by Martha Carr
“Ms. Summerlin, that’s not—”
“No, no.” Bianca held up a finger. “I’m not finished.”
Cheyenne took a deep breath. She wanted to grin at the dumbfounded expression on Sir’s face, but she held off.
Bianca Summerlin’s on a roll now. You picked the wrong woman to mess with.
“Seeing as Cheyenne has everything she needs and handles it on her own without help from me but with my full support, I imagine the leverage you and your organization used to extort this verbal agreement from my daughter was of a physical nature. Most likely holding her somewhere against her will, if I had to guess.
“Because Cheyenne is also incredibly skilled with negotiating terms of any agreement, verbal or contractual in nature, which is one more of the many things I instilled in her at a very young age, she managed to mold that verbal agreement with you into something that was fair and beneficial to both parties despite the unfair circumstances under which that agreement was made, namely under duress. Cheyenne?”
The drow halfling wiped the hint of a smirk off her face when she looked at her mother and raised her eyebrows.
“Did your end of this verbal agreement include not tampering with the prepaid cell phone these men provided you?”
“No.” Cheyenne bit her lip.
“Did this verbal agreement contain anything along the lines of these men inserting a tracking device into your physical person if you tampered with or otherwise disabled the phone provided to you?”
“No.”
“At any point, were you informed of the tracking device inside the phone they provided you?”
“Nope.”
“Those are very clear-cut answers.” Bianca lifted the Scotch to her lips, set the glass down after another large sip, and took a deep breath. “In your own words, Cheyenne, can you describe the terms laid out by both parties in this verbal agreement?”
Oh, good. Looks like the time of being talked about like I’m not sitting here at this table is up. My turn.
Cheyenne nodded and looked into Sir’s burning eyes. “We agreed that I had to keep the prepaid cell phone on me at all times. That I would be on-call day and night, and as I remember it, ‘even in the shower.’ That I had to answer the phone every time it rang and do exactly what Sir or Rhynehart or whoever was calling me at that number told me to do.”
“Was this the final agreement, or were there any amendments?”
Sir leaned forward in the chair. “Ms. Summerlin, I didn’t come out here to—”
“My daughter deserves the opportunity to answer these questions, Sir. We’ve spent quite enough time already speaking on her behalf.” Bianca looked at her daughter and nodded.
“Yeah. I added a term to that agreement.” Cheyenne caught Sir’s gaze again. “I told them that as long as they didn’t send anyone after me, as long as they didn’t follow me or try to find me without my knowledge, I’d keep the phone and answer it every time it rang. But if I had a feeling they’d sent someone to watch me, I’d get rid of the phone, and they wouldn’t be able to find me again after that.”
“Mm. Did they agree to your terms as well?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Cheyenne.” Bianca nodded and turned to gaze at Sir. “That clears up the situation. Now, to be fair, and because I have a personal interest in this entire affair, can you tell me, Sir, to the best of your ability, if anything my daughter said is untrue?”
Sir licked his lips, his eyes darting between mother and daughter until Cheyenne thought it would make her dizzy. “No. I can’t say that.”
“Would you agree that all of it is true?”
“Uh-huh.”
There he goes, diving right back into regular Sir speech. She’s got him eating out of her hand now.
“Excellent.” Bianca sat back in her chair and nodded. “So now I’ll summarize the rest of it to be sure we’re on the same page. Because clearly, some people have assumed that a clear and mutual understanding isn’t a very high priority. You and your organization lied to my daughter—by omission, admittedly, but that is still considered a lie—and manipulated her into accepting the terms of this verbal agreement that had no business being made, whatever the circumstances were that put my daughter in that situation to begin with. You agreed to her additional terms because you were well aware that you didn’t need to send someone after Cheyenne in person since you’d be tracking this prepaid phone. But you also clearly had no idea what my daughter is truly capable of, and I’d venture to say that that’s still the case. Cheyenne found that tracking device and got rid of it, and you lost your bargaining chip.
“My next conclusion is that you and your organization manufactured a scenario in which the opportunity to insert a second and unrevealed tracking device into my daughter’s person without her knowledge would be provided. Which, let me remind you, breaks more than enough laws than I have the time to recite to you right now. If you’d like me to provide you with a transcript of those laws, however, I’d be more than happy to pull them up for you. But rest assured, included in those potential charges are kidnapping, false imprisonment, and extortion. Have I left anything out?”
Sir expelled a long, irritated sigh. “No. That about sums it up, Ms. Summerlin.”
“Yes. I thought it might. Let me ask you, Sir and present colleagues, is there a reason you came all the way out here to my home that doesn’t include trying to intimidate my daughter once more into fearfully obeying your every command?”
Sir ran his tongue over his front teeth and sniffed. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”
Bianca gave an unamused hum. “I almost was, but I decided my particular skill set would be put to better use if I went into politics. I still find that on occasion, I get the best of both worlds.”
The veranda fell silent, and Cheyenne wanted to follow her mother’s speech up by flipping two middle fingers at the man who thought he could terrify her into doing whatever he wanted because he knew who she was now.
