Mark Del Franco - Face Off

Turning her back on Aran, she stepped off the bed and leaned over the sobbing woman. “Are you okay?” She didn’t answer. Laura pulled her to her feet. “Come with me. You’re safe.”

Wrapping her arm around the woman’s shoulder, she guided her around the end of the bed. She would turn the woman over to Guild security for protection. The operation had been a waste of time. Dawson was nothing more than a party boy who skipped out on his job. As she passed Aran, she glared at him. “He’s not our guy. I’ll be talking to Terryn about what happened here.”

She left him in the room to clean up the mess.

INTERSEC REPORT FILESsurrounded Laura in stacks, dozens from the day of the assassination attempt. As she read through each one, the information became embedded in her memory, years of druidic training enhancing her near-photographic memory. At first, reviewing files had been a welcome relief from the fruitless episode at the hotel the day before. After a while, though, the process became mentally taxing. Coupled with her lack of sleep over the recent days, fatigue was starting to take its toll.

She relaxed the mnemonic spell that boosted her memory retention. The information she had absorbed jumbled in her mind. In a day or two, it would settle into more coherent patterns on its own, but she had keyed her thoughts to focus on the events leading up to the finding of Sean Carr’s body in the attic. Report after report of the first responders showed a consistent pattern. Every person on the scene described Carr as dead on the floor upon their arrival. She had found no one who had claimed they fired on him nor anyone who mentioned they saw the strike. She surmised either a report was missing or whoever had done the deed hadn’t filed one.

She stared at the paperwork. Terryn’s sources claimed Draigen remained a target, but nothing in the data identified a source of the danger or the means. Even the time was vague—sometime before she left the States. Gut instinct told Laura the ideal time would be the reception, the only event left on Draigen’s public calendar. Her logical reasoning, though, made the reception seem too obvious. Someone planning an attack of this magnitude would know security had been hardened considerably. No, Laura thought, another assassination attempt would come from an unexpected direction, and an internal threat was much more likely.

She paused as a strong wave of body essence filtered up the hall, then relaxed when she realized it was Genda. Even with the ward dampening in the Guildhouse, a Danann fairy stood out. She scanned her desk to confirm there was nothing she didn’t want seen.

Genda stopped at the door. She wore a white dress that shifted on subtle currents of essence, small images of orange flowers shimmering on the fabric. “There you are, love. I saw that you checked in. How is everything going?”

Laura glanced down at the folders. “Slow. I’m trying to get a lead on the assassination attempt.”

A guilty look mixed with amusement came over Genda. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I found something strange.”

She handed Laura a sheet of paper. The lists of numbers were similar to series she had seen for bank-transaction routing numbers. “What’s this?”

Genda stepped into the office, the guilt slipping away to satisfaction. “It’s my nature to look at the financials of everything. When I got the names of the missing Inverni, the first thing I did was pull bank records. Those are tracking numbers for Uma macGrath. I hope I didn’t overstep. Terryn used to provide me with data and access. I assumed that I had the authority to do this.”

Laura pursed her lips as she reviewed the numbers. Two substantial lump sums had been deposited into macGrath’s account—one before and one after the assassination attempt. “You’re clear, Genda. We have pretty broad authority to move quickly on things like this.”

Relief swept over her face. “Oh, good. I was afraid we might not be able to use this.”

Laura considered the numbers. “I’m not surprised she was paid. Sometimes in these situations, the perpetrator is motivated purely for political reasons, but money isn’t far behind.”

Genda laughed. “Oh, yes, definitely. Money’s behind most things. That’s what makes it so fascinating.” She leaned across Laura’s desk and pointed at a few lines of data near the top of the list. “For instance, look at this.”

“The first payment went into her account a day earlier, the second the day of the attempt,” Laura said.

Genda tapped the paper. “Exactly, love. But no second payment for Carr. He died, obviously, but it’s interesting macGrath was paid despite Draigen’s survival. Odd, no?”

“That’s a good point,” Laura said.

“I traced the wires. The payments came from an old Inverni shadow account in Wales. I haven’t figured out whose it was yet. There was some activity in the account prior to the payments, likely a transfer from the Caymans. Have you ever been? The water is amazing, but the clubs are filled with thugs in bad casual wear.”

Laura shook her head. “No, not in years. Are you suggesting someone in an Inverni clan hired macGrath to assassinate Draigen?”

Genda sighed dramatically, her hands fluttering to her sides. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m a numbers person. What do you think it means?”

Laura let the paper fall to the desk. “It could be the Alfreys. They’ve been rivals for centuries from what I understand.”

Genda played her hands through her hair. “Oh, that old feud. What a mess. Draigen should marry . . . What’s his name—Simon? The son? Seal the breach, as they say.”

“He’s in prison, Genda. He was the one who orchestrated the Archives attack.”

She tapped her temple. “Oh, right, right. I doubt it was them, though. They love Draigen.” She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, dear, but she’s the real sapling from the tree, you know.”

Laura tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Genda glanced at the door again, her face avid. “You’re too young to remember. Draigen’s the one who convinced her father to challenge the High Queen, and her politics haven’t changed much. It’s why the Inverni can’t get investors like the rest of the Celtic fey can. Too uncertain politically.” She shook her head in memory. “What a dashing man Aubry macCullen was. Very astute financially, too. I would have risked a scandal for a night with him, let me tell you.”

“Genda!”

She laughed, high and musical. “Oh, come now, Mariel. Clan rivalries are one thing. Romance is another.”

Amused, Laura shook her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anyway, my money’s on this whole assassination thing being internal politics. Draigen will probably find a way to blame the High Queen, though.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like Rhys talking.”

She shrugged. “Another brilliant man. Another man I’d”—she laughed self-consciously—“oh, never mind. So, what’s the next step with this information?”

“Can you keep trying to track the original source of funds?” Laura asked.

Genda nodded. “Of course. Absolutely. Shall we inform the macCullens?”

“No!” Laura said. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out so loudly. The Inverni Guardians are on edge as it is with the would-be assassin being one of their own people. Let’s wait for confirmed information before we give them more to be paranoid about.”

Genda nodded vigorously as she moved toward the door. “As you say, then. I’ll get right on it.”

“Before you go, Genda, I’d like to recommend InterSec provide security for Cress.”