Trent's pulse quickened. His badge was still in the kitchen around Harold's neck, presumably. There were ten men and one woman within earshot, probably more within thirty seconds from this spot. He had only his questionable sleep potions, and who knew who was behind that door with his child. He was not going to start his parenthood by killing his daughter's mother if Ellasbeth was there. The Goddess, if there was one, was laughing at him.
"Harold?"
He felt Jenks shift under his cap; clearing his throat in a negative sound, Trent shuffled forward, feeling his pants as if looking for it.
"Oh God," Megan moaned, standing with her hip cocked. "Please don't tell me you dropped your pass? I bet you lost it in the kitchen killing that rat."
"Rat?" The man with the portable scanner met Megan's eyes, then Trent's. Eyebrows high, he reached for the two-way on his belt.
It was getting out of control, and Trent tensed. "Ah-a-a-a," he muttered, talking more to Jenks than the man with the scanner. He couldn't take this many people down, even with Jenks's help. He might be able to escape, but he wasn't leaving without his daughter. He could go back and get the pass. Maybe duck out of sight and send Jenks. He was faster.
He met the man's eyes, trying to look sheepish. Putting a hand in the air as if asking for him to wait, he started to back up. The man with the scanner frowned, his eyes flicking behind Trent as if telling the guards to stop him. Trent's fingertips began to tingle even as he forced his shoulders to slump, trying to look harmless. The man before him was the biggest threat. He would go down first. If he could get his pistol, he might be able to take three more down before the rest reacted. Perhaps not. They seemed immune to violence, even Megan.
The click of the door opening shocked through him, and his attention jerked to the nursery along with everyone else's. Around him, the guards pulled themselves together as if for a superior they had no respect for-reluctantly and with sour glances. A sliver of stone floor and white walls showed beyond the door, and then it was eclipsed as Ellasbeth strode through, looking more frazzled and tired than he'd ever seen her.
Trent shifted to a halt, his bare feet silent on the cold floors. His expression carefully blank, he studied her, this woman who had promised they would bring the elves back to greatness together, then stole both the technology and his child that would bring it about. His hands were clenched, and he opened them. Megan was watching him.
Ellasbeth's yellow hair was pulled back into a ponytail, something he'd never seen before. It made her look younger, more vulnerable, and with her height and natural athleticism, he was reminded of the professional women's volleyball team he'd once met. She had a degree in nuclear transplantation, but she looked more like a student than the professor she was. No makeup marked her, and she looked better for it, even if her green eyes were tired and droopy. It was nearing noon, a time when elves would be napping if they had a choice, but he thought her tired look was due more to the stresses of having a new baby than lack of sleep.
She was wearing cream-colored pants and a matching suit coat as if it were a casual Friday-like she would ever unknot her emotions enough to partake in one. If her expression was even halfway pleasant, he might feel guilty for what he was about to do, but only anger filled him-anger at her lack of understanding, anger at her inability to see beyond her immediate self, anger she had embarrassed him in front of Cincinnati's elite by walking out on him at their wedding, giving him an ultimatum that he had no immediate control over, anger at himself that he was jealous she was doing what she wanted, not sacrificing all for the betterment of their species.
Trent fought to keep his anger out of his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her tiny feet, wrapped in an elaborate silk and bamboo fabric instead of shoes. It was all the rage, from what he understood, something to make the feet look even smaller, but he didn't understand the appeal. Swallow the anger, he thought. It won't help you now.
"Ixnay on the at-ray," Megan whispered from the side of her mouth as the tired woman beckoned the man with the scanner to her. "I've got a day off tomorrow, and I'm not spending it hunting for vermin!"
"Good, you're here," Ellasbeth said curtly, her narrow nose in the air as if she smelled something rank as she looked them all over. "I was hoping I'd find you lazing about in the hall. Megan, Lucy is asleep, but do wake her up to give her a bottle. I want her to go down this afternoon after her mental stimulation period, and she simply won't if you don't wake her up now."
Mental stimulation? Is that her word for playtime? Trent thought, edging toward Megan.
"Yes, ma'am," Megan said politely. "Is Mrs. Withon here yet?"
Ellasbeth looked down the breezy hall. "No, but I'm sure you can handle it until she arrives. I'm going to be busy the rest of the day with my guest."
That would be me, Trent thought, thinking his ploy with the radio was paying off handsomely. They were probably still looking for them, then.
"I'm sure I can," Megan said sourly, half under her breath, and Ellasbeth turned, her motion to leave halted with a severe abruptness.
"Excuse me?"
The men surrounding them stiffened, and Megan smiled politely. "Of course, ma'am."
Ellasbeth eyed her, clearly having heard the first comment. Trent looked past her and the still-open door into the softly lit room, his pulse quickening and his feet itching to move. He was going to see his daughter.
"Go on, get in there," Ellasbeth said as she gestured. "Both of you. I'll be happy when I can get rid of all of you tomorrow. None of you are worth the salt that runs in your veins."
"Ma'am . . ." the man with the scanner said, his eyes flicking to Trent's, and Ellasbeth glared at Megan and Trent, still standing next to her.
"What are you waiting for? God to say go?" Ellasbeth barked. "Get in there! She's alone!"
"Yes, ma'am," Megan said, looking neither left or right as she smartly walked past Ellasbeth. Trent, too, made for the door, giving the scanner man a shrug as he entered. It was obvious that he wasn't happy about not seeing that scrap of paper that was still around Harold's neck, but he clearly didn't have the authority to countermand Ellasbeth's petulant demands.
Or perhaps he didn't care, Trent thought as he turned in the doorway to give Ellasbeth one last look. The man with the scanner was wearing an ugly expression. Ellasbeth was already twenty feet down the hallway, her feet silent in her silken wrappings and her nose in the air. Her rapid but shuffling pace hesitated as if feeling his eyes on him, and Trent slipped inside and shut the door before she could turn.