to the Alliance.”
“Oh?” Still no fear, but there was a wariness in her voice that made him happy. He stepped farther into the room, signaled for the creature at his left to step into the doorway—and into Sara’s line of sight. “Morain here is a Truth Teller,” Tariq said. “I’m not sure if you’ve made his acquaintance before.”
“What do you want, Tariq?” She gestured to the piles of papers spread out over her desk. “I don’t have much time.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t.” He crossed to her desk. “Step aside, Constantine. I need to review your keystroke log.”
Her already pale skin turned a shade paler, but she stood, her attention not on him, but on the poltergeist. “J’ared, would you ask Martella to contact Mr. Bosch? I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I think he’d like to know about the way Alliance agents are treating Division’s prosecutors.”
The fear that Tariq had hoped to see in Sara’s face flared in the eyes of the poltergeist, who sped from the room like a spectral cloud.
He turned his attention back to Sara. “Move.”
“I don’t report to you, Tariq. And until Mr. Bosch tells me to quit working on this brief, that is what I’m focusing on.” She put her hands on her keyboard and continued typing, her demeanor suggesting he was nothing more than the custodial staff, come to mop the floors.
Goddamned little
bitch
.
He pressed his hands to her desk and got in her face. “By the power vested in me by the chairman of the Shadow Alliance and the high examiner of the convened shadow Tribunal presiding over the matter of
In re Petra Lang
, I order you to step away from your computer. Now.”
Slowly, she lifted her hands from her keyboard. Even more slowly, she nodded. Then she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.
Tariq circled the desk and slid into the chair. Behind him, Sara stood stock-still. She’d fucked up, but good, and he was going to nail her ass to the wall. He was going to goddamn smell the fear on her. He was going to see it, he was going to taste it. And he was going to rub fucking Lucius Dragos’s face in it.
“Morain,” Tariq said, as he navigated into the security profile and patched through to the relevant logs. “No sense you standing around twiddling your thumbs. While I’m taking a peek at Ms. Constantine’s computer, you take a peek into her head.”
“You have no cause—no cause at all—to get into my head,” Sara said, taking a step backward, and eyeing Morain, who had aimed a toothy smile her direction.
“Don’t I?” Tariq asked as he punched in the final digits of the Alliance security code that allowed him to access the keystroke log that the Alliance had planted in all Division computers across the globe. He pushed away from the desk, the wheels of the chair sending him a good two feet back. With one hand, he indicated the monitor with a flourish. “On the contrary,” he said, reviewing the binder release code she’d entered earlier that day. “I think I have all the reason in the world.”
And there it was—
fear.
Bitter and sharp. It seeped from her pores and hid in the lines of her face. And as Morain stepped closer to her—his hand outstretched for the touch that would take him as deep into Sara’s mind as Tariq had gotten into her computer—that fear filled the room like a wave of cold air.
The girl was fucking terrified.
And considering what she’d done, she damn well should be.
“Stop.”
The voice from the doorway was firm and hard and held authority rather than fear. Tariq turned and found himself looking at the lined face and salt-and-pepper hair of Nostramo Bosch, the subdirector of the violent crimes unit, and Sara’s immediate boss. Besidehim, two uniformed security trolls stood waiting, arms crossed, faces flat and angry.
The subtle scent of cinnamon wafted into the room as Bosch took a step inside.
“I’ve got the Alliance backing me,” Tariq said. “And I’ve got
“Oh?” Still no fear, but there was a wariness in her voice that made him happy. He stepped farther into the room, signaled for the creature at his left to step into the doorway—and into Sara’s line of sight. “Morain here is a Truth Teller,” Tariq said. “I’m not sure if you’ve made his acquaintance before.”
“What do you want, Tariq?” She gestured to the piles of papers spread out over her desk. “I don’t have much time.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t.” He crossed to her desk. “Step aside, Constantine. I need to review your keystroke log.”
Her already pale skin turned a shade paler, but she stood, her attention not on him, but on the poltergeist. “J’ared, would you ask Martella to contact Mr. Bosch? I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I think he’d like to know about the way Alliance agents are treating Division’s prosecutors.”
The fear that Tariq had hoped to see in Sara’s face flared in the eyes of the poltergeist, who sped from the room like a spectral cloud.
He turned his attention back to Sara. “Move.”
“I don’t report to you, Tariq. And until Mr. Bosch tells me to quit working on this brief, that is what I’m focusing on.” She put her hands on her keyboard and continued typing, her demeanor suggesting he was nothing more than the custodial staff, come to mop the floors.
Goddamned little
bitch
.
He pressed his hands to her desk and got in her face. “By the power vested in me by the chairman of the Shadow Alliance and the high examiner of the convened shadow Tribunal presiding over the matter of
In re Petra Lang
, I order you to step away from your computer. Now.”
Slowly, she lifted her hands from her keyboard. Even more slowly, she nodded. Then she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.
Tariq circled the desk and slid into the chair. Behind him, Sara stood stock-still. She’d fucked up, but good, and he was going to nail her ass to the wall. He was going to goddamn smell the fear on her. He was going to see it, he was going to taste it. And he was going to rub fucking Lucius Dragos’s face in it.
“Morain,” Tariq said, as he navigated into the security profile and patched through to the relevant logs. “No sense you standing around twiddling your thumbs. While I’m taking a peek at Ms. Constantine’s computer, you take a peek into her head.”
“You have no cause—no cause at all—to get into my head,” Sara said, taking a step backward, and eyeing Morain, who had aimed a toothy smile her direction.
“Don’t I?” Tariq asked as he punched in the final digits of the Alliance security code that allowed him to access the keystroke log that the Alliance had planted in all Division computers across the globe. He pushed away from the desk, the wheels of the chair sending him a good two feet back. With one hand, he indicated the monitor with a flourish. “On the contrary,” he said, reviewing the binder release code she’d entered earlier that day. “I think I have all the reason in the world.”
And there it was—
fear.
Bitter and sharp. It seeped from her pores and hid in the lines of her face. And as Morain stepped closer to her—his hand outstretched for the touch that would take him as deep into Sara’s mind as Tariq had gotten into her computer—that fear filled the room like a wave of cold air.
The girl was fucking terrified.
And considering what she’d done, she damn well should be.
“Stop.”
The voice from the doorway was firm and hard and held authority rather than fear. Tariq turned and found himself looking at the lined face and salt-and-pepper hair of Nostramo Bosch, the subdirector of the violent crimes unit, and Sara’s immediate boss. Besidehim, two uniformed security trolls stood waiting, arms crossed, faces flat and angry.
The subtle scent of cinnamon wafted into the room as Bosch took a step inside.
“I’ve got the Alliance backing me,” Tariq said. “And I’ve got
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