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
