Mark Del Franco - Face Off

Still pleasant, he looked resigned. “Why don’t we talk about this when the operation is over?”

She slipped a gentle smile over her face and held up her glass. “Let’s make a date.”

He raised his glass. “Next Tuesday. No excuses. That will give everything a chance to cool down, and we can talk about other things.”

She tapped his glass. “Tuesday it is, then.”

She leaned back as the waiter arrived with their dinners. At least she had managed to get a time frame out of him. Whatever Legacy was planning would be executed in the next few days. Maybe Terryn was right, and it was about Draigen, who would be gone in the same time frame. Even so, she wanted harder confirmation than intuition. The data drive waited in her bra. With any luck, she would piece together what the plan was and end it before it began.

THE HIGHWAY CURVEDaround the Pentagon, the Capitol Building rising above the skyline behind it. Laura loved Washington at night. During the day, its iconic buildings had a stiff, formal look of history made. At night, lighting made those same buildings appear dramatic, as if the true work of the government were happening. She spent a lot of time in those offices, but it was in the restaurants and bars and private parties, or, in this case, a limo, that the real work was done. Having dinner with DeWinter was more work than stealing the data. It was almost over. In a few minutes, Sinclair would stop the limo in front of Fallon Moor’s apartment, and she would disappear from DeWinter’s life.

“You’ve done phenomenal work, Fallon,” DeWinter said.

She lowered her eyes and smiled modestly as she stared at the amber fluid in her glass. “Thanks. It’s been a challenge.”

She settled herself more comfortably in the darkened limo. The soft red fabric of her dress rode across her lap, exposing her thigh through the short slit on the side of the dress. She crossed her legs, her rising knee catching DeWinter’s eye. Placing his hand on her bare skin, he leaned forward to retrieve a decanter from the bar. Laura held her crystal glass steady as he refilled it. Returning the decanter, he settled back, his hand remaining on her thigh.

Dinner had gone more smoothly than Laura anticipated. She had maintained subtle control of the conversation, poking around in his knowledge of Fallon Moor’s life. She had made up stories to fit time periods in Moor’s life he apparently didn’t know about. For all the heated looks and promises of better times the last few days, DeWinter didn’t appear to know Moor that well at all.

DeWinter trailed his fingers up and down her thigh, a bemused expression on his face. “Why don’t you come work for me full-time? I can make it very attractive.”

Laura glanced through the glass panel separating them from the front seat. As if sensing it, which she doubted, Sinclair’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Sinclair had hidden any surprise that she had walked out of the Legacy building with DeWinter. He was handling undercover well, though she knew he would complain later about sitting in the car while she had an expensive dinner.

She smiled into her glass. “It’s tempting, but I like being free to make my own decisions.”

DeWinter shifted his position, one hand on her knee, the other draped along the back of the seat. “You know, as I watched you work, I became fascinated with you.”

“I’m flattered,” she said with as much meaning as she could muster. DeWinter didn’t impress her as much as he impressed himself. He was like so many men who confused money with invincibility. She sensed a warping in his faint human essence that meant he carried a gun. DeWinter was the type who thought he could handle anything thrown at him, so he didn’t bother with an entourage or bodyguards. His most visible trappings of wealth were the clothes he wore and the limo service. His CIA service had been administrative. He had probably never fired a gun outside the practice range.

“You know, the article was perfect bait,” DeWinter said.

She chuckled. “Bait?”

He nuzzled her ear. “The article in the Financial Times . The one discussing polling algorithms that tested global time differences. I found it incredibly timely considering my team was looking into the issue.”

She knew the article. It had been in Fallon Moor’s file. The brownie had written it before being hired by Legacy. Now Laura realized that was how Moor had ended up at Legacy. She let them think they wanted her, not the other way around. “Timing is everything, Adam. I’m glad I could help.”

She leaned forward to retrieve a napkin from the bar setup, forcing DeWinter to remove his hand from her neck. Though she had done such things in the past, romancing him was not going to be a part of the evening no matter what Moor’s relationship with him was. The job was over.

She avoided looking at Sinclair. Wherever their relationship was going, it would be going nowhere if she got physical with him watching. She had what InterSec needed. She didn’t need DeWinter anymore. Saying no and getting out of the car at the apartment were going to be simple.

“Who do you work for?” he asked.

She feigned confusion, but she didn’t like the question. “What do you mean?”

DeWinter’s hand slid farther up her thigh. “FBI? InterSec? MI6?”

Sipping her drink, she laughed. “What in the world are you talking about? I think my politics answer for themselves, Adam.”

He moved in on her ear again. “Don’t take me for a fool, Fallon. I fell for the article, true. Did you think I would let you into our systems unattended? We found the tracking program.”

Annoyed, she pursed her lips while he kissed the side of her neck. She had some skill, but the planted software had come from InterSec. Someone was going to get a good reprimand for sloppy work when she returned to the office.

Get ready, Jono. My cover’s blown, she sent. Sinclair’s gaze wandered to the rearview mirror.

Still, she held out a hope of getting out of the situation unexposed. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Adam. I lied. We thought you might be working for someone else.”

He chuckled deep in his throat and pulled back to look at her. “We? That’s interesting. Who’s ‘we,’ and why did you need to steal data you had access to?”

Laura compressed her lips. She was going to give the tech team high hell for this. “I didn’t steal any data, Adam. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

DeWinter continued caressing her. He moved his hand higher, his fingers slipping under the edge of her underwear. “Where’s the data drive, Fallon? Did you hide it somewhere you thought I’d never see again?”

She had passed the data drive to Sinclair when he helped her into the car earlier. She didn’t know whether to laugh or punch DeWinter. She had no idea where he thought the situation was going. He clearly had no idea she was a druid, never mind his marked indifference to the possibility of her going boggie. Maybe he liked it rough. His hand slid under the fabric of her panties and tickled the front of her hip.

Brace yourself, Sinclair sent.

“What?” she said aloud, startled.

“I said . . .” DeWinter began.

Laura grabbed the door and lurched forward as Sinclair slammed on the brakes. DeWinter flew across the floor and hit the front seat. She called up essence and shot DeWinter in the head before he could recover.

Laura frowned as she got out of the car. “I had the situation under control, Jono.”

Sinclair jumped out and peered in the back. “Is he dead?”

“No. I stunned him. What the hell did you hit the brakes for?”

“You looked like you needed help,” he said.