FIFTY-EIGHT

Pierce had just shown his NI badge to Hugh Swain and tucked it back in his pocket.

Pierce had a good idea of how it looked to Swain, who had opened his front door with the usual type of indignation an Influential would have at this time of night when all that should be waiting outside on an evening like this is warm air and the sound of crickets.

Behind Pierce, on the street, beneath a light, was a standard issue Enforcer car. One of the perks of his government rank was the right to flag that kind of vehicle and use it as a taxi. More importantly, because of layers of bureaucracy, nobody in Pierce’s division would be alerted to his movement for hours, if not days, if ever. And right now, given the Swain dossier, Pierce didn’t want anyone else in the agency knowing what Pierce was doing.

“If you have an issue with this, take it up with them,” Pierce said to Swain, wearily waving a hand back toward the Enforcers. “I’ll get them to turn the flashers and siren on for the neighbors while we talk in the backseat.”

“You can’t intimidate me like that,” Swain said. His silver hair wasn’t even rumpled. He was in pants and dress shirt, carefully buttoned. Pierce hadn’t pulled him from sleep. “If this is government business, come back during the day. Your lawyer can speak to my lawyer.”

Pierce lifted his hand. Made a circle.

Immediately, the red and blues started flashing.

“Siren next,” Pierce said. “Long enough to get the neighbors looking out their windows. Then I’ll make sure you’re in handcuffs while I lead you to the car.”

“Fine,” Swain said, teeth gritted. “You’ll pay for this tomorrow, I promise.”

Pierce made another lazy circle with a raised hand. The lights stopped flashing.

“How about I come inside?” Pierce asked.

The front room was as luxuriously equipped as Pierce had expected for a house in this neighborhood. Dark leather furniture, flat-screen television that covered an entire wall, oil paintings on the other walls, thick rugs on hardwood.

What Pierce hadn’t expected was the woman, sitting back in a love seat, legs crossed, drinking what looked like water from a plain glass. Auburn hair, wearing a tan cashmere sweater and jeans. High cheekbones, expert makeup, and eyes too green to be anything but colored contacts. Exquisite confidence. She was late forties, he guessed, but that was only because of some tightness around the sides of her eyes. Trim, attractive, and that said something about the work she put into it. Twenties to thirties, it didn’t take that kind of work.

She didn’t get up when Swain brought him into the room, but merely assessed Pierce as she sipped from the glass. Exquisitely.

Swain said nothing. He crossed his arms and glared at Pierce.

If this had been a social situation, the silence would have been awkward.

“Who are you?” Pierce said to the woman. Niceties didn’t seem like they’d make a difference.

“She’s not going to tell you,” Swain answered.

“Too bad.” Pierce moved closer to the woman. She had a small, expensive black handbag on the table beside her. Pierce lifted it.

“Put that down,” Swain said. “We’re not Industrials or Illegals. You have no right to anything in this house without a warrant.”

“You’re correct,” Pierce said. “But I do have a right to reasonable expectation for identification.”

He started to open the handbag.

“Her name is Jenny Owen,” Swain snapped. “Put the bag down.”

“Sure.” Pierce opened the bag. “But it would be good to confirm that.”

All he saw inside were blood vials and syringes.

“Interesting,” Pierce said.

“She’s my nurse,” Swain answered. “Satisfied?”

Which told Pierce that Swain knew what was in the purse. That was interesting too.

Pierce put the bag back down. Nurses couldn’t afford the kind of exquisiteness this woman projected, nor the cashmere draping that exquisiteness. His eyes met the woman’s. She still had not moved.

“Interesting hours for a medical call,” Pierce said, turning to Swain.

“My private life is not your business. Nor the business of the government. I will be taking action on this.”

Pierce took a chair, sat, and crossed his legs too. “Tell me about a visitor you had today. An Industrial. Late afternoon. He told you that someone named Jordan sent him.”

“No,” Swain said.

“No? We’ve got witnesses that say otherwise.”

“I mean no, I won’t tell you about it. Or anything else. The only reason I invited you inside was to be spared telling you the same thing in the backseat of that car.”

Approaching headlights out the front window caught Pierce’s peripheral vision. Was it his imagination, or had Swain straightened slightly?

“Expecting someone?” Pierce asked. “This late?”

“Our conversation is over. Unless it involves my repeating that our conversation is over.”

The headlights came to a stop beside the Enforcer car. A few seconds later, the headlights moved forward again. As the body of the car cleared, Pierce saw it was a private vehicle. Very few of those.

“How long have you lived here?” Pierce asked.

“Our conversation is over.”

Pierce stood again. He wasn’t in a position where any kinds of threats were going to leverage answers. But maybe he’d learned enough.

And maybe he could learn more.

Pierce dug his NI badge out of his pocket. He tossed it gently onto the woman’s lap. “How about Jenny photocopies this, just so you’ll have a record of who I am. Your lawyer can call my lawyer.”

“Our conversation is over,” Swain said. “You are leaving.”

Pierce shrugged. He held out his hand for the badge, and Jenny took it from her lap and handed it back to him. Pierce was careful to hold it by the edges as he slipped it back into his pocket.

At least now he had the woman’s fingerprints.