Face Off

CHAPTER 20

ACROSS THE RIVER in Crystal City, Laura spent the rest of the day impersonating Fallon Moor. DeWinter had an oversight meeting, so she had a full day of uninterrupted time at Legacy trying to gain access to the computer system. Irony frustrated her—that Moor had clearance to look at classified information but Laura was unable to touch it without raising questions. If she asked for help for something as simple as a password, she risked alerting people, particularly DeWinter, that something odd was going on. Moor simply refused to answer any more questions, gambling that InterSec wouldn’t make good on its threat to send her to the Seelie Court. Laura didn’t fault her strategy. Capital punishment made the member governments of InterSec pause. It didn’t mean Moor would go free, but it did mean Laura’s threat might be empty. She had warned Terryn that might happen.

She decided to take a different approach to the problem. DeWinter’s office was at the end of the corridor, far from others and surrounded by conference rooms. His door was closed, the card-swipe mechanism glowing with its little red light to indicate locked. The mechanism was an extra layer of security on some offices as well as access to entire areas of the floor. Fallon Moor’s card let her into some of the latter, but she hadn’t lingered in them long enough to figure out what was being hidden. She didn’t want to raise suspicions unless absolutely necessary.

She paced in front of the plate-glass wall, aware that a ceiling camera recorded her every move. She looped back and forth, randomly nearing DeWinter’s door for a closer look at the card swipe. After a few passes, she made out the style and manufacturer of the unit. If InterSec could hack into the system, they might be able to produce a card that would get her in.

DeWinter’s reflection appeared in the window. She cursed to herself. She had hoped he wouldn’t stop in the office at the end of the day, and now she had no choice but to talk to him. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he joined her at the window and took in the view. “What are you looking at?”

She ran her hand through her hair, noting its coarseness, so different from her own. Her glamour effects extended beyond the visual, and she made it a point to remember that smells and touch were important to mimicking someone. She wondered what nuances DeWinter might detect that she had missed. Did her hair feel right? Her skin? Did she have a scent he liked that she had missed? He didn’t give an indication that something was amiss, but she worried. She jutted her chin toward the view. “I was thinking how new all that is. What is it? A couple of centuries old? That amount of time means nothing to the fey.”

“It will when we’re done. They need to learn that this is and always has been a human world. Everything else they’ve touched has been destroyed,” he said.

Laura pursed her lips. A philosophical argument on fey versus human goals was something she knew how to play. Over the years, she’d read enough theories and arrested enough radical dissidents to know the thought problems. “Will they learn or fight? Is what we’re doing any guarantee of long-term success? The fey held sway in Faerie a long time.”

In the reflection of the glass, she saw him cock his head toward her own reflection. “Are you having doubts?”

The response frustrated her. DeWinter’s intelligence training meant he wasn’t prone to talk. No spontaneous monologues about his master plan were likely. “No. Reflections. The monarchies are formidable opponents. Not to brag or criticize, but I’ve experienced that more than you have.”

He glanced up the corridor, trailing his fingers through the short tufts of hairs along her forearm. “Do you need more convincing?”

She let him touch her, deciding what to push with him and how. His voice reverberated with seductive tones, but whether he meant that as sexual or playful, she couldn’t tell. She responded in the same tone but kept the subject on business to see where he would take it. “For twelve million dollars I might.”

He glanced up the hall again. “Yes, thank you for your speed on that. I’ve already put the transaction in motion.”

“I know,” she said. DeWinter had found his benefactor, and she had routed the money into an offshore account. Everything had been done electronically, and no one had met in person. She kept the accounts flagged to monitor activity. DeWinter had moved half the money as soon as the funds arrived in the account.

“Let’s go in my office,” he said. He withdrew his ID card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. She lingered behind him, amazed at her luck. He was going to use the keycard in front of her. She hid her interest by gazing at the view across the Potomac. As he punched the combination into the keypad, the soft tones of his tapping finger, barely audible, tickled her ear.

“Fallon?” he said.

She turned from the plate-glass window, acting like he had prodded her out of a daydream. The access code settled into her mnemonic memory. Six digits. Hit the enter key twice.

The office was utilitarian, made to look more so with hard, modular furniture. DeWinter settled behind his desk. “Let me check my email.”

She didn’t respond as she draped herself near the end of a low-slung couch upholstered in a stiff orange fabric. The office revealed nothing about the man. The modernist furniture didn’t feel personal; the abstract paintings on the walls didn’t relate to each other. Everything seemed selected to project an image, but it lacked personality. Either DeWinter decorated it in a deliberate attempt for neutrality, or someone had been given simple instructions to do it.

She eyed his computer setup. His desk was almost a sculpture, all glass and steel, with no drawers. Easy access. She decided to take advantage of the opportunity. “Can I have a drink?” she asked.

He glanced up. “What’s your pleasure?”

She grinned seductively. “Give me a drink, and I’ll tell you. I think I saw some fruit juice in the kitchen.”

He grinned back and rose from his seat. “Don’t move. I like seeing you on my couch.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and chuckled as he left. She waited a heartbeat, then hurried to his desk. She pulled out a memory stick that she had been keeping with her since she arrived at Legacy. Plugging it into the back of his computer, she downloaded a keystroke program onto his system. InterSec had designed it to be small and unobtrusive. She went to the door to check the hall. Empty. She pulled the memory stick out and resumed her position on the couch.

DeWinter returned a few minutes later and handed her a glass of orange juice. He sat on the couch, trailing his hand along her leg. “We haven’t had a moment alone in over a week.”

“I’ve been working on something,” she said.

He toyed with a strand of her hair. “Can you tell me about it?”

Smiling as she sipped, she shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll have to check before I bring you in.”

He leaned over and kissed her. She forced herself to return the kiss. He brought his hand to her cheek and pressed against her. Her mind raced for an exit strategy. She didn’t want things to go any further. It wasn’t necessary for what she needed. As his lips found her neck, she closed her eyes, realizing that she was not going to let anything sexual happen. This time, she thought. Or anytime, she hoped. She didn’t want to face Sinclair and admit that, yes, they were sort of seeing each other, and, yes, she’d had sex with someone else. For work. They didn’t have any commitment to each other, didn’t have any rules or parameters about their relationship. The fey were more open-minded about sexual relationships—even outside committed relationships—but Laura had no idea what Sinclair thought about it. He might have more-human attitudes. There were human words for people who traded sex for things, for money, information, access. She didn’t agree with that. Not always. That she worried what Sinclair would think surprised her. Lying on a couch with DeWinter was not the time to sort it out, though.

She draped her hand over the back of the couch and released a small burst of essence at the window. It hit with soft bang, and she pretended to be startled. The juice sloshed onto her dress as DeWinter pulled away. “What was that?”

She stood, brushing at her damp skirt. “I don’t know. Something hit the window. A bird maybe.”

With his head tilted down, he smiled at her. “Your outfit’s a mess. Maybe you should take it off.”

She laughed and tousled his hair. “Not here. Let me take care of this before a stain sets.”

She strolled away, letting him get a good look at the roll of her hips. At the door, she trailed her hand along the wall as she left the room. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She left him grinning on the couch. The upside to playing cloak-and-dagger games with people who played cloak-and-dagger games was that when someone disappeared on a moment’s notice, no one pushed for explanations unless deep doubts existed. If DeWinter had noticed small clues that something was different about Fallon Moor, Laura’s handling of the funds transfer had probably allayed those suspicions for the moment. Rather than risk being alone with him on his own turf, she decided to disappear for a bit. DeWinter was going to find himself waiting for nothing.