Skin Deep

CHAPTER 32

LAURA STOOD OUTSIDE Sinclair’s apartment, running their plan over in her mind one last time. The wards inside the apartment remained active, and it was time to make Alfrey think, whatever his greater plans were, that they were in true danger. She hoped he would take the bait. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

Sinclair opened it immediately. “What happened?”

She rushed in and stopped short of the dampening field near the armchair. “I had to talk to you.”

Sinclair closed the door. “They told me you were in protective custody.”

“I was. I had to talk to you. I remembered something, Jono, and I don’t know what to do.”

He stepped close and brought his hands up to hold her. She slipped away, remaining outside the field and giving him a warning look. “First, tell me what happened. I got a call last night that you needed me outside the Vault. When I went out, four guys jumped me and took me to a house outside the city. They wouldn’t tell me anything, then let me go about an hour ago.”

“Someone tried to kill me last night,” she said.

“What!” he said.

They stepped into the dampening field. Laura spread sheets of paper on Sinclair’s coffee table with large text and plenty of white space. “That’s a good start,” she said.

Identical sheets were on the dining-room table and another set on the kitchen counter. Laura had written dialogue as well as movement directions, a flow designed to weave in and out of the fields of the listening wards throughout the apartment.

Sinclair sat next to her. Sinclair’s knee touched the side of her thigh, grazing it, not firmly enough for her to call him on it. It took several heartbeats before Laura noticed she hadn’t automatically moved away. “You think this will work?” he asked.

She pursed her lips, tilting her head from side to side. “It was your idea.”

Sinclair sighed. “I know. If they were trying to kill us before, they’ll definitely try after this.”

She turned an intentionally enthusiastic smile at him. “Isn’t knowing it’s going to happen better than wondering?”

He looked amused. “You’re odd, you know that?”

She stood and adjusted her T-shirt. “Just stick to the dialogue. Ready?”

He checked the pages. “Here goes…”

He stepped out of the field of the living-room dampening ward. “I’m getting a beer. You want one?” he asked.

He waited near the dining-room table while Laura stepped away from the dampening field.

“Yeah.”

Sinclair moved into the kitchen. Laura had placed masking tape around the listening-ward field to show him when his medallion was too close and blocked transmission. Laura leaned against the dining-room table. “Someone tried to poison me last night. InterSec got it out of me in time.”

Sinclair came to the kitchen door. “Gods, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. But here’s the weird part. When I woke up, I remembered the raid. All of it, Jono.”

He went back in the kitchen. “That’s great, isn’t it?”

“I’m a little freaked out by it.”

Sinclair retrieved two beers from the refrigerator and handed her one. “Are you going to keep me in suspense, or are you going to tell me what you remember?”

“What do you think of Gianni?” she asked.

Sinclair sipped his beer and checked the printed dialogue. “Okay, change the subject. He’s okay. A little rough around the edges, but I don’t have a problem with him.”

“No, I mean compared to me,” Laura said.

Sinclair smiled and moved in close. He straddled her as she leaned against the table, but didn’t touch her. Just read the dialogue, Sinclair. We’re not on camera, she sent him.

He smirked. “You’re way hotter.”

“Oh, and how hot do you think Gianni is?”

Amused, he jerked his head back. “Don’t worry about that. He doesn’t even register.”

Jerk. Stick to the dialogue, she sent. She poked her finger against his chest and pushed him away. “Seriously, you’ve known him a lot longer than you’ve known me. If I told you something bad about him, what would you think?”

Sinclair took a swig of beer. “I’d think he was an ass. Why are we talking about Gianni?”

She led him into the living room. “He shot me, Jono.”

“What!” Sinclair said.

They stepped back into the jamming field.

She shoved him in the shoulder. “I am going to kill you if you don’t take this seriously.”

“If someone’s going to kill me, I’d rather it be you,” he said.

She sighed in exasperation. “How did I get into this?”

Sinclair grinned. “By lying.”

