Sinclair grabbed her arm as she passed. “What’s up? You’ve been quiet since I got here.”
She arched an eyebrow at his hand. “Let’s call it a bad day at the office.”
He smirked. “Which office?”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “Really, Jono. Not a joke.”
His amusement faded. “Sorry. Cream and light on the sugar, please.”
She returned and set a cup on the front of the desk as she circled to her chair. Sinclair picked up the cup and sipped. “Mmm. Better than the station.”
Laura held a mug with both hands. “Cress brings in her own beans.”
Sinclair propped his feet up on the corner of her desk. “You want to talk about it?”
She shook her head as she swallowed. “It won’t change anything.”
“Might change your mood,” he said.
“I don’t know if I want to change my mood.”
He nodded slowly and sipped his coffee. “I like a good wallow myself sometimes. I usually drink beer, though.”
Laura snorted. “How many cops have I heard that from?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you looking to pick a fight? ’Cause we can do that if you want. I like a good tussle, too, ya know.”
She stared into her mug. She did want to fight. Something. She wanted to exhaust the anger out of herself, hit something to make things right again. She wanted to go back in time and ask Liam where her paperweight was when she first noticed it missing. She wanted Lawrence Scales to be alive. “A man died because of me,” she said.
Sinclair nodded. “Was he on the job?”
“Sort of.”
“Then it wasn’t because of you. It was because of the job. It’s what we sign up for. All of us,” he said.
She put her mug down and crossed her arms. “Bullshit.”
He shook his head. “No bullshit, and you know it, babe. I don’t carry a gun because I think no one else does. You don’t do your mojo because you think no one else will. When we get into this, we know the bad guys shoot back. It’s why we do it and why it sucks. Unless you pointed a gun or your finger at his head and pulled the trigger for no good reason, I’m not going to listen to any blame laying.”
She ran a hand through her hair and stared at the ceiling. “I know. It doesn’t make it any easier. Don’t call me babe, by the way. I’m not your babe.”
He affected surprise. “What? You don’t like nicknames?”
“Not the sexist kind.”
He shrugged. “Oh, it wasn’t sexist. Babe is short for baby, as in too immature to deal with grown-up stuff. I was being condescending.”
She gave her eyes a derisive roll. “Do you really think you can bait me that easily?”
He grinned. “Yep.”
She shook her head. “Really, Jono, knock it off. You want to get to know me, not taking me seriously isn’t the way to go.”
He held up his hands. “Okay. I’m sorry. Really. I’m just trying to figure out why a woman who threatened to kill me is suddenly having such a hard time because someone died.”
She met his eyes. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am.”
He shook his head. “I may not know who you are, but I know what you are. You’re human.”
She chuckled derisively. “No. No, I’m not, Jono. I’m fey. I leave destruction in my wake. Isn’t that what the humans say?”
He walked around the desk and crouched in front of her. She thought for a moment he was going to touch her. Instead, he clasped his hands and smiled up at her. “Skip the labels, babe. You’re human because of what you feel right now. Being human has nothing to do with race or essence ability.”
She stared down at him. He meant what he said. “You called me babe, again.”
He poked her in the knee. “I guess I did. Now, I’m going to leave and get ready for work. You are going to finish your coffee, take a hot shower, and remember you’re one of the good guys. Got it?”
His sincerity touched her. “Got it.”
He leaned on her knee as he stood. “I’ll see you later then.”
She stared at the empty doorway long after he left. Intellectually, she knew he was right. Emotionally was harder. She spent so much time hiding her emotions from other people, it had become ingrained. Liam, whom she thought a friend, had proved it to her. Mariel was her most complete persona, and yet Liam had no idea whether to trust her. She’d thought he did. She thought she had created a personality for Mariel that no one would doubt. But somehow, she missed the wall she put up for the persona. She realized that wall was part of all her personas and had become a part of herself. It had become so natural, she didn’t even see she had walled off herself. That had to change. She couldn’t do it anymore.
She sighed and dropped her head back to stare at the ceiling. A vacation was in order, maybe even a leave of absence to sort through her feelings. The world wouldn’t end without her. And if it did, a tropical beach wouldn’t be the worst place to be.
CHAPTER 26
IN THE VAULT’S lobby, Laura felt like an out-of-her-league naif waiting for a no-show date. The Janice persona’s plain-Jane business suit puckered at the waist and shoulders and screamed off-the-rack discount store. The appearance was intentional, of course. Laura had designed Janice to appear less than sophisticated and out of her depth. The Vault was the perfect place to emphasize it. Well-heeled customers filed past her without a second look.
Businesspeople filtered in as the younger crowd moved elsewhere for the night. The bar area became quieter, though no less full as midlevel bureaucrats settled in to have a quiet drink with industry allies.
Blume was late. She didn’t expect anything more from him. People of a certain power level worked their own schedule, skimming through their appointments with an unspoken hierarchy of importance. Everyone was on time for the president of the United States or a senator or certain CEOs. A police officer looking for side work was kept waiting.
She watched the faces of the clientele and considered their emotional states. They hid their true feelings as much as she did, only instead of glamours, theirs were practiced facial expressions. The avid, interested look of a lobbyist hid contempt for the politician in front of her; the bright, friendly smile of an assistant director hid anxiety about his job status; the obvious upset of a congressman hid the cold calculation of strategic maneuvering. All masks of one kind or another, attempts to hide or betray the truth to further goals.
Gianni arrived. Where Laura’s clothes hung loosely in all the wrong places, Gianni’s black suit stretched across his broad shoulders in as many wrong places. Buttons barely held the jacket closed. “Good, you’re on time. Blume likes punctual,” he said.
“In other people, I guess,” she said.
Gianni lowered his eyes at her. “I’d watch my mouth if you want the job. Let’s go.”
He walked into the bar. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer. She followed him to a corridor in back that led to a wood-paneled elevator door. Gianni inserted a key into the elevator’s floor panel inside the elevator. They rode in silence up one floor. An undercurrent of amusement colored Gianni’s body essence, but his face remained impassive. Laura ignored the intent to unsettle her.
The doors opened onto a quiet office corridor lined with closed doors. Laura took note of the security camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling and another at the far end. She followed Gianni down the hall to where two men in black suits guarded a closed door. Gianni nodded at them and entered the room.
The first thing that Laura noticed about Tylo Blume’s office was the odor. A musty burnt tang permeated the room, the aftereffect of burning incense. Laura detected the essence of juniper, cedar, and elm. Elves used incense in spells for protection from negative forces during chanting as well as for inspiration during meditation. Blume sat behind an antique desk, a mahogany Victorian. An Art Deco lamp illuminated a dull, worn leather surface that was clear of clutter. The elf read a document, its paper a brilliant white under the lamp. “Officer Crawford, I’m pleased you agreed to come.”