Sacrifice the Wicked (4 page)

As Parker hung her trench coat on the hook inset by her door, her back teeth ground.

Dr. Kayleigh Lauderdale. Just Parker’s luck.

If Parker was the ice bitch of the Mission, then the daughter of Sector Three’s director was her classified equivalent. With her wavy blond hair, innocuous gray-blue eyes, and expensive suit, she gave the same air of
hands off
that Parker polished to perfection.

Only her shoes, Parker noticed as the woman rose to her feet, were flats. Contrasted black against her red suit.

“Good morning,” the woman said in cheerful greeting. She didn’t offer a hand.

Parker didn’t care. “Dr. Lauderdale.” She shut the door behind her with an emphatic, quiet
click
. “I was unaware you had an appointment.”

If Parker’s frosty greeting scored any hits, she couldn’t tell. There had to be something in the Sector Three water coolers. Every employee she’d ever had the bad luck to deal with had matched Parker attitude for attitude.

The fact that the director of Sector Three was this girl’s father wouldn’t help Parker’s case.

“I’m sorry.” Kayleigh sat as Parker sank into her own chair. “I’m given to understand you’re always prompt, Miss Adams.”

“Director Adams,” Parker corrected coolly. She didn’t address her punctuality—or lack thereof. “We’re very busy, Doctor, excuse me while I get to the point. What does Sector Three want with the Mission this time?”

Score. Parker watched the woman’s smile fade. “You are referring to Nadia Parrish?”

Mrs. Parrish was only the tip of the iceberg. Parker had so many questions. About Mrs. Parrish, the folder Simon stole, the order that demanded the Mission seal their own operation and destroy the data.

There was a lot Parker referred to.

When she only studied Kayleigh, steepling her fingers on the polished surface of her light wood desk, the scientist sighed. “I understand that relations between Sectors Three and Five have been strained, Director. It’s my hope to change that.”

No real answer. “You can start with explaining what you want.” Parker’s voice didn’t soften. Didn’t warm.

She didn’t want this Lauderdale—any Lauderdale—in her office. Not even in her Mission. Parker had to deal with the fact that the sector’s Magdalene Asylum headquarters occupied the quad across from the Mission. If she looked out of her office windows, Sector Three’s side of the quadplex towered even above Mission levels.

The first ten served as hospital wings, topside’s premier facility. The next seven as rehabilitation centers. The rest was classified. What was worse was that all the labs the Mission had access to fell under his purview.

And that bothered her.

Laurence Lauderdale kept a tight rein on his division. As tight as Parker kept on her own, only he had the temerity to walk all over hers.

She’d happily return the favor. On those rare occasions when the notoriously secretive sector came out to play, anyway.

“Right to the point, aren’t you?” Kayleigh murmured. Her mouth twisted, rueful. “I can’t blame you. Director, you know from previous debriefings that Mrs. Parrish is no longer with us.”

“I wonder, are you referencing the spiritual sense or professionally speaking?”

The remorseful line to Kayleigh’s mouth deepened. “I understand that she was an obstacle, but I’ve spent the past two months going over her projects. It’s my hope that we can work together on future matters.”

That wasn’t an answer, either. Although Parker didn’t need one. Through Simon’s post-op report, she already knew Mrs. Parrish had met an unfortunate end in the lower streets. According to official channels, however, the woman had simply retired.

Well, according to the top-secret official channels that Parker had access to. As far as most were aware, the woman had never existed. Much like Sector Three.

Translated? None of her business, and Parker didn’t have a choice.

Her eyes shifted to the wide glass window separating her office from the information hub beyond it, but the vertical blinds remained closed.

She liked to keep an eye on her operatives. That this woman had closed the blinds regardless told Parker everything she needed to know about the nature of this relationship.

“Cut to the chase,” Parker ordered evenly, flicking away the doctor’s worthless olive branch with a gesture. “What do you want? What does Sector Three want?”

The doctor’s eyes cooled. Ice and diamonds. Like father, like daughter. Only her father was eighty if he was a day. Parker placed his daughter at somewhere just under thirty. Close to her own age.

