Skin Deep (21 page)

Her hair became damp with sweat. The stark white sky turned orange and red, thick black smoke smearing against the horizon. Something was wrong, and she didn’t understand if she were trying to fix it or escape it. The thing behind came closer and closer. She tripped. Of course. She always tripped in moments like this in her dreams, an abrupt twist of an ankle caused by some minor heave in the sidewalk, a slow-motion fall as she curled into a ball to land with the least damage. She rolled onto her back and it was night. Something huge and dark loomed over her while flames roared behind it. It descended.

Laura gasped, and her eyes flew open. Sinclair had his hand on her arm, rocking her gently. She let him continue to hold her while her racing heart slowed. She took deep breaths to calm down.

He must have sensed she was awake because he stopped rocking. “You okay?”

“Nightmare. Sorry I woke you.”

His arm slid down, his hand lingering on her biceps. He gave it a soft squeeze and let go. “Yeah, I get them, too.”

He rolled away. She stared at the leaf shadows, Sinclair’s scent tickling at her nose. “Thanks, Jono.”

“You’re welcome,” he said in the dark.

She dropped into sleep again.

CHAPTER 19

LAURA HAD BEEN
around Washington long enough to remember when she could walk in the front door of the FBI building without an appointment. Security had tightened over the last decade, and the building was closed to the public. The Bureau no longer offered tours, and nonstaff visitors were invitation-only. Her driver looped around the block, waiting for a space to open in the drop-off zone.

She retrieved the dossier on Sanchez from her briefcase. Terryn had collected scant information. Whatever Sanchez was involved in, even the InterSec back channels couldn’t pick up on it. That meant his mission was compartmentalized, records would be limited, and few inside the Bureau would have direct knowledge. That also meant it was a sensitive mission that the FBI wanted to move on carefully.

Her mind wandered to Sinclair and the morning. She awoke before he did and jumped in the shower. When she came out of the bathroom, he had coffee ready. They spoke little, bumping into each other in doorways as they passed between the rooms in the small apartment. An awkwardness marked their movements, as if they had done more than sleep. Neither mentioned Laura’s nightmare or the moment after it that was oddly more intimate than sex. As Sinclair went out the door, she warned him to stick to main streets and not take shortcuts. InterSec would be watching in case someone decided to stage another accident for him. He leaned down to kiss her but darted back with a smirk before making contact. She glared at him all the way to the car, and he returned her look with a mock-innocent expression.

Sinclair’s manner intrigued and confused her. He made his blatant come-ons with an obvious awareness that she wouldn’t react to them, at least not react positively. He made no secret that his attraction to her was genuine, yet he continued the antics. Maybe he thinks he’ll wear me down, she thought. Maybe after we figure out what was going on at the drug lab, and we manage to live through it, I might let him buy me dinner, but not now. She laughed. Given that she was considering seeing him under these circumstances, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

The black car pulled to the curb. Laura thanked the driver and stepped out. She ran a quick check of the Mariel glamour, making sure her outfit clung snugly in all the right places. Walking the half block to the building entrance, she displayed her ID badge on its lanyard. From experience, she knew that the military police who patrolled the outside perimeter were not shy.

Despite the lack of public access, the lobby bustled with people. The Bureau was a huge, sprawling entity with thousands of employees, even more investigations and research projects, as well as being actively involved in programs with other government groups. Except InterSec. They gave some token support, but integration with a security group that included foreign nationals did not sit well with them.

She queued through the first layer of metal detectors, pretending not to notice the sideways glances from men. A wall of bulletproof glass blocked the main hallway, and she waited with others to be photographed and demonstrate that she was approved for entrance. Once through, a guard escorted her to the elevators. While the Bureau didn’t love InterSec, they honored her security status and left her alone at that point. Nonsecurity staff were escorted for their entire visit.

Lawrence Scales waited outside his office. He didn’t outrank Mariel Tate, but she had cultivated a formidable reputation for courtesy and expected it to be returned. Not a few people tested her patience and found themselves waiting a long time to speak with her, if they managed to get an appointment at all. It was all part of the D.C. game.

