Mark Del Franco - Skin Deep

“What the hell are we doing here?” she said.

He chuckled and finished off his beer. “Gianni does a detail here every once in a while, so he likes to think he belongs.”

“And you?”

The bartender landed another beer for both of them. “I work details, too, sometimes. Mostly I come to watch Gianni make an ass of himself,” Sinclair said.

Laura cocked an eyebrow. “Nice. So why am I here?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. Why’d you come?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to get to know Sanchez’s friends.”

Sinclair stared into his beer. “You having survivor’s guilt?”

She paused, considering whether Sinclair would like that or not. “No. It was screwed up, but it wasn’t my fault.”

Sinclair nodded once sharply. “Good. Sanchez wasn’t worth the guilt.”

Sinclair knew she was a druid. He had to know she sensed things off people, even if he didn’t know that she could sense emotion more acutely than other druids. He had to know he was not putting out mourning signals. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why didn’t you like Sanchez?”

Sinclair leaned into the corner to face her fully. “Maybe Sanchez disappeared a lot with no explanation. Maybe he asked a lot of questions, then maybe he clammed up if someone asked him anything. Maybe he liked coming down here as much as Gianni does.” He took a long pull on his beer. “Or Foyle, for that matter.”

“Something about this place I should know?” she asked.

He kept his smile teasing. Laura felt herself blush at his direct gaze. She never thought of the Janice glamour as particularly attractive, more like a simple, plain-looking police officer. She definitely didn’t expect someone with Sinclair’s looks to be interested in Janice, but that was what that teasing smile sure as hell felt like. She told herself it was the beer. She hadn’t eaten all day and was already feeling the soft tickle of alcohol coursing through her. She was tired and seeing things to make herself feel better.

“I’m not talking. I’m just saying. Know what I mean?” he said.

Laura wasn’t sure she did. She didn’t want to seem eager, so she put a little irritation in her voice. “Maybe you’re being real nice to someone you just met. Maybe I could take that two ways. And maybe, considering the freaking bruise on the side of my head, I should be cautious about what I hear. Know what I mean?”

He laughed. She liked his laugh. She wanted to slap herself for thinking it. With everything going on in her life, the last thing she should be doing was clouding her judgment with an attraction to someone who might have shot her. “Yeah, I do.”

Laura stopped looking at him. While they didn’t speak, the silence didn’t stretch to uncomfortable. Assessing, Laura thought. They were assessing their next moves. Offering the raid reports and now hinting at dirty cops was a little too much too soon for her taste. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to bite on something or if she was being warned off. As far as Sinclair knew, she was a low-level staffer from InterSec, farmed out for the cleanup chores and no-brainer jobs. In other words, no one powerful, so no one likely to bring in any noise from InterSec. Considering where they were, if Sinclair was a regular at the Vault, he had plenty of opportunity to connect with someone who might be interested in stirring the pot in a SWAT-team squad room.

Someone on the team had taken a shot at her, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to assume that the same person had killed Sanchez. Laura had to consider the possibility that the bread crumbs Sinclair was laying out could be a trap to see what she knew or remembered.

He finished his second drink. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to give Gianni a heads-up that the woman whose ear he just licked is a congressman’s daughter.”

“So now you care?” Laura shot at him.

He gave her a cocky grin over his shoulder. “He’s my ride unless you take me home.”

She rolled her eyes. The woman in question did not look pleased, and Gianni wasn’t getting the message. Sinclair slipped between them and ordered another beer. He spoke to Gianni, then turned to the woman and introduced himself.

The bartender slid another drink in front of Laura. “On the house,” he said, and walked away before she could respond. She picked up the fluted glass and sniffed. Brandy, an Armagnac by the shape of the glass. Sinclair caught her eye. She raised the glass and toasted him. He smiled uncertainly as his gaze shifted to her glass. Gianni said something that distracted him, and he looked away. The amber fluid spread across her tongue and released shades of vanilla and apricot and something earthy she couldn’t identify. The crowded bar made it difficult to parse the scents, but it was delicious. Another pleasant surprise from Sinclair.

Intent on watching Sinclair and Gianni, Laura didn’t pay any attention when someone stood behind her. The barroom was crowded, and the bar itself was, too, so the sudden presence next to her did not seem amiss. Until the person behind spoke in her ear. “Good teammates watch each other’s backs.”

She looked into the face of a tall elf. She recognized him immediately from media reports. Tylo Blume smiled pleasantly down at her, his pointed ears showing through long dark hair tied loosely at the middle of his back. Apprehension rippled through her. Blume was a high-profile mover and shaker on Capitol Hill. He had friends in all the right places and was worth millions. The same Tylo Blume that Senator Hornbeck wanted Laura Blackstone to meet and secure a speaking role for at the Archives’ exhibit opening. And suddenly here he was, talking to Janice Crawford. Washington could be a small town, but she hated coincidences and always suspected them.

“Teammates?” she asked.

Blume made no overt indication to the bartender, but another glass of Armagnac appeared at his elbow. He must have done a sending. Laura looked down at her own glass. Not Sinclair then. She felt foolish, accepting a drink without knowing who it was from, as if she were a kid from the country on her first city visit.

Blume glanced over at Gianni and Sinclair. “As are you, Ms. Crawford.” He held out a hand. “Tylo Blume.”

She shook. “And you know me because…?”

He sipped his drink and peered down at her. She debated whether he was sneering or amused. “I heard about what happened to you and wanted to meet you.”

Laura played it cautiously pleasant. “Really? Why?”

He nodded up the bar. “Your friends, Gianni and Sinclair, do some work for me occasionally. I could use a druid with backbone.”

Laura decided Janice would be clueless about Blume. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

He continued staring at her with his thin smile. His essence felt amused. Laura had the sense that he was buying the dumb act. “Well, I own this place, for one thing. The building, in fact.”

“Nice place. And for another thing?”

“Let’s say I have several business interests in town,” he said.

She feigned loss of interest, looking around the room. “Oh. I don’t really follow politics.”

She caught Sinclair’s watchful eye. He looked away a fraction of a second later, as if he didn’t want her to know he was watching. Blume stayed next to her.

“Are you interested?” he asked

“In a job? Depends. What do you have in mind?” she asked.

Blume took a turn scanning the room. “Look around. Even if you don’t follow politics, you probably recognize a few faces in here. We keep the press and the tourists out. Off-duty law enforcement helps our clients and keeps the place safe.”

Laura twisted her lips. “I don’t know. It sounds like you want a bouncer. I became a police officer to get out of that gig.”