Fallen

by Claire Delacroix

  Lilia was counting on that.

  She had to think that if they had been involved, they'd be expecting Lilia Desjardins. She hoped that she looked insufficiently like her official image that she wouldn't immediately be recognized.

  It was a risk.

  But a little fib might smooth the way. Lilia had created a file before leaving the Frontier, where she had better access to people with a cavalier attitude toward the forgery of official documentation, and it looked enough like the genuine article to survive a cursory glance.

  A very cursory glance. A thousand creds didn't buy work of the same quality it once had.

  She tapped it up onto her palm as she reached the second floor. The door to number 202 was open and a woman as neat, clean, and characterless as the lobby sat at a desk facing the door. She glanced up when Lilia made a show of checking the name lettered on the frosted glass of the outer office door against her palm.

  She was Lydia Kushekov, a bureaucrat, she reminded herself. A minion and a paid grunt, doing a job nobody else wanted to do.

  That part, at least, wasn't much of a stretch.

  The woman behind the desk watched her. "May I help you?"

  "Yes, I'm sure you can." Lilia replied pertly, wondering whose spirit she was channeling. "I've been sent to collect the effects of Gideon Fitzgerald, deceased." She displayed the edict on her palm, letting the receptionist read the "official" order demanding that she surrender all such goods to Lilia.

  Lydia.

  The receptionist repeated Gid's name, a little frown appearing between her brows. "That name doesn't sound familiar."

  "But he worked here." Lilia oozed confidence as she launched into her fabricated story. "He died a few months back—August, um, second—and I've been sent by the lawyers to collect his things. All standard and customary stuff. He must have had something in his desk." She sighed and shrugged. "Even if it was an old comb, I'm supposed to bring it back. You know how lawyers are. I'll give you a receipt."

  "But no one named Gideon Fitzgerald ever worked here."

  Lilia frowned at her palm. "But that can't be right. Isn't this Breisach and Turner, Shippers and Expeditors?"

  "It is."

  "Is there another branch office?"

  The receptionist's smile was less friendly as she rose to her feet. "No."

  Lilia recognized that she'd worn out her welcome.

  Already.

  How interesting.

  "Could I speak to the other employees?"

  "I'm the only one, other than Mr. Breisach and Mr. Turner. Our drivers are independent contractors."

  One of these three people had to be the reason Gid had had this address on his palm. One of them had to know something.

  Maybe not this one.

  Maybe the address had been intended to keep her from making a more obvious conclusion.

  Then why was the receptionist so hostile?

  While Lilia considered what to do next, she glanced around the office. There were two doors behind the receptionist's desk and, although they were closed, Lilia reasoned that they led to individual offices. One would be in the corner of the building, the other directly to its right. One for each partner. Lilia wondered who had scored the corner office.

  Probably Breisach, as his name was first.

  "But this is the address I was given." Lilia tapped busily at her palm and frowned, as if checking supporting documents. "I don't understand how it could be wrong."

  "Well, it must be." The receptionist's tone turned glacial.

  Maybe Gid had used another name. It hadn't been like him to be deceptive, but Lilia had to wonder whether he'd learned more from her than she'd imagined. Gid had been as honest as the day was long—Lilia had delighted in teasing him that that would get him into trouble one day.

  There was no pleasure in thinking that she might have called it right.

  Lilia pulled up an image of Gid and displayed it abruptly to the receptionist, hoping to surprise her. "Do you recognize him?"

  She shook her head. "I've never seen him before in my life."

  Had she responded too quickly for her answer to be true?

  When the receptionist came around her desk to encourage Lilia's departure, Lilia knew that she had lied.

  Why else would she be anxious to be rid of Lilia?

  "Maybe you just haven't worked here long enough to remember him," Lilia said lightly.

  "I've been in this office for nine years. Is that long enough?"

  "Could I speak to Mr. Breisach or Mr. Turner? Maybe they just hired him on a contract basis, like the drivers .. ."