She pushed him out of the dampening field. “Keep moving.”

He darted back in to check his dialogue, then out again. “No, I believe you. I just don’t get it. Why the hell would he try to kill you?”

She followed him out of the field. “… worse. Sanchez said something to me. I think I should go to the FBI or InterSec.”

They returned to the dining room, close enough for the kitchen ward to pick them up. “What did he say?” Sinclair asked.

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you,” Laura said.

Sinclair picked up the page of dialogue they were on. “What the hell, Crawford? You just told me Gianni shot you. What the hell did Sanchez say that can be worse than that?”

“I’m afraid, Jono. Someone’s tried to kill me three times since the warehouse,” she said.

Sinclair lifted the script, his brow furrowing as he read. “Wait a minute… three? You told me about the bridge and last night. What else happened?”

She paused in surprise. She hadn’t told him about what happened at the FBI building-which had happened to Mariel, not Janice. She improvised, not wanting to dwell on the slip-up. “Someone tried to run me off the road, just like what happened to you. I thought it was a drunk driver until now.”

Get back to the script, Jono! she sent.

His eyes searched her face. “Why do you play things so dangerously?”

She waved the script in front of him. “I didn’t ask for this, Jono. That’s why I’m afraid. If I tell you everything, you’ll be in danger, too.”

He held her arms. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.”

Jono, please! We can’t mess this up. They’re listening, she sent.

“So you think I should keep quiet?” she asked.

He ran a finger along the line of her jaw. “I think I want you to be safe. Let’s just go away, get away from all this.”

Angry, she grabbed his hand. “Jono…”

He tilted her chin up, leaned down, and kissed her. She closed her eyes and found herself surrendering to the moment, the warm and full pressure of his lips against hers. It had been so long since she had let a man touch her. So long since she had even wanted to be touched. She didn’t move. Sinclair broke the kiss. She savored the moment, knowing that when she opened her eyes, it would end. But it had to end. She didn’t want to risk allowing something to happen between them that would only end badly.

She looked up at him, not angry or annoyed, but regretful. “I can’t do this.”

“Neither can I. Not if it means losing you before things have even started,” he said. He twined his fingers into hers and led her into the bedroom. She let him lead her, let him hold her hand like that, and told herself it was part of the plan to continue the fake dialogue in the bedroom.

Sinclair sat on the side of the bed, and the listening ward faded as his medallion interacted with it. Laura tugged her hands away and placed them on his shoulders. He held her hips and pulled her closer.

She shook her head. “This isn’t going to happen, Jono.”

He slid his hands higher and drew her down with him as he fell back on the bed. She lay on top of him, refusing to straddle him. With his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he wiggled her back and forth. “We could always drink more beer so you can tell me how drunk you were and how you don’t remember a thing.”

She rolled off him. “Stop. We can’t. I told you I don’t date colleagues.”

He stretched on his side. “Oh, but you can kiss them, huh? Besides, we’re not technically colleagues until Terryn decides I’m good enough.”

She snorted. “Oh, you’re good all right. Just not the kind of good I think Terryn had in mind.”

With light touches, he walked his fingers up her arm. “Someone’s making excuses,” he sang softly.

Laura grabbed his hand when it reached her shoulder. “Jono, we don’t have time for this.” He relaxed his hand to lie flat on her shoulder. She slipped off the bed. “We have to get out of here.”

Sinclair leaned his elbows on his knees, thinking through what she said. “Where do we go?”

“Stick to the plan. The Guildhouse, then the safe house. When the listening ward reactivates, we get back to the script and talk about going out for more beer. Got it?” she said.

“Got it,” he said. The listening ward reactivated as he rolled off the bed and pulled a pair of shoes from the closet.

“Now? You want to go for more beer now?” Laura said, putting a note of surprise in her voice.

Sinclair slipped on his running shoes. “Sure, we’ve got the whole night, babe, and, trust me, you’re going to get thirsty.”

