by Eileen Wilks
“I’m celebrating early.” He nibbled at her neck.
She sighed. “I’m afraid not. I don’t have time, not with that deadline Croft handed me. I have to get dressed.”
“I know.”
“That’s hard to do unless you let go.”
“You’re creative. I’m sure you’ll think of…damn.” He let go. “I ordered breakfast. That will be it.”
She hadn’t heard anything, but a second later someone knocked on the door. “Don’t let them in,” she warned, hurriedly stepping into the new panties. He flashed a grin over his shoulder as he unfastened the privacy lock. “But I wouldn’t have to tip if…ah.” He stood so that his body blocked the opening. “Ray. Not a good time.”
“I’m here with a warning.”
“I’m listening.”
Lily scrambled into her clothes as Evans spoke. Apparently the hotel lobby was hip-deep in reporters—most notably the crews from two TV stations.
“That’s quite a turnout,” Rule said. “Slow news day?”
“Partly. Also, I wrote one hell of a good story, and the chief of police here is shooting off his mouth—talking about how Agent Yu is abusing her authority, how she’s shacking up with you. His words, not mine. The TV folks are after a shot of the two of you leaving your hotel room together, or at least a shot of the two of you in the hotel.”
“That’s a compelling visual, from their point of view. I’ll have to see if I can come up with an equally interesting one for the press conference I can see I’ll be giving soon. Thanks for the tip.”
“Can I come in? They’re going to find the right person to bribe soon to get your room number. I’d rather not be talking here in the hall when they do.”
“And how did you get my room number?” Rule asked.
“Sheer, unadulterated charm. Also a cousin with a friend who works here.”
Lily answered as she stepped into her flats. “It’s okay by me, with two conditions.” She’d long ago opted for easy with her work clothes, and owned a lot of black pants, black tees, and jackets in various colors. Made getting dressed in the morning a snap, even before coffee. She grabbed a jacket from the closet with one hand—blue, as it turned out—and the damp towel from the floor with the other.
“And those would be…?” Evans said.
Rule glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned as she tossed the towel into the bathroom and pulled the door closed. She was shrugging into her jacket as she moved to the door. “First, what’s said is off the record unless we agree otherwise. Second, I get to shake your hand.”
His hesitation was brief, but enough to confirm her guess. “Off the record works, and I have no objection to taking the hand of a lovely woman.”
Rule moved aside, opening the door wider. Lily stepped up, holding out her hand. Evans took it.
Lily smiled as she released his hand. She did so enjoy being right. “In case you’ve ever wondered, your Gift isn’t the only reason you appeal to people. I find you likeable, and your Gift doesn’t work on me.”
Another hesitation, then a small smile. “Good to know.”
Rule glanced at her.
“Charisma Gift,” she said, moving aside so Evans could enter. “Not scary strong, but enough to make him good at his job. People want to tell him things.” She looked at the reporter again. “Rule is the only one I’ll tell. Your Gift is your business. It won’t go into my official report.”
“That’s even better to know.” He came into the room, glancing around. “I smell coffee.”
“And I haven’t had any yet, but if there’s any left after I get a cup, you’re welcome to it.” Lily went to the vanity area, where a small Mr. Coffee waited. “You’re in luck. There’s almost a full pot, and I think it’s Rule’s blend, not the hotel stuff.” She poured two cups.
Evans accepted the mug, glancing at Rule. “You have your own blend?”
“Not one made just for me, no. But I usually travel with some I’ve ground myself. Organic, dark roast.”
“He’s picky. Works out well for me—I get great coffee.” Lily at last got her first swallow of coffee. She kept her eyes on Evans. “You want to tell us why you’re really here?”
“Obviously, to persuade you to say something on the record.”
“I’m more persuadable if you level with me.”
“Have you read my story?”
“I have,” Rule said. “Which is why I didn’t object to Lily’s invitation. I’d say you’re fair—more so than Friar may like—despite your own bias.”
“What bias is that?”
