CHAPTER
35
WITHIN HOURS OF
sending law-enforcement agencies the names and pictures of the missing guards, a tip call came in on Rory Dawson, one of the missing Inverni guards who hadn’t shown up for Laura’s staff interviews. A hotel desk attendant thought he recognized the Inverni as the same man who had checked in two days earlier and hadn’t left. If there was an upside to human suspicion of the fey, it was that they paid attention when the fey were around.
Laura welcomed the interruption. Sitting in her office crafting press releases and talking points for Rhys made her angry. She had become so accustomed to generating whatever spin he wanted on a given topic, she realized she had stopped thinking about the people involved, the real people who would be affected by the things the Guildmaster said and did. Now, with its happening to Cress and Terryn, she remembered, remembered and felt guilty that she had become so indifferent. Bringing in an AWOL fairy was the perfect antidote to her mood.
She parked her SUV amid a sea of Guild and InterSec vehicles in the fire lane in front of the hotel in the southeast section of the city. The location was convenient, convenient being a matter of perspective. The stadium was not far for those who liked sports and an easy walk. The Washington Navy Yard sat to the south, a warren of naval support offices and a museum. The views left a few things to be desired. A view, for one. Parking lots and nondescript office buildings surrounded the hotel.
Inside the lobby, Aran macCullen worked behind the registration desk with a group of Inverni Guardians. They huddled around computer monitors while the hotel staff stood aside, their faces interested or apprehensive. Laura rested her hands on the counter. “That hardly looks subtle out front, Lord Guardian.”
He flashed her a smile. “He’s in a room in the back, Mariel. Hasn’t left since he checked in.”
“Is he alone?” she asked.
Aran shook his head. “We think he has a woman in the room. Human. We’re clearing the floor of other guests.”
“Has he been ordering room service?” she asked.
Aran looked over at one of the hotel staff. “Three, four times a day,” said one of the women.
Laura considered the situation as she surveyed the staff Aran had brought with him. The Inverni had a traitor among them. Sean Carr might have fired the gun at Draigen, but another Inverni had killed him, probably to silence him. Even though Rory Dawson was a suspect, any of the Inverni Guardian staff in the lobby could be allied with him or part of a larger conspiracy to assassinate Draigen. After running through all the macCullens’ personnel, she recognized people from subclans who reported to each of the macCullen siblings. Not the best way to isolate the problem, but the missing Guardian was being treated as an internal matter for Draigen. Too much conflict of interest for Laura’s taste. “I’m going in. I’d like a hotel staff uniform, please,” she said.
Aran arched an eyebrow at her. “He’s one of my people, Agent Tate. There’s no need for you to take an active role.”
She leaned in so that no one else could hear her. “Your people are trained primarily to engage other fairies, Lord Guardian. He won’t expect me.”
Subtle body movements among the men around Aran indicated he was conferring with them via sendings. Eyes shifted toward Laura and away, not all of them pleased. She decided to make her next comment private.
If he escapes, it will not look good,
she sent.
Brinen is setting me and my people up, Agent Tate. I will not let that happen,
he sent.
Your men are on edge and resentful. I’m concerned they might overreact,
she sent.
Aran drew down his eyebrows, not happy at her implication. “Fine. You can take the point.”
A Guardian gestured to the same woman from the hotel staff to precede him. Laura skirted the counter and joined them in a back room. The woman glanced at her with an appraising look as she sorted through uniforms on a rack. She handed over a maroon tunic. Laura removed the tight black zippered jacket she wore as part of her InterSec uniform. She slipped on the tunic, smoothing it down over her hips. The woman held out a pair of matching pants, but Laura shook her head. “This is as much polyester as I’m going to wear today.”
A nervous smile trembled on the woman’s lips as she returned the pants. She rummaged in a drawer in a nearby desk and gave Laura a badge that read ROOM SERVICE. Laura pinned it to her chest and met Aran at the elevator.
On the seventh floor, Guardians filled the elevator alcove, out of sight of the main corridor. “We’ve got troops outside the windows in case he tries to fly out. I want you to go in with two men as backup,” Aran said.
“They take orders from me. The civilian’s safety gets top priority,” she said.
“They’ll do their best,” Aran said.
She checked the staff position out on the floor. Guardians lined the corridor, giving Dawson’s room a wide berth. “Best isn’t what I want to hear, Aran. Unless this guy has skills you haven’t mentioned, he’s not getting out of here with all this security.”
Aran set his jaw. “Securing a threat to Draigen must remain our top priority.”
Essence sparked in her eyes. “Then we are in agreement. If a human gets injured in this, you’ll have a bigger problem than you have right now. Understood?”
Aran narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you speak this way to my brother?”
“Terryn? If necessary, absolutely,” she said.
His face became a mask. “Interesting.”
She tugged at the ill-fitting tunic. “Let’s get this going.”
Two Guardians followed her as she pushed a room-service cart down the hall. She stopped in clear view of the fish-eye lens in Dawson’s door while the guards hid to either side. When they charged their hands with essence, pale indigo light welling up from their palms, she knocked on the door. “Room service.”
