“It’s not the first time I’ve watched him,” Sinclair said.

She glared at him. “Are we going to play this game all night?”

He grinned. “Are you planning on spending all night with me?”

She did raise her hand to slap him then, but held back. “What do you want, Sinclair?”

“Answers, just like you. Why does someone I know have secret meetings? And now I’m wondering, why is the Guild interested?”

She regarded him with cool annoyance. “Gianni is connected to a drug raid that involved the fey. The Guild doesn’t know what happened and is being shut out of the investigation.”

“So you know who he is,” he said.

She hadn’t revealed anything that wouldn’t be easy to find out. “Of course. I also know he works at the Vault.”

“He does security there.”

She nodded. “For some very high-level people. The Guild is concerned about security risks.”

He sipped from his beer again. “They must be very concerned to send a PR director.”

She frowned at his snide tone. “I’m not going to explain Guildhouse politics to you.”

He shrugged. “Fine, whatever. My concern is my life. A police officer was killed in that raid. I don’t think it was an accident,” he said.

Laura retrieved her beer. “Why?”

“Someone tried to run me off the road the other night. It was a professional,” he said.

That made murder attempts on two people who were present at Sanchez’s murder. “Has anything happened to Foyle?” she asked.

He hid it well, but Laura felt his surprise at the question. “He doesn’t share information with me. I’m not sharing with him… yet.”

“Why didn’t you let me walk into an ambush in that alley?” she asked.

He smiled again. “Self-preservation, for one thing. If they spotted you, I doubt I could have evaded fairy sentries. And if they killed you, I might never know whether you’re really Laura Blackstone or Janice Crawford or Mariel Tate.”

Her hand blazed with essence as she thrust her fist under his chin, just short of touching him. She let him feel the heat and power waiting to be released. “We’re leaving right now. Don’t make me fry your brain.”

SINCLAIR DIDN’T MOVE. “I suggest you drop your hand, Ms. Blackstone. You are threatening a police officer.”

“This is not a discussion,” she said. She chanted a short phrase in ancient Gaelic. A burst of essence froze Sinclair in place as a binding spell draped over him. His eyes went wide when he discovered he couldn’t move his lips. She muttered another incantation, and he rose a few inches off the floor. Laura wrapped her arm around his waist and floated him toward the door. The movement did not look natural, but no one paid any attention. Only in a bar, Laura thought, could someone cast a spell and have no one notice or care. Outside, she propelled Sinclair along the sidewalk to her car.

She released the levitation spell and propped him near the open passenger door. “I’m going to release the binding, and you’re going to get in the car. If you make any sudden moves, I will take you down before you finish the thought. Blink twice if we’re clear.”

He blinked twice. She fluttered her fingers in the air and faint wisps of white essence coiled off Sinclair. He swayed in place, caught his balance, and lunged at her. As promised, she hit him in the chest with a handful of white essence. He flew off his feet, hit the car, and dropped to the sidewalk. She didn’t blame him for trying to escape, but it complicated things.

Laura glanced around. A young couple watched from outside the bar. The man lifted a cell phone to his ear. Swearing, Laura checked Sinclair to see if he was breathing. Satisfied that he didn’t have any major injuries, she hauled him up and pushed him inside the car. She adjusted his position on the seat and recast the binding spell before he came to.

She pulled in to traffic and called Terryn. “I need to meet you at the day-care center.”

“I’ll be there,” he said, and disconnected.

A pit formed in her stomach. She kept a keen eye for anyone tailing her. Sinclair never said he was alone. She pulled to the side of the road and braked in the lane. Traffic flowed, but no one slowed more than necessary or looked in her direction. She merged back into traffic.

How in hell Sinclair had made the connection between her glamours stumped her. No one had ever linked her to one of her personas, never mind two. At a stop light, she glanced over and saw that his eyes were open. With a few words, she peeled the binding spell off his head. He stretched his neck.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“Who are you?” she answered.

“Lieutenant Jonathan Sinclair,” he said.

Truth, at least a truth he believed. “Why were you following me?”

“I wasn’t. I was following Gianni.”

More truth. “How did you know I was Laura Blackstone?”

“I asked someone at the Senate building.”

Truth. “Why?”

“Because I thought you were attractive and wanted to ask you out.”

The answer startled a laugh out of her. Truth. “I’m guessing this isn’t what you expected.”

He let a smile play on his lips. “I was having fun until you shot me.”

Despite the smile, he wasn’t relaxed. Not nervous, but disquieted. Laura didn’t find it surprising considering the previous fifteen minutes. “I didn’t shoot you. I used a mild essence shock. That’s different.”

“Tell that to my ribs,” he said.

“They’re bruised. If you cooperate, we’ll fix that,” she said.

“Cooperate how?”

A list of responses sprang to mind. She didn’t want to make any promises. Terryn might have his own ideas. “We’ll see.”

“Where are you taking me?” he asked again.

“You have to sleep now.” She raised her hand and spoke an ancient Welsh phrase. Sinclair’s eyelids drooped shut.

The Guild owned hundreds of properties, some official, some not. Laura drove out of the District and into a Maryland suburb. The neighborhood consisted of street after street of similar houses, the homes of the bureaucrats who some people contended truly ran the government. Laura pulled in to the driveway of a house that looked like a dozen others on the street except for the landscaping. She tossed a ball of yellow essence at the garage door. It closed behind the car after she pulled in.

Terryn stood at an inside door that led to the main section of the house. She got out of the car and gestured to Sinclair. “Would you do the honors?”

He raised an eyebrow when he saw the passenger. “What happened?”

She told him as he lifted Sinclair from the car. Terryn led her into the house and down into the basement. Not the typical finished basement of a colonial house. A warren of rooms had been constructed, incongruous holding cells with iron and glass walls. Terryn shifted Sinclair across one shoulder, passed through a small anteroom with a viewing window to a larger iron-lined room that contained a table and four chairs. He placed Sinclair upright in one of the chairs.

Terryn’s hands rested on his hips. “Assault and battery on a police officer and kidnapping. You crossed state lines, too. I think that makes it worse if I remember correctly. Anything else I should be worried about?”

She tried an ingratiating smile. “No, my car’s fine.”

Laura released the binding and sleep spells. Sinclair slumped forward but caught himself before his face hit the table. He shook his head as if he were trying to clear it. “Where am I?”

Laura pulled her chair closer. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to ask you again, who are you other than Jonathon Sinclair?”

He stretched with care, wincing at the pain from his ribs. “That’s who am I.”

Laura leaned forward. “Jonathon Sinclair is a human. You detected four fairy sentries I didn’t sense at all. That’s fey ability. Who are you?”