“You want Congress to limit the authority granted Unit agents after the Turning. I’m wondering why.”
“Backlash.” Evans paused, sipped. “This is damned good coffee, by the way. It’s already started, the murmurs against the Gifted. It’ll get worse before it gets better. Congress overstepped when it granted such broad powers to a unit comprised of Gifted agents. If they acknowledge that now, before the backlash deepens, it will protect the Unit.”
“Maybe,” Lily said, “but you didn’t answer my question.”
Evans’s eyebrows went up. “Not interested in politics, even when it’s your Unit at stake?”
Rule answered before she could. “When Lily’s on a case, she does the job. Right now you’re only interesting because you may affect the case.”
Evans pulled out a notebook. “Can I quote you?”
Rule looked at Lily. She shrugged. “On that one thing, yes. So what do you want, Evans? Unless you plan to persuade me to kick Daly’s ass and make headlines for the good of all Gifted everywhere, I don’t see why you’re here.”
“Humans First. That’s the real story. I’ve been cultivating Friar for months, and it’s working—he called me when he wanted a reporter to give you two a hard time. You’ve read that statement of his by now.”
“Of course.”
“He’s alibied up, down, and sideways for the night Hilliard was killed. What he doesn’t mention is that while he was at a party in San Diego with about a hundred other people, a couple of his lieutenants were here in Del Cielo. One of them lives in Texas, the other in northern California.”
“You think they killed for him?”
“I think they’re capable of it. The two men I’m speaking of are Armand Jones and Paul Chittenden. They stayed here that night, checked out the next day.”
Now that was interesting. “Who’s your source?”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I’m not about to lose him or her as a source.”
Fair enough. “I’ve got an address for Jones. Chittenden wasn’t mentioned in my file.”
“He’s a recent promotion. Here.” He pulled out his Black-Berry, scrolled around till he found the contact info, then jotted it in his notebook and handed her the sheet of paper.
There was a knock on the door. Rule moved to it, stood quietly, then said, “This time it really is breakfast. I smell sausage.”
“I’ll leave you to your meal,” Evans said, taking a last swig of coffee before setting the mug down. “Just one more thing. I hear there will be a meeting of the local branch of Humans First tonight.” He smiled slyly. “I may be parked near the entrance to Friar’s place. Be interesting to see who attends.”
“Is that so?” Lily smiled. Time for some payback—of both kinds. “You might want to keep an eye out for Chief Daly. I hear he’s a member. Certainly explains why he’s so worked up about my personal life, doesn’t it?”
Evans’s eyebrows went up. “That so? Who’s your source?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, and shook her head just as he had. “And you didn’t hear that from me. You can use it, but I get to be an anonymous source.”
He grinned, gave Rule a lazy salute, and left.
“I like Ray,” Rule said after tipping the waiter who’d unloaded their food, “but now I’m wondering if that’s me, or his Gift.”
“I liked him, too. Don’t trust him, of course.” She piled scrambled e
ggs on her plate. “Not that I think he lied, exactly. But he has an agenda. That may be just what he said, plus a good dose of ambition, but we don’t know yet.”
“True. What’s on your agenda today?” Rule added the rest of the eggs to his plate, which already held half a dozen sausage patties. “I’ve a suggestion. Why don’t we split up? I can have a little chat with the press, distract them from you.”
“I’ll take you up on that. I’ve got too many places to be today to waste time digging out from a press huddle.” She ate absently, her mind turning over possibilities. “I need to see the place where the body was found, but at least I’ve seen the photos now, so that can wait a little longer. So…Mariah or Adele?” She tapped her fork against her plate. “Mariah first. Maybe I can catch her before the press batters her too badly.”
Rule had finished his eggs while she wasn’t paying attention. He poured more coffee from the carafe that had arrived with the food. “Surely you want to check out those two men Evans told you about. Jones and Chittenden.”
“I’ll do a run on them, sure, and will see if I can confirm what Evans said about them staying here. But they aren’t my first priority.”
