“Yeah, I picked up on that.”
“You been to a Border rez?”
Cheyenne stared at him.
Rhynehart looked away with a crooked smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Come on. We gotta check in first.”
The man led her to the closest building. Above the gray metal door, rusted metal letters had been bolted to the stone wall: Q1 Intake. Rhynehart grabbed the metal bar serving as the handle and held the door open for the half-drow to go first.
Inside, Cheyenne took a glance around. The place could have passed for a police precinct except for the floating orbs of light the size of golf balls hanging in the air. Rhynehart strode to the front desk, where a purple-skinned troll in black fatigues typed on a computer newer than anything at VCU. The troll peered up from his screen and nodded at the FRoE operative. “Good. You’re here.”
“Hey, Vanx. Got the call.”
“Who’s that?” Vanx nodded across the small space serving as a waiting room.
Cheyenne returned his blank expression.
Rhynehart stuck his thumb over his shoulder without turning. “Got a rookie shadow today.”
Cheyenne glared at him.
“Gotta start ‘em somewhere, huh?”
“They either sink or they swim. I’m here to push.”
An uncontrollable snort followed the troll’s chuckle. His upper lip caught on a particularly crooked tooth before it jerked back down into place. “All right. The guy you’re looking for is out in Q4. Last house on the row. That’s about as lucky as we got with this one, but the rest of us have given up trying to talk any sense into him.”
“Yep. That’s why we’re here.” Rhynehart stuck his hands on his hips. “Anything I should know first?”
“Uh, yeah.” Vanx stood from his chair behind the desk and leaned forward to lower his voice. “He’s rigged the whole place since the last time we tried to handle it on our own. Tripwires everywhere. Some kinda nasty…spray. I don’t know. Melted the skin right off one of my guy’s arms and put him in bed for two weeks. We have dampening gear in the back if you wanna take any with you.”
“Better safe than melted into a puddle, I guess.”
The troll nodded. “Right. Don’t know how much good it’ll do you. He’s had a lot of time out there by himself. But it’s better than nothing. I’ll be right back.”
Vanx moved between the rows of desks and went into the back.
Cheyenne shook her head, while Rhynehart gazed at the glowing round lights illuminating the room instead of regular lightbulbs. He hummed in approval. The troll returned with two vests and two pairs of gloves like the ones Rhynehart had worn in the training room at the FRoE compound. These were more beat up and didn’t look like they’d hold up as well. One glove was missing the tip of its pinky.
Rhynehart took all the gear. “Thanks. You’ll get a call from processing once we take him in. Q4 will be cleared for new residents, and you won’t have to tiptoe around anymore.”
“Right. We’ll see who’s tiptoeing when you’re done.” Vanx shook his head at the operative but held that crooked, snaggle-toothed smile. “Hope the rookie makes it through.”
“Yeah, me too.” Rhynehart turned around, his arms loaded with two frayed black vests and two pairs of thick, raggedy gloves. He nodded at the door. “Can you get that for me?”
Cheyenne turned and pushed on the crash bar, opening the door into the fresh, salt-smelling air. They went outside, and the door to Q1 Intake clicked shut behind them. “What’s that all about?”
“Making sure the information I got is on par with what they’ve been dealing with here on their end.” Rhynehart stopped by the corner of the building and dropped the gloves into the dirt, then handed one of the vests to her. “Might as well put this on.”
“I don’t need one of those.”
He looked up at her and blinked. “You heard what that troll said, right? Melted the skin off one of his guy’s bones. You wanna go up against that without any kinda protection?”
“I mean, I heard you call me a rookie, too. Sounds like everybody’s twisting the truth a little.”
“Watch it.” Rhynehart thrust the vest toward her again and raised an eyebrow. “Part of the deal, Blakely. You’re on a ride-along with me, so you do what I say.”
Cheyenne snatched the heavy vest out of his hand and held it in front of her with a scowl. He brought me with him because he wants a drow halfling for whatever this little problem is, not because he wants to show me the ropes. We’re playing the same game, aren’t we?
Rhynehart slipped his vest over his head and shoulders, and Cheyenne relented and put hers on too. He bent to pick up the gloves and extended a pair toward her.
“Nope.”
He frowned. “Everything I said went in one ear and out the other, huh?”
The halfling lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers at him. “Did you forget the part where I blast magic from my hands? If I wear those and have to cast any kind of spell, you’ll be returning a used pair of scraps.”
Rhynehart sucked his teeth, eyed her raised hands, and shrugged. “Fair enough.”
He tossed the gloves into the dirt and clutched the other pair in one hand. “Time to move out.”
“To where, exactly?”
“Come on, Blakely. You got shot in the hip, not the head. We’re hoofing it to Q4.”
Cheyenne sighed and took off after him. “That tells me nothing.”
“You’ll figure it out. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, rookie.”
“Cute, human.”
Rhynehart lifted his chin and smirked.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“So, Q4 is…”
“All the way on the north side.” Rhynehart nodded in the direction they were headed and glanced at the thick, magic-dampening gloves in his hand.
“This place isn’t exactly huge.” Cheyenne turned halfway around to stare at a large military utility vehicle driving by, loaded with whatever important things needed to be covered by a tan tarp.
“Yeah, doesn’t look like it, huh?” Rhynehart nodded