She walked out to the dining room. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Sinclair appeared in the doorway as she gathered up the dialogue sheets from the table. He retrieved the script from the counter while she gathered the rest from the coffee table. Turning, Sinclair was behind her. He handed her the rest of the pages. “All set?” she asked.

She shoved the papers in her duffel bag and tossed it to Sinclair. He looked down at it, then retreated to the bedroom. “Wait a sec, I need some cash.”

“I’ve got cash,” she said pointedly.

Sinclair reappeared waving a leather shaving kit at her, and Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m ready,” he said.

They hit the sidewalk. “You went back for deodorant and shaving cream?” Laura said in disbelief.

“And a toothbrush,” Sinclair said in mock self-defense. “I believe in good oral hygiene even when I’m on the run from shadowy assassins.”

They reached her SUV and separated to the opposite sides. “There’s a tooth-fairy joke in there somewhere,” she said.

She called Terryn as she pulled in to traffic. “We’re on our way. We should be in the safe zone in about three blocks.”

“Agents are in place. Drive safely,” Terryn said.

She made a mental map of their planned route from Sinclair’s apartment to the Guildhouse. If Alfrey or Gianni had planted listening wards, they sure as hell had people watching the apartment. To keep suspicion down, Terry would hold off backup for the first few blocks. After that, they would drive a protective gauntlet, watched by Guildhouse agents.

When she reached the corner, a black car blocked the street. Laura skipped the intended turn. “Do you think that’s them already?”

Sinclair adjusted his line of sight in the visor mirror. “Definitely. That was the wrong way on a one-way street.

Turn two blocks up, and we should be fine.”

Laura goosed the accelerator. Behind them, four black cars appeared in formation in pairs. Perfectly normal black-car behavior in D.C., except for the fact that they weren’t escorting anyone and were speeding up.

Laura checked her mirrors. “They took the bait.”

Sinclair twisted in his seat to look out the rear window. The cars had no insignia, and the license plates displayed consecutive numbers. Not a good sign. Laura gunned the SUV through a yellow light. All four cars ran the red. Definitely not a good sign. The cars moved to pass on either side. When the lead cars reached the SUV, they paced it.

“Hang on,” Laura said. She slammed on the brakes. All four cars shot past the SUV. As they braked, Laura gunned the engine and spun the steering wheel. The SUV rocked savagely side to side in a tight turn. Laura slapped the police light onto the roof and hit the gas pedal. Oncoming traffic careened to either side as she tore up the one-way street.

“We’re cops now?” Sinclair said.

“Whatever it takes, Jono. If we can’t get to our backup, maybe we can draw them to us,” she said.

Two black cars followed. Laura skidded the turn at the next corner. Cars pulled over as her police light warned them off. The SUV flew through an intersection as Laura hit the dashboard phone. Static crackled over her speakers. She fumbled in her pocket for her cell and flipped it open. More static. “They’re jamming the phones,” she said.

A third black car joined them. Laura yanked the wheel as the car sideswiped against her, fishtailed, and swung down the next street. “Do you see the fourth car?”

Sinclair checked the rear window again. “No sign.”

Gathering a burst of essence in her mind, she wrapped it around the memory template of Terryn’s signature and threw a sending. Being pursued off route. Logan Circle heading to the Guildhouse.

She accelerated and made a U-turn at speed. Two cars swept past, but the third came straight on. Stomping on the accelerator, she burned rubber into the pavement. As the SUV pivoted, she veered into the black car and slammed it with her real panel. Skidding sideways, the car danced on its right tires and flipped in a shower of sparks.

“Nice move. One down,” Sinclair said.

Laura checked her mirrors. “Where the hell is that fourth car?”

“I don’t see it either. We’re five blocks off route. You’ve got to make a turn if we’re going to get any help,” Sinclair said.

Traffic blocked their path ahead. Laura shot a look at the rearview mirror. The two remaining cars drew closer. As they careened toward the stopped cars, Sinclair braced himself against the dashboard, and Laura held her breath. With a deft spin of the steering wheel, Laura ran a narrow gap in the jam.