“Why not?” he asked sharply.
“My first priority is determining whether I have jurisdiction, remember?”
“The tattoo proves magic was involved.”
“The tattoo proves someone used magic to apply a tattoo. It suggests a lot more, but doesn’t prove it. Not unless Arjenie can tell me those symbols translate as ‘kill this guy.’”
“That can be sorted out later. Clearly Friar is behind this.”
“No,” she said slowly, “that isn’t clear. Hate isn’t enough. Hilliard lived here for years. Why kill him now?”
“There’s a baby,” Rule said tersely. “It isn’t Steve’s, but Friar doesn’t know that. I don’t imagine he’s happy with having what he believes is a lupus grandson.”
“I repeat, why now? The baby is four months old. I can come up with possible motives, like if Steve found something out Friar didn’t want spread around. But that leaves some big holes in the fabric. What’s the tattoo for? Friar might condone killing, but would he condone using magic? Would one of his lieutenants be Gifted?”
“You won’t know until you check.”
“True, but it doesn’t feel right. Why did Steve meet with his killer in that out-of-the-way spot?”
He shoved his chair back. “He could have been tricked, lured there.”
She tipped her head back to watch as he began pacing. He was tied tight all of a sudden. “Maybe. That’s all I’ve got right now, lots of maybes. But if Steve knew something dangerous about Friar, wouldn’t he have passed it on to his Rho right away, rather than jaunting off to this deserted spot for whatever reason?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I suppose he would, if he understood it was important.”
“And once the bad guy got him there, how did he immobilize Steve? If it was wolfbane, that means Steve was relaxed enough to eat or drink something the killer gave him. Surely he wouldn’t be that comfortable with one of Friar’s lieutenants.”
“For God’s sake, Lily, they could get around that. Those men are from out of town. Steve probably didn’t know they were in Humans First.” He waved a hand, brushing that off. “We can figure out how they tricked him later. You’re getting hung up on minutiae.”
Yesterday she’d wanted him to quit hiding behind all that damned pleasantness. Looked like her wish had come true. “That’s how I build a case. Minutiae. Though I like to call it motive, means, and opportunity, and right now, they aren’t adding up.”
“What if he wasn’t killed there? They could have killed him elsewhere and dumped the body where it wouldn’t be found right away. It was their bad luck someone decided to hike that trail when he did.”
“Look, I’m not crossing Friar or his men off the list, but we can’t make the evidence fit what we want. We have to go where it points.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “As for where he was killed, I know you haven’t seen the crime scene photos—” She’d made sure of that. She’d shared the written reports with Rule, but he didn’t need to see pictures of his friend’s corpse—“but they support the idea that he was killed where his body was found.”
“Where’s the blood?” Rule demanded. “If his throat was slashed there, why wasn’t the ground soaked in blood?”
She stared at him, her stomach clenching sickly. “I didn’t tell you that. I didn’t tell you there wasn’t much blood at the scene.”
Another impatient gesture. “I don’t need to be shielded. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need to be shielded. I know what death looks like. I checked out the photos this morning before you were up, and there isn’t enough blood.”
“Shit. Shit. You can’t do that. Those files are password-protected.”
“I’ve lived with you for months now. Of course I’ve seen you enter your password. That’s not the point. If there wasn’t enough blood, why—”
“It’s damn sure the point to me! Some of the documents behind that firewall are secret or top secret! Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in if someone found out you had access to all that?”
“How could anyone find out?”
“And that makes it okay? Jesus.” She scraped a hand through her hair. “Dammit, Rule, I trusted you!”
He looked cold. “That doesn’t sound like trust to me. I didn’t root around in all sorts of secret files, nor would I. I looked at the photos of my friend’s body.”
“You used my password. You did that without asking, without permission.” She snatched her shoulder harness from the back of the chair. She’d left it off in her hurry to get dressed earlier. “I’m headed out now.”
“You’d best give me a few minutes to distract the press.”
