Tempting Danger

by Eileen Wilks

  “No.” He started to reach for her, to smooth the hair out of her face. Harry growled. “Ah . . . does he usually sleep with you?”

  “He?” She shoved her hair back herself and twisted her head. “Oh.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “Looks particularly evil this morning, doesn’t he?”

  “I suspect he’s hoping I’d take the hint and leave.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Were you,” he asked carefully, “hoping the same thing?”

  Her eyes met his. She shook her head but didn’t speak.

  “Or wishing last night hadn’t happened?

  She took her time responding. “Can’t put the genie back in the bottle. And it would be hard”—at last, slowly, a smile—“if not impossible, to wish away last night. But this morning is complicated.”

  Harry decided he’d been left out of the conversation long enough. He stood, stretched, and planted his front feet on Lily’s shoulder, staring at her intently.

  She shoved him aside. “All right, Harry. Move it, and I’ll get up.”

  The cat jumped down, and Rule thought wistfully about delaying her for thirty minutes or so. But she was right. This morning was indeed complicated.

  Lily rolled over and got out of bed. “Come on, Harry. Food for you, a shower for me. And for you”—she looked at Rule—“questions. Some of which I should have asked last night.”

  He sighed. “Of course. You always have questions.”

  “That’s my approach to most things. The trick is finding the right questions.” She turned, opened the closet, and took out a robe. It was pretty, a bright blue silk, but not as pretty as her skin.

  “You have coffee beans?” he asked hopefully, swinging his feet to the floor. “A grinder? I could put some coffee on.”

  She disappointed him. “There’s some already ground,” she told him as she stepped into the tiny bathroom. “Coffeepot’s by the stove. Feed Harry, will you?” The door closed. The cat stopped next to it, offended.

  He looked at the cat. “I think she wants us to bond, Harry.”

  Harry glared and twitched his tail.

  “True. But I’ll feed you anyway.”

  LILY took her time in the shower, hoping to wash some clarity into her head. Nothing was right this morning. She ought to concentrate on how to defend herself, she thought as she lathered her hair. But she hadn’t seen the charges against her yet. She was suspended pending charges, but didn’t know exactly what she was up against.

  She’d worry about that later, she decided, and rinsed.

  Damn Randall, anyway. The sense of betrayal went deep. She ought to be getting ready for work right now. She had leads. She needed to talk to the Azá’s Most Reverend guy. Then there were Ginger and Mech. Ginger had lied about seeing Rule. Mech had been all too eager to frame Rule. They were part of it.

  And she wasn’t. The Feds would follow up with Ginger and Mech, not her. At least, she wasn’t supposed to. . . .

  When she emerged, she knew Rule had found her coffee. The aroma drew her out of the bedroom as soon as she’d pulled some clothes on. He’d also found her stereo, which she kept on the shelf in the coat closet. And her CDs. Several of them were scattered on the floor.

  But he wasn’t playing her music. He was listening to opera on the radio. Standing there totally naked in her living room, listening to a soprano warble through some aria.

  “Rule,” Lily said, appalled. “It’s seven-thirty in the morning.”

  He cast her an amused glance and turned the volume down. “Not an opera fan, I take it.”

  “No.” She frowned at the mess. “Don’t you think you should put some clothes on?”

  “If it makes you more comfortable.” He turned to face her. His body expressed its interest at seeing her, and he smiled.

  “I need coffee,” she said and retreated to the kitchen. “Where’s Harry?”

  “He ate and ran. I hope it was okay to let him out.”

  “Can’t keep him in. He lived on the streets too long to be happy with walls twenty-four/seven.” She noticed Harry’s food dish was nearly full. Rule had given him way more than he was supposed to have.

  Lily filled a mug with coffee and stayed where she was, sipping. Given the size of her apartment, the kitchen afforded only a semblance of privacy. But she needed that semblance.

  It had been a long time since she’d woken up beside a man. Even longer since that man had been here, in her space. She couldn’t decide how she felt about it. Confused, mostly. She liked having him here . . . or maybe that wasn’t her, but the mate bond thing, screwing with her mind.

  She’d figure out how she felt later. For now . . . how did this Chosen business work? How could she find out? Even if Rule was being completely honest with her, he might have some of it wrong. It seemed to have religious connotations for him, and religion sometimes kept people from asking the right questions. If you think you already have all the answers, you stop asking.

