Face Off

CHAPTER 16

OVERLOOKING THE WHITE House, the Hay-Adams Hotel had an address that demanded high prices of its guests and the envy of those who wished they could afford it. Laura had lived undercover at the hotel several times over the years, and she had never regretted it. While it never felt like home, the service and atmosphere more than made up for it. For its location, it could have gone the lazy route, jacked up its prices, and let the tourists in; but all in all, it had kept its standards. The restaurants were good, not always spectacular, but at a place like the Hay-Adams, good was not something to be disappointed in.

When Genda Boone suggested lunch at the Lafayette Room to Mariel Tate, Laura almost asked to go elsewhere but changed her mind. After a week of undercover work as Fallon Moor, juggling plans at the Guild for Draigen’s reception, and worrying about Sinclair, she wanted to have a break that did not involve sleeping in her hidden room at the Guildhouse. The calm, pale colors of the hotel’s restaurant would be a perfect antidote to her chaotic schedule.

Or so she thought until Genda arrived in a flaming red dress that moved as much as her undulating wings. As a Danann fairy, she generated an essence field that drew its power from the air around her. Genda let some of her natural body essence emit a static glow that moved her white hair with a languid, mesmerizing motion.

By subtle signs in body language, Laura knew Genda saw her as soon as she entered but pretended to search for her. Otherwise, the turned heads in the room might have missed her entrance. She let her eyes settle on Laura and held her hand out as she crossed the room to the table. “Mariel, sweet, how are you?”

Laura smiled as she half rose from the chair to exchange air kisses. “Perfect, Genda. I love that dress.”

Genda’s vanity was notorious, and she liked it reinforced. Now that Laura saw the dress—which she did like—she realized the reason for the location. Genda’s vibrant slash of color against the pale décor of the Lafayette Room drew stares from all corners. Genda sat with a swirl of material. “Do you? It’s a Paul Carroll. Boutique designer out of New York. He dyed this red to perfection for me. You must call him.”

Laura sipped some white wine. “You’ll have to give me his number.” Her Mariel persona liked clothes as much as Laura, though Mariel tended toward more streamlined looks than Laura’s feminine tastes. She liked Mariel to project competence with an edge of intimidation. With Mariel’s long dark hair, that meant snug business suits in dark shades. It didn’t mean dull, though, as she touched her jacket sleeve, dark gray satin with ribbed black pinstripes. The three-quarter-length skirt showed off a sufficient curve of leg. Mariel more than held her own against Genda in the attraction department.

Genda sighed and flicked an imperious hand for the waiter. “I have been swamped this morning. The markets are going insane”—she broke off as the waiter arrived—“springwater, two glasses of the Grüner Veltliner from last week’s tasting menu, and have Thomas put together a pâté sampler—tell him it’s Genda. Thanks”—she dismissed the waiter with a turn of the head—“you will love this Grüner. Have it with the fish and the asparagus . . . Did you get a chance to see the news?”

Laura twitched her lips to keep from chuckling. “Which?”

Genda leaned forward. “The markets, dear. Chicago is a mess. Commodities are for gamblers, but between you and me, there’s a scandal brewing there that is going to embarrass the Teuts, and I can’t wait. Interesting times, I tell you, interesting times.”

Genda lived and breathed finance. Few people at InterSec understood what she was talking about half the time, but no one rivaled the sharpness of her assessments. In a global economy, the financial ramifications of world events often had an impact on political stability, and InterSec factored that information into whatever missions it undertook. “Teutonic fey? Does it reach to the Elvenking?”

She flipped a dismissive hand. “Oh, Donor is beside the point on this one. No, it’ll shake up both U.S. political parties when the money trail is found . . .” Two waiters appeared, one with the water and the appetizer plate and the other with the wine. Genda eyed the bottle label. “Yes, that’s the one”—she pointed to the appetizers—“try that crisped foie gras. It’s scandalous and delicious.” She paused to sip the wine, nodded with a smile to the waiter, and lowered her glass. “Nothing will come of it, of course. The humans will have their hearings and their protestations, and the real money will be avoided so everyone can enjoy St. Bart’s this year.”

