CHAPTER 50
LAURA CAME OUT of the
bedroom of Sinclair’s apartment already dressed in her InterSec
uniform. She hadn’t activated the Mariel persona yet, preferring to
be Laura Blackstone when she woke Sinclair. Wearing the white
T-shirt and sweatpants from the previous night, he slept in the
living room and hadn’t moved since she had slipped into the
bathroom. She picked up the remote and muted the television.
Startled by the silence, he woke and sat up. His short hair was
pressed flat on one side. “Someone means business,” he said.
She perched on the edge of an armchair. “It’s not
going to be pretty. How are you feeling?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “Bruised. Headache.
Sore back.”
She twitched her lips. “You didn’t have to sleep on
the couch.”
He slid into a half-seated position. “You were
exhausted. I thought you would be more comfortable alone in the
bed.”
After she had passed out from unleashing essence on
Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys, she had come to in Sinclair’s arms on
the Mall, his worried face hovering over hers as he stroked her
hair. He had carried her away from the chaotic scene. She had
wanted to go back, but he wouldn’t let her. Too weak to resist, he
led her through a haze of smoke until they were beyond the
barricaded emergency zone. They had found an abandoned car with the
keys in the ignition and gone to his place.
“Thank you,” she said.
He smiled. “Anytime.”
She stood. “I have no idea what’s going to happen.
I’ll call you later.”
Easing up from the couch, he followed her. He
leaned against the edge of the open door as she lingered in the
hall. “What?” he said.
She shook her head. “Just thanks. Again.”
The InterSec car and driver she had called for
waited out front and drove her across a city in crisis. Emergency
restrictions limited access to downtown, and the government had
reduced all staffing to essential personnel only. Her
all-level-security InterSec badge got her anywhere she wanted to
go. She had never driven so easily through the normally
traffic-choked streets of D.C.
In the bright morning light, the damage to the
Guildhouse and surrounding building surprised her. It had looked
much worse at night, with all the smoke, the soldiers, and the
fires. Parts of the façade had fallen away, and bullet holes
riddled the walls of the first two levels. Plate-glass windows
gaped with jagged edges. Yet the building appeared more forlorn
than destroyed.
At the main entrance, Danann security agents
stopped her. “Agent Mariel Tate, your credentials are not valid to
enter the Guildhouse per order of the Guildmaster.”
She chuckled, which seemed to confuse the agents.
The banning didn’t surprise her. Without a word, she walked away
and around the building. As she turned the corner at the rear of
the Guildhouse, she deactivated the Mariel glamour and blurred her
uniform to look like a blouse and dress pants. She entered the rear
door and held up her Guild badge. The Danann agents stepped aside
for Laura Blackstone.
As she cut through the first-floor function rooms
to reach the main elevators, she reactivated the Mariel persona.
The remains of Draigen’s reception littered the lobby. Chairs were
overturned or pushed to the walls, and debris was scattered in
every corner. In the center of the room, tall,
beautiful—incongruous—an enormous vase of white flowers remained
untouched amid the mess. Cleanup crews loaded broken fixtures into
crates or threw out destroyed furniture.
Once through the main-door checkpoint, no one
stopped her. Brownie security guards operated the elevators and
rode up with the passengers. When the next available elevator
arrived, Laura sent the operator notice that no one else was to
ride with her. She wanted her destination as little seen as
possible.
Since waking, she had gone over the sequence of
events until a pattern emerged, a pathetic pattern of twisted
motives that had spiraled out of control. She saw it all, tying the
threads together, surmising the obvious gaps. It was over, but it
was a waste, and she wasn’t going to keep silent.
The macCullen residential floor bristled with
Inverni security. The scene gave Laura a certain sense of irony,
which she hoped would vanish in few minutes. At the conference
suite, the brownie Davvi worked at a spare, organized desk. “Good
morning, Agent Tate.”
She smiled. “Good morning, Davvi. I hope you can
help me.”
“Yes, miss?”
“I need a copy of the security-shift change orders
at Master macCullen’s residence from the day Cress was kidnapped.
Would you have that?” she asked.
“Yes, miss,” he said.
Anticipation prickled up her spine. She had worked
with Saffin long enough to know that brownies tried to follow their
usual procedures even when they had to make exceptions to them. She
waited, but he didn’t move. Although she was in no mood for Davvi’s
literalness, his responses forced her to be more aware of her own
language. “Davvi, please give me a copy.”