Something fell inside the room. A woman laughed, followed by the sound of a deeper voice speaking, obviously annoyed. Laura tensed when the door shifted in its frame as someone leaned against it from inside the room.
“Did you order?” she heard him say. The woman spoke, but her reply was too muffled to hear.
“You freakin’ liar. There’s a damned cart out there. Don’t tell me you didn’t order anything. I’m not made of money.”
Louder, he spoke through the door. “Must be a mistake. We didn’t order.”
Laura made a show of checking an order ticket in case he was watching. “No mistake, sir. The orders are logged off the phone system. Room 734. I took the order myself, sir. It was a woman that called.”
Dawson yanked open the door. Wrapped in a towel, he reeked of alcohol. He swayed on his feet, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled. Pinpoints of deep blue light flickering in his indigo wings. “I said we didn’t call.”
Laura swept her hands up, charging them with essence. “InterSec, stand down.”
Confused, Dawson stumbled back toward the frightened woman huddled on the bed. In the room windows beyond her, Guardian agents descended into view. Dawson hurried toward the bed as the windows shattered. Bolts of essence flashed through the room.
Laura rushed in, shouting, “Hold fire! Hold fire!”
Dawson jumped onto the bed and crouched over the woman. A Guardian raised an essence-charged hand. Dawson flung his hand out, feeble sparks of essence flickering blue around his fingers. Laura leaped forward, jabbing her shoulder into the middle of the Guardian’s back. His shot went wild as he lurched forward and fell against the foot of the bed. Still in motion, Laura rolled over him and activated her body shields as she landed on the disheveled bedding.
Dawson struggled to his feet, trying to stabilize his essence charge. “Thanks,” he said.
Laura grabbed him by the neck and thrust him facedown on the bed. “I’m not your friend, idiot.”
She put her foot on his neck as the Guardians jostled for space. The one who had fallen stood, his face angry as he raised his hands, charging up essence. Laura thrust her fist under his chin, bright gold essence light illuminating his skin. “I said hold your fire.”
He set his jaw but didn’t extinguish his essence. Laura pressed her fist harder, tilting his head back. “Go ahead. Try me.”
He glared, dousing his charge. Laura stared down the half dozen guards beyond her extended body shield. Behind her, the woman’s sobbing filled the sudden silence.
Aran entered. “Guardians, attend!”
They fell back to the perimeter of the room. Aran flicked his hand, and they exited. Laura lowered her fist and shot a small burst of essence against Dawson’s back. The man shuddered once and passed out. His essence didn’t match what she’d found in the morgue. He hadn’t killed Sean Carr.
Turning her back on Aran, she stepped off the bed and leaned over the sobbing woman. “Are you okay?” She didn’t answer. Laura pulled her to her feet. “Come with me. You’re safe.”
Wrapping her arm around the woman’s shoulder, she guided her around the end of the bed. She would turn the woman over to Guild security for protection. The operation had been a waste of time. Dawson was nothing more than a party boy who skipped out on his job. As she passed Aran, she glared at him. “He’s not our guy. I’ll be talking to Terryn about what happened here.”
She left him in the room to clean up the mess.
CHAPTER
36
INTERSEC REPORT FILES
surrounded Laura in stacks, dozens from the day of the assassination attempt. As she read through each one, the information became embedded in her memory, years of druidic training enhancing her near-photographic memory. At first, reviewing files had been a welcome relief from the fruitless episode at the hotel the day before. After a while, though, the process became mentally taxing. Coupled with her lack of sleep over the recent days, fatigue was starting to take its toll.
She relaxed the mnemonic spell that boosted her memory retention. The information she had absorbed jumbled in her mind. In a day or two, it would settle into more coherent patterns on its own, but she had keyed her thoughts to focus on the events leading up to the finding of Sean Carr’s body in the attic. Report after report of the first responders showed a consistent pattern. Every person on the scene described Carr as dead on the floor upon their arrival. She had found no one who had claimed they fired on him nor anyone who mentioned they saw the strike. She surmised either a report was missing or whoever had done the deed hadn’t filed one.
She stared at the paperwork. Terryn’s sources claimed Draigen remained a target, but nothing in the data identified a source of the danger or the means. Even the time was vague—sometime before she left the States. Gut instinct told Laura the ideal time would be the reception, the only event left on Draigen’s public calendar. Her logical reasoning, though, made the reception seem too obvious. Someone planning an attack of this magnitude would know security had been hardened considerably. No, Laura thought, another assassination attempt would come from an unexpected direction, and an internal threat was much more likely.
She paused as a strong wave of body essence filtered up the hall, then relaxed when she realized it was Genda. Even with the ward dampening in the Guildhouse, a Danann fairy stood out. She scanned her desk to confirm there was nothing she didn’t want seen.
Genda stopped at the door. She wore a white dress that shifted on subtle currents of essence, small images of orange flowers shimmering on the fabric. “There you are, love. I saw that you checked in. How is everything going?”
Laura glanced down at the folders. “Slow. I’m trying to get a lead on the assassination attempt.”