  All Lily had were questions. It was time to go ask some of them. She took a last swallow of coffee went back into the living room.

  He’d pulled on his jeans and was replacing the CDs he’d hauled out. Which was good, but—“They’re organized by type, and alphabetical by artist within each type.”

  He glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. “Tell me you don’t alphabetize your spices, too.”

  “I might, if I cooked.”

  He went back to replacing the CDs. “This is going to be a challenge for both of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll understand when you see my apartment.”

  She rubbed her chest, where the skin felt oddly tight. That jumpy feeling was back. “You’re making assumptions based on your beliefs. I’m more into evidence than belief.”

  “I suppose a cop would be.” He slid the final CD back in place and turned. “I thought you might like opera. You have a lot of classical music.”

  “Instrumentals. I played violin at one time.” She caught herself moving toward him, stopped, and scowled. “It’s pulling me, isn’t it? Making me want to touch you.”

  “We need to touch, yes.” He came to her and put his hands on her arms. “Is that so terrible?”

  “I don’t like being forced. I don’t like having something make me need this.” But when he pulled her to him, she leaned into his embrace, laying her head on his chest.

  He was too tall. She’d never liked men who were this much taller than her . . . but his heartbeat steadied her, wiping away the jumpiness, leaving her both calm and revved, ready to go. “It isn’t even sex. I mean—that’s there, but sex isn’t all of it.”

  “No.” He ran a hand down her back. “For the first few weeks, especially, we’ll both need the feel of the other, the physical contact.”

  “Like an addict needs a fix.” She pulled away. “Well, I’ve had mine for the time being.”

  He wasn’t happy. “Have you noticed that there are two of us involved? What if I didn’t get my fix yet?”

  “I . . .” What was she supposed to do? Make him suffer—make both of them suffer? But if she gave in, allowed her craving to win, she wouldn’t be her anymore. Something else would be driving. “I’m scared.”

  “I know. But this isn’t a habit you can kick with some twelve-step program. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.”

  “We’ll see.” God, the jitters were back. As soon as she stopped touching him, they came back. “How far can we be away from each other without having dizzy spells?”

  “It varies, but . . . not far,” he admitted. “We won’t always be pulled this hard. Sometimes a Chosen pair can be many miles apart for a time. Not with comfort, but it becomes possible for some. Mating will have tightened the bond for us, though, so for the next few weeks we’ll need to stay close. After that—”

  “Wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about sex tightening the bond.” She felt panicky. “You mean it’s worse now?”

  “It will be, for a time. Lil
y, we had no choice. We’re free to choose how we deal with the bond. We aren’t free to refuse it.”

  “That’s your belief.”

  “It is fact.” He looked as if he wanted to shake her. “If you fight the need too long, you go crazy.”

  “This is crazy.” She gave in to one need and started pacing. “But I’ll sort it out later.” Her list of things to deal with later was getting longer. “For now,” she added with grim humor, “it looks like you’re going to be a big part of my investigation.”

  “I thought you’d been taken off the investigation.”

  “That’s going to make it tricky.”

  “Lily—” He stopped, glanced at the door. Two seconds later, the doorbell rang.

  She hadn’t heard anything. Obviously, he had. “You take some getting used to,” she muttered and went to the door.

  The peephole showed her Croft’s chocolate face. Great. Should she ask Rule to hide? No, dumb idea. It would be too easy to prove he’d been here all night. It went against the grain to play cover-up, anyway.

  She sighed and unlocked the door. “You’re out early.”

  “We need to talk to you,” Croft said. Karonski stood behind him, scowling. “May we come in?”

  “Why not? There’s coffee.”

  Karonski brightened marginally. “With creamer?”

  “I’ve got milk.” She stepped aside and let them in.

  TWENTY

  NEITHER of the federal agents looked surprised at finding Rule in her living room, half-dressed. Karonski nodded at him. Croft did seem discomfited when he realized there was only one chair.

  “You can wrestle for who gets the chair. The yellow pillow’s mine,” Lily told them, retreating to her tiny kitchen. “Let me know who wins.”

  No one took the chair. When she came back with four mugs, sugar, and a little glass of milk on a tray, they were sitting around the square coffee table she used as a dining table.