“Very well, Director Adams.” Kayleigh sat back in her chair, crossing long legs in classic
fuck you
. “I understand you’re working on an operation you’ve called Domino.”

Parker resisted the urge to rub at her forehead. It thumped in muted echo of her heartbeat; a twitch of temper she wrestled into place. “So you’ve been keeping tabs on our lab requests.”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

The woman rested an elbow on the chair arm, one hand splayed over the reader in her lap. “Because the Mission’s interests are Sector Three’s interests, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Parker replied, acid in the dry words. “What’s your point?”

“We’d like to arrange a joint task force.”

Over Parker’s dead body. “All evidence points to witchcraft. This places jurisdiction squarely with the Mission.” And she’d had enough of Sector Three’s spy witches to last her a lifetime.

The question was, did Kayleigh know? She had to.

“It sounds like you can use the help,” the woman pointed out.

Not from her. Not when it came with strings, like Simon so obviously did. Parker shrugged. “Sector Three won’t take over this investigation, Dr. Lauderdale. It’s useless to ask.”

Kayleigh tilted her head, eyes wide and earnest. “
This
investigation, Director?”

Parker’s gaze narrowed. “You must think I’m stupid.”

“Not stupid.” Lauderdale straightened, leaning forward, broadcasting a sincerity Parker didn’t believe. “Cautious, yes. And that’s understandable.”

She’d just bet it was.

Politics. Mrs. Parrish had failed in her demands, Simon failed in his retrieval, so they sent the sweet-faced cheerleader to make friends.

Not today.

“We have it well—”

“An exchange, Director.” Kayleigh raised her hand as she cut Parker’s denial off. “We’re willing to offer something for the information.”

An eyebrow climbed. How serious was she?

One way to find out.

Parker met her gaze, mouth curving into a faint smile. “I want Operation Wayward Rose declassified.”

The doctor hesitated.

“And in exchange for having access to my missionaries, you will tell me why two of your men were stamped with a bar code. I’ll even give you Agent Wells to lead your task force.” But she wouldn’t admit that she knew what the bar code meant. Not yet.

Not until she figured exactly how far this political corruption went.

But Parker didn’t have to be psychic to know Sector Three would never meet her demands. Dr. Lauderdale’s face shuttered, her eyes sliding up to the ceiling for a brief second. It was enough.

“I didn’t think so.” Parker stood, bracing the tips of her fingers against her desk, and looked down at the terrier on Director Laurence Lauderdale’s leash. “You can compile your own team if Sector Three thinks it necessary.” Parker’s tone frosted. “But let me be clear. If your people interfere with mine in any way, we will arrest them. Conspiracy against the Church is a dangerous accusation to contend with.”
True or otherwise.

Kayleigh didn’t stand. As the friendliness cooled from her gaze, as chilly resolve settled under her skin like a mask, Parker didn’t look away.

Her stare, direct and uncompromising, had been known to put even her toughest missionaries in a cold sweat.

The Lauderdale girl held up well.

But in the end, her gaze dropped to Parker’s desk. Flicked up again immediately as she rose, but Parker counted it a win. “Director—” Kayleigh paused. And then, quietly, “Parker. I’m only here to help.”

“You can help by compiling a report on exactly what Sector Three is doing with my missionaries.”

“They aren’t your missionaries.”

Another finger of icy resentment snapped into place.

No. Not all of them were, were they? Parker’s weight lifted off her hands. She rose to her full height, taller than her unwanted guest, especially in her black spiked heels. Her shoulders tensed under her suit jacket, but Parker’s voice didn’t raise. Didn’t ease above frigid calm. “You want to help?” She stabbed her index finger against the surface of her desk. “Get your people out of my sector.”

When Kayleigh only studied her, Parker smiled in thin, red-lipped humor. She circled her gleaming wood desk, her heels clicking loudly as she strode to the door. “As I thought. Run back to your father and inform him that we’re Mission, Dr. Lauderdale. We look out for our own.”

“Parker—”

Parker yanked open the door. “That’s
Director,
” she cut in with arctic dismissal. Her voice lashed through the suddenly much more open space.

Every head on the floor turned.