A guilty look mixed with amusement came over Genda. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I found something strange.”
She handed Laura a sheet of paper. The lists of numbers were similar to series she had seen for bank-transaction routing numbers. “What’s this?”
Genda stepped into the office, the guilt slipping away to satisfaction. “It’s my nature to look at the financials of everything. When I got the names of the missing Inverni, the first thing I did was pull bank records. Those are tracking numbers for Uma macGrath. I hope I didn’t overstep. Terryn used to provide me with data and access. I assumed that I had the authority to do this.”
Laura pursed her lips as she reviewed the numbers. Two substantial lump sums had been deposited into macGrath’s account—one before and one after the assassination attempt. “You’re clear, Genda. We have pretty broad authority to move quickly on things like this.”
Relief swept over her face. “Oh, good. I was afraid we might not be able to use this.”
Laura considered the numbers. “I’m not surprised she was paid. Sometimes in these situations, the perpetrator is motivated purely for political reasons, but money isn’t far behind.”
Genda laughed. “Oh, yes, definitely. Money’s behind most things. That’s what makes it so fascinating.” She leaned across Laura’s desk and pointed at a few lines of data near the top of the list. “For instance, look at this.”
“The first payment went into her account a day earlier, the second the day of the attempt,” Laura said.
Genda tapped the paper. “Exactly, love. But no second payment for Carr. He died, obviously, but it’s interesting macGrath was paid despite Draigen’s survival. Odd, no?”
“That’s a good point,” Laura said.
“I traced the wires. The payments came from an old Inverni shadow account in Wales. I haven’t figured out whose it was yet. There was some activity in the account prior to the payments, likely a transfer from the Caymans. Have you ever been? The water is amazing, but the clubs are filled with thugs in bad casual wear.”
Laura shook her head. “No, not in years. Are you suggesting someone in an Inverni clan hired macGrath to assassinate Draigen?”
Genda sighed dramatically, her hands fluttering to her sides. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m a numbers person. What do you think it means?”
Laura let the paper fall to the desk. “It could be the Alfreys. They’ve been rivals for centuries from what I understand.”
Genda played her hands through her hair. “Oh, that old feud. What a mess. Draigen should marry . . . What’s his name—Simon? The son? Seal the breach, as they say.”
“He’s in prison, Genda. He was the one who orchestrated the Archives attack.”
She tapped her temple. “Oh, right, right. I doubt it was them, though. They love Draigen.” She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, dear, but she’s the real sapling from the tree, you know.”
Laura tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Genda glanced at the door again, her face avid. “You’re too young to remember. Draigen’s the one who convinced her father to challenge the High Queen, and her politics haven’t changed much. It’s why the Inverni can’t get investors like the rest of the Celtic fey can. Too uncertain politically.” She shook her head in memory. “What a dashing man Aubry macCullen was. Very astute financially, too. I would have risked a scandal for a night with him, let me tell you.”
“Genda!”
She laughed, high and musical. “Oh, come now, Mariel. Clan rivalries are one thing. Romance is another.”
Amused, Laura shook her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anyway, my money’s on this whole assassination thing being internal politics. Draigen will probably find a way to blame the High Queen, though.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like Rhys talking.”
She shrugged. “Another brilliant man. Another man I’d”—she laughed self-consciously—“oh, never mind. So, what’s the next step with this information?”
“Can you keep trying to track the original source of funds?” Laura asked.
Genda nodded. “Of course. Absolutely. Shall we inform the macCullens?”
“No!” Laura said. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out so loudly. The Inverni Guardians are on edge as it is with the would-be assassin being one of their own people. Let’s wait for confirmed information before we give them more to be paranoid about.”
Genda nodded vigorously as she moved toward the door. “As you say, then. I’ll get right on it.”
“Before you go, Genda, I’d like to recommend InterSec provide security for Cress.”
She paused in surprise. “The
leanansidhe
? Are you serious?”
Laura spread her hands. “She’s one of our own, Genda, regardless. The Guild is not the best security for her under the circumstances. You have to keep in mind our own morale. If we don’t protect her, it’s going to cause anxiety for every InterSec agent undercover.”
Genda frowned. “Surely they don’t want to be seen as supporting her?”
“Not her, per se. The organization.” Laura hesitated, steeling herself to speak. “If you end up more than acting director, Genda, internal support from rank and file will be invaluable.”
As the thought settled in her mind, Genda’s face relaxed. “Interesting. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Feigning indifference, Laura shrugged. “Think about it, then.”
Genda winked. “I will.”
Laura took a deep breath. The idea that Terryn could lose his position made her almost feel physically ill. That Genda—with no field experience—might replace him made it worse. That she had encouraged that thinking made it awful.
Her phone chirped as soon as Genda left, and Laura checked the text message. Terryn wanted to meet with her and Sinclair later that night at the Guildhouse. She stared at the files. She didn’t think the Guildhouse was a good location under the circumstances. She texted Terryn and told him she’d send him a more secure location. Someone in the Inverni entourage wanted Draigen dead. It was too obvious to consider anything else anymore. She was afraid of where it would lead. And what Terryn would do about it.