“That could be a very lucky coincidence,” he said.

Laura shook her head. “I think I triggered it, Terryn. I sensed a strange essence field in the hall. When I went toward Scales to tell him, the bomb blew.”

“No one knew you were there,” he said.

“Scales did. Someone knew his schedule.”

“Did you get anything from him?”

She shook her head. “Scales implied there is a political angle to what was going on at the raid. That’s never a good sign for internal security.”

“Did you get any names?”

“He went secret on me, so I couldn’t get details. He made sure to mention that I should visit the Vault.”

Terryn arched an eyebrow. “We’ve updated Tylo Blume’s dossier since your visit. I’ll look a little deeper into his political connections.”

Laura’s gaze wandered back to the monitors. “Is Foyle’s team at the Anacostia crash site?”

Terryn checked something on his laptop. “They went in with the first responders. They needed a spell senser, and Foyle asked for you. I told him I’d put Janice Crawford on sick leave.”

Laura gathered up her handbag. “I’m going out there. If Sinclair ends up alone with Gianni, that might not be a good thing.”

Terryn pursed his lips. “Are personal feelings clouding your judgment?”

Laura paused at the door. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Terryn gazed at her. “I don’t see a rational basis to trust him. Maybe we need to retire Janice Crawford.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. It would be a relief to retire Janice. Working one glamour persona was tough enough to balance against her Guild responsibilities-to say nothing of making time for assignments from InterSec. But Janice was her in with the SWAT squad. Mariel Tate would only hear what they wanted her to hear, but in the downtime in the bull pen, Janice was likely to hear a different story. “Not yet, Terryn. We need her. As long as I’m with Sinclair, he’s not acting on his own. If he’s exposed me, now would be the time to find out.”

Terryn returned his attention to the monitors. “I never like to put you in jeopardy, but I have to agree. Be careful.”

“Call Saffin for me and get her away from her desk,” she said. Retracing her steps down the hall, she pulled her essence out of the perfect stone and the Mariel persona slipped off in a sweep of cool static. Beneath the glamour she wore jeans and a T-shirt. With soot in her hair and on her face, she looked a bit mad in her bare feet. The idea amused her. She felt a bit mad.

By the time she reached the public-relations department, Saffin was gone from her desk. Laura hurried into her office and through the closet to her private room. Without pause, she pulled on her regulation SWAT-team boots, the flak jacket and helmet over her jeans and T-shirt. She didn’t want to waste time dressing. Activating the Janice glamour completed the rest of the uniform. When she hit the parking garage, she jumped in the SUV and tore up the exit ramp, with a metal band blasting from the stereo.

WITH THICK CLOUDS of smoke billowing in the air, Laura didn’t need directions to the house fire in Anacostia. She parked her second SUV of the week in the middle of a road blocked by police cars and fire vehicles. She jogged up the street, weaving in and out of emergency support trucks until she reached the site.

Houses on three adjacent properties were on fire, the center one completely engulfed by flames, its upper floor and roof missing. They had blown off, not collapsed, evidence of more than a simple house fire. At either end of the block, local police kept neighbors and bystanders back. In contrast to what she had seen outside the FBI building, no one was panicked, security wasn’t running roughshod over anyone, and the professional responders were treating the fire as they normally would.

She spotted the SWAT-team van on the far end of the street, then Foyle as he came around a police car. He had a wary look about him, professional anger. “Are you sure you should be out of bed, Crawford?”

“I’m fine, sir. I heard you needed a spell senser, and I volunteered.”

Foyle didn’t answer. Laura hid her curiosity behind Janice’s look of discomfort. She nodded up the street to the fire watchers. “These people don’t look too upset.”

Foyle surveyed them with indifference. “No one’s going to cry for the guy who lives here. They’re probably better off without him.”

The two of them were alone except for a communications tech in the open van. “He was trouble?” she asked.

Foyle gave one curt nod. “A dealer. We knew him.”

And didn’t do anything about the drug dealing because he was supplying you with information, she thought. False information. No one was going to be crying about him at the station house either. “Was he inside when the bomb went off?”

Foyle narrowed his eyes at her. “What bomb?”

Janice shrugged. “I just assumed with the roof missing and what’s going on in the city…”

He shook his head. “There was an explosion, but I wouldn’t call it a bomb. Probably a meth lab or something. Neighbors said they saw him go in before the house went up. We won’t know for a while.”

Laura watched the roaring flames and thick smoke. She didn’t need her sensing ability to find survivors. Nothing short of a miracle could enable a person to live through the intensity of the flames. Neighbors were a better source of information anyway. In the immediate aftermath of any drama, people were too excited to keep quiet. If they saw the informant go in the house, he was in the house. And dead. Besides, whoever managed to pinpoint an attack on an office in a federal building would not be sloppy enough to miss the dealer.

Laura prodded Foyle. “InterSec said you needed a spell senser.”

“Yeah. Are you sensing anything?” he asked.

Anger, she thought. Something was irritating him, but she didn’t think it was her. “Nothing from here. I’d have to get closer, but it doesn’t look like a good idea yet.”

“Sinclair is securing the rear of the building. Check in with him,” said Foyle. He climbed into the van. Laura stared at his back for a moment. If Sinclair had told him who she was, it might explain Foyle’s abruptness. But he had been that way with her from the beginning of the mission, before Sinclair figured out her glamours. Whatever he was thinking, it wasn’t making him happy.

She threaded her way through more cars and into the yard of the first house next to the fire. Halfway down the driveway, the backyard came into view, open to the next block. She cut through it to find more police and another fire truck in case fire blew in that direction.

Sinclair walked behind her on the edge of her sensing range. She kept moving, making a show of searching for him. He paced her, tracking the edges of her body signature. Whether he did it out of habit or was demonstrating that he could do it, she couldn’t tell. He moved closer. She ignored him, letting his field overlap hers, testing whether his ability merely reacted to others around him or if he had to get some reaction.

“Who were you today?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

He smirked. “Shift’s almost over, and you didn’t report in.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Yeah, well, Foyle’s not the only one on my ass. InterSec has been picking apart my report all day.”

“Am I supposed to play this game, too?” he asked.

She frowned. “What game?”

“The Janice Crawford, SWAT-team officer, game.” She tapped at her headset. He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Do you think I’m stupid? Of course, I wouldn’t talk with my channel open.”

She stared at the burning house. “I’m careful, Sinclair.”

He grinned. “I am, too. And you can call me Jono.”

“Thanks. You can call me Officer Crawford.”