Skin Deep

CHAPTER 15

GIANNI CONTINUED TALKING while Laura huddled in the doorway with Sinclair. Sinclair removed his hand from her mouth but stayed close enough to touch her back. She puzzled over his body signature. Her sensing ability slid over it, not recognizing the man she knew, but something vague and nondescript. The signature fluttered and changed intensity, like a glamour with no body. The change baffled her. She had never sensed anything other than human from him.

Gianni returned to his truck. The brake lights came on, and the hazard lights went off. Laura pressed back into the shadows, keenly aware of Sinclair’s body. Gianni drove off, and the black car followed, its tinted rear window rising. By the time it turned broadside, the window had closed. She didn’t see who was inside.

The Danann sentries swooped off the building and followed the car. Laura began to step forward, but Sinclair pulled her back again. One more, he sent. Laura breathed shallowly, scanning the roofline. Sinclair held his hand on her waist. She reached down and removed it, not roughly, but firmly. Fifteen minutes passed before the dark shadow of one last fairy detached from the depths of a loading dock and trailed after the others.

Laura pushed out of Sinclair’s embrace and strode up the alley. He followed her into the lights and noise of M Street. They regarded each other at the curb. Laura noted that they both wore black jeans and T-shirts, his long- sleeved, hers three-quarter. He wore regulation police boots, to her running shoes. They looked like spies. They were spies. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Jono Sinclair. I’m a police officer,” he said.

Jono. She hadn’t heard him use the nickname before. She also wasn’t sure how to handle him under the circumstances. “Am I under arrest?”

He smiled. A rather warm smile, she thought. “No. You haven’t broken any laws that I can think of. Besides, I suspect it would be awkward if I did arrest you, Ms. Blackstone.”

She cursed to herself for not using a stronger glamour. The sloppy move bothered her more than getting caught by Sinclair. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that. Why?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re Laura Blackstone. We shared an elevator in the Senate building earlier this afternoon.”

“You have me confused with someone else.”

He shook his head and looked up the street. She followed his gaze to a wine bar. “I know what glamours are, Ms. Blackstone. Let’s have a drink.”

“I don’t think so, Officer Sinclair. I’ll be going now.”

She stepped around him and moved toward her Mercedes.

“I know who was in the car,” he called out to her.

She turned. “Well?”

He gestured toward the bar. “Shall we?”

She hesitated. She could continue the pretense that she wasn’t Laura Blackstone, just someone who looked like her. But she wanted to know, and she wanted to know what Sinclair was doing there. Without a word, she walked back past him toward the bar.

Laura eyed the interior. The place smelled of beer and old smoke. Flat-screen TVs littered the corners, and team banners decorated the walls. Not a place she would go for a drink unless it was something that fit one of her personas.

“What will you have?” Sinclair asked, when they entered.

The ceiling was a bit low, the bar a bit worn and the floor a bit sticky. “I think I’ll play it safe with something in a bottle. A Corona.”

A younger crowd filled the room, women in tight tops and tighter jeans, and guys in oversize shirts and baggy jeans. No, definitely not Laura’s usual kind of place. Sinclair returned with drinks.

“Who was in the car?” she asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Sinclair lifted an amber draft to his lips.

“Just curious. I was out for a walk, and it looked funny,” she said.

He smiled. “The public-relations director of the Fey Guild just happened to be lurking in an alley where a secretive meeting was taking place between a D.C. police officer and someone who wishes to remain anonymous. I bought the drinks, but I’m not buying that.”

“What were you doing there?” she asked.

“Me? Now, I was definitely curious. I know the guy in the truck.”

“Why were you following him?”

He shook his head. “Your turn, Ms. Blackstone. Why don’t we start with admitting who you are.”

She stared into his eyes. He wouldn’t stop her from leaving. If she left, he would assume he was right anyway. If she admitted it, she would confirm what he already knew. She was caught either way, but one option at least gave her a chance to get more information out of him. “Fine. I’m Laura Blackstone. Now tell me who was in the car.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

She sensed truth and wanted to slap the smile off his face. Instead, she put her bottle on a nearby ledge. “This is pointless then.”

Again she walked away from him.

“It’s not the first time I’ve watched him,” Sinclair said.

She glared at him. “Are we going to play this game all night?”

He grinned. “Are you planning on spending all night with me?”

She did raise her hand to slap him then, but held back. “What do you want, Sinclair?”

“Answers, just like you. Why does someone I know have secret meetings? And now I’m wondering, why is the Guild interested?”

She regarded him with cool annoyance. “Gianni is connected to a drug raid that involved the fey. The Guild doesn’t know what happened and is being shut out of the investigation.”

“So you know who he is,” he said.

She hadn’t revealed anything that wouldn’t be easy to find out. “Of course. I also know he works at the Vault.”

“He does security there.”

She nodded. “For some very high-level people. The Guild is concerned about security risks.”

He sipped from his beer again. “They must be very concerned to send a PR director.”

She frowned at his snide tone. “I’m not going to explain Guildhouse politics to you.”

He shrugged. “Fine, whatever. My concern is my life. A police officer was killed in that raid. I don’t think it was an accident,” he said.

Laura retrieved her beer. “Why?”

“Someone tried to run me off the road the other night. It was a professional,” he said.

That made murder attempts on two people who were present at Sanchez’s murder. “Has anything happened to Foyle?” she asked.

He hid it well, but Laura felt his surprise at the question. “He doesn’t share information with me. I’m not sharing with him… yet.”

“Why didn’t you let me walk into an ambush in that alley?” she asked.

He smiled again. “Self-preservation, for one thing. If they spotted you, I doubt I could have evaded fairy sentries. And if they killed you, I might never know whether you’re really Laura Blackstone or Janice Crawford or Mariel Tate.”

Her hand blazed with essence as she thrust her fist under his chin, just short of touching him. She let him feel the heat and power waiting to be released. “We’re leaving right now. Don’t make me fry your brain.”