Skin Deep (31 page)

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.”

CHAPTER 33

POLICE AND FIRE
cordoned off the street at either end. The SUV sat like an exhausted beast, its air bags hanging out the doors like ruptured organs. In the surreal flicker of blue, red, and yellow emergency lights, Sinclair stood over Laura’s prone body, which was still glamoured as Janice Crawford. Two EMTs jumped out of a van with a gurney. They looked human, but their appearance didn’t match the essence fields Sinclair sensed. He recognized the shape of Cress’s essence.

Cress made no indication she knew him. “Step aside, sir.”

He moved back as they shifted Laura from the ground to the gurney. “Where are you taking her?”

They moved with a controlled urgency. “GW. You need attention?”

“No.”

Cress climbed in the emergency wagon, and the driver closed her in with Laura’s body. The van rocked as it pulled away. Cress stared at Sinclair’s dwindling figure through the rear door windows. “Is this wise?”

At the sound of Cress’s voice, Laura’s self-induced trance broke. She breathed deeply, stimulating her heartbeat. “Nothing is. Can I sit up?”

Cress checked Laura’s pulse. “Wait a few blocks. What happened?”

Laura rolled her head to stretch. “They came faster than expected and forced us out of the safe zone.”

Cress’s essence feathered over Laura’s body, tendrils curling along the edges of her body signature, sensing its strengths and weaknesses. As always, Laura felt the desire in the touch, the need for essence that Cress fought against. “You have some bruising. Do you want me to take care of it?”

Laura sat up, Cress helping her with gentle hands. “No. I’ll keep them unless I can’t function.”

On the other side of the van, a draped figure lay on a gurney. Laura removed her emerald stone, the Janice glamour blurring and shifting as it slid off her. She handed the necklace to Cress. “Can you charge it? I’m bone-dry.”

Cress pushed essence into the persona template in the stone. Folding down the sheet on the other gurney, she exposed the Inverni from Laura’s poison attack and slipped the chain around his neck. The glamour field spread over him, interacting with the almost vanished body signature of the dead body. His residual fairy essence shifted and faded beneath the druid signature on the stone, and his physical appearance warped and changed. Laura stared at an apparently dead Janice Crawford.

Cress caught her. “What’s wrong?”

Laura shook her head dismissively. “It’s always odd to see a glamour I’ve worn on someone else.”

Cress folded the sheet back over the Inverni. “Do you think Sinclair is up for this?”

Laura stared out the window as if she could see back to the accident site. “He’ll have to be.”

The van pulled to a stop, and Cress handed Laura a set of car keys. “Terryn’s waiting at the Guildhouse.”

“Thanks for everything, Cress.”

Laura hopped out, and the van resumed its trip to the hospital. Her Mercedes was parked at the curb. The music came on loudly when she started the engine. She leaned her head back. The plan had failed. Whoever had been in the black cars, it wasn’t Alfrey. The power levels would have been higher. He had help, that much was clear. He wouldn’t have sent Gianni after her, even if he thought she was minor league. If he’d come at her himself, he wouldn’t have used a car. No, she thought, he sent henchmen, which meant he had an organization. She reminded herself that the Inverni had threatened Blume in front of a government building. He had balls. Which made him more dangerous. At least no civilians had been injured, she thought. That would mitigate some repercussions.

She drove to the Guildhouse at normal speed. The lights of emergency vehicles up the street flickered in her rearview mirror as she pulled in to the garage. Between the attempted bombing and the mess out front, the Guildhouse was on high alert. It was indirectly her fault, her failure to prevent it. And now, another failed attempt. Doubt worried at her as she took the elevator. She didn’t like losing.

In the public-relations office, she walked through the closet to her private room. She spared a moment to wash her face before activating the Mariel glamour. The tepid water was insufficiently refreshing, but it helped her feel better. When she lifted her head, the calm, cool beauty of Mariel faced her in the mirror, with no sign of Laura’s underlying stress. This is my life, she thought, this is what I do. Hide my face to find comfort and hide myself to avoid problems.

She shook off the melancholy and returned to InterSec. She found Terryn monitoring the news on three stations in his office.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He closed his laptop. “You tried. It was worth the effort.”

“Can we protect Sinclair?” she asked.

He turned away from the screens. “I think so. We have inside help with the Capitol police. They’ve been alerted. He’s already making a convincing case to the responders that he has no idea why you were pursued.”

She dropped into the guest chair. “They were on us instantly, Terryn. They forced us away from the safe zone. We have a leak.”