She had been so happy when Ky was finally out of that mess, showing up healthy and whole, with nothing more complicated than Marek’s death to deal with. Or so it had seemed. Instead, she had missed this conspiracy. Enemies had gotten ahead of her—of her!
Mac came in and shut the door behind him. “Pam seems fidgety this morning.”
“I had to ask her twice to keep going on the list and tell me only when she had a live one.” Grace snorted. “I don’t think she’s bent like Derek, but she’s easily alarmed.”
“Ah. Well, I managed to pry one name out of Captain Bontier, but it’s no joy to us. We already knew that family had something to do with Miksland.”
“Quindlan?”
“Yes. A major on a general’s staff, in Public Affairs.”
“Well. That could be a factor in a cover-up, couldn’t it?”
“Indeed. I’ve pulled his record. Actually, all records of Quindlans, but he comes first.” He handed her a datastick. “We need to set up a working group, Grace. And we need a secure way to share information. Ky has those three survivors, you have authority to dig into just about anything—but you’re too visible when you do it. We need to find some reliable people inside the military—probably in the ground troops, because that’s who was in Miksland, according to that journal Ky found that’s now disappeared.”
“I wish she’d copied everything before she turned it over.”
“So do I, but she didn’t. Nor did you.”
Shortly before the normal close of business, a dapper figure in a neat gray suit strode up to the door and pressed the bell. Teague opened the door. “Sir?”
“I need to speak with Sera Kylara Vatta.”
“May I ask your business?”
“It is confidential. I need to speak with Sera Kylara Vatta.”
“I will ascertain if she is available.” Teague took advantage of his new greater height and saw the man’s expression harden.
“It is necessary that I speak to her.”
“Wait here,” Teague said and shut the door, leaving the man outside. He closed the inner door carefully and reported the conversation. “I think he’s a process server,” he said at the end of a detailed description. “He has that unfriendly friendly look, the hail fellow well met that goes before you have been served.”
“She’s not available,” Rafe said. “She’s locked up in Stella’s office on an ansible call.”
“He’s going to wait, I’m guessing.”
“Let him. She’s not going out anywhere.”
“And if he’s still there when she comes out?”
“I’ll tell her.” Rafe scowled. “I don’t suppose he’s after the three guests and merely acting like a process server…”
“I don’t think so. No military vibe to him. I will inform him that she is not available at this time, but he may wait outside if he wishes.”
“I’ll warn the others: silent and invisible.”
“Go, then.”
Teague waited until Rafe was out of sight in the children’s wing before returning to the door. Sure enough, the man in the gray suit was standing on the top step, looking disgruntled.
“Sera Kylara Vatta is not available at this time, sir. And you did not provide your name, affiliation, and suitable identification.”
The man looked at him sourly. “Who are you? I didn’t know they had a butler.”
“No reason you should,” Teague said. “Now: your name, affiliation, and identification, please.”
“You don’t need my name. I’m obviously not a crook—”
Teague tipped his head. “Pardon me, sir, but I do not think a business suit rules out criminal behavior.” Did real butlers have this much fun? He had no idea, but if they did maybe he could switch careers. “I must have your name and business identity.”
With obvious reluctance, the man pulled out a wallet. “George L. Lewisham,” he said. Teague looked at the ID. It said GEORGE L. LEWISHAM, and the image matched the man’s face. The ID also gave MARKS & GRAVESON, GENERAL LEGAL SERVICES as his employer. “That satisfy you?” the man said.
“Thank you, sir,” Teague said. “I appreciate your cooperation, and Sera Vatta will be informed when she is available.”
“I’ll wait inside,” the man said, stepping forward as Teague stepped back, and reaching for the door edge.
“No, sir,” Teague said, tapping the man’s hand with the short rod he’d concealed in his other hand. The man jerked it back with a grunt of pain. “This house does not belong to Sera Kylara Vatta, and she is not my employer. My orders do not permit me to allow anyone but a family member into the house without the owner’s permission.” The man was now nursing bruised fingers under his armpit. Teague shut both doors and locked them. He glanced aside at Rafe, who had come downstairs and through the sitting room, ready to help if needed.
“That was a work of art,” Rafe said, slipping his gun back in his pocket. “You are the very image of the stuffiest kind of butler.”
“Did you ever have one?”
“Oh, yes. For a short time we had a full staff in the city house, then the city grew up around what had been the summer place and we moved there permanently, but we had fewer staff. I remember Soames, the butler, from when I was a small child. It gives one a bad start in life to be addressed as ‘Master Rafael’ by half the people in the house, and ‘Rafe, you little brat’ by older sisters. A sort of split personality.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m just Rafe. The various roots and forks of the tree all melded together.”
Teague looked at him, wondering if someone who had had multiple personas, including temporary DNA mods, could possibly be a single person. For himself, the change he’d gone through, from Pauli Gregson to Edvard Teague, from someone almost ten centimeters shorter with curly hair and dark eyes, to his present above-average height, yellower skin, straight hair, and gray eyes, had affected—and was still affecting—his personality and how he thought of himself. Tall and lanky, rather than medium and medium, made more difference than he’d anticipated when he’d agreed to the changes. He now recognized himself in the mirror, but the ghost of that other face still hovered in front of it, as if painted on a veil.
Rafe, watching Teague watch him, hoped that Teague was having an easier time with his transition from whoever he’d been than he himself had had with his numerous changes. And he hoped he could settle permanently into his own present identity: not ISC’s CEO, Ser Rafael Dunbarger, but Rafe the private person, perhaps never using his other identities but always Dunbarger… or some other name he’d then stick to. Ky, he was fairly sure, would not easily adapt to new identities the way he had. She was all of a piece, solid as wood or stone all the way through, something he found comforting in its predictability.
Ky came down shortly after that. Rafe positioned himself in one of the front rooms; Teague opened the door. “Ser Lewisham,” she said. “Your credentials were verified. I’m Kylara Vatta; I understand you wanted to speak with me?”
“Yes.” He handed her a flat, narrow package. “You have been served.” He nodded and went down the front walk without a backward glance.
Teague closed the door for her. Ky pulled out the scanner Rafe had given her and ran it over the package. “No explosives we recognize,” she said as she handed the package to Teague.
“I’ll run a complete scan before I open it. Any other advice from your legal team?”