“It’s delicious,” Laura said.

Genda tapped her hand. “Isn’t it? As long as it doesn’t affect the equity markets, it will be very entertaining.”

Laura smiled and shook her head. “I meant the foie gras.”

Genda’s eyebrows shot up, then she let out a short, high laugh. “Oh! Gods, listen to me. I have such a one-track mind. Isn’t it, though? Thomas is a marvel. So, tell me, dear, where have you been?”

She craned her neck to see beyond Laura and waved to someone. Laura felt herself begin to relax. She liked Genda. As Mariel, they had shared an office suite together for years. The nature of their responsibilities often kept their conversation on mundane and superficial matters, but that was precisely one of the things Laura liked about it. No InterSec or Guild politics. No guns under the table. Just two office colleagues who shared a similar lifestyle getting together for lunch or dinner. Despite the big personality and need for attention, Genda was a nice contrast to the stoic Terryn and quiet Cress.

She wondered if that was where her attraction for Sinclair was coming from. They had office politics for certain. They’d even had guns under the table a time or two. But Sinclair managed to push all of that aside with an attractive smile, an outgoing personality, and a desire to date. Laura noted how often Sinclair slipped his way into her thoughts. Was she focused on him because she was interested? Intrigued? Or bored by the people around her? Was her recent ambivalence about her job looking for something to pin itself on?

She let Genda interrupt her story about a visit to Paris to tell her own tale about pursuing a German businessman to the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower without using the elevator. Laura laughed. It was a good story.

Genda ran her fingers through her hair. “So, let me be serious and nosy for a moment. Is InterSec looking into the bombing of Kendrick’s, or were you there for PR?”

“Kendrick?” Laura asked.

“Hello? The Welsh herbalist? Such a shame about him. He had a flair and a talent. I have some of his hand cream in the office that you must try.”

“Oh, um . . .” Laura began, taken off guard. Genda never asked about assignments.

Genda draped a hand on her chest. “I have flustered Mariel Tate! I am sorry. Forget I mentioned it.”

Laura tilted her head to the side. She hadn’t known the name of the bombing victim. She tried to excuse herself that there hadn’t been time, but she knew she hadn’t thought to ask. “No, it’s okay. You surprised me.”

Genda bowed her head and gave her a confidential look. “I know the rules, dear. The written and the unwritten ones, but I saw you on CNN, for Danu’s sake. I’m curious because I knew Kendrick through a friend of a friend of a friend. His family must be devastated. I hope you squash whoever is responsible like a bug.”

“I do not squash people!” she said. It wasn’t true, she thought. She had squashed a few, but she didn’t want Genda to know that—or assume it.

Genda let out a burst of her high, fruity laugh. “I never meant to imply! ’Struth!” She leaned in again and winked. “But I’m saying someone should squash whoever did it. Kendrick never hurt a soul that I ever heard.”

Given the nature of the conversation, Genda was throwing off vibrations of falsity, but she was also exposing to Laura that she hadn’t thought about the dead fairy in any other context than as a case victim. “The Guild will take the case. We have a potential terrorist group under surveillance that Rhys should be concerned about,” she said.

Genda’s hair fluttered on soft currents of essence. “Well, I hope so. The last thing the fey need is bigger businesses becoming targets. We’re capitalized better, but that doesn’t mean we don’t compete with some formidable human firms. Do you like sorbet? The sorbet here is fabulous.”

“Sorbet it is,” she said.

Laura tried to remain focused as Genda launched into a monologue about vacation spots. Not knowing the bombing victim’s name bothered her. “Human” had two meanings in the world—a noun and an adjective. Had she become so self-involved that she was forgetting the human element of what she did? Fey or not, people died, and that meant something. It should. Once upon a time, it had been a primary motivation for her work with InterSec. Maybe that was the attraction to Sinclair. He never seemed to lose sight of the human element.

Sinclair again. She smiled, both at the thought of him and Genda’s joke about beaches in Scotland. He was never far from her thoughts these days. She sipped her wine and considered that maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in her life.