Genda Boone sailed into Laura’s InterSec office in a rustle of green taffeta. “Ah, good, you’re here, Mariel. I’m on the run, but I have some follow-up for you.”

She dropped a memo on the desk. Laura stared at yet more series of numbers, financial transactions and dates. “What is it?”

“Remember those accounts I found for the snipers? Dead ends so far. Someone hacked them. The shadow account in Wales is an old Inverni account, and the Caymans account that the funds initially came from? Imagine this, it’s a Guild account. Obviously, neither of those entities would be involved with Legacy. I was researching them before Terryn left, and we’ve found a significant amount of money-laundering. I guess we can add embezzlement to the list now. I have to nail down the intrusion points.”

Laura frowned as she lifted the memo. “Terryn showed me that data. Why would they steal funds if they had so much untraceable cash flow?”

Genda tapped the paper dramatically. “Untraceable, dear. That’s always the appeal when someone wants to move large funds quickly. Anyway, I can’t stay. I have a thing at the Kennedy Center. Opera. Can’t bear it myself, but there’s a gentleman I need to meet who has interesting connections in Germany. Don’t you love this dress? The material’s like grass on a sunny day.”

“You look smashing, Genda,” Laura said.

Coy, Genda shrugged. “The better to distract someone while he whispers sweet financial somethings. I’ve got to run.” She glanced down at the desk, her face becoming reserved. “You should go home, dear. You’ve been running yourself ragged.”

Laura smiled. “I will. And thanks, Genda. Another interesting piece for the puzzle.”

She smiled again as she bustled out the door. “I’ll bring you the program. Ta!”

Laura leaned her head into her hands. Piles of paper surrounded her, printouts from the Legacy files. She had found little of interest and nothing specifically tying the group to Draigen. A few vague references to the recent attacks on fey businesses were not enough for any sort of legal intervention that would make an impact.

She lifted her head at the sound of a knock. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Sinclair stood in the door but looked down the hall. “Is she gone?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I think that was a work outfit.”

Sinclair dropped a duffel bag on the floor and sat down. “Any news?”

Laura swept her gaze back and forth at the surface her of desk. “Nothing. No notes. No calls. Whoever took Cress isn’t making contact.”

“How’s Terryn?”

She heard concern in his voice. It pleased her that despite everything between them, Sinclair wasn’t being indifferent to Terryn’s situation. “He’s in lockup. Genda’s trying to get him released.”

He rocked his head back in surprise. “Trying? I thought they would have cleared everything up by now.”

She leaned back with a sigh. “They’re holding him for interfering with an investigation. His neighbors are furious, which didn’t help.”

He shook his head. “I understand why he did that, but it was a mistake.”

Laura swiveled her chair in a small arc. “I’m shocked. He’s usually so levelheaded.”

“Yeah, that’s been my experience with him,” Sinclair said with sarcasm.

Laura let it slide. After their talk in the cemetery, she understood where it was coming from. She tilted her monitor so he could see it. “I’ve been watching this surveillance video over and over. Check this out.” She played the video. “Notice anything?”

He shook his head. “Looks like I remember it. I couldn’t see macGrath from where I was, but obviously that’s her.”

“No, watch the action on the sidewalk when the shots are fired.” She played it again.

“Well, it’s kinda fun to watch a macCullen get shot, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

She stuck her tongue out, annoyed but playful. “Ha-ha. Watch again in slow motion . . . We come out of the lobby . . . Brinen moves in front of Draigen . . . I react to the ricochet and push Draigen down . . . Brinen gets hit.”

He arched his eyebrows. “And?”

“Brinen moves in before the ricochet,” she said.

Sinclair squinted at the screen as she played the video again. “You’re right.” He frowned.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

Uncertain, he shook his head. “I want to say that implies he knew the shot was coming.”

She exhaled forcefully and dropped her head back. “Damn. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Why would he plot to kill his own sister?”

Laura shrugged. “Honestly? I thought Aran was involved until I noticed this. Aran’s next in line for leadership after Draigen.”

“Assuming Terryn doesn’t take it back,” Sinclair said.

She gazed at the computer. “Assuming. Of the siblings, Brinen is Terryn’s biggest supporter. I don’t get it.”

They stared in silence as the video played again. Sinclair shook his head. “You said it yourself. Fairy politics are crazy.”

Laura rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to see Terryn tomorrow and tell him about it. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

“Careful he doesn’t get all defensive on your butt like he did with me,” he said.

She snorted. “He likes me better than you.”

Sinclair chuckled as he leaned down and opened the duffel bag. “I brought you something to see.”

He lifted a helmet out of the bag and placed it on the desk. “We did training exercises with these today.”

“I’ve seen this.” Laura shuffled the stacks on her desk until she found a thick folder. She flipped through the first few pages, then held up a detailed schematic of the helmet. “Tempered glass with a strip of quartz in the back. It looks like it’s modeled on a Guild-agent helmet.”

