“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.
CHAPTER 21
A FEW HOURS later, Laura straightened up her desk and returned to her hidden room. As she zipped up the uniform jacket and shifted into the Mariel glamour, she cast a longing glance on the rumpled, unmade bed. The day had been long already, but she had more work to attend to. She checked her Mariel image—this time wearing the standard black uniform rather than the business suit. Cress had left word that she would be working late, so Laura took her usual route through the accounting department, then the elevator to the InterSec unit offices. Once through the locked entrance, she knocked on Cress’s office door and leaned in. “You left a message for me?”
From her work counter, Cress cocked her head over her shoulder. “Hello. Let me finish this, and I’ll be right with you.”
Laura leaned against the counter and watched as Cress used an eyedropper to add a clear fluid to a row of test tubes. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Cress shook her head. “Routine. A team brought in some soiled clothing to test. We’re trying to figure out where a murder victim has been.” She held up one of the tubes and watched as the liquids swirled around each other. Replacing the tube in the tray with the others, she loaded them into a centrifuge and turned it on.
From her desk, she collected a folder and handed it to Laura. “I received the results from your gloves.”
Laura reviewed the report, skipping over the technical analysis to the summary section. “The taggant is military?”
Cress tapped at a lined sheet covered with signatures in different hands. “All explosive hardware is inventoried and tagged by recipient. As it changes hands or locations, the information is updated.”
“The C-4 from the shop bombing was from Fort Bragg,” Laura read.
Cress placed a manifest in front of Laura. “That’s the last registered location. I’ve already checked the Department of Defense database. No C-4 reported used, missing, or stolen from that shipment.”
Laura glanced up. “Could they have not discovered it missing yet?”
“It’s possible. I opened channels for a discreet inquiry.”
“If it came from Bragg, it will be a bigger problem,” Laura said.
“Why?”
Laura flipped through the data analysis. “Special Forces train and operate there. It’s no secret a lot of black ops recruit out of training camps.”
Cress crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. “Are you saying these attacks might have official U.S. sanction?”
Laura dropped the folder on the desk. “Maybe. When military hardware is involved, it usually means two things: official sanction or rogue operatives. Neither is comforting in my book.”
Cress rubbed at her forehead. “Gods, I’m so sick of all of this.”
Laura reached out and took her by the shoulder. “Have you talked to Terryn yet?”
Moisture pooled in her eyes, startling Laura. She had never seen such an obvious emotional response from Cress. The leanansidhe rubbed at her eyes and slipped onto a stool. “No. We haven’t had ten minutes awake together in the last few days. This never ends, does it? If it’s not some terrorist, it’s a government. Or some fey embezzling from humans. Or some plain-vanilla serial killer—which is more sick that I can call something like that plain vanilla. It never ends. It never ends and he . . .” She grimaced and shook her head. “These things pull at Terryn. He never rests, never lets things be. It’s always his responsibility. He never gives himself time for himself. For . . .” She stopped.