She wondered if that was where her attraction for Sinclair was coming from. They had office politics for certain. They’d even had guns under the table a time or two. But Sinclair managed to push all of that aside with an attractive smile, an outgoing personality, and a desire to date. Laura noted how often Sinclair slipped his way into her thoughts. Was she focused on him because she was interested? Intrigued? Or bored by the people around her? Was her recent ambivalence about her job looking for something to pin itself on?
She let Genda interrupt her story about a visit to Paris to tell her own tale about pursuing a German businessman to the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower without using the elevator. Laura laughed. It was a good story.
Genda ran her fingers through her hair. “So, let me be serious and nosy for a moment. Is InterSec looking into the bombing of Kendrick’s, or were you there for PR?”
“Kendrick?” Laura asked.
“Hello? The Welsh herbalist? Such a shame about him. He had a flair and a talent. I have some of his hand cream in the office that you must try.”
“Oh, um . . .” Laura began, taken off guard. Genda never asked about assignments.
Genda draped a hand on her chest. “I have flustered Mariel Tate! I am sorry. Forget I mentioned it.”
Laura tilted her head to the side. She hadn’t known the name of the bombing victim. She tried to excuse herself that there hadn’t been time, but she knew she hadn’t thought to ask. “No, it’s okay. You surprised me.”
Genda bowed her head and gave her a confidential look. “I know the rules, dear. The written and the unwritten ones, but I saw you on CNN, for Danu’s sake. I’m curious because I knew Kendrick through a friend of a friend of a friend. His family must be devastated. I hope you squash whoever is responsible like a bug.”
“I do not squash people!” she said. It wasn’t true, she thought. She had squashed a few, but she didn’t want Genda to know that—or assume it.
Genda let out a burst of her high, fruity laugh. “I never meant to imply! ’Struth!” She leaned in again and winked. “But I’m saying someone should squash whoever did it. Kendrick never hurt a soul that I ever heard.”
Given the nature of the conversation, Genda was throwing off vibrations of falsity, but she was also exposing to Laura that she hadn’t thought about the dead fairy in any other context than as a case victim. “The Guild will take the case. We have a potential terrorist group under surveillance that Rhys should be concerned about,” she said.
Genda’s hair fluttered on soft currents of essence. “Well, I hope so. The last thing the fey need is bigger businesses becoming targets. We’re capitalized better, but that doesn’t mean we don’t compete with some formidable human firms. Do you like sorbet? The sorbet here is fabulous.”
“Sorbet it is,” she said.
Laura tried to remain focused as Genda launched into a monologue about vacation spots. Not knowing the bombing victim’s name bothered her. “Human” had two meanings in the world—a noun and an adjective. Had she become so self-involved that she was forgetting the human element of what she did? Fey or not, people died, and that meant something. It should. Once upon a time, it had been a primary motivation for her work with InterSec. Maybe that was the attraction to Sinclair. He never seemed to lose sight of the human element.
Sinclair again. She smiled, both at the thought of him and Genda’s joke about beaches in Scotland. He was never far from her thoughts these days. She sipped her wine and considered that maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in her life.
CHAPTER 17
RETURNING TO THE Guildhouse, Laura and Genda went their separate ways in the suite they shared two flights up from the investigative units. The lunch had had its desired effect, a brief time-out for Laura from the dramas of InterSec and the Guild. It felt normal, something everyone did, catching up with an acquaintance, not getting into the gruesome or tedious details of their lives or feeling obligated to do something out of a sense of duty.
Laura’s sense of respite, though, evaporated as she settled behind the desk in the Mariel Tate office. A sealed envelope addressed to her in Terryn’s handwriting was centered on her glass-topped desk. The message asked her to meet him on one of the upper floors of the Guildhouse. Terryn rarely left notes. Sending the hard-copy message meant the meeting was about a security issue he didn’t want detected by an electronic trail. She swiped a mild charge of essence across the page and obliterated the writing.
The elevator opened on the hushed quiet of a residential floor that Terryn had directed her to. Laura checked her outfit in a large hall mirror as Inverni security guards stationed there examined her ID. Their uniforms—the royal blue tunics with high collars of the Inverni Guardians—confirmed her suspicions. The Guardians were the macCullen clan’s official security force, probably Draigen’s advance team.
The Guards’ sharp, ebony wings glittered with indigo and green spots of essence, a sign of alertness but not alarm. They passed her through without comment. More guards lined the corridor leading to the suite that Draigen macCullen would be occupying the next day. Despite Guildhouse security, it was not unusual for the Guild to allow important public figures to bring their own security with them as long as they remained courteous and cooperative with building staff. By the presence of the Inverni advance staff, Laura assumed Terryn wanted to brief her on last-minute security details.
Laura waited outside the doors to the suite while the guards checked her credentials again. The review was a formality since she had been requested to appear by Terryn, but she didn’t object. Rules provided structure, and structure often provided safety to high-level officials exposed to constant death threats.
The doors were opened from within, and Laura entered a large living-room suite. With their backs to the room, Terryn waited with a woman by the large shielded windows that framed a partial view of the Mall. Terryn didn’t turn from his position at the window as Laura crossed to the room. “Draigen, let me introduce Mariel Tate, one of my most trusted agents.”
The woman shifted toward her, and Laura paused in surprise at her first look at Draigen macCullen in person. Pictures of the Inverni regent didn’t do justice to the woman. Most Inverni tended to be shorter in height and stockier than their Danann cousins, but the macCullen clan members were tall. Draigen had her brother’s height and dark hair. Her coloring, though, was paler than his, blue tones shadowing the planes of her face. She tilted her head to acknowledge Laura. “Agent Tate, I have heard much about you.”
Since Terryn introduced her as an agent, she didn’t bow. InterSec agents gave courtesy to everyone but were not required to adhere to royal protocols that appeared to show subservience. “Lady Regent, it is my pleasure. I did not expect you until tomorrow.”
I’ve scanned the room, but I would like you to confirm for me, Terryn sent. His concern about eavesdropping didn’t surprise Laura. The Inverni might be part of the Seelie Court, but that didn’t mean the clans trusted each other, especially if they were in one of High Queen Maeve’s Guildhouses.
Lifting a languid hand, Draigen focused ice blue eyes on Laura. “My brother insisted I arrive with little fanfare to ensure my security.”
Rather than touching her forehead to the extended hand, Laura clasped and shook it once. Draigen withdrew, a surprised but unoffended look on her face. “It is a pleasure, as well.”
While they spoke, Laura swept the room with her sensing ability, testing for listening wards, but found none. She assumed Terryn had had someone do a sweep for electronics. “The area is clear, Terryn.” The oddity of the situation amused Laura. Protocol often conflicted with reality. Terryn, as heir to the macCullen clan leadership, outranked his sister, yet Laura was allowed by the rules to address him by his name while using a formal title for his sister.