The Girl Who Dared to Endure (The Girl Who Dared #6)

It was the best excuse we’d been able to think of. Dreyfuss gave her a surprised look, and then nodded. “Of course. Second door on the right.”

“Thank you.” Maddox ducked her head at him while making a beeline toward the hallway, looking for all the world like a girl whose bladder was about to explode. I kept my face neutral, and then smiled brightly at Dreyfuss when he looked at me.

“So what can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair opposite mine.

“Actually, it was what I was hoping we could do for each other.” I kept my words vague intentionally, trying to drag the conversation out to give Maddox time to get something to test.

“Oh? What would that be?”

“First, let me ask: Are you satisfied working as a vendor?”

He blinked in surprise at my sudden shift in the conversation, and then settled back in his chair. “I have no complaints,” he said carefully. “I’m sure you saw that my retirement from the Knights wasn’t entirely by choice. I have arthritis in my knees and shoulders from lash work, and two compressed vertebrae in my back. The Medica deemed me unfit for the physical labor of the department, and I was retired.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I did read that in your file, sir. And, please be assured, I’m not asking you to resume your duties or anything like that. But it seems several of our instructors in the Academy are up for retirement, and your name was suggested by one of the other Knight Commanders as a possible replacement.”

“Which one?” he asked curiously. I noted the gleam of interest in his eyes and replied with my prepared lie.

“My father, actually.” I had done my research, anticipating his question, and had learned that he had served under my father in his final two years before retirement. I had considered going to my father and asking about it, but I hadn’t spoken to him since the funeral, and certainly didn’t intend to start now.

He gave a surprised laugh. “Really? I didn’t think he thought much of me. I was already slowing down because of my injuries, and that prompted him to put me at a desk, filing reports.”

“That might be why he thought of you, actually,” I said with a polite cough. “We need a class on writing reports for some of the cadets who are coming through. I’ve noticed that in the last few years or so, reports filed by younger Knights tend to be incomplete, or told in a biased tone that I wouldn’t want anyone in the Tower to see, let alone associate with the Knights. No one seems to be teaching practical writing, and the younger generation is suffering.”

Dreyfuss frowned. “You want me to be an instructor, to teach… report writing?”

I nodded solemnly. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but you’d be helping future Knights become more efficient at their jobs.”

He seemed to consider that for several moments, and I was content to let him, my eyes drifting to a point just over his shoulder where the hallway sat, as I waited for Maddox to emerge. She hadn’t been gone for even a minute, but the conversation wasn’t intended to go on that long anyway, lest we rouse any suspicions. Of course, if she didn’t find anything, then we were in a world of hurt, but we’d cross that bridge if we came to it.

It was nerve-wracking, nonetheless.

“I’ll need to talk it over with my daughter,” he said finally, jerking my gaze back to him. “I think she likes having me around and wouldn’t want me moving back to the Citadel.”

“You wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t want to,” I told him, and he gave me a surprised look.

“You wouldn’t worry about one of your Knights living outside of the Citadel?”

“Of course I would,” I breathed, my eyes flicking over his head as Maddox emerged from the shadows of the hall. Relief bled through me as she patted her pocket and gave me a thumbs-up before walking toward us. “But we could make it work. I encourage you to think it over and discuss it with your daughter before you make a decision. If you have any questions, you can send a message to Lieutenant Kerrin.” I nodded toward her as she came around his chair.

“Thank you,” she gushed, a relieved note in her voice. “And yes, please don’t hesitate to message.”

“Of course,” he said politely, slowly coming to his feet.

I rose to mine as well, Dylan following suit, and went around the table to shake his hand, offering him my most winning smile. “I hope to hear from you soon, either way.”

“I will talk it over with my daughter tonight, and send you my decision tomorrow,” he informed me, returning my firm squeeze with one of his own. “But thank you for your consideration. I’m honored.”

“No, the honor is mine,” I lied to him. “Have a great day.”



We emerged from the elevator a few minutes later and returned to the main harvesting area, moving through the chaffing machines to the fields beyond, now intent on finding the head of the Hands, Emmanuel Plancett. We knew he was somewhere on the floor, monitoring the harvest, but to find out where exactly, I had to put a call in to Jasper so he could use Cornelius’s link to central command to locate his net through the sensors.

We made our way through the paths cut in the long, tall stalks of wheat, staying strictly there to avoid getting picked up by one of the machines as they made their way across the floor. Dust filled the air as the large harvesters worked at pulling the wheat from the ground, making the men and machines shadows against the light above.

I cupped my hand over my mouth as we moved toward one large shadow. Harvester Four was apparently down, according to Cornelius’s report, and Plancett and two of his men were there working on it. It was easy to see which one it was, as the others had continued their line of advance, eating up dozens of feet of vegetation at a time and leaving behind neat, mowed-down areas. I waited until we had passed one of the noisy machines before stepping off the path and stalking across the uneven ground toward the tall shadows of wheat barely visible in the dust. I paused when those stalks stopped being shadows, and then followed the line of them back, heading for the long dark shadow of the harvester some forty feet ahead.

I came to a full stop at the corner, using the vegetation for cover. I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to approach this, but waiting and watching seemed like a good start. We needed DNA from him, but getting it without cluing him in was going to be harder than it had been with Dreyfuss. If we could do it without being seen, that would be ideal, but if I had to come up with a reason to draw him into conversation, I would.

Plancett was some fifty feet away, his back to the crops. He was on one knee with a wrench the size of my forearm in one hand, slowly rotating a bolt on the black machine. The muscles of his biceps flexed, and he grunted loudly as he detached the wrench, reoriented it, and connected it again. I could barely see one of his assistants, working at the opposite end of the bulky machine, but could tell from the way he kept turning to one side that the other one was next to him.

Though it was evening, the lights above were still on the daytime setting, making the room as warm as it would be during the day. And as I watched, Plancett reached into the back pocket of his coveralls and produced a handkerchief to mop at the sweat that was accumulating on his brow and neck. A moment later, he tucked it back away.

As soon as he made the motion, I zeroed in on it and smiled, slowly withdrawing behind the crops and turning to the other two. “He’s got a handkerchief,” I told them. “Back left pocket. He’s been using it to dry his sweat.”

“That’s perfect,” Dylan said, her eyes gleaming. “I’ll go get it.”

“What?” I said. “No, it should be me.”

Dylan smirked. “No, it should be me. You said these guys know that you’re an enemy. If he turns around and sees you stealing it, he’s going to know something’s up. If it’s me, I might be able to play it off.”