“This, uh…” Sir scratched his chin and let out a confused chuckle. “This definitely didn’t go the way I expected.”
This time when Bianca smiled, it was genuine. “I get that often.”
Sir glanced at Rhynehart and Parker, but neither of them had anything to offer. “Ms. Summerlin, do you know who Cheyenne’s father is?”
Bianca froze, her smile faded, and she entered another staring contest with Sir that made Cheyenne’s skin crawl.
He made a bad move with that one.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Bianca stared at Sir for so long that the man glanced at Cheyenne instead. When the drow halfling shook her head, though, there was a high chance he didn’t see it.
“No, Sir.” Bianca Summerlin’s voice had lost all its sophisticated gentleness, however much of a disguise it was for her sharp wit. Now her voice was as close to spiteful as it ever got. “You didn’t share that information with me the first time you came to my door unannounced, and I don’t expect you to share it with me now. But stepping foot onto my property, unannounced and uninvited, and thinking to find any warm reception for the mention of that man is insulting. I don’t enjoy or appreciate being insulted in my own home. I’m starting to believe I should have let Cheyenne deal with you her way.” She grabbed her glass, downed the rest of the Scotch in one gulp, and stood. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Ms. Summerlin, may I have a moment alone to speak to your daughter?”
“She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake. Ask her. But if you don’t gather up your escort and remove yourself from my property in the next five minutes, I will be making phone calls you don’t want me to make. Whether or not your organization is classified, whether or not it’s federally recognized, it doesn’t matter. If my daughter could find you the first time, rest assured, I will find you again. And I won’t be nearly as hospitable.”
“Of course.” Sir stood from the table, wavering between severe irritation and something Cheyenne thought
looked a lot like shame.
Good.
The man downed the rest of his drink and set the glass gently on the table. “Thank you for the Scotch, Ms. Summerlin. And your time.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the Scotch. Don’t waste it or my time again.”
Everyone else stood on the veranda, tensions running high until Cheyenne pushed herself out of her chair. She nodded at Sir and gestured toward the closed glass doors off the veranda. “I’ll show you out.”
Sir’s jaw worked mercilessly, but he muttered, “Thank you.”
The drow halfling led him and the two FRoE operatives off the veranda, quietly opening the glass doors. Bianca was left alone to collect herself. Cheyenne glanced at the dinner table; the silver platters filled with Eleanor’s cooking had at some point been covered with their matching domed lids, presumably to keep things warm until this meeting was finished. Or to keep any unwanted guests from getting the wrong idea they might be welcome for dinner.
That’s why Mom keeps Eleanor around, isn’t it?
When they passed the study, the doors to which were now closed, Sir cleared his throat. “Cheyenne.”
“Let’s stick with either ‘halfling’ or ‘Blakely,’ okay?” Cheyenne didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the door and the decreasing amount of time left until all these people would be out of her mom’s driveway and off both their plates. For now.
“Sure. Hold on a second.”
With a heavy breath through her nose, Cheyenne spun and raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“If you’d told me who your father was when we met, things would’ve been a lot simpler.”
“If I’d known who my father was when we met, I still wouldn’t have told you.” She took a deep breath and pushed her flaring anger down.
Not right now. We’re done.
Sir’s eyes narrowed, and he dipped his head toward her. “Do you know who he is?”
If she said no, she’d be playing right into his hands. If she said yes, she’d be lying, and that wasn’t the kind of lie she’d had much practice concealing. Instead, she turned back around and headed toward the front door. “The deal’s off, by the way. Don’t bother trying to call me.”
Sir didn’t say anything until she’d opened the door and stood beside it, staring across the foyer at nothing. She felt Rhynehart’s gaze on her as he and Parker stepped outside first, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Sir paused in front of her, blocking her view, and she settled for staring at the center button of his black uniform shirt. “Scratch the old deal. Your mom blew more holes in that than a spray of buckshot through a watermelon. But I’m willing to try again if you are.”
Cheyenne’s grip tightened on the doorknob.
“We still very much want your skills. Hell, we need what you can do. Like with Q’orr and Taaz today at Rez 38. I read the reports. If you can put the rest of this shitshow behind us, if you help us out with some of our bigger problems, I’ll tell you exactly who your father is. And I might take you to him if you can prove to us your heart’s in it. Up to you.”
The halfling flicked her gaze up to look into Sir’s dark, beady eyes.
He’s serious. He already knew of the connection between Mom and Inmate 4872. Now he’s made it to me.
The man seemed to take her lack of response as an invitation to say more. “The next time that phone rings and you answer, I’ll know you’re ready to take me up on that offer. If you don’t, well, I guess we can both wash our hands of each other and move on.”
Cheyenne chewed the inside of her bottom lip. “My mother wants you off her property. And she doesn’t make empty threats.”
“No. I don’t imagine she would.” With a final nod at the drow halfling, Sir stepped outside onto the front porch and headed down the stairs after his men.
