Sir pointed at Rhynehart and grunted. “She’s riding with you. I’m already seeing damn drow closing in on me from every side.”
“Sure.” Rhynehart nodded at Sheila. “Get ready for whatever we send your way, huh?”
The huge, human-looking magical folded her arms. “I’m always ready.”
“Hey, Sheila.” Cheyenne nodded at the woman and let her smile widen. “Nice mask.”
Sheila snorted. Rhynehart and Sir gave each other confused looks.
Then the halfling turned and headed back toward the diner’s entrance. Once the FRoE agents could no longer see her, she let herself break into a wide grin. Pretty sure we’re playing my game now.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cheyenne closed the passenger door of Rhynehart’s black Jeep, buckled her seatbelt, and waited for him to say something. With a sigh, the man started the car, then reached across Cheyenne’s lap and opened the glove box. A black satin sleeping mask dropped into her lap, then the glovebox thumped shut again.
The halfling stared at her lap. “What, no black bag over my face this time?”
“Just put it on. And if I see you peeking, I have more of those nifty little syringes stored in here.” Rhynehart strapped himself in and pulled out of the diner’s parking lot behind Sir’s Kia.
“I’m afraid to ask why you have this in your car.” She picked up the mask and stretched the elastic band.
“And I might be afraid to ask what you got up to with three of my agents last night.”
“Fair enough.” Slipping the elastic band around her head, Cheyenne settled the mask over her eyes and thumped her head back against the headrest. They drove in silence until she just had to ask. “What did they tell you?”
“Enough to know I don’t wanna know. Everybody’s gotta blow off steam sometimes, rookie. As long as you don’t let it affect the way you do your job, I don’t care.”
She snorted. “How many times do I have to say this isn’t my job?”
“If you have a better word for it, I’m all ears.”
The halfling shrugged, all the light blocked out by the sleeping mask. “It’s more of a hobby.”
Rhynehart snorted. “Yeah, a hobby none of us can afford for you to drop. Including you.”
They drove for another twenty-five minutes at least, and Cheyenne found herself jolted out of a light doze when the black Jeep finally stopped and the engine cut off.
“We’re here.”
She ripped the sleeping mask off her face and stared at it. These things actually work. Tossing it on the dash, she unbuckled her seatbelt and slipped out of the car after Rhynehart, who’d already started walking toward the cement entrance and the rolling chain-link gates in front of Chateau D’rahl. They were still open.
Sir stormed toward the front door with a cell phone pressed against his ear. “Don’t talk to me about paperwork. I don’t care how many pencils you need to push, Johnson. Get it done. You have about twenty minutes.”
He jerked the phone away from his ear and jammed it into the back pocket of his jeans. The armed guards standing in front of the prison entrance nodded at the man as he stalked toward them without slowing. Cheyenne hurried to catch up to Rhynehart, who didn’t look at her as they passed the guards and kept moving. No one said a word.
Sir grunted at the glass front door, peered inside, then yanked open the door. “Can’t handle a goddamn change in schedule. We’re paying out the ass to keep this place running.”
Rhynehart caught the door before it closed and held it for the halfling. A guard hurried toward them from the other side of the front room and stopped short when he saw Sir’s scowl. “A little late for that now, don’t you think?” Sir grumbled. “Back the hell up, man. I’m not in the mood.”
The guard quickly stepped back, then Cheyenne was following the FRoE’s head honcho and his right-hand man toward the huge, broad metal detector. The other guards stationed there stared at the halfling, and one of them grabbed the radio at his shoulder to mutter, “They just stepped inside.”
Pockets were emptied into plastic trays and jackets shrugged off. Sir and Rhynehart walked through the metal detector first, and the alarm and blinking lights again went off when Cheyenne went next. The same guard who’d asked her about concealed weapons the last time spent a lot longer than necessary staring at the halfling’s facial piercings, but he didn’t try to take out the wand this time to run it over her.
“Finally.” Sir nodded at the guard. “Somebody’s using their goddamn head to get us through here quickly. Now, who the hell’s taking us down?”
“They’re not quite ready, Sir.”
“No shit. I’m not standing here all day while my hair falls out. Where’s Donahue?”
The guard glanced at Cheyenne and Rhynehart, but only for a second. “Beta block, Sir.”
“Buzz me in. And radio it in when these two get back from the Dungeon.”
“Sir.” The guard nodded and said into his radio, “Open Door 2.”
The door just behind him on the left let out a loud warning buzz, and Sir yanked it open before disappearing inside without another word.
Cheyenne glanced at Rhynehart, who frowned at Door 2 as it closed again with a loud click. Then he turned away from her to wait for their escort. “You been down there before?” the halfling asked.
He shot her a sidelong glance, his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. “You have one over me, rookie. Don’t push it.”
She fought hard to keep from smiling. Yeah, he’s in for a nice surprise.
The next ten minutes felt like an hour as they waited on the other side of the metal detector. The guards in the room just stared at them—mostly Cheyenne—without loosening up enough to talk amongst themselves. Then another breathless guard rounded the corner, his eyes wide and his hand pressed against his belt, where the large ring of keys jangled with every step. “This way.”
Cheyenne and Rhynehart followed closely behind, then they