“Sure. Fine.” She buckled herself into the harness, not looking at him. He was locked into that cold face, cold voice bit. She hated that, but she’d stick to the program—and the program was her investigation, dammit. “How long do you need?”
“Fifteen minutes should do. I’m going to offer them an interview outside the police department. Good visual.”
Daly would hate that. He might come trotting out and add to the reporters’ enjoyment, too, by yelling at Rule. “All right.” She slid her jacket back on and looked at him. “I’m not finished with this discussion.”
“I am.” He turned abruptly and left.
9
LILY got away from the hotel without drawing any press attention, but she still had an escort. A black-and-white. Daly, damn him, must have sent one of his people to follow her, because the asshole rode her rear the whole way.
At least he kept on going when she pulled up at a small, mud-colored duplex. It was the sort of neighborhood where a parked black-and-white would make people nervous. One side of the duplex was clean and tidy, with pots of cherry red impatiens on the three steps up to the stoop. The other side featured a collection of beer cans and newspapers.
Lily sniffed as she waited after knocking. Someone was enjoying some weed.
The door opened. “Yes?”
Mariah Friar both was and wasn’t what Lily had been expecting. The sweet, scrubbed-clean face didn’t seem to belong to a former pole dancer—or to the daughter of Robert Friar, for that matter. Her hair was bleached blond, short and spiky with lavender streaks, and she liked body adornments. In addition to the nose and eyebrow studs, Lily counted three earrings on one side, two on the other. She wore baggy jeans and a snug, long-sleeved purple tee. No shoes.
She was at least an inch shorter than Lily and maybe ten pounds underweight. Her eyes were a clear Dresden blue. They were also reddened and puffy.
Fragile, Rule had said. Yes, she had that look. “I’m Agent Yu,” Lily said, holding out the folder with her badge. “Mariah Friar?”
“Yes.” She smiled as if pleased that Lily had her name right. “Not that my father will admit it, not the last
name, that is. Has he told you that my mother cheated on him, but he forgave her and raised me as his own until I turned on him?”
“There’s something about that in his statement.” Among other things, such as a reference to the legal action he was taking to try to force Mariah to stop using his surname.
“He doesn’t believe that about Mom, but he wants other people to. You’d think I wouldn’t want to claim that relationship, either, but we don’t help ourselves by denying reality, do we?”
“May I speak with you inside?”
“Sure.” She stepped back. “Little Stevie’s asleep, but noises don’t bother him. As long as we aren’t too loud, he’ll be fine.”
Oh, Lord, she’d named the baby after Steve.
Lily stepped across the threshold into one of those shotgun living-dining areas common in small apartments, with the kitchen in an alcove off the dining area. Instead of a table, though, this dining area held a crib and chest of drawers.
There were plants in here, too—a luxuriant ivy on the chest of drawers and a thriving ficus next to the front window. In the living area, the couch and chair looked like they’d come from Goodwill, but their bland beigeness was nearly drowned in colorful pillows—yellow, pink, orange, green. The television was old, its screen dark. What sounded like harp music floated in from behind a barely open door that Lily guessed led to the bedroom.
Baby toys were scattered on a scuffed but scrupulously clean wooden floor. Also a baby. He lay on a pad of some sort where a coffee table might normally be found, a tiny huddle beneath a poofy quilt, with just a patch of dark hair and one teensy hand showing.
Lily stopped, looking at the tiny hand, the dark hair that was utterly unlike Steve Hilliard’s streaky blond.
“I’d move him, but he always wakes if I pick him up, and he’s comfortable there. Have a seat,” she said, plopping down on one end of the couch and dislodging a bright green pillow in the process. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve been crying about Steve. I miss him.”
Lily opted for the other end of the couch, mainly because the armchair was piled with folded clothes. A plastic clothes basket sat next to it. Lily walked gingerly around the sleeping baby, moved a couple pillows, and sat, turning so she faced the young woman. “I’m sorry to intrude.”