Sinclair whooped. “You can drive!”

One of the black cars made the gap. Laura powered down her window and thrust her arm out. She released a scattered fan of essence, white lighting erupting from her fingertips so fast it made her arm jump. The bolts sizzled across the lane, and one of the other car’s tires blew. It swerved wildly, its momentum fighting the dead wheel, and lurched to a stop against parked cars. The third black car tore past it.

“That’s two,” Sinclair said.

“Four blocks,” Laura said.

A metropolitan police squad car leaped out of a side street. It shuddered left as Laura swerved right. The black car shot past it and gained on the SUV, while the squad car recovered and turned.

“Two more blocks,” Sinclair said.

White streaks of essence flared across the night sky. A sending hit them both. Aerial backup behind you.

The squad car and the black car jostled for space in the narrow street.

Hit your brakes now! Laura sent to the officer. She slammed on her own. The black car swerved to avoid her, jumped the curb, and sailed through a windowed storefront.

“And that’s three,” Sinclair said.

A black blur pierced by blazing headlights sped out of a side street and smashed into their passenger side. The SUV spun. Laura fought the motion, the world smearing in flashes of white-and-red light, cars and buildings spinning past the windshield. She hit a car, then another. Sinclair shouted as the air bags deployed. Blinded, they crashed into something solid. The abrupt stop flung Laura forward into the air bag, the seat belt biting her shoulder and wrenching her back against the seat.

Laura batted against the air bags. “Jono? Jono? Answer me!”

His limp frame hung forward, the seat belt straining to hold him upright. Laura grappled with her belt and wrenched it free. The door was jammed. Furious, she hit it with essence and it flew off with a metallic shriek. She jumped out.

The last black car gunned toward her. She held both arms straight out, fingers clasped, index fingers pointing, and aimed at the oncoming car. From her fingers, a sharp line of essence burned like a spear through the air and splintered on the car’s grill.

Laura swore as the essence flowed around a protection ward on the car. She dragged essence out of the pavement, the asphalt rippling around her with the strain. With a scream, she released it all in a yellow streak like lightning. The ward on the car splintered into fragments of green light, as Laura’s bolt shattered the windshield and detonated inside with a white flash. Glass shards hurtled toward Laura, and she staggered under the onslaught against her shield. The glass hung for a moment, glittering in the headlight glare, then fell to the ground.

Laura swayed on her feet. The Janice glamour wavered, weakened from her dissipated essence. She reached out one more time to the ground beneath her feet, drawing essence out of the earth and into her body. The emerald necklace flared beneath her shirt, a glow that lit her stark features. Panting, she stared at the smoldering black car.

“That’s four,” Sinclair said.

Laura spun. Sinclair leaned against the back of the SUV, an arm wrapped against his ribs. Blood smeared across the side of his head. He cocked a smile. Laura took two long strides and hugged him. “Ouch,” he said.

She let go. She pulled his head down and kissed him with a passion that surprised both of them. When she broke the kiss, he grinned. He lifted his gaze. On the next block, the officers from the squad car approached the gaping hole of the storefront where the other black car had vanished. “There is no way anyone’s going to believe you’re a low-powered druidess after this,” Sinclair said.

Laura surveyed the wreckage. Sinclair was right. If the ripped-open black car wasn’t bad enough, the fragmented asphalt she’d left behind was confirmation that Janice Crawford was more than what she claimed.

Time for another change in plans. “Showtime, Jono. We’ll get people in position as soon as possible, but here’s where you prove you can pull your weight. Play scared and get Foyle on your side.”

“What’s the plan?”

She pushed aside the SUV’s air bag and found her cell phone. Terryn picked up instantly.

“I’m killing Janice Crawford right now. Send a wagon with a body, ASAP,” she said.

Terryn didn’t argue. “Anything else?”

She glanced at what was left of her car. “Yeah. I wrecked another SUV.”