Gianni turned onto a narrow side street. As she made the corner, the red brake lights on his truck blazed in the dark. She drove past. The street was too narrow to pass him, and she didn’t want to risk a face-to-face encounter. She made a U-turn and drove by again. Gianni’s truck remained with its hazard lights on. Laura pulled to the curb in front of a fire hydrant. The Guild would pay the ticket if she got one.

She strolled down the sidewalk. Nondescript storefronts occupied the ground floors, offices for lawyers and insurance agents broken up by the occasional dry cleaner or convenience store. Not the trendy boutiques and wine bars M Street was known for. She reached the corner and peered up a lane that looked like a service road. Gianni stood outside his truck. Across from him, a black car idled behind a large building. The building hid most of the car except the front end.

She slipped into the alley. Two cars parked on the curb blocked her from view. From the new perspective, the black car looked like a diplomatic vehicle with missing flags. It could mean any foreign government-or a fey diplomat. As a precaution, Laura pulled in her body signature tightly to limit exposure. She didn’t want to risk someone fey in the car sensing her from a distance. The downside was that she also reduced her own sensing ability.

She moved into the recessed space of a closed garage bay. Closer, but then Gianni’s truck blocked her line of sight. Gianni had moved to the car to speak with someone in the backseat. Laura assessed the open space of the lane. Shadowed service entrances offered some concealment. She slipped to the first door without a problem. She passed to the next two, exposing herself for no more than a few seconds. A long stretch of empty pavement lay between her and a garage door. She would stand out against a white-painted wall for several long seconds, but the vantage point would offer a direct view of the car. She stepped out of the shadows.

A rough sending rumbled in her mind as a large hand clamped over her mouth. You’re safe.

She slammed on her body shield as her attacker’s other arm snaked around her from behind. Too late. He was close enough for her shield to envelop them both. He hugged her as she fought to break his hold. His body signature was a bundle of noise in her senses, human and something else.

Stop. Look at the roofline, he sent.

Against her better judgment, she stopped struggling. Something moved in the blackness above, a dark shadow and a ripple of pale light. Another appeared, then a third launched into the air. They flew over the alley to the roof of the building above and behind her. Shielded fairy sentries, Dananns by their stealth. She hadn’t seen, felt, or heard them.

She stopped fighting. Thank you, she sent.

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Don’t mention it, Ms. Blackstone.”

Laura froze at the sound of Sinclair’s voice.

GIANNI CONTINUED TALKING while Laura huddled in the doorway with Sinclair. Sinclair removed his hand from her mouth but stayed close enough to touch her back. She puzzled over his body signature. Her sensing ability slid over it, not recognizing the man she knew, but something vague and nondescript. The signature fluttered and changed intensity, like a glamour with no body. The change baffled her. She had never sensed anything other than human from him.

Gianni returned to his truck. The brake lights came on, and the hazard lights went off. Laura pressed back into the shadows, keenly aware of Sinclair’s body. Gianni drove off, and the black car followed, its tinted rear window rising. By the time it turned broadside, the window had closed. She didn’t see who was inside.

The Danann sentries swooped off the building and followed the car. Laura began to step forward, but Sinclair pulled her back again. One more, he sent. Laura breathed shallowly, scanning the roofline. Sinclair held his hand on her waist. She reached down and removed it, not roughly, but firmly. Fifteen minutes passed before the dark shadow of one last fairy detached from the depths of a loading dock and trailed after the others.

Laura pushed out of Sinclair’s embrace and strode up the alley. He followed her into the lights and noise of M Street. They regarded each other at the curb. Laura noted that they both wore black jeans and T-shirts, his long- sleeved, hers three-quarter. He wore regulation police boots, to her running shoes. They looked like spies. They were spies. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Jono Sinclair. I’m a police officer,” he said.

Jono. She hadn’t heard him use the nickname before. She also wasn’t sure how to handle him under the circumstances. “Am I under arrest?”

He smiled. A rather warm smile, she thought. “No. You haven’t broken any laws that I can think of. Besides, I suspect it would be awkward if I did arrest you, Ms. Blackstone.”

She cursed to herself for not using a stronger glamour. The sloppy move bothered her more than getting caught by Sinclair. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that. Why?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re Laura Blackstone. We shared an elevator in the Senate building earlier this afternoon.”

“You have me confused with someone else.”

He shook his head and looked up the street. She followed his gaze to a wine bar. “I know what glamours are, Ms. Blackstone. Let’s have a drink.”

“I don’t think so, Officer Sinclair. I’ll be going now.”

She stepped around him and moved toward her Mercedes.

“I know who was in the car,” he called out to her.

She turned. “Well?”

He gestured toward the bar. “Shall we?”

She hesitated. She could continue the pretense that she wasn’t Laura Blackstone, just someone who looked like her. But she wanted to know, and she wanted to know what Sinclair was doing there. Without a word, she walked back past him toward the bar.

Laura eyed the interior. The place smelled of beer and old smoke. Flat-screen TVs littered the corners, and team banners decorated the walls. Not a place she would go for a drink unless it was something that fit one of her personas.

“What will you have?” Sinclair asked, when they entered.

The ceiling was a bit low, the bar a bit worn and the floor a bit sticky. “I think I’ll play it safe with something in a bottle. A Corona.”

A younger crowd filled the room, women in tight tops and tighter jeans, and guys in oversize shirts and baggy jeans. No, definitely not Laura’s usual kind of place. Sinclair returned with drinks.

“Who was in the car?” she asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Sinclair lifted an amber draft to his lips.

“Just curious. I was out for a walk, and it looked funny,” she said.

He smiled. “The public-relations director of the Fey Guild just happened to be lurking in an alley where a secretive meeting was taking place between a D.C. police officer and someone who wishes to remain anonymous. I bought the drinks, but I’m not buying that.”

“What were you doing there?” she asked.

“Me? Now, I was definitely curious. I know the guy in the truck.”

“Why were you following him?”

He shook his head. “Your turn, Ms. Blackstone. Why don’t we start with admitting who you are.”

She stared into his eyes. He wouldn’t stop her from leaving. If she left, he would assume he was right anyway. If she admitted it, she would confirm what he already knew. She was caught either way, but one option at least gave her a chance to get more information out of him. “Fine. I’m Laura Blackstone. Now tell me who was in the car.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

She sensed truth and wanted to slap the smile off his face. Instead, she put her bottle on a nearby ledge. “This is pointless then.”

Again she walked away from him.