He opened a file drawer behind him. Without needing
to search, he retrieved a sheet of paper and dropped it on a
compact photocopier behind the desk. He held out the copy to Laura.
When she took the end of it, he didn’t let go. Curious, Laura met
his gaze. “Is there something wrong, Davvi?”
He pinched his lips, then blinked several times. “I
am conflicted, Agent Tate. Master macCullen instructed me to
respond to you as I would him. I may have erred with respect to
this document and am uncertain of my duty.”
He released the photocopy. Laura glanced over the
sheet, confirming her suspicion. “What is the error?”
Davvi clasped his hands behind his back and bowed
his head. “The Lord Guardian expressed fear of a security breach
and asked that a copy of the order not be made. I understood his
concern, but I had the utmost faith in my abilities to secure the
document. Despite his instruction, I made the copy.”
“That’s an odd request for Terryn to make.”
“You mistake me, miss. The Master is not a Lord
Guardian,” Davvi said.
She couldn’t prevent a small smile. “Yes, I’d
forgotten. Which Lord Guardian asked you not to make the
copy?”
“Lord Aran, miss,” he said.
His explanation satisfied her. It made her case all
the stronger. “Thank you, Davvi.”
He sighed. “I fear I may have been responsible for
the schedule error at the Master’s residence that resulted in the
kidnapping of his concubine. I will accept whatever disciplinary
measure the Master demands.”
Laura gaped. “What?”
“I may be responsible . . .”
Laughing, she held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Davvi.
I wasn’t asking you to repeat. I was reacting to what you said. The
last thing I expected today was to hear Cress referred to as a
concubine.”
Davvi tilted his head. “Is it incorrect? I have
researched but am at loss for a more accurate term that respects
the Master’s life decision.”
“I’d run it by Terryn,” she said. She glanced at
the door. “Are they all in there?”
“Yes, miss.”
She tugged at her jacket, inhaled deeply, and
opened the door. The macCullens sat at a round table covered with
paperwork. As one, they looked toward the door, Draigen with a
neutral pleasant expression while Aran and Brinen were distracted.
She suspected they had been arguing. Terryn, however, smiled.
“Lady Regent, I apologize for the intrusion,” Laura
said.
“No apologies needed after what you accomplished,
Agent Tate. I was hoping we could meet you before I leave. I want
to extend my deepest thanks. I believe we all owe you our lives,”
Draigen said.
Is Cress okay? she sent to
Terryn.
I have her in seclusion.
Whiting is hopeful for her recovery, he replied.
Laura bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I am not
sure you will thank me when I leave here, Lady Regent. I’ll get
right to the point. Last night happened because of the people in
this room. You are to blame. All of you.”
The statement had the reaction she expected. The
macCullens stared at her, suspicious and calculating, except
Terryn, who cocked his head as he waited for her to continue. She
knew that look, a patient waiting for facts and explanation. He
wasn’t going to like it.
She started with Draigen. “Lady Regent, your life
was not in danger until last night. Legacy did target you as part
of its broader plan to assassinate high-profile fey, but you were
never their sole target.”
“What in hell are you talking about?” Aran
asked.
From her jacket, she produced a folder and data
drives. “The assassination attempt was a well-planned and -executed
ruse. This documentation shows that funds were transferred into
offshore accounts to Sean Carr and Uma macGrath prior to the
shooting incident. The funds were traceable to a shadow account in
Wales originally set up as a secret fund in case the Seelie Court
moved against the Inverni.”
“I knew nothing of this account,” Draigen
said.
Laura was surprised that she was telling the truth,
but her ignorance didn’t matter on the point. “Your father set it
up or, should I say, had it set up. Our sources indicate only two
people had access to that account. Your father was one. Brinen
macCullen is the other.”
Brinen glowered at her. “I have no idea what you
are talking about, and I don’t like what you are implying.”
Laura ignored him and slid one of the data drives
to the center of the table. “MacGrath was paid significantly more
than Carr, which confused me since Carr was more criminally exposed
as the shooter and had the greater risk. Autopsy results
demonstrate conclusively that macGrath killed Carr, presumably to
silence him, and thus received a bonus. On the day of the
assassination attempt, video surveillance shows that Brinen reacted
to the shots prior to the actual firing at Draigen. The only
explanation is that he knew the shot was coming. Uma macGrath is
clearly visible in the surveillance then, reacting to Brinen’s
injury.”
“I will not hear . . .” Brinen began.
Draigen glanced up at him. “Let her finish,
brother. I shall be the judge of her words.”
