Skin Deep (5 page)

As she finished, she sensed Aaron Foyle behind her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just came to look.”

Laura felt anger coming off him in waves. “What happened?” he asked.

She resisted the urge to sigh. Being part of law enforcement meant constant repetition of information. Before the next twenty-four hours had passed, she’d have to have written two reports for Terryn—one a redacted official one, one for his eyes only—another report for Foyle, and probably others. She debated how much she should say without being debriefed by Terryn. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve got some memory loss from a concussion. The medics said coming back might jog something.”

He glanced up the aisle, noting, she assumed, who was in earshot. “Well?”

She shrugged. “Not much. Right now, all I can recall is firing at the objective and calling for help.”

Foyle shook his head. “I’ve got a dead officer, Crawford. I want to know what happened to Sanchez, and I want to know now.”

She kept her face and voice neutral. “I told you I have memory loss. They said it will come back soon.”

Foyle tilted his head back to look at the skylight. “How did a brownie get up there?”

Laura followed his gaze. “It wasn’t a brownie. It was a fairy.”

He looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Laura kept her eyes on the shattered skylight. “The intelligence was wrong. It was an Inverni glamoured as a brownie.”

He folded his arms across his chest, his voice sharp when he spoke. “No one else said anything about a fairy.”

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning . . . sir,” she said.

Foyle stepped closer. “Listen, Crawford. An officer is dead, and his killer escaped with you as the only witness.”

Despite her anger, Laura remained cool. “What exactly are you implying?”

He set his jaw. “You aren’t a team regular, and the only perpetrator who seems to have escaped was fey.”

She felt a slow burn at the phrase “team regular.” It was a loaded term usually used to imply someone fey was not regular, not human. She pitched her voice low and controlled. “I did you a favor, Foyle, and almost got killed for it. You have a lot of nerve race-baiting me.”

He let his own anger edge into his voice. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Officer?”

Laura stepped around him. “I left the med unit against doctor’s advice. You need something from me, you call Terryn macCullen.”

She had stalked all the way to the door when Foyle called out, “Crawford, I want a report in the morning. You can amend as you recall.”

Laura stopped, ready to snap at him, when her eye caught the overturned desk. Whoever had shot her would have stood where she was. Sanchez would not have been visible, but she would have been. She shivered as she examined the essence on the threshold.

“Crawford?” His voice startled her.

“Will do, sir.”

With an effort of will, she did not look over her shoulder as she left the building. Once past the barricade, she circled around the back of her SUV and let the moment sink in. Cursing under her breath, she yanked the door open and got in the car. Gripping the steering wheel, she forced her breathing to slow. A flash of uncharacteristic panic went through her. She locked the doors. With a forceful exhale, she started the SUV.

Driving along the winding parkway that led back to downtown, Laura allowed herself to acknowledge what she was thinking. Standing in the doorway, standing on the spot from where someone had shot at her, she had not sensed essence from unknown drug dealers or whatever the hell they were. She had registered and recognized three distinct signatures. She had no way to tell if all three people had been together when she was shot or if one had stood alone before the other two arrived.

She pulled out her cell phone. Terryn picked up on the first ring. “MacCullen.”

“We’ve got a problem. I’m coming back in right now,” she said.

He didn’t speak right away. “You don’t sound like yourself. What’s wrong?”

Laura took a deep breath. “I think our side took out Sanchez. I think they tried to kill me, too.”

CHAPTER 3

“DO YOU WANT
backup?” Terryn asked.

Laura’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror. As she neared the Anacostia Bridge, more cars appeared on the parkway. “No. Let’s keep this line open.”

“Okay. Can you give me details?”

“Not now.” Eavesdropping devices littered the District more than anywhere else in the world. Terryn probably thought the same thing because he didn’t press her. She put down the phone and switched the call to the dashboard system.

“I’m getting Cress on the line,” said Terryn.

The light changed, and she drove onto the ramp for the bridge. Traffic receded behind her. “No, wait. It’s okay. No tail.”

She was so focused behind her, she didn’t see a van shoot up a side ramp until it was huge in her passenger window. She yanked the steering wheel left and stomped on the accelerator. The van caught her rear panel, spinning the SUV. Laura lurched forward, but her shoulder strap slammed her back against the seat.