“We
will
remain in charge of Domino, and we
will
catch the perpetrator. Your only job is to get your spies out of my teams. I trust that’s clear enough.” She watched as Kayleigh picked up her reader. Noted the set to the woman’s shoulders beneath her red blazer. She was angry.

Probably a little humiliated.

Good. Maybe it’d give her something to chew on. What was a little political suicide between rivals? Parker swallowed the tense ball of anxiety in her throat, meeting the woman’s gaze.

“Very well, Director Adams.” The doctor hesitated outside the door. Turning, her full mouth tilted at a hard angle, she added, “I sincerely hope you don’t come to regret this.”

“A threat, Doctor?”

“No.” Kayleigh smiled. “In the interim, records show you’re behind on your medical ex—”

Parker couldn’t help herself. With a flick of her wrist, the door swung shut. Slammed firmly into place, right in Kayleigh Lauderdale’s surprised face.

It wasn’t enough. As anger streaked through her veins, sizzling hot, Parker stalked back to her desk. Sat in her custom-fitted chair.

The nerve.

She breathed in through her nose. Out, hard and angry, through her mouth.

For that
brat
to pretend like her own predecessor hadn’t put Parker’s teams in jeopardy? Risked Parker’s missionaries like they weren’t anything but pawns in some greater political game?

Her temper simmered.

For the woman to make her little offer as if Sector Three weren’t sitting on some of the deepest, darkest secrets of the whole Church?

Oxygen was key. Cool air. Long, slow breaths.

This wouldn’t stand. It couldn’t. Parker didn’t have all the information. All she knew was that Sector Three forced Wayward Rose on her, on the Mission; forced Simon Wells on Parker. All in the name of what looked like a nasty cover-up.

Her fists clenched on the smooth desk surface.

Her agents worked hard. Lived dangerous lives. Every day, they hit the streets looking for signs of witchcraft, ready at a moment’s notice to take them down. Blood, bullets, fear, and pain. Her people understood the risks.

Took on those risks to keep the city safe.

Nobody would be allowed to drag them into danger. Nobody but her. Parker cleared every operation. Sector Three wouldn’t be allowed to change that.

Not as long as she sat at this desk.

Only now the truth was staring her in the face. Parker keyed in her password to the computer without looking at the screen. The password was twenty-two digits long, comprised of mixed-case letters, special characters, and numbers. All of her passwords, when a thumb lock wasn’t available, were different. And just as complex.

Parker memorized everything.

Within moments, a list of missionaries filled the screen.

How many of them were still hers? How many of them could be trusted?

That hard knot of tension bubbled into something sickly. Something heavy as lead and cold. All of her life, she’d dedicated herself to the cause. To the men and women who made the streets safe. Whether she’d been an information analyst or the Mission director, that dedication hadn’t changed.

But had they changed around her?

Unbelievable. The amount of damage done since Peterson’s betrayal would never be undone. Even if Parker could get to the bottom of Sector Three’s machinations, what would it prove?

Bracing her elbows on the desk, Parker covered her face with both hands and allowed herself a brief moment of rest. But even as the darkness pressed in on her eyelids, her mind flicked through information, siphoned through the facts as she knew them.

The Holy Order of St. Dominic ruled over all of New Seattle. Ruled, in fact, over much of the country—or what remained of the stable cities scattered across it. With power in the minimalistic federal government, it surprised no one that the Church maintained an active interest in the day-to-day affairs of the city the Order had rebuilt from the Old Sea-Trench up.

The end result was a system of checks and balances that was listing too far to one side these days. The civic body took care of day-to-day business, the clerical stuff every city needed to run. The Holy Order’s Cathedral occupied one wing of the quad, providing holy communion for most of topside every Mass. It also served as the bishop’s seat of power.

Bishop Applegate oversaw everything, from the secular to the ecclesiastical.

Between them sat Sectors Three and Five. Research and Development and the Mission, respectively. For all intents and purposes, Sector Three’s clearance outstripped the Mission’s—Parker’s—but according to Church regulations, both directors remained on equal footing.

Until now.

Her first few petitions to the bishop had gone unanswered. Now, she wasn’t sure Applegate had even seen them. During her last debriefing, she’d spoken to a room full of advisors.