Legacy wanted an end to the monarchies. Given what she had seen of its secret backers, it was about money and power. The more unstable the fey monarchies became, the more opportunities arose for others to take their place. The people in the room might think they were being patriots. Instead, they were becoming pawns to another power structure.
Time dragged as DeWinter droned on about legal initiatives Legacy was involved in. As planned, Laura’s cell phone rang. People shifted and heads turned, craning to see who had left a ringer on. Laura hopped up with the phone to her ear, taking her time to ensure that everyone knew it was her causing the interruption as she left the room. Once in the hall, she stayed near the conference room’s glass door, fully visible to DeWinter.
Sinclair arrived, but stayed out of view of the conference room. Laura held her hand against the doorjamb as if she were casually leaning on it. Unseen from inside the room, Sinclair slipped two keycards into her hand. He gave her a wink and walked off.
Still pretending to be on a cell call, Laura pushed open the door and resumed her seat. She slipped DeWinter’s keycard and a plain white duplicate into her folder. After a brief applause, the lights went up, and the room broke into conversation. As the attendees left, Laura lingered, again making sure to remain in DeWinter’s line of sight at all times. If he had noticed his card missing, she didn’t want him to think she had gone anywhere with it. When the room emptied, she joined him at the podium, where he packed his materials into folders.
“You were excellent,” she said.
He shrugged. “The facts speak for themselves.”
She reached out and tugged at his lapel, slipping the keycard back in the inside pocket without him noticing. “You really were good.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Careful. You might make me fall for you.”
“You might be worth catching.” She let her hand slide seductively down the lapel of his jacket, then left the room. He was good, she thought. Three layers of security good. She held the folder so that the duplicate keycard didn’t slip out.
She was better.
CHAPTER 16
OVERLOOKING THE WHITE House, the Hay-Adams Hotel had an address that demanded high prices of its guests and the envy of those who wished they could afford it. Laura had lived undercover at the hotel several times over the years, and she had never regretted it. While it never felt like home, the service and atmosphere more than made up for it. For its location, it could have gone the lazy route, jacked up its prices, and let the tourists in; but all in all, it had kept its standards. The restaurants were good, not always spectacular, but at a place like the Hay-Adams, good was not something to be disappointed in.
When Genda Boone suggested lunch at the Lafayette Room to Mariel Tate, Laura almost asked to go elsewhere but changed her mind. After a week of undercover work as Fallon Moor, juggling plans at the Guild for Draigen’s reception, and worrying about Sinclair, she wanted to have a break that did not involve sleeping in her hidden room at the Guildhouse. The calm, pale colors of the hotel’s restaurant would be a perfect antidote to her chaotic schedule.
Or so she thought until Genda arrived in a flaming red dress that moved as much as her undulating wings. As a Danann fairy, she generated an essence field that drew its power from the air around her. Genda let some of her natural body essence emit a static glow that moved her white hair with a languid, mesmerizing motion.
By subtle signs in body language, Laura knew Genda saw her as soon as she entered but pretended to search for her. Otherwise, the turned heads in the room might have missed her entrance. She let her eyes settle on Laura and held her hand out as she crossed the room to the table. “Mariel, sweet, how are you?”
Laura smiled as she half rose from the chair to exchange air kisses. “Perfect, Genda. I love that dress.”
Genda’s vanity was notorious, and she liked it reinforced. Now that Laura saw the dress—which she did like—she realized the reason for the location. Genda’s vibrant slash of color against the pale décor of the Lafayette Room drew stares from all corners. Genda sat with a swirl of material. “Do you? It’s a Paul Carroll. Boutique designer out of New York. He dyed this red to perfection for me. You must call him.”
Laura sipped some white wine. “You’ll have to give me his number.” Her Mariel persona liked clothes as much as Laura, though Mariel tended toward more streamlined looks than Laura’s feminine tastes. She liked Mariel to project competence with an edge of intimidation. With Mariel’s long dark hair, that meant snug business suits in dark shades. It didn’t mean dull, though, as she touched her jacket sleeve, dark gray satin with ribbed black pinstripes. The three-quarter-length skirt showed off a sufficient curve of leg. Mariel more than held her own against Genda in the attraction department.
Genda sighed and flicked an imperious hand for the waiter. “I have been swamped this morning. The markets are going insane”—she broke off as the waiter arrived—“springwater, two glasses of the Grüner Veltliner from last week’s tasting menu, and have Thomas put together a pâté sampler—tell him it’s Genda. Thanks”—she dismissed the waiter with a turn of the head—“you will love this Grüner. Have it with the fish and the asparagus . . . Did you get a chance to see the news?”
Laura twitched her lips to keep from chuckling. “Which?”
Genda leaned forward. “The markets, dear. Chicago is a mess. Commodities are for gamblers, but between you and me, there’s a scandal brewing there that is going to embarrass the Teuts, and I can’t wait. Interesting times, I tell you, interesting times.”
Genda lived and breathed finance. Few people at InterSec understood what she was talking about half the time, but no one rivaled the sharpness of her assessments. In a global economy, the financial ramifications of world events often had an impact on political stability, and InterSec factored that information into whatever missions it undertook. “Teutonic fey? Does it reach to the Elvenking?”
She flipped a dismissive hand. “Oh, Donor is beside the point on this one. No, it’ll shake up both U.S. political parties when the money trail is found . . .” Two waiters appeared, one with the water and the appetizer plate and the other with the wine. Genda eyed the bottle label. “Yes, that’s the one”—she pointed to the appetizers—“try that crisped foie gras. It’s scandalous and delicious.” She paused to sip the wine, nodded with a smile to the waiter, and lowered her glass. “Nothing will come of it, of course. The humans will have their hearings and their protestations, and the real money will be avoided so everyone can enjoy St. Bart’s this year.”
“It’s delicious,” Laura said.
Genda tapped her hand. “Isn’t it? As long as it doesn’t affect the equity markets, it will be very entertaining.”
Laura smiled and shook her head. “I meant the foie gras.”
Genda’s eyebrows shot up, then she let out a short, high laugh. “Oh! Gods, listen to me. I have such a one-track mind. Isn’t it, though? Thomas is a marvel. So, tell me, dear, where have you been?”
She craned her neck to see beyond Laura and waved to someone. Laura felt herself begin to relax. She liked Genda. As Mariel, they had shared an office suite together for years. The nature of their responsibilities often kept their conversation on mundane and superficial matters, but that was precisely one of the things Laura liked about it. No InterSec or Guild politics. No guns under the table. Just two office colleagues who shared a similar lifestyle getting together for lunch or dinner. Despite the big personality and need for attention, Genda was a nice contrast to the stoic Terryn and quiet Cress.