“What was that?” Terryn said. Laura found herself smiling at how calm his voice sounded.

“Bad driver, I hope,” she said. She spun the steering wheel back and pulled away across the bridge. Another van appeared on her left while the first van came up close on her right. “Okay, I definitely have a problem,” she said.

“I’m on my way,” he said. Over the car speakers, she heard the rustle of the phone on the other end moving.

“Will Terryn be enough?” Cress asked.

Laura reached into the foot well to get her magnet-mount light. She lowered her window, then slapped the light on the roof. “I don’t know. Tell him I’ve got a roof light on.”

On her left, the side door of the van rolled open. Laura’s heart jumped as the barrel of an M16 slid into view. She could do many things with essence and a fast car, but she couldn’t stop a bullet, and she didn’t have a fast car. She swerved as the gun went off, her rear windows shattering in a spray of glass. She sideswiped the van. The larger vehicle had inertia on its side against the SUV, but the driver veered away. Laura smiled. Only a crazy woman tries to use a Honda as battering ram.

“Janice?” Cress said.

“I’m good,” Laura replied. She hit the gas and pulled in front of the van, feinting left and right to keep it from passing her. The second van joined the first. They separated, widening the distance between them, while gaining on Laura. When they reached the bumper of her SUV, the M16 reappeared as a black-clad figure wearing a nondescript mask leaned out the door. He started firing.

Laura slammed on the brakes. The vans flew past, and she released a surge of essence through the windows. White lightning leaped from her hands and raked both vehicles, rocking them on their tires. The sniper fell inside as the van swerved away. She flew past the second van as it zigzagged wildly on blown tires.

“Report, please,” Cress said, calm as ever.

“Still here.”

The lead van pulled a U-turn. Laura shifted gears and accelerated the SUV in reverse to gain some space. The second van pulled across the road behind her, and she hit the brake. The door opened and another shooter jumped out. She was trapped. “Dammit. In case I don’t make it, Cress, tell Terryn . . .”

Cress cut her off. “Tell him yourself. You always have options.”

She was right. Laura knew that. She shoved the stick shift into drive and floored it. The SUV’s tires screamed until they grabbed pavement. She shot forward as gunfire rang out behind. The van in front cut sideways and stopped. The first shooter stepped out.

The sky crackled with blue-white lightning. Laura ducked as her windshield exploded to the sound of the M16 firing. She kept her foot planted on the accelerator. Peering through the steering wheel, she saw a remote possibility of swerving around the van at the last moment. At speed, the SUV would either barrel-roll or fly off the bridge. Better that, she thought, than the odds of surviving a head-on collision. She dropped farther in the seat, hoping not to die when she hit the guardrails.

More lightning flashed, and this time Laura recognized it: a lethal surge of essence. The van in front of her exploded in a black-and-orange fireball. Terryn soared into view, his gossamer wings in full flare, burning with fierce white light, his body a dark shadow between them. He brought his arms down and aimed. Cobalt blue essence-bolts leaped from his hands, striking the van behind her.

Laura hit the brakes and jumped out, her hands ablaze with white essence. Terryn landed beside her, burning like a fuel cell, his eyes glowing a violent blue. Something detonated inside the lead van, and the roof shredded fire and metal. In a blur, Terryn lunged over Laura and discharged his essence into a covering shield. Metal debris pummeled them. They stumbled to the ground, Terryn’s shield deflecting the shrapnel.

Laura found herself inches from Terryn’s face and smiled. “Thanks, boss.”

He held his hand out and pulled her up. “Was this your idea of an errand?”

Both vans billowed smoke. Laura stared a moment and shook her head. “No essence. They’re all dead.”

Terryn gazed toward the Anacostia side of the river. Lights flashed red and blue behind stalled traffic. “This was professional. I doubt we’ll find anything in the vans once the fires are out. Let’s go. I want to see how this plays out in channels.”

They returned to her SUV, and Laura drove around the burning van.

“Report, please,” Cress said.

Terryn settled himself back in the passenger seat. “The situation has been resolved. We’re on our way back.”

“Good,” said Cress. “Pick up some ice cream, please.”

