“He didn’t sing anything,” Rhynehart muttered.
“Just listen to me!” The halfling glared at both men, and even with the pendant dampening her ability to slip into drow mode, Sir and Rhynehart shut their mouths and paid attention. “I saw an imp yesterday with stuff from the site—the backpack and a necklace. Not the kind you see everywhere.”
“Oh, now you’re asking imps for help, huh?” Sir spread his arms. “How stupid do you think we are?”
“Pretty damn stupid if you don’t hear me out on this. The imp said he got the stuff from a demolished building. He said a goblin told him he could have whatever he wanted from the wreckage.”
“Lotta goblins in Virginia, rookie.”
Cheyenne leaned toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Not wearing black hats with a thirty-eight on the front.”
Rhynehart’s eyes widened as a flush climbed up his neck. “Son of a bitch.”
He whirled away from the halfling and stomped back through the metal detector. Cheyenne took off after him, and Sir tossed his hands in the air. “Bunch of goddamn chickens runnin’ around this place. Who else hasn’t gotten their head cut off yet?”
Stepping up to the intake window of tempered glass, Rhynehart tapped on the counter and nodded at the officer on the other side. “Can you reach the duty logs from in here?”
“Yeah. What do you need?”
“Can’t remember the guy’s name. goblin agent working the gate tower for Rez 38 on…”
The blood rushing through Cheyenne’s ears drowned out pretty much everything as Rhynehart went to go double-check what she’d just told him. He’ll find out I’m right. I know I’m right.
Sir stepped up beside her and muttered, “You better hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it? Carson.”
Sir’s eyes twitched when she said his name, then he stepped sideways to face Rhynehart at the counter and clasped his hands behind his back. “That’s Major Carson, Cheyenne. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“You sure about that?” Rhynehart leaned toward the guard on the other side of the tempered glass, his eyes wide.
“Yeah, it’s right here. Didn’t show up for his post this morning. It’s a real bitch, too, ‘cause he was scheduled for a two-week shift on the rez. They found someone else, but it threw a wrench in his stacked vacation time.”
“All right, thanks. Shit.” Rhynehart turned back toward Cheyenne and Major Carson, then pointed at the halfling. “I don’t know how you put all that together, rookie, but I think you’re right.”
“About what?” The major jerked his chin at his operative, his nostrils flaring as if he’d just walked past an open sewer.
“Guard named Ranzig didn’t show up for duty at Rez 38’s gate tower. It makes sense if he was poking around the construction site instead. Wait.” Rhynehart stepped back toward the counter and knocked on it again. “Pull up the guy’s address, huh?”
“Sure thing. Hold on.” The guard typed away at his keyboard and froze. “What the hell?”
“You better explain that one right now,” Rhynehart muttered.
“It’s, uh, not pulling anything up.”
“Well, check again.”
The guard nodded quickly and typed away, clicking around before more typing. “Sorry, sir. There’s nothing in here for Ranzig Ca’admar.”
“Who the hell’s been shittin’ in the goddamn pool?” Sir shouted. “Somebody better have a good explanation!”
“He’s not an agent.” Cheyenne stared at the men around her. Are they seriously not getting this? “Bet you’ll find his name and an address if you look in your other system.”
Rhynehart turned back to the guard. “Can you pull up the B.I.T.CH from here too?”
“We’re the highest-security prison for magicals on this side of the border, sir.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why the hell are we poking the B.I.T.CH for this kerfuckle?” Sir bellowed.
Rhynehart nodded at the guard behind the counter. “Just run the name!”
Cheyenne snorted. “Someone really needs to tell me what this B.I.T.CH is.”
The FRoE operative shot her a quick, dismissive glance. “The Borderlands Immigration Tracking Channel. Cute, I know.”
The guard typed and typed, his eyes scanning what was obviously way more information popping up on his screen. “Got it. Ranzig Ca’admar. Pure G-class. Came over May seventh at Rez Twenty-one. Last registered address—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” Rhynehart slammed his elbows on the counter and rubbed his forehead. “When did Ca’admar get his first post at Rez 38?”
The guard blinked. “You want me to go back into the duty log?”
“That’s how you’d find it, isn’t it? Wait. Print out the writeup on Ca’admar, then go check the logs. Gives you one less reason to wanna shoot me.”
“Rhynehart.” Sir had folded his arms and now stared at the agent with more quivering rage than Cheyenne had ever seen in the man.
“Just give it a minute.”
Trying not to roll his eyes, the guard switched gears. It took a little longer to find what he was looking for this time. “Okay, yeah.” He snatched the printout with Ranzig’s info on it and slid it through the slot beneath the tempered glass. “Ca’admar started the second week of June.”
“Motherfucker.” Rhynehart slammed his fist on the counter, crumpled the printed sheet in one hand, and hightailed it for the front doors of Chateau D’rahl. Cheyenne took off after him, and Major Sir Carson growled again before bringing up the rear.
“You better start flappin’ those lips, Rhynehart.”
“Ca’admar took the goddamn post a week before Q’orr’s shit got smuggled off the rez.”
The doors shut behind them, and Cheyenne paused for two seconds as Sir barreled after Rhynehart with a sharp, “Fuck!”
I knew it. She hustled to catch up with Rhynehart in the parking lot in the middle of nowhere, waiting for their next move. Now we’re gonna get those kids.
“I’m gonna go drown myself in my office before I