Laura held out her hand, automatically imprinting his body signature into her memory. It was an old habit that served her well. “Section Chief Scales, I’m Mariel Tate.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. You’re early.” He ushered her into his office with cool professionalism. The stark, utilitarian room had few personal touches that did not relate to work with the exception of a small framed photograph of a woman and two children that graced his desk. The kids looked like him. Laura did not wait to be offered the guest chair but made herself comfortable.

She slipped her briefcase to the floor. “I thought I’d be longer getting through security, so I padded my schedule.”

Scales took his own seat behind the desk. “I’m not sure why your office requested this meeting.”

Mariel folded her hands in her lap. She knew he was lying by the tone of his voice. Anxiety fluttered from him when she turned her deep gaze on him. “A D.C. SWAT-TEAM officer named Gabrio Sanchez was killed five days ago. An InterSec agent with him was almost killed, and another attempt has been made on her life since then as well as an attempt on another police officer. It is our understanding that Sanchez was working an undercover operation for the FBI.”

He gave her a false, professional smile. “That’s where my confusion comes in. No one by that name works here.”

Not by the name of Sanchez anyway, Laura thought. That a lie could be the truth amused her. She knew Terryn had made the same claims about her personas on more than one occasion. “We have an agent who is being targeted, Chief Scales. If InterSec opens its own investigation, we will eventually stumble into each other. I would prefer that our agent not die in the meantime.”

Scales nodded, his manner sympathetic, yet resistant. “I understand your concerns. I would feel the same way. As of now, I can only say your information is mistaken and that I can have someone look into clarifying the situation for you.”

Laura let her body essence seep out, not enough for a physical manifestation, but enough for Scales to feel a change in the air. A mild static would tickle along his arms and legs, maybe the back of his scalp. It was an old druid trick to tease out anxiety, and one that worked particularly well with humans. “Chief Scales, I cannot stress enough the interest in this case. If there is anything you can tell me off the record to assist in protecting our agent, I would appreciate it.”

His gaze slipped away as he tidied things on his desk, moving a stapler, then some pencils. “If I were to conjecture, maybe this Sanchez—if he were an agent—might have exposed something unexpected. I imagine it would be fairly high-level. Perhaps he even had names.”

Laura nodded. “Assuming he was an agent, do you think he would have reported those names?”

Scales nodded. “As part of his duties, of course. He might have already provided one, and the night he died, he might have thought he would provide more.”

“I see.” She did. Scales headed Counterterrorism. Even a low-level case for him was off the charts for other agencies. If someone took out Sanchez to keep him silent, Janice Crawford would not be left alone if that same someone thought she knew something. Scales effectively told her that Janice Crawford was in grave danger. She shifted in the chair, boosting the essence in the room. “I imagine the FBI would be keen to keep any information confidential until they sort things out themselves.”

“It’s quite possible,” said Scales. Probable, thought Laura. The message from him was clear. He couldn’t and wouldn’t say anything that might jeopardize their investigation. Which meant the Bureau was going to stonewall at the drug-den site. They weren’t going to share because Janice Crawford was not important enough and not their immediate problem.

Laura stood, keeping her face cordial. “Thank you for your time, Chief Scales. Unfortunately, I may have to pursue this through higher channels.”

He rose and shook her hand. “Understandable, Agent Tate. Please keep in touch.”

He walked with her to the door. “Have you ever been to the Vault?” His voice changed, shifting to a more relaxed tone to indicate they had moved to more social conversation.

“The club?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I recommend it. A surprising number of politicians enjoy the place. You might say the names that go through the door are very interesting.”

She smiled to indicate she understood what he meant. He wasn’t going to tell her what he knew, but he was giving her a lead. “Perhaps we will run into each other there.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “It’s a small town, Agent. You never know who you will run into.”

