Laura smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a little support in the Senate now and then.”
Hornbeck chuckled again. “Yes, well, wouldn’t we all. Keep in touch.” He hung up.
Saffin entered with another stack of mail. Laura winced at the sight of the healing cuts and bruises on her face and arms. Saffin, however, smiled as she filled the in-box. “I sorted these by priority as best I could.”
Laura looked up at her with a grateful smile. “Thanks. Could you close the door and have a seat?” Curious, Saffin tilted her head and did as asked. “Are you all right?” Laura asked.
Saffin nodded, self-consciously holding her hand over bandaged fingers. “My healer sent me home with an amazing potion. I slept for three days. I’m fine.”
“No—I mean, good, of course—what I meant, though, is, how are you about what happened?”
Saffin met her eyes with a frank stare. “I’m a brownie, Laura. I become a boggart. They’re both who and what I am.”
Laura looked away. “I wish I could be so comfortable with myself.”
“It’s my nature,” Saffin said. “There’s no sense in fighting it. I came to terms with it a long time ago. I have faith that when I go boggart, the Wheel of the World has a purpose that makes sense for me.”
Laura fidgeted with a pen. “How long have you known?”
Saffin frowned. “Known what?”
Laura met her eyes. “At the Archives, when Mariel Tate found you, you called her Laura. Me. You called me Laura. How long have you known?”
Guilt crept across Saffin’s face. “A few years.”
Laura dropped back in her chair, letting her surprise show for once. “Years! How did you find out?”
The guilt turned to amused embarrassment. “Your brown suede Gucci pumps were scuffed.”
“What?”
Saffin smiled pertly. “Mariel Tate wore the same pair with the same scuffs.”
Laura leaned back. “That’s it? You concluded I was wearing a glamour because of a pair of shoes?”
Saffin rocked her head back and forth. “Well, that was the first clue. Then I noticed Audra Henley had the same loose stitch on a jacket, Sylva Wentworth had the same ink stain on her Prada jeans, and whenever you sent me to Candace Burke, I found Terryn macCullen’s number on the caller ID, then you would disappear.”
“I have an ink stain on my Prada jeans?”
Saffin held her index finger and thumb about a quarter inch apart. “Just a little one outside the right knee.”
Laura covered her face with her hands and laughed. “I can’t believe I was that sloppy.”
Saffin shook her head. “Well, unless you have other assistants like me, I doubt it. I love your wardrobe.”
Laura regained control of herself. “Who have you told?”
Saffin’s eyes went wide. “No one! I figured if you didn’t tell me, it had to be heavy-duty undercover work.”
Laura shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”
Saffin nervously rubbed at her bandaged hand. “Am I in trouble?”
Laura considered the ramifications. Saffin had known for years and never said a word. “Of course not. In fact, it’s a relief. Tell you what: Let’s keep this between us. No one has to know.”
Relief swept over Saffin’s face. “That sounds easy.”
“Good. Now, I have a ton of stuff to get off my desk before my flight tonight. Don’t put any more calls through,” said Laura.
Saffin opened the door. “That reminds me, I got you upgraded on the final leg to St. Barts.”
“Thanks, Saf. I can never thank you enough for everything.”
Laura shook her head in disbelief. Shoes. Outside the door, she heard Saffin gasp. A moment later, she scurried in carrying a vase of long-stemmed red roses. “I bet I know who these are from!” she said.
Laura opened the note card. The message was a phone number with “Jono” written under it.
“The big guy from the Archives?” Saffin asked.
“The big guy from the Archives,” Laura said. Saffin strutted out with a smug look.
Laura called the number.
“Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a few days,” Sinclair said.
“It’s been crazy,” she said.
“I thought since you still have the key to my apartment, you should probably have my new cell number.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll return the key,” she said.
“You don’t have to. I trust you. Are you free for dinner tonight?” he asked.
She rubbed the card between her fingers. “I told you, Jono. I don’t date colleagues.”
“What colleague? I met this woman at an exhibit the other night. It was like fireworks. I don’t work with anyone like that,” he said.
Laura allowed herself a grudging smile. He wasn’t going to stop. “What do you think of Caribbean food?”
Look for the next Connor Grey novel
UNPERFECT SOULS
by Mark Del Franco
In the Weird, the bad stuff went down at night. People fought. They screwed up. They died—sometimes by accident, sometimes by their own hands. And murder happened, too, more frequently in this end of town than in any other . . .
In the Boston neighborhood known as the Weird, the Dead of TirNaNog stalk the streets. When a decapitated body floats out of the sewer, former Guild investigator Connor Grey uncovers a conspiracy that may bring down the city’s most powerful elite.
As the violence escalates, Connor is determined to stop it—with help from one of the most dangerous beings of Faerie. To save his friends and allies, Connor realizes, a sacrifice must be made—one that will bring about the destruction of everything he holds true. And this time, Connor doesn’t care what it takes—even if it means unleashing the darkness that burns within him.
Coming February 2010
from Ace Books