Laura sensed the emotion roiling off him but
refused to be intimidated into activating her body shield. “I
examined macGrath’s body. The residue of essence signatures on her
indicated she had not been in proximity to anyone from the time of
the shooting until her death. All except one person: Brinen
macCullen.”
Brinen shot to his feet. “I examined her body at
the murder scene. You were there.”
Terryn’s quiet, firm voice cut through the shout.
“Sit down, Brin.”
Laura clasped her hands behind her back. “Which is
why I dismissed your essence at first. MacGrath was in a binding
spell before she died. Someone had to get close to her to do that,
and the only person whom she would let close after the
assassination attempt was someone she trusted. That person would
have left a strong body signature residue on her. The only strong
signature on her was yours, Brinen. The logical conclusion is that
you anticipated the issue and acted accordingly at her murder scene
to camouflage the essence left behind in the shock that killed
her.”
Brinen glared. “Quite fanciful. Pray, do shout this
to the world. We will bring the entire Inverni clan down on
you.”
Aran glared across the table. “Perhaps not the
entire clan.”
Brinen scoffed. “What this . . . person . . . fails
to realize is that you have access to the clan accounts, and our
father was more likely to share such a ridiculous plan with
you.”
Laura pulled more documents out of the folder.
“Indeed. Aran was clearly the likely suspect. He had access to
other accounts, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility he had
access to the account in question. MacGrath and Carr were more
affiliated with him than with Brinen. And he had motivation since
Aran is the more likely successor to Draigen. Exactly what Brinen
wanted us to think. Aran suspected the frame-up, and our sources
have confirmed that Brinen made the payments.”
Terryn stared at Brinen. “Why would you do such a
thing, brother?”
“She’s lying, Terryn. I would never try to kill our
own sister,” he said.
“Killing wasn’t the plan,” Laura continued. “Fear
was. Brinen is afraid of where Draigen is taking the Inverni, with
Aran’s support. As you told me, Terryn, he’s pressed you to assume
leadership for years. He thought he had found a way to force
Draigen out and blame Aran in the process. He hoped your fear of
Draigen’s being killed would pressure you to take the underKing
crown and blame Aran for attempted murder. But you didn’t take the
bait because of Cress. Brinen never thought you would choose her
over Draigen.”
Brinen laughed with a sneer. “This is getting more
preposterous all the time.”
The level of falseness in his voice brought Laura
satisfaction. She was right. “It was at that point that I think
things truly went out of control because of Cress.”
Terryn became still. “What does she have to do with
this?”
Laura took a deep breath. She was about to accuse a
head of state of attempted murder. “You and Draigen don’t agree on
how to deal with the Seelie Court over this Treaty mess. Draigen
fears you won’t stand up to Maeve, so she looked for a way to
discredit you to keep her regency. She found an unlikely ally in
Orrin ap Rhys. Rhys suspects you might be able to resolve your
differences with Maeve, and he doesn’t want that to happen. He
would rather see the Inverni destroyed, and with Draigen in charge,
that’s much more likely. Draigen encouraged Orrin ap Rhys to remove
Cress from InterSec and have you suspended in order to discredit
you among your own people. It fit Rhys’s agenda, so he did it. I
have confirmed private electronic communications between them that
they had to use because the wards in this building blocked
sendings.”
Draigen did not react. A flutter of sendings passed
in the air, and Terryn tilted his head in consideration. “Continue,
please.”
She dropped the photocopy from Davvi in front of
Brinen. “Can you identify that?”
Surprise swept over his face. “It’s the
security-shift schedule change.”
Laura moved the sheet to Draigen and Terryn. “With
the correct times. That was the final piece of evidence that
convinced me of what happened next. Brinen insisted that he gave
Aran the correct time to switch Cress’s security. I believed him,
and this order shows Brinen was telling the truth. Aran set up the
gap to allow Cress’s kidnapping. He despises the leanansidhe, and when he saw opportunity to rid the
clan of Cress, he took it. He was paid well for his efforts by the
Legacy group that attacked last night.”
She paused, then decided to provide proof that only
Terryn would truly understand. “DeWinter asked Fallon Moor to
transfer the money into the Inverni account at Aran’s direction. I
traced the transaction and have confirmed proof.”
I’m sorry, Terryn, she
sent.
Terryn looked stricken. You are
not to blame.
Sendings fluttered through the air. Terryn turned
to Laura. “Thank you, Mariel. This is now a clan matter.”