  "Neither of them are in." She took Lilia's elbow and her grip was firm.

  "Then I'll come back later."

  The receptionist was stronger than she looked. She practically hefted Lilia toward the door. "You needn't bother. They won't be available then either."

  "They're both on business trips?"

  "They're both unavailable for the foreseeable future." She definitely wanted to be rid of her guest, and Lilia was perverse enough to want to linger on that basis alone. "This address was clearly given to you in error, miss."

  "But I've been working for these lawyers for years and they never—"

  "Everyone makes mistakes," the receptionist said with heat.

  "Can I get your name? Just to prove that I was here?"

  "No." She escorted Lilia through the door with a firm hand. "Good luck finding information about your Mr. Fitzgerald, miss."

  She'd remembered his name. Did she have a good memory, or had she heard it before?

  Lilia glanced down at the receptionist's left hand, currently locked around Lilia's elbow, surprised by the strength of her grip.

  That was when Lilia saw it: the end of a tattooed number, just peeking out from the cuff on her inner left wrist. It looked like the right side of a 3, or maybe an 8. The receptionist didn't realize that Lilia had seen it and Lilia didn't let on, but that sight certainly stole a lot of Lilia's resistance.

  The receptionist was a shade.

  She was a shade, working in an office, like a norm.

  She was a known shade, a shade who had been captured and tattooed by the Republic.

  Lilia couldn't make sense of it. Shades didn't have real jobs, not even crummy ones. Shades were supposed to labor unseen; the law code of the Republic made that clear. It was possible that a shade could evade detection and work as a norm, but the tattoo revealed that the receptionist was known to the Republic.

  She had to be a fugitive. Who did Messrs. Breisach and Turner know that they could so blatantly break the law?

  Lilia had no doubt that this shade knew more than she had admitted, and even less doubt that she would share any of it. Had it been the image of Gid that had turned her against Lilia, or had it been Lilia's own sparkling charm? Had the receptionist recognized her? If Lilia's reputation had preceded her, she had to think that it would have been counted in her favor by a shade.

  Lilia was out in the corridor by the time she reasoned that far. The receptionist gave Lilia a firm shove to send her on her way and wished her a good day—with, it must be said, a certain insincerity. Before Lilia could reply, the receptionist shut the door firmly behind her.

  Lilia grabbed the knob just as she heard the lock turn. She raised a hand, but the receptionist pulled down a blind over the window.

  She knocked three times, but the receptionist was obviously ignoring her. Lilia walked down the stairs, wondering whether there even was a Mr. Breisach or a Mr. Turner. Given that she didn't have access to the Republic database—as a certain cop did, a cop who had suggested they share information, a cop whom she didn't want to think about—there was only one way to find out. She'd spy on them.

  Montgomery expected Rachel to make short work of her unexpected visitor. Lilia might be able to concoct a story and persuade many people to believe it, but Rachel wasn't easily seduced.

  He stepped deeper into the shadows of a doorway, unable to suppress a twinge of
satisfaction when Lilia emerged from the office building very soon after she entered it. He caught a glimpse of her frustrated expression before she pulled her veil over her face, and that made him smile.

  Montgomery watched Lilia look up and down the street, and made a silent bet with himself that she wouldn't let the matter go that easily. She pivoted and set off in the direction from which she had come and he had to move quickly to keep track of her.

  She might have looked as if she was walking back to the hotel, but three blocks later, she disappeared down a side street and Montgomery knew he had called it right.

  Within five minutes, he was sure that she was circling back to the office building. It was reasonably easy to do, given that New Gotham's streets were laid out in a grid pattern. It might have been simple for Montgomery to pursue her, if Lilia hadn't seemed to have the sense that she was being followed.

  Maybe she just worked with the assumption that the Republic was a hostile, backstabbing, double-crossing kind of place.