She kept her pace steady as she walked down the hallway. The stonewalling didn’t bother her. It had happened before and would happen again. She already suspected something was going on with the Vault, but Scales’s hint of a political connection gave the situation a different spin.

Her sensing ability flickered as a shimmer of essence passed over her. She hesitated at the elevator. Someone was casting a spell, a damned large one, big enough to cause a wave front. Her skin prickled.

Back up the hall, a young man left Scales’s office and made his way to the floor exit at the far end. On his heels, Scales appeared at his office door with a box in his hands and a confused look on his face as he watched the retreating figure. As he turned back, he noticed her, nodded, and retreated into his office.

Something wasn’t right. The FBI didn’t have any fey on their teams. They didn’t
like
the fey on their teams. The president and Congress had determined it was a national-security issue to have nonhumans in the Bureau. Either she’d sensed something she wasn’t supposed to, or something was wrong. She decided not to let it go and walked back toward Scales’s office.

The essence intensified, and her body shield slammed on. Another wave front swept over her, strong enough to produce a hazy white light against her shield. She stumbled within it, surprised by its force.

The hallway exploded. A roaring sound filled her ears as plaster and wood and concrete showered down and hot black smoke billowed around her. She heard a high-pitched hiss as the sprinkler system sprang to life, cold water mixing in with the smoke and dust.

Coughing, she steadied herself against the wall. Smoke and water filled the air. Debris crowded her legs to the knees, but her body shield prevented them from being crushed. She grabbed a doorjamb and pulled out one leg at a time. The smoke thickened. She doubled over, coughing to clear her lungs. With a short-focused spell, she altered her body shield around her mouth—a simple cantrip to filter essence away from her, but it helped keep some smoke out of her lungs, too.

The smoke had an acrid, burning odor. She heard a deep hissing crackle. Fire. The building was on fire. Behind her, the elevator doors were bent inward, obviously jamming the car. More debris blocked the office doors around her. In the opposite direction, bursts of cooler air tangled with the heat.

“Scales?” she yelled. No answer. She called up his body signature in her inner vision and threw out a sending.
Scales, it’s Tate. Shout if you can hear me.
No answer. Laura kicked off her heels. Using the body shield to protect her feet as best she could, she moved in a crouch down the hall, avoiding the thicker smoke along the ceiling.

The smoke brightened with an ominous orange glow. The temperature increased, and the roar and crackle of fire filled the air. Wind buffeted the smoke, and flashes of daylight pierced the darkness. Even through the body shield, the heat pressed against her like a physical thing.

Scales?
she sent again. Her limited range prevented her from directly sensing his body signature. He couldn’t return the sending, but she hoped he would at least call out. She hoped. Depending on where he was when the spell bomb blew, he could be either dead or unconscious.

She neared where she thought his office was. Her body shield rippled as it interacted with a sharp stroke of essence. Laura reached into the smoke and encountered something metallic. And hot. She jerked her hand back, feeling the fingertips blistering.

Calling up a ball of essence, she pushed the smoke away for a moment. It receded, and a piece of metal embedded in the wall became visible. The smoke coiled forward and hid it from view again. She closed her eyes against the stinging air and used her sensing ability to see. The metal radiated essence in her mind, a dark shape burning with a cool green light on the edges.

Fire engulfed the remains of Scales’s office. Flames shot outside the building through a gaping hole where his windows used to be. She sensed no living essence. Moving closer, the heat seared against her skin even through the body shield.

“Scales?” she shouted. As she stumbled in the rubble, she spotted two legs protruding from a pile of plaster and wood. Not far off, an arm jutted up. Not far, but too far away from the legs. She sensed nothing. Scales was dead. Superheated air started overwhelming her body shield. She backed out of the room, avoiding the slick fluid gushing from the ceiling and saturating everything.

Scattered metal vibrated around her with green essence. Metal conducted essence but didn’t have any appreciable essence of its own. She picked up a piece and touched a tentative finger to a small chunk the size of her palm. It was cool enough to hold and had essence radiating from it.