Cheyenne pressed her lips together and didn’t drop Rhynehart’s glare. When she reached him, he glanced briefly into the common room, then turned to usher her down the corridor.
“Trying to send me a message in the parking lot?” he muttered above the clomp of his boots.
“Looks like you got it.” The halfling shot him a sideways glance, and the agent shook his head.
“I made a call, Cheyenne.”
“Yeah, just one bad call after another, huh?”
Rhynehart looked aggravated. “You keeping secrets makes it pretty damn hard for me to do my job.”
“Me keeping secrets?” Cheyenne snorted and stared at the end of the hallway up ahead. “You’ve been setting the bar since the very beginning. I’m just playing your game.”
“None of this is a game, Cheyenne. You know that.”
“Okay, you can cut it out with the whole ‘big brother looking out for the drow halfling’ act. You put a tracking device in my shoulder, staged a break-in to see if I’d kill an innocent person because you said so, shot me up with a drow tranquilizer, and didn’t say a damn thing when I knew these kids were missing. That’s the short list. Should I keep going?”
“Yeah. How about you tell me what the hell went down in that mansion?” They turned right at the end of the hall, moving down the rows of closed doors and the FRoE version of hospital rooms behind them.
“Not until I hear you tell me you were wrong.”
“Secrets get good people killed in the field, Cheyenne.”
She stopped dead in the middle of the hall, and when Rhynehart noticed, he stopped too. He sighed, but he didn’t turn around.
“That’s funny, Rhynehart. ‘Cause the way I remember it, my secret saved your ass in that mansion. Did you hear a different version?”
The man stiffly turned just enough to glare at her from the corner of his eye. “And what happens when that secret decides to turn on us? Then we’re caught with our fucking pants down and no way to pull ‘em back up.”
“You mean, like you turned on me.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what happened.” Cheyenne’s fists clenched at her sides. I’d really love to go full drow for this. “You want to be able to trust me? Set a fucking example. That’s what someone does when they’re calling the shots.”
“Look, kid, when I’ve got two options in front of me and one of them’s following orders, it doesn’t matter what the other one is.”
“Yeah, that’s your problem. You don’t even look at the other option. That’s how you ended up with an O’gúleesh meathead pretending to be FRoE.” The halfling forced herself to walk toward him, hissing in frustration. “And you needed me to figure that one out for you too. If you don’t wanna be caught with your pants down, man, maybe you shouldn’t drop ‘em in the first place.”
Rhynehart’s nostrils flared as he ran his tongue across his top teeth. He glared at the wall for a moment, then met her gaze head-on. “That’s what I’m trying to do this time. And you’re making that impossible.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Your ignorance is not my fault, and I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
His jaw worked as he narrowed his eyes.
The halfling could smell his aftershave and the waffles he’d had for breakfast. Yeah, he’s feeling the sucker punch.
“You know what? You take as long as you need to let that sink in.” Cheyenne gestured down the hall. “I came here for that kid, not for you. We owe her the reassurance that she’s getting back home in one piece. Which I’m sure she’s starting to doubt after you’ve had her locked up in this place for two days. Trust me, I know the feeling.”
The FRoE agent sniffed and turned back down the hall without a word. Shaking her head, the halfling followed him.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
They went almost to the end of the medical wing before Rhynehart stopped at a door on the right and knocked twice. He didn’t wait for an answer before opening it and gesturing for Cheyenne to step inside first. He followed her in and stood beside the door with his hands clasped behind his back.
What the hell is going on in here?
Sir stood beside two armchairs, his arms folded. In the chair closest to him sat a huge orc woman in black fatigues, her back perfectly straight, green palms lying flat on her thighs. In the other chair was Durg’s teenage Goth orc niece. They all turned to look at the drow halfling in their midst, but Cheyenne could only focus on the girl’s yellow eyes staring at her. “I have your necklace.”
It was the only thing she could think to say, but the message hit home. The girl’s eyes widened, and she dipped her head in silent acknowledgment.
“What the hell kinda fucked-up secret girl code is that?” Sir asked, glancing back and forth between them.
Cheyenne grimaced at the FRoE’s head honcho. “That doesn’t jog your memory, huh? Okay, let’s try this, Major. Remember when I told you I recognized some of that stuff in the huge pile of clothes we found at the construction site?”
Sir grunted.
“That wasn’t code either. Good thing I figured it out before anyone else.”
Sir turned to shoot Rhynehart a questioning look. The agent blinked and dropped his gaze to the floor.
He’s really stepping into his coward shoes, isn’t he?
“So, what’s her name?” Sir scowled at the halfling and gestured toward the teenage orc girl, who was still staring at Cheyenne. “Every single one of those kids gave it up within two minutes of Sheila sitting down with them for a little chat. This one hasn’t said a goddamn word.”
Cheyenne cocked her head. “Did you try saying please?”
“You’re on thin ice, halfling.”
“Yeah, walking across it to keep you from falling in.” Cheyenne nodded at the massive orc woman in