Sinclair took the folder. “They told us it would prevent essence attacks.”

Laura lifted the helmet. “The glass definitely would dissipate essence, but I’m not sure it would completely eliminate it. It’s heavy as hell.”

He leaned down and pulled a hardened plastic harness from his bag. “It rests on this to take the weight off the head. Still heavy, though.”

Laura ran her hands over the surface. “It’s an interesting design. More waved toward the back. Were you doing combat maneuvers?”

He lowered the helmet to the desk. “The usual practice sessions, only with the helmets and uniforms. I hate to say it, but these guys work really well together. Their coordination is impressive.”

She slid her finger down the strip of quartz on the back. A mild static sparked between her skin and stone. “I don’t get what the quartz is for. An essence residue came off it, but there wasn’t enough for me to figure out what it was supposed to do.”

Sinclair flipped through the file. “They didn’t say. I don’t remember sensing any essence from it.”

Laura put her hand inside and propped the helmet on her fingers. “Was there essence involved in the maneuvers?”

He nodded as he read. “Some brownies fired on us. Not very powerful. The helmet did what they claimed. I felt the pressure of the hit, but it flowed over my head.” He paused to read. “Lot of stuff in here about conductive and resistance properties.”

Laura placed the helmet back on the desk. “Well, that’s something out of this junk. We can turn it over to the R and D guys, see if they can make some use of it.”

Sinclair frowned. “Hel, is this a medical report? Is this thing doing something to my brain?”

He handed Laura a sheaf of papers from the back of the folder. She rifled through the pages, skimming over dense paragraph discussions on the mechanics of essence flow. “I don’t know. It’s old, theoretical stuff. It reads like research from the Druidic College.”

Another set of documents detailed a medical evaluation. “Hello,” she said, holding up the first page. “Look who wrote this.”

Sinclair leaned forward. “Ian Whiting? The guy who jumped off the Key Bridge last week?”

Laura continued reading. “This isn’t a coincidence, Jono. I’m thinking Whiting might not have gone over the side by his own choice. He worked with Cress back when she was trying to stop absorbing other people’s essence.”

Sinclair turned the helmet in his hands. “These guys are into defense against the fey. A leanansidhe absorbs essence. It doesn’t project it, right?”

A chill ran over her as she read another document. She jumped to her feet. “This is Cress’s medical file, Jono.” She pawed through the other folders. “Why would Legacy be concerned about the leanansidhe? The leanansidhe are no one’s allies. There must be something more here.”

Sinclair grabbed her hands. “Slow down. You’re panicking.”

She pulled her hands away and slid them up into her hair. “You’re right. I am so frustrated right now. Every time I think I have something, it gets messed up.”

Sinclair sat against the edge of the desk and pulled her between his thighs. “Not true. You’re worried. You’ve got one friend in a cell and another one missing. You will figure this out. It’s what you do.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders. “What if I’m too late? What if something happens to Cress before we find her?”

He pulled her closer. “What if you focus instead of thinking of failure?”

She pushed her lower lip out. “I’m surprised you can say that. I screwed things up for you. What makes you think I won’t do that to someone else?”

He shook her lightly by the hips. “What makes you think you screwed things up for me? I might not be happy about how Terryn’s treating me, but I’m still right where I want to be.”

She stared into his eyes. Truth. Everything he said, he believed. He was doing everything he could to help. He had set her thinking in directions that she had not intended—bringing in the helmet, recognizing the crèche as a medical lab, pointing out the dark side of what InterSec did. She was tired of doubting every word he said. Listing those things triggered a cascade of thoughts. “Danu’s blood,” she whispered.

He smiled. “You can kiss me now.”

Caught up in her thought process, she pulled away and grabbed the medical research again. Pushing stacks of folders out of the way, she found the crèche blueprints. Notes and formulas from the research correlated with the specifications for the crèche. They were connected—the crèche a direct product of the leanansidhe research. It was a tool for channeling a powerful fey—but not Draigen. It was specifically tailored for the abilities of a leanansidhe. “The crèche fits the description in this research. It’s meant for Cress, Jono, not Draigen. Legacy has Cress.”

He twisted in place to see what she comparing. “It does look similar.”

She grabbed her jacket. “Where do they do your urban-assault training?”

“I told you, about fifty miles due west of here. Front Royal, Virginia,” he said.

She kicked off her shoes. “Get that uniform on. We’re going in,” she said.

Sinclair moved back as she pulled on her work boots. “That’s a thin connection. Can we get a warrant with it?” he said.

She stood. “I’m not going to waste the time. It’s been over twenty-four hours. Terryn said that means Cress has moved into the danger zone.”

“Laura . . .” he said.

She held her hand up. “I know what you’re going to say, but right now I don’t want to hear it. I’m going, and I’m taking a tactical team. You can stay or come with me.”

He smirked. “I was going to say this is the woman I am all hot about.”

She paused. Truth. He hadn’t made it up on the spot. She smiled. “Just for that, I’m going to let you drive.”