She gave the overturned desk a wide berth. She didn’t need to see Sanchez’s blood. At the far end of the room, a videographer recorded the jumble of crates that had fallen during her fight with the Inverni fairy. Once he started taping, he was required to keep the tape rolling. By habit from working undercover, she avoided being photographed as much as possible, so she stayed out of his range.
After he moved away, she approached the tumbled pile of crates and opened her essence-sensing ability. Around her, the body signature of the others in the room ghosted into her range. All weak, indicating human, which made it easier for her to dismiss them and focus on the space in front of her. She found her own essence from earlier, a concentration in and around the broken crates where she had been trapped, a thinner layer trailing up the aisle from her two runs during the shoot-out.
She circled the crates and found what she had returned for, a thick residue of Inverni essence. Anger and fear or stress had amplified his essence, enough for her to register not only his species, which Laura already knew, but also his unique body signature. The sensation filled her mind and settled into her preternatural memory. She wouldn’t forget it.
As she finished, she sensed Aaron Foyle behind her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just came to look.”
Laura felt anger coming off him in waves. “What happened?” he asked.
She resisted the urge to sigh. Being part of law enforcement meant constant repetition of information. Before the next twenty-four hours had passed, she’d have to have written two reports for Terryn-one a redacted official one, one for his eyes only-another report for Foyle, and probably others. She debated how much she should say without being debriefed by Terryn. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve got some memory loss from a concussion. The medics said coming back might jog something.”
He glanced up the aisle, noting, she assumed, who was in earshot. “Well?”
She shrugged. “Not much. Right now, all I can recall is firing at the objective and calling for help.”
Foyle shook his head. “I’ve got a dead officer, Crawford. I want to know what happened to Sanchez, and I want to know now.”
She kept her face and voice neutral. “I told you I have memory loss. They said it will come back soon.”
Foyle tilted his head back to look at the skylight. “How did a brownie get up there?”
Laura followed his gaze. “It wasn’t a brownie. It was a fairy.”
He looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
Laura kept her eyes on the shattered skylight. “The intelligence was wrong. It was an Inverni glamoured as a brownie.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his voice sharp when he spoke. “No one else said anything about a fairy.”
“I’m not sure I understand your meaning… sir,” she said.
Foyle stepped closer. “Listen, Crawford. An officer is dead, and his killer escaped with you as the only witness.”
Despite her anger, Laura remained cool. “What exactly are you implying?”
He set his jaw. “You aren’t a team regular, and the only perpetrator who seems to have escaped was fey.”
She felt a slow burn at the phrase “team regular.” It was a loaded term usually used to imply someone fey was not regular, not human. She pitched her voice low and controlled. “I did you a favor, Foyle, and almost got killed for it. You have a lot of nerve race-baiting me.”
He let his own anger edge into his voice. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Officer?”
Laura stepped around him. “I left the med unit against doctor’s advice. You need something from me, you call Terryn macCullen.”
She had stalked all the way to the door when Foyle called out, “Crawford, I want a report in the morning. You can amend as you recall.”
Laura stopped, ready to snap at him, when her eye caught the overturned desk. Whoever had shot her would have stood where she was. Sanchez would not have been visible, but she would have been. She shivered as she examined the essence on the threshold.
“Crawford?” His voice startled her.
“Will do, sir.”
With an effort of will, she did not look over her shoulder as she left the building. Once past the barricade, she circled around the back of her SUV and let the moment sink in. Cursing under her breath, she yanked the door open and got in the car. Gripping the steering wheel, she forced her breathing to slow. A flash of uncharacteristic panic went through her. She locked the doors. With a forceful exhale, she started the SUV.
Driving along the winding parkway that led back to downtown, Laura allowed herself to acknowledge what she was thinking. Standing in the doorway, standing on the spot from where someone had shot at her, she had not sensed essence from unknown drug dealers or whatever the hell they were. She had registered and recognized three distinct signatures. She had no way to tell if all three people had been together when she was shot or if one had stood alone before the other two arrived.
She pulled out her cell phone. Terryn picked up on the first ring. “MacCullen.”
“We’ve got a problem. I’m coming back in right now,” she said.
He didn’t speak right away. “You don’t sound like yourself. What’s wrong?”
Laura took a deep breath. “I think our side took out Sanchez. I think they tried to kill me, too.”
CHAPTER 3
“DO YOU WANT backup?” Terryn asked.
Laura’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror. As she neared the Anacostia Bridge, more cars appeared on the parkway. “No. Let’s keep this line open.”
“Okay. Can you give me details?”
“Not now.” Eavesdropping devices littered the District more than anywhere else in the world. Terryn probably thought the same thing because he didn’t press her. She put down the phone and switched the call to the dashboard system.
“I’m getting Cress on the line,” said Terryn.
The light changed, and she drove onto the ramp for the bridge. Traffic receded behind her. “No, wait. It’s okay. No tail.”
She was so focused behind her, she didn’t see a van shoot up a side ramp until it was huge in her passenger window. She yanked the steering wheel left and stomped on the accelerator. The van caught her rear panel, spinning the SUV. Laura lurched forward, but her shoulder strap slammed her back against the seat.
“What was that?” Terryn said. Laura found herself smiling at how calm his voice sounded.
“Bad driver, I hope,” she said. She spun the steering wheel back and pulled away across the bridge. Another van appeared on her left while the first van came up close on her right. “Okay, I definitely have a problem,” she said.
“I’m on my way,” he said. Over the car speakers, she heard the rustle of the phone on the other end moving.
“Will Terryn be enough?” Cress asked.
Laura reached into the foot well to get her magnet-mount light. She lowered her window, then slapped the light on the roof. “I don’t know. Tell him I’ve got a roof light on.”
On her left, the side door of the van rolled open. Laura’s heart jumped as the barrel of an M16 slid into view. She could do many things with essence and a fast car, but she couldn’t stop a bullet, and she didn’t have a fast car. She swerved as the gun went off, her rear windows shattering in a spray of glass. She sideswiped the van. The larger vehicle had inertia on its side against the SUV, but the driver veered away. Laura smiled. Only a crazy woman tries to use a Honda as battering ram.
“Janice?” Cress said.
“I’m good,” Laura replied. She hit the gas and pulled in front of the van, feinting left and right to keep it from passing her. The second van joined the first. They separated, widening the distance between them, while gaining on Laura. When they reached the bumper of her SUV, the M16 reappeared as a black-clad figure wearing a nondescript mask leaned out the door. He started firing.