“Who says I live in East New Bristol?”
The sergeant stared at her for several long seconds. “Do you recognize this?” He stuck a copy of the American Abolitionist Society flyer in front of her face.
Lila skimmed the text, humoring him, and shrugged. “No, I do not.”
“What about this woman? Have you ever seen her before?” He held up the picture that he and his men had cobbled together with the aid of a sketch artist.
Lila whistled at the drawing. “Is she your sweetie? Have you lost her? With your charming personality, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You can’t help yourself, any more than you could help yourself last night, can you?” Sergeant Perv grabbed her arm. Her helmet toppled from her lap and bounced on the sidewalk with a dull thunk.
He shoved her against the wall of a closed grocers, already padlocked for the night against the homeless and the drug-addled. Her jaw dug into the brick.
“What the—”
“Not so funny now, is it?” He cuffed her hands behind her back as another blackcoat rushed down the street to assist him.
As the DNA pen slid into her neck, Tristan slipped out of the alley. He thrust his hands into his pockets, smirking as he slipped back into the Plum Luck Dragon.
Tristan did not look back.
Chapter 7
Lila sat in a hard wooden chair in front of a cluttered desk. A map of Saxony flickered on the wall beside her, lights blinking here and there, marking crimes. The computer hummed from a little box in the ceiling, running the numbers, collating the data, and projecting the map onto the wall. With one touch, Chief Shaw could bring up the crime statistics for any city or any street in Saxony. With another, he could highlight every militia vehicle on patrol.
Lila had always admired it. She admired it so much that she had slipped into BullNet one night, copied the code, and now had the exact map available in her own office, with no one the wiser.
The door opened. Chief Shaw stood at the entrance, hand twisting the knob back and forth as though it might be her neck, and scowled. He was an older man, a man who carried his pot belly well and hid his hair beneath a sentry cap. Most blackcoats never wore them after making lieutenant, but it was Shaw’s habit, a habit carried over from his sentry days, long gone but not forgotten. Unlike the others who wore them constantly, Chief Shaw’s didn’t cover a balding dome.
“You’re lucky I was still here,” he growled, finally closing the door behind him.
“It’s only seven o’clock. If you go home earlier than this, then you aren’t doing your job right. Unless you are,” she conceded, “in which case, I’d love a few tips.”
“Tip number one. Don’t have a side job. That helps.”
“Touché.”
He slid her palm across the desk. While she checked his office for bugs, Shaw replaced her wooden seat with one of his soft leather chairs, pushed away from his desk by the eager Sergeant Perv when he dropped her off. He had not wanted to offer her any sign of luxury, so sure that he had scored the biggest bust of his career. After receiving the results of Lila’s DNA profile, the blackcoat had been shouting about truth serum immediately, something he could only receive from a superior officer.
His nervous lieutenant had recognized Lila immediately, though not from the sketch. He’d boxed the sergeant’s ears for his mistake and almost let her go. Even though he thought his sergeant barking mad, he’d called Chief Shaw, clearly hoping he could smooth over the affair before Lila demanded that his sergeant be fired for stupidity.
She hadn’t been able to talk her way out of it.
“I stopped the fool boy before he could begin a formal arrest report, and no one saw you brought in except for his lieutenant. Everyone else is too busy canvassing the city. That will keep it out of the press and should keep it from the matrons,” Shaw said gruffly, sitting across from Lila after she finished her scan. “That doesn’t change the fact that Sergeant Holguín swears you’re the woman in this picture.”
Chief Shaw slid the familiar sketch across his desk.
Lila dropped her eyes and snorted. “Only senators have ever described me as pretty, what with their highborn manners and all, but I’m offended at the insinuation that I look anything like this woman. My nose is much smaller than hers, my chin much daintier. Why, I even—”
Shaw pushed the sketch closer. “I’ll never unders
tand how you made chief when you can’t go two seconds without—”
“It’s my day off. Be glad that I’m not taking this seriously, for your sergeant’s sake. What did this mystery woman do?”
“Drop the act, chief. Mr. Simmons is an amazing sketch artist. If there’s one thing about this sketch that’s perfect, it’s your eyes. You can’t disguise them with rubber and latex.”
“I don’t know what—”