Face Off

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.