  It wasn't a bad assumption, to Montgomery's thinking. Lilia had definitely picked up her pace. He caught a glimpse of her trim figure weaving between the rickshaws that seemed to fill this side street and broke into a trot himself.

  The distance between them was growing too large.

  He turned a corner, thought he'd lost her, then was sure he spied the broad brim of her hat turning the corner a block down.

  He bolted after her, only to find the cross street empty. Montgomery moved slowly down its length, glancing into a shop to find her there at the counter.

  Apparently she needed new gloves.

  He fell back into a doorway and tried to be invisible just as she emerged. She looked up and down the street, as if she'd anticipated that he, or someone, might be there. Montgomery held his breath until she marched away from him, her skirts flicking with purpose.

  Then he strolled behind her, ducking behind every obstacle he could but keeping her in sight.

  Any man who had ever thought that making women dress in corsets and full skirts would make them less alluring had obviously never watched Lilia Desjardins move. The woman might have been dancing, and if she had been, it would have been in time with a provocative tune. Montgomery was fascinated by the neat indent of her waist, the sway of her hips, the fleeting glimpses beneath her hems of those snugly booted feet.

  Yet her steps weren't mincing and feminine. She covered ground quickly and he had to stride to keep up with her.

  And stay out of sight at the same time. She chose an utterly deserted street, probably just to thwart him, and a gap opened between them. When she turned down the cross street, Montgomery ran in pursuit. He found her moving even faster, already near the end of the block. He began to trot. He heard the bustle of a busy cross street just before Lilia dashed into it.

  Montgomery sprinted into the thoroughfare, narrowly missing a collision with a cyclist, but he was too late. Lilia had disappeared into the jumble of rickshaws, shoppers, cyclists, and commuters. He spun in place, peering into the crowd. He was tall. She was tall. He should have been able to see her, moving decisively through the crowd.

  But he couldn't.

  He suddenly spied her broad-brimmed hat on the other side of the street and ran toward it. It didn't move, which brought him to a skidding halt with the fear that she'd see him.

  But she'd dropped it on a tethering post. The hooded shades harnessed to a carriage and tethered there glanced up at him with dull eyes. The ribbons on her hat flicked in the breeze, as if to taunt him with his failure.

  She knew he was following her.

  Or at least that someone was.

  Montgomery claimed her hat and considered his location. If Lilia had been circling back to Breisach and Turner, she was two thirds of the way there. Down two blocks and over one should bring him into the alley that ran behind the building.

  Swinging the lady's hat, he strode in that direction.

  Montgomery knew he shouldn't have been as glad to see Lilia as he was.

  He certainly shouldn't have been surprised to find her climbing a fire escape. He could hear her muttered curses as she pulled herself up on the bottom rung. He guessed that she'd tried a few times, although this time, she succeeded in pulling herself up.

  The metal fire escape was attached to a building on the opposite side of the alley from the office, the stairs located around the corner and thus out of Rachel's view. It would give a good vantage of Breisach and Turner's office, although it was unconventional for a woman to climb a fire escape in her skirts.

  But then, there wasn't much conventional about Lilia.

  She'd knotted her veil over her hair after abandoning her hat, and the braid was slipping loose. Montgomery decided that he preferred when she looked a little disheveled.

  How did she look when she slept?

  When she woke up?

  Montgomery stopped the direction of his thoughts. Unobserved by the busy lady in question, he leaned on the metal grating below, appreciating the view of her legs. A gentleman would have declared his presence, but Lilia fed his inclination to be ungentlemanly.

  She climbed onward, oblivious to his presence.

  She had exquisite thighs. He closed his eyes and knew he had to declare himself immediately.

  "Missing something?" Montgomery asked in a conspiratorial whisper. Lilia's boot slipped from the next metal step in her surprise, and she caught the handrails more tightly.

  "You!" She glared down at him.

  "Me," he agreed.

  "Why are you following me?"

  He saluted her with her own hat. "If you're not worried about S&D taking you down again, maybe I am."

