you give me a few minutes? I need to get something out.”

  A puzzled look came over DeWinter’s face. “Sure. I’ll be in my office.”

  He hesitated at the door. Laura threw him a seductive glance as she turned her attention to the computer screen. DeWinter left a moment later. She checked the company calendar to see if his scheduled meeting might give her a clue as to what he wanted. Nothing but his name and a reserved conference room.

  She ran through the rest of the network directories, tapping into her mnemonic memory skills as the files scrolled up the screen. Her recall was as much a skill as an ability, honed in her youth as part of her druid training. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped to her attention, typical corporate network setup. She hit a password-protected directory that she wasn’t automatically logged in to. She tried the user ID and password Moor had given her, but they were rejected. She didn’t try again.

  Ask Moor for the password to the V directory, she sent to Terryn.

  She glanced at the computer clock in the long pause waiting for response. DeWinter’s meeting time was getting near. She had no intention of attending without knowing what it was about, but she didn’t want him to come looking for her either.

  She doesn’t know, he sent.

  Laura pursed her lips. Without being present, she couldn’t test Moor’s truthfulness. I don’t believe her.

  Neither do I, sent Terryn.

  She didn’t dare guess the password. One failed attempt would be overlooked. Several would be noted—especially if Moor was supposed to have access.

  I think we need this, Terryn. A password-protected directory is blood in the water for me, she sent.

  He didn’t respond. She waited, not dwelling on what she had requested. Terryn was a powerful Inverni, if not the most powerful member of his species. She had seen him do things to wring information out of people that turned her stomach at first. He got results, though, and she had convinced herself the results were more important.

  She’s going boggie, he sent.

  “Dammit,” Laura said aloud.

  “What’s wrong?” DeWinter asked.

  She startled at the sound of his voice. I’ve got company, she sent.

  She rubbed her forehead in annoyance. “What? Oh, nothing. I forgot a password.”

  “For what?”

  With an air of unconcern, she pushed the keyboard away and straightened papers on her desk. “V-drive stuff.”

  “Are you nervous about something?”

  She shrugged. “No. I wanted to review something. Speaking of which, you said you had something you wanted me to look at?”

  “An interesting opportunity has come up that will ease our acquisition. It will cost, though,” he said.

  She moved some paperwork on the desk. “Okay.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Okay?”

  Situations like this made impersonating someone dicey. She didn’t know what he was talking about. Moor had said little about her interaction with DeWinter, an obvious attempt to trip her up. With a distracted air, Laura stood. “I’m sorry, Adam. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Let’s start over.”

  “We need to move a substantial amount of funds,” he said.

  “How much?”

  “Nine, with three on reserve for contingencies.”

  She arched an eyebrow. He meant millions of dollars. “That’s some ease of acquisition.”

  He seemed pleased with himself. “It is. Do you think we can find a benefactor?”

  She shrugged and took a gamble. “You might have better access to those kinds of benefactors.”

  “I’ll need accounts access for transfers.”

  She pursed her lips and stared out at the D.C. skyline. His comment seemed off. If he didn’t have access—and he was in charge—then Moor or whomever she worked for didn’t want to give it. He was testing her. “You find the benefactor, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She didn’t look at him as he considered her response. “That’s fine.”

  Relief swept over her. Truth. He was fine with her answers. She had bluffed her way through it. DeWinter came around the desk and kissed her on the temple. “You look particularly marvelous today.”

  She slipped her hand into his. “Thank you. Now I need to get to work before you make me more distracted than I already am.”

  “Call me when you’re ready,” he said. He hesitated at the door as if weighing a thought, then smiled and left without speaking.

  Laura let out a relieved exhale.

  Tell Moor she better not be boggie when I get back, she sent to Terryn.

  CHAPTER 13

  LAURA STRODE THROUGH the lower corridor of the Guildhouse that led to
the InterSec holding rooms. She had switched glamours in the elevator lobby in the garage, shedding Fallon Moor and draping Mariel Tate over her like armor. Angry armor. Her long dark hair brushed from side to side against the back of her black jumpsuit, keeping rhythm with the punctuated staccato of her footsteps. Staffers moved out of her way.

  She entered the anteroom to Moor’s cell. Arms crossed, Terryn stood at the viewing window, his wings sparking with flashes of indigo and white. Laura stopped beside him. Inside the glass-encased room, Moor prowled, her limbs elongated and bristling with blond hair. She stared back at them, snapping her long-hinged jaws, unable to see through the one-way glass but knowing they were there.

  “How long has she been this way?” Laura asked.

  “Since I pressed her for the password,” Terryn said.

  “She doesn’t look too far into the boggart mania. Has she spoken?”

  He shook his head. “Howled a few times.”

  Laura grasped the doorknob. “I want answers.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Terryn asked her back.

  “We’ll find out.”

  She opened the door. Moor lunged as soon as she stepped inside. Laura activated her shields, a hardened layer of essence enveloping her body before Moor made it halfway across the room. As the brownie brought her claws forward, Laura swung an essence-charged fist at her chest and sent her flying into the wall. Moor hit with a loud grunt, then fell to the floor. She scrambled into a crouch, set to leap again.

  Thrusting her hand out, Laura stunned her with a blast of essence. Dazed, Moor slumped to the floor. In two long strides, Laura reached her, grabbed her by the hair, and held her up. Biting off the sounds of a binding spell, she sent burning lines of orange essence spiraling out of her free hand and pinned Moor against the wall.

  “Drop the act. We need to talk,” she said.

  Moor threw back her head and howled in pain as the bindings dug into her.