She closed the door behind him, and Cheyenne stood there for a long time with her hands pressed against it, listening. Boots crunched across gravel. Car doors shut. Engines started. More magically-shattered glass tinkled onto the gravel drive as the second SUV pulled out after the first, followed by the third. She stayed there until she couldn’t hear their tires, and she waited for a few more minutes after that.
I can’t believe this happened. Now I have to figure out how to get this damn tracking device out of my shoulder and come up with something to tell Mom about the whole thing. Probably won’t cut it if all I can say is, ‘Sorry, I screwed up.’
She stiffened when she heard Bianca’s footsteps enter the dining room. The double glass doors shut with a soft click, and then Bianca moved through the house at a calm, steady pace until she stood at the end of the foyer, facing her daughter.
“Cheyenne.”
The drow halfling dropped her hands from the door and turned around. “Mom, I’m sorry. I screwed up.”
“Come here.”
Pressing her lips together, Cheyenne stepped slowly toward her mom. Bianca held her gaze as if she were leading her daughter across a tightrope, which might not have been far from the truth. The halfling stopped, and her mom waved her closer. Cheyenne’s eyes and nose burned with tears that hadn’t formed yet, and she wouldn’t let them. Not now. Not when Bianca Summerlin wrapped her arms around her daughter and held her for what felt like a very long time.
Finally, Bianca pulled away and grabbed Cheyenne’s shoulders. Her daughter grimaced and tried not to flinch from the pressure on her wounded shoulder. Removing her hands, Bianca cocked her head and stepped back. “Let’s see it, then.”
Not like I can hide it from her now. Gritting her teeth, Cheyenne stared at the tile floor and pulled the sleeve of her black t-shirt up over her shoulder.
Bianca took a long, slow breath and turned Cheyenne to the right so she could get a better view of the two deep, open-but-healing wounds in her daughter’s flesh. “Do I want to know how this happened?”
“Well, it has to do with a whole bunch of words like the other one you don’t like hearing, so probably not.”
“All right.” Bianca studied the wounds, then brought her fingers up under Cheyenne’s chin. She didn’t tug or push, merely guided her daughter’s face toward her, so Cheyenne had no choice but to meet her mom’s gaze. “Let’s eat. I’ve had that chicken on my mind the whole time that moron in a uniform was talking himself into a ditch.”
When her mom smirked, Cheyenne couldn’t keep back a wry, quiet chuckle of her own.
“And then we’ll figure out how to get that damn tracking device out of your arm. My God, of all the idiotic attempts!” Bianca rolled her eyes, released her daughter’s chin, and turned to head back toward the dining room overlooking the veranda and the sweeping view of the valley beyond it.
Cheyenne pulled the sleeve of her t-shirt back down over her arm and followed her mom through the house. When she passed the still-closed doors of the study, she thought she heard movement and paused to check.
Eleanor doesn’t go in there alone.
And Eleanor definitely wasn’t in there. “Cheyenne.”
The halfling looked away from the study doors to see the housekeeper standing under the rise of the winding staircase, absently wringing her hands. “If you still have an appetite after that mess, dinner’s still hot. Your mom might eat it all if we don’t lay claim to at least some of it.”
Cheyenne’s stomach growled all on its own, and they both laughed. “I guess I don’t have a choice, huh?”
“Come on, sweetheart. We’ll get you feeling like yourself again.” Eleanor waved the half-drow forward, and Cheyenne joined her willingly.
Bianca was already in her usual chair at the table. For the first time, Cheyenne thought it was a little strange that chair was on the far side. It gave Bianca Summerlin a view of the table and the underbelly of the staircase when any other seat would have given her a fantastic view through the wall of windows behind her.
If I asked, she’d say something about the importance of focusing on the task at hand. Which I totally get. Now more than ever, I thi
nk.
“That man took up enough of our time this evening.” Bianca studied the meal Eleanor had prepared for them and laid the cloth napkin in her lap. “You two better not keep me waiting any longer. That Scotch is starting to go to my head.”
Shaking her head, Eleanor shot Cheyenne a knowing glance and took a seat where she’d been sitting for meals since coming into Bianca Summerlin’s employ. The drow halfling took her seat next to Eleanor, and they dug into dinner without another word.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Cheyenne didn’t get back to her apartment until almost 8:30 that night, although her mother and Eleanor had both taken it upon themselves to remind her—repeatedly and with a lot more insistence than she was used to from them—that she still had a bedroom upstairs and could sleep in the bed that belonged to her.
That wasn’t how I wanted to end the night.
In her own bathroom in her small, crummy apartment in Richmond, Cheyenne overturned the plastic bag from CVS and dumped its contents out on the counter beside the sink. Hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, cotton swabs, gauze, medical tape, latex gloves, surgical scissors—or as close to surgical scissors as one could get from a CVS—and a pair of expensive, sharpened tweezers. The needle and surgical suture were an extra precaution.
I’ve never sewn anything in my life. Never tried to pull a tracking device out of my shoulder, either, but that doesn’t sound nearly as hard.
The halfling sucked in a sharp breath when she pulled the t-shirt up and over her head, then opened up all the packages and got everything ready. “As ready as I ever will be, I guess.”