  "Maybe you've called them," she said bitterly.

  Montgomery shook a finger at her. "No. I told you the truth."

  She studied him for a long moment, then tossed her braid over her shoulder. "Well, it doesn't matter now. Just leave my hat there and go away."

  "I don't think so." Montgomery swung onto the lowest rung of the fire escape and pulled himself up easily. He climbed the stairs until he was immediately below her and offered her hat with a flourish.

  "I thought I'd declined your offer to work together," she said.

  "I thought you wouldn't be so good at getting yourself into trouble in my absence."

  "I'm not in trouble ..."

  "Not yet. It's only the middle of the day, but you're already in public with your hair uncovered. I give you an hour." She touched her veil but he shook his head. "That doesn't meet code and you know it."

  Lilia took her hat from him with poor temper. She removed the veil, her hair gleaming blue black in the sun, and pulled the hat onto her head. She leaned her hip against the stairs as she secured the hat with pins and knotted her veil under her chin. She looked as happy as a wet cat. "Better?"

  "You've marked your dress with the rust." He fingered her skirts, purportedly to show her the damage, then lifted the hem slightly. "And did you tear your skirt climbing up here?"

  "You're too perceptive by half," she said. She smiled impishly as she stuck out her booted foot, which had something soft and brown on the heel. "And you know what that is."

  "Nice touch." Montgomery winced at the smell.

  "Mine is a savoir faire that is seldom duplicated," she said with a cavalier sweep of her hand.

  He heard laughter in her tone and glanced up to find her eyes sparkling in a most interesting way. He was only a step below her and their faces were level. She watched him as her smile faded, her eyes widening slightly as he leaned closer.

  He could smell her skin, and a faint echo of an unfamiliar perfume. He could see the curve of her lips, the way they parted as she watched him. He remembered how her shoulders had felt under his hands, how she'd seemed both fragile and formidable. He was certain that he hadn't kissed her nearly well enough yet.

  He should kiss her again.

  Now.

  Lilia caught her breath, her breasts rising and her eyes darkening. Their
thoughts were clearly on the same track. Montgomery leaned closer and knew he didn't imagine that Lilia eased toward him. He lifted one hand to her veil, pulling it upward, and she only watched him.

  The closest window opened abruptly alongside them, and a burly man leaned out. He glared at the pair of them, even when they straightened away from each other.

  "It's illegal to use emergency exits when there is no emergency," he said, his tone belligerent.

  "I apologize for troubling you, sir." Montgomery punched his badge up on his palm and flashed it. Quickly. "New Gotham Police. We're under cover, sir, a very delicate matter, and would appreciate your cooperation."

  The man looked between them with suspicion. "Undercover?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Narcotics?"

  "Shades, sir," Lilia said in a deep voice. "Fugitives."

  Her words made Montgomery's heart leap in fear. What had she noticed at Breisach and Turner? Or was that her favored excuse when caught in a transgression?

  "Fugitives!" The man spat in disgust. "You should catch the bastards, put them to work."

  "That's the idea, sir," Montgomery confirmed.

  The man's gaze lingered on Lilia, his suspicion clear. "I didn't think there were any women police officers."

  Lilia had obviously anticipated this objection, as she'd feigned a deep voice right away. He appreciated her quick thinking. "Undercover work, sir," Montgomery said.

  Lilia fingered her chin. "You don't want to know how long it took me to shave this smooth."

  The man chuckled, then nodded once.

  Montgomery held up a finger. "If the Republic could rely upon your silence, sir, the world would be a better place for all of us." He wasn't sure that was true, but it sounded persuasive.

  "Of course," the man said with a curt nod. "I hate shades, especially when they think they're as good as the rest of us." He had gotten taller in being called to do his civic duty.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "No problem, Officer. The Republic relies on all of us to do our part." The man shut the window and pulled the blinds on the inside, giving them a covert thumbs-up before he disappeared.