Sinclair breathed lightly behind her. She knew he was awake, probably staring at the back of her head like she was staring at the wall. He had started out the night as a cop following up a hunch on his own and ended up sharing his bed with a druid who had threatened to kill him. She tried to imagine being in his situation, and if their positions were reversed, would she have a sense of humor. She admired that he could. She liked it.
She adjusted the pillow. That was as far as she was going to take that line of thought. It was fun-fantasy always was-but Sinclair was the wrong person at the wrong time. And maybe a little too cocky. He definitely was too cocky. She pictured him swilling beer every night at his dining-room table, completely oblivious to food stains on his T-shirt. Yeah, she thought. That was what he was probably really like. Behind the handsome face, the attractive body. An arrogant cop who would take any opportunity to trip her. She didn’t need the hassle. She had gotten along fine without it for years. His breathing became rhythmic, a slow deep inhale, a soft exhale. It soothed her into drowsiness, then sleep.
She dreamed of a city empty of people, the sky a stark white above, something acrid in the air. She ran, darting around corner after corner, looking for something while something looked for her. A sound gained on her, like the panting of a large animal, its breath broken by the lunging of a heavy body. Light flashed across her vision, bright white and blinding. Whatever followed was coming closer. Panic took over as she ran between parked cars and dodged down broken sidewalks.
Her hair became damp with sweat. The stark white sky turned orange and red, thick black smoke smearing against the horizon. Something was wrong, and she didn’t understand if she were trying to fix it or escape it. The thing behind came closer and closer. She tripped. Of course. She always tripped in moments like this in her dreams, an abrupt twist of an ankle caused by some minor heave in the sidewalk, a slow-motion fall as she curled into a ball to land with the least damage. She rolled onto her back and it was night. Something huge and dark loomed over her while flames roared behind it. It descended.
Laura gasped, and her eyes flew open. Sinclair had his hand on her arm, rocking her gently. She let him continue to hold her while her racing heart slowed. She took deep breaths to calm down.
He must have sensed she was awake because he stopped rocking. “You okay?”
“Nightmare. Sorry I woke you.”
His arm slid down, his hand lingering on her biceps. He gave it a soft squeeze and let go. “Yeah, I get them, too.”
He rolled away. She stared at the leaf shadows, Sinclair’s scent tickling at her nose. “Thanks, Jono.”
“You’re welcome,” he said in the dark.
She dropped into sleep again.
CHAPTER 19
LAURA HAD BEEN around Washington long enough to remember when she could walk in the front door of the FBI building without an appointment. Security had tightened over the last decade, and the building was closed to the public. The Bureau no longer offered tours, and nonstaff visitors were invitation-only. Her driver looped around the block, waiting for a space to open in the drop-off zone.
She retrieved the dossier on Sanchez from her briefcase. Terryn had collected scant information. Whatever Sanchez was involved in, even the InterSec back channels couldn’t pick up on it. That meant his mission was compartmentalized, records would be limited, and few inside the Bureau would have direct knowledge. That also meant it was a sensitive mission that the FBI wanted to move on carefully.
Her mind wandered to Sinclair and the morning. She awoke before he did and jumped in the shower. When she came out of the bathroom, he had coffee ready. They spoke little, bumping into each other in doorways as they passed between the rooms in the small apartment. An awkwardness marked their movements, as if they had done more than sleep. Neither mentioned Laura’s nightmare or the moment after it that was oddly more intimate than sex. As Sinclair went out the door, she warned him to stick to main streets and not take shortcuts. InterSec would be watching in case someone decided to stage another accident for him. He leaned down to kiss her but darted back with a smirk before making contact. She glared at him all the way to the car, and he returned her look with a mock-innocent expression.
Sinclair’s manner intrigued and confused her. He made his blatant come-ons with an obvious awareness that she wouldn’t react to them, at least not react positively. He made no secret that his attraction to her was genuine, yet he continued the antics. Maybe he thinks he’ll wear me down, she thought. Maybe after we figure out what was going on at the drug lab, and we manage to live through it, I might let him buy me dinner, but not now. She laughed. Given that she was considering seeing him under these circumstances, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.
The black car pulled to the curb. Laura thanked the driver and stepped out. She ran a quick check of the Mariel glamour, making sure her outfit clung snugly in all the right places. Walking the half block to the building entrance, she displayed her ID badge on its lanyard. From experience, she knew that the military police who patrolled the outside perimeter were not shy.
Despite the lack of public access, the lobby bustled with people. The Bureau was a huge, sprawling entity with thousands of employees, even more investigations and research projects, as well as being actively involved in programs with other government groups. Except InterSec. They gave some token support, but integration with a security group that included foreign nationals did not sit well with them.
She queued through the first layer of metal detectors, pretending not to notice the sideways glances from men. A wall of bulletproof glass blocked the main hallway, and she waited with others to be photographed and demonstrate that she was approved for entrance. Once through, a guard escorted her to the elevators. While the Bureau didn’t love InterSec, they honored her security status and left her alone at that point. Nonsecurity staff were escorted for their entire visit.
Lawrence Scales waited outside his office. He didn’t outrank Mariel Tate, but she had cultivated a formidable reputation for courtesy and expected it to be returned. Not a few people tested her patience and found themselves waiting a long time to speak with her, if they managed to get an appointment at all. It was all part of the D.C. game.
Laura held out her hand, automatically imprinting his body signature into her memory. It was an old habit that served her well. “Section Chief Scales, I’m Mariel Tate.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. You’re early.” He ushered her into his office with cool professionalism. The stark, utilitarian room had few personal touches that did not relate to work with the exception of a small framed photograph of a woman and two children that graced his desk. The kids looked like him. Laura did not wait to be offered the guest chair but made herself comfortable.
She slipped her briefcase to the floor. “I thought I’d be longer getting through security, so I padded my schedule.”
Scales took his own seat behind the desk. “I’m not sure why your office requested this meeting.”
Mariel folded her hands in her lap. She knew he was lying by the tone of his voice. Anxiety fluttered from him when she turned her deep gaze on him. “A D.C. SWAT-TEAM officer named Gabrio Sanchez was killed five days ago. An InterSec agent with him was almost killed, and another attempt has been made on her life since then as well as an attempt on another police officer. It is our understanding that Sanchez was working an undercover operation for the FBI.”
He gave her a false, professional smile. “That’s where my confusion comes in. No one by that name works here.”
Not by the name of Sanchez anyway, Laura thought. That a lie could be the truth amused her. She knew Terryn had made the same claims about her personas on more than one occasion. “We have an agent who is being targeted, Chief Scales. If InterSec opens its own investigation, we will eventually stumble into each other. I would prefer that our agent not die in the meantime.”