Terryn smiled as she disconnected. Laura kept the police light on the roof. Wind whipped through the missing windows. Police cars and fire engines came at them the wrong way. Laura pulled to the right to let them pass, but she didn’t stop.

A police car broke away from the contingent and followed them. The driver waved them down. Two Metropolitan police officers jumped out, both with their hands on their guns in open holsters. Neither drew his weapon. One stopped at the front of the SUV and kept his eyes on Terryn, while the other made a wide berth near the driver’s side door. “ID, please?”

Laura held up her badge on its chain. She kept a straight face when Terryn flashed an air force ID from a billfold. The air force didn’t allow fey staff. Terryn at least had the courtesy to glamour his wings so the officer wouldn’t know he was fey and have to pretend he didn’t notice. The officer took the IDs and handed them to his partner, who returned to the squad car. He peered toward the burning vans. “Air force and SWAT, huh? What’s going down?”

Laura tilted her head to let Terryn take the question. He leaned forward. “We’re not sure. A fender-bender, I think.”

A thin smile streaked across the officer’s face. He made a point of looking at the SUV’s missing windows. “I see. Did you install this air-conditioning yourself?”

Laura chuckled. “Can you believe this? Can’t park your car anywhere in this town.”

The officer’s partner stepped out of the car and called him over. They conferred briefly, and the officer returned to the SUV. He handed the IDs back with an impressed look on his face. “Never saw a clean check come back so fast. I suppose it’s pointless to ask for contact info.”

Terryn nodded. “We’re working on something.”

The officer tapped the roof of the car. “Thanks for your time.”

Laura drove away. “Fender-bender? Do you think he didn’t notice the fireball?”

Terryn shrugged dismissively. Off the bridge, Laura pulled the police light in and slowed down. “I seem to have upset someone tonight.”

“What happened at the apartment building?” he asked.

She glanced over at him. “I went back to get the Inverni signature before it faded. Someone was watching me. I found the angle I was shot from, and there were three signatures: Aaron Foyle, Salvatore Gianni, and Jonathan Sinclair.”

“All SWAT personnel?” Terryn asked.

Laura nodded. “Foyle broke my balls about being the only person in the room when Sanchez died and letting the Inverni escape. I told him to talk to you if he was going that route.”

Terryn arched an eyebrow. “Janice Crawford has balls?”

Laura laughed. “You bet your ass she does.”

“So who was trying to kill you on the bridge?”

She had seen only Foyle at the drug lab, but that didn’t mean Gianni and Sinclair weren’t there as well. The vans showed up so quickly, she had the feeling that she hadn’t imagined someone watching from the next apartment building. “Well, if any of the three of them doesn’t show up for work tomorrow, I think we’ll have a clue.”

Terryn leaned forward. “Stop up here, please. Cress likes something called Chunky Monkey.”

Terryn’s lack of cultural knowledge amused her. She often had fun at his expense, more so because he didn’t always pick up on it. “Is it made from real monkeys?”

He shrugged. “I asked her that, too, but she wouldn’t answer.”

While Terryn went inside a convenience store, she ignored the curious stares from pedestrians. He came out with a small bag and tossed a pack of gum to Laura through the remains of the windshield.

After arriving at the Guildhouse garage, Laura parked the SUV in Janice Crawford’s usual space. She retrieved a duffel bag from the backseat, shaking off broken glass. One more glance around the interior confirmed that nothing else needed to be removed. She didn’t take it for granted that parking at the Guild meant some idiot wouldn’t rob her. The SUV held the bare minimum of equipment most of the time, so she needed only the duffel.

When they entered the elevator lobby, Laura stepped sideways along the wall. She dropped the duffel and unbuttoned her shirt.

Terryn paused. “You’re changing here?”

Laura pulled off the shirt. “I don’t want gunshot residue in the Mercedes.” She kicked off her work boots and dropped her pants. She smiled at the amusement on Terryn’s face.

“There are cameras, you know,” he said.

She pulled a black, wrinkle-free skirt and a plain white T-shirt out of the duffel. “Do you think this is the first time I’ve done this?” She pointed up at the camera over her head. “It’s angled for the elevator. It can’t see me here. I checked.”