Mark Del Franco - Face Off

“My back channels tell me that whatever they’re planning, it will happen soon. Draigen’s here for a few more days, then we can relax,” he said.

Laura snorted. “Yeah, that happens.”

Terryn frowned at her. “Don’t let Sinclair rub off on you.”

“I’ll rub whoever I want, thank you,” Sinclair said.

She glared at Sinclair, annoyed as much at herself as at him. Terryn was wound tight. It was bad enough she was about to add to it. She didn’t want him to think she was being frivolous. She took a deep breath. “Terryn, the real reason I didn’t want to meet at the Guildhouse is because I’m concerned something’s going on with your family.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”

She steeled herself to say what she had been thinking. “A cover-up, Terryn. Between Brinen seeming to hide something and Aran letting his people be overly aggressive at the hotel, it’s almost like they don’t want to know what happened.”

“The Inverni—and my family in particular—can be . . . protective of their own,” he said.

“How much more ‘their own’ can Draigen be?” she asked.

“It’s not a matter of hiding the truth as much as it is keeping it within the clan. Trust me. They are all concerned about what happened,” he said.

“I’m beginning to think they’re obstructing the investigation,” she said.

He shook his head. “Whatever the disagreements within my family, Laura, they do not extend to murder.”

Sinclair let out a loud sigh. “Makes you rethink that whole looking at all the angles thing when it strikes close to home, doesn’t it?”

Terryn glared at him. “I don’t believe I said I am making an excuse to dismiss.”

Sinclair didn’t react. “You’re right. There goes my bad again.”

“I think we should rerun background checks on Aran’s staff. Brinen’s, too. Aran thinks he’s being set up by Brinen,” Laura said.

“Run the checks. Tell no one. Is there anything else?” Terryn asked.

Laura crossed her arms. “Anything else? For Danu’s sake, Terryn, Cress is under guard, and you’ve been suspended. What the hell is going on?”

“It’s all part of Rhys’s plan to discredit the Inverni cause. How better to make people suspect our motives than to point out that the heir to the clan consorts with a demon fey?”

“I’m going to say something to him,” she said.

“I think that’s a bad idea,” said Sinclair.

Laura whirled toward him. “Really? Since you know nothing about Guild politics, why don’t you share your wisdom?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m only pointing out that if Rhys finds out Laura Blackstone works for Terryn and InterSec, it will look like you’re a spy. A spy for an Inverni. Which, frankly, you kinda are, now that I think about it.”

She flushed with embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That’s a good point.”

“Apology accepted.” Sensing honest truth, she glanced at him. He wasn’t being smug, which made her feel worse for snapping at him.

Terryn made her feel worse when he agreed. “It is an excellent point. This will pass, Laura. It’s a skirmish in a very old fight.”

“But what about Cress? She thinks she’s fired.”

Terryn sighed. “What’s happening to her is unfortunate. She found a place at InterSec once. She’ll find another there or somewhere else. Not everyone is as thickheaded as Rhys. We’ll get through this, Laura.”

She crossed her arms and hugged them to her chest. “I hope so.”

“Thank you. For everything, Laura. I mean that,” he said. A mauve light swirled through his wings, and he lifted off the ground. He hovered, staring down at Sinclair, making his annoyance obvious. Sinclair waggled his fingers in a sarcastic wave. Terryn’s wings blazed brighter, and he flew off.

Laura placed her hands on her hips. “You have got to stop doing that.”

Sinclair walked away. “Yeah, I noticed you telling him the same thing.”

She strode after him and grabbed his arm. “What’s gotten into you, Jono? With everything going on with him, I thought you agreed to lay off?”

He pulled away. “Lay off? What about him, Laura? Poor, poor Terryn, threatened from every side. What about me? I’m being threatened by one person and one person alone: Terryn macCullen. Do you have any idea what it’s been like being told that one wrong move, and you’re dead? Or being told everyone else’s life is more important than yours? And then being told to put your life in danger to prove you are worthy of the great Terryn macCullen’s approval? Am I wrong about who I think you are, or are you just not getting it?”

Stunned, she blinked rapidly, letting what he said sink in. The smug looks he had thrown at Terryn were gone, replaced by utter frustration. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He thrust his hands up. “Thank you. And I’m sorry if the only recourse I’ve had from all this is to break his balls, but too damned bad.”

He started down the hill, and she hurried to catch up with his long strides. “Jono, you’re right. If this is the way you need to handle it, then go ahead. The only thing I ask is that you don’t let it get physical.”

“I can’t promise that,” he said.

She tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “He can kill you without breaking a sweat, Jono. Please be careful.”

His face softened. “I think you care about me.”

She shoved him lightly and danced away. “Yeah, even when you’re impossible.”

He sauntered after her. “I think I’m entirely possible.”

She slipped her hand into his, but he pretended to shake it off in annoyance. She caught it again and laughed as their fingers struggled against each other. They left the cemetery hand in hand until they reached the edge of the pool of light from a streetlamp. Sinclair lifted her hands and kissed them.

“Be careful walking to your car,” he said.

She smirked. “Be careful with the urban-assault training.”

He chuckled, the deep chest chuckle she no longer denied liking.

I NEED YOU at my apartment immediately.

Terryn’s sending hit her so hard, Laura almost lost control of her car as she maneuvered her way the next day through the morning commute. She slammed on the brakes. Horns blared around her as other drivers swerved and passed. She turned on her siren and dashboard lights and hit the gas. Traffic parted in front of her as she tore up Pennsylvania Avenue. Terryn sounded desperate.

What’s wrong? she sent.

Cress is gone, he replied.

I’m ten minutes out, she sent.

Law-enforcement vehicles clogged Terryn’s street. Laura pulled onto the corner curb and ran, holding her InterSec badge over her head. A police officer—the only person clueless enough to try to stop her—received a shove in his chest that sent him flying against a car.

People clustered on the sidewalk in front of Terryn’s building. Genda Boone, of all people, stood at the door, her white wings flailing with agitation as she pointed a finger in a brownie’s face. Essence whirled in the air, disturbed flares of red and orange as the fey on the scene exposed their anger. A thick wall of essence, anchored by a brownie standing in front of the building, blocked the street door.

Laura pushed her way through the crowd to Genda’s side. “What the hell is going on?”

Angry, Genda turned as if she were about to argue but calmed when she saw Mariel Tate at her side. “That’s what I’d like to know. This brownie is anchoring a shield barrier and won’t let me through.”

Laura craned her neck to see beyond Genda. “Davvi? It’s Mariel Tate. I need to get in to see Terryn.”