She hesitated. “I have one more thing to say. While
you played games with the leadership of your clan, people have
died. If you keep on this course, more will. Find a better way
because I think you are all doomed otherwise. If you can’t, you
deserve to lose everything.”
She walked to the door, but Terryn called her name.
She turned, expecting an argument.
“Please tell Agent Sinclair I expect to see him
report for official duty,” he said.
A bittersweet smile crossed her lips. “I
will.”
You need to make a decision
about your own life, too, Terryn. Good luck, she sent.
She didn’t look back. Despite everything—Brinen’s
misguided plans, Rhys’s machinations, Terryn’s love for Cress—she
knew that what she had exposed to the macCullens would probably
cause more problems among the Inverni than any of the others.
She had one more stop to make. When the elevator
arrived, she held her InterSec badge up and ordered the brownie
security guard out. In the long run, it didn’t matter who knew she
went to the Guildmaster’s office, but given that she had attacked
him the night before, she wanted as little security around as
possible.
As Laura entered the anteroom to Orrin ap Rhys’s
office suite, it occurred to her that she had never been there
before as Mariel. She had a sense of wrongness, as if she had
crossed personas, something she avoided at all costs. There was no
conflict, though. Her business with him was a personal matter
between him and Mariel Tate.
His Danann assistant glanced up and paused at her
typing. She placed a trembling hand on the desk blotter near the
phone. “Can I help you?”
“Mariel Tate to see the Guildmaster,” she
said.
The Danann paused, a professional smile on her
face. “The Guildmaster says you should coordinate communications
through his lawyer. Would you . . .”
Lifting her hand as if she were brushing her hair
back, Laura tapped the ambient essence in the air. “Sleep.”
The assistant froze in midsentence. Laura opened
the office door. In irritation, Rhys turned in his seat at the
sound of her entrance. He drew a subtle charge of essence into his
hands when he saw her but didn’t activate his body shield. She
sensed that his body essence was damaged from her blast. Even a
short burst of essence without his shields would kill him. She
wasn’t sorry he was alive, but at that moment, she wished she had
put him in the hospital
“Nervous about something, Rhys?” she asked.
“I had you banned from this building,” he
said.
She stopped in front of his desk. “Indeed. Yet here
I am. Keep that in mind for the future.”
“Security is on its way,” he said.
She withdrew papers from her jacket and dropped
them in front of him. “I won’t be long.”
He glanced at the top sheet, empty except for rows
of numbers. “What is this?”
She leaned her hands on the front of his desk.
“Financial transactions. InterSec tracked down the original sources
of a significant amount of money. Funds moving from you personally
to Legacy to fund the kidnapping of Cress Leanansidhe.”
He chuckled. “You’ll have a hard time proving
that.”
“And you will have a hard time defending yourself
against conspiracy charges as well as attempted murder,” she
said.
With a smug look, he extinguished the essence in
his hands. “Shall I point out the flaw in your amusing little plan,
dear? As High Queen Maeve’s representative, I have complete
diplomatic immunity. You won’t be able to file charges on your
rather creative claim.”
Laura straightened. “That doesn’t mean you won’t be
deported from the U.S. Once the evidence is made public, no
government will grant you credentials again. You’ll be trapped in
Ireland for the rest of your illustrious career . . . dear.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes, a feeble light flickering
in them. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
She gave him the coldest smile she knew how. “Oh,
it’s much worse than that, Rhys. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll be watching. Have a nice
day.”
As she strode through the anteroom, she withdrew
the sleep spell on the assistant. “. . . like to make an
appointment?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Laura said.
On the sidewalk in front of the Guildhouse, she
paused. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. The
warmth felt good on her skin. She filtered out the traffic noise
and focused on the soft sounds of the birds across the street. She
could shut things out. She could do it. She had thought she could,
but she hadn’t given herself a reason to in a long time.
She opened her eyes, the whir of the city
reasserting itself around her. She strode up the sidewalk to where
a black car waited. The driver opened the door, and she slid into
the backseat. As they pulled away from the curb, she opened her
cell phone.
“It’s me,” she said, when Jono answered.
“Who you?” She heard the smile in his voice.
She watched the decimated Mall slip past the
window. “Just me. How’d you like to pack your bags and go away with
me for the weekend?”
“I’d like that very much,” he said.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she said.
She disconnected the call and settled back in the
seat. She had done it, said her piece no matter the consequences.
She had been honest about what she thought with people who didn’t
want to hear. A sense of calm satisfaction spread over her, and she
smiled. Then she laughed, anxious to see Sinclair.