  The pair from the FBI looked funny sitting on the floor in their suits. Rule looked bare and quite unbothered by it. He was talking to Karonski. “Surely you can do something.”

  Karonski shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. Not only would the locals resent the hell out of it if we tried to interfere, we don’t—hey, here’s the coffee.”

  Lily put the tray on the table. “Help yourselves.” She looked at Rule. “Were you asking them to intervene with the captain for me?”

  He shrugged. “Yes.”

  “Like he said, it doesn’t work that way.” She went to her oversize chair and retrieved the folders she’d brought home. She brought them with her to the table.

  The yellow pillow was next to Rule. She hesitated. Better if she had the table between them. The need to touch him was strong and sneaky. It would be embarrassing if she started groping him or something.

  Embarrassing, too, if she asked everyone to move so she didn’t have to sit next to the man she’d woken up beside. She’d just have to watch herself.

  She sat tailor-fashion on the pillow. “I assume you want to ask me some questions about the Fuentes investigation, since it relates to yours. This has copies of my reports to date.” She handed Croft a folder. “And this is yours.” The second folder she held out was the one he’d given her. The one about Rule.

  Croft and Karonski exchanged a glance. Croft spoke. “We do have some questions, but that isn’t our priority.”

  Karonski snorted. “Skip the fancy lead-in. We’re here because we want to recruit you.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “We believe your captain made a serious misjudgment,” Croft said with that pleasant smile. “One we hope to take advantage of.”

  She shook her head. “Wait a minute. The FBI doesn’t go around recruiting police officers who are neck deep in disciplinary shit. You don’t recruit individuals at all.”

  “The FBI as a whole doesn’t, no. We’re MCD. We operate less bureaucratically.”

  Karonski had already turned his coffee pale with milk and was busy loading it with sugar. “What the hell. Let’s go ahead and brag. Turner already knows, and she’ll have to.” He leaned forward. “We’re not just Magical Crimes Division, we’re part of a hotshot unit within it. Hush-hush stuff. We’ve got the authority to hire on the spot, and we want you. You’re not an idiot. You know why.”

  “Because I’m a sensitive.” It left a sour taste in her mouth. “A touch sensitive.”

  “Which makes you one in a million. We need you.”

  “Forget it. I don’t out people.”

  “We don’t do that,” Croft said. “True, MCD has been responsible for identifying lupi and others in the past, but that’s never been the unit’s job. We’re sent on the unusual cases, the ones where special knowledge or abilities may be needed.”

  She glanced at Karonski.

  He grinned and added another spoonful of sugar. “Like witchcraft, yeah. With some prep I was able to confirm what you told us about Martin’s murder.” He took a sip of the noxious brew he’d made of his coffee and sighed with contentment. “Sorcery, all right. Nasty business.”

  “And you?” She looked at Croft, curious in spite of herself. “I didn’t pick up anything when we shook hands.”

  “Not everyone in the unit is Gifted. I’m just an experienced field agent with an unusual hobby. I’ve a rather broad knowledge of magical systems, persons, and creatures.”

  Karonski chuckled. “He’s an egghead with a weird obsession. Useful, but weird.”

  Rule spoke coldly. “Is that why you won’t help her clear her name? You wish to recruit her. It’s to your advantage if she’s off the force.”

  “We can’t help. We could put in a word for her, sure, but Randall has a thing about Feds, and he can’t stand Croft. They bumped heads on another case a few years back. If either of us speaks up for her, it’s likely to backfire.”

  “You could do more than speak up for her.”

  Karonski looked pained. “Persuasion spells are illegal.”

  Lily slapped the table. “Hold it. Just hold on, both of you. I do not need anyone fighting my battles for me, and I’m not off the force. Suspended for now, and I may get demoted for unprofessional conduct. But it isn’t likely I’ll be kicked off.”

  Croft looked worried. “You may be underestimating your risk. If Captain Randall did tip the killer off about Therese Martin, you’re a major threat to him.”

  “I don’t think it’s him. I don’t have any evidence, but I can’t buy it. He’s a cop.” She looked at the two skeptical cops listening to her. “Randall doesn’t just do the job, he is the job. He couldn’t step outside it enough to set up a murder and a frame. Not for any reason.”

  Karonski nodded. “I hear you. But sometimes a cop starts thinking the job is justice. They break rules because their idea of justice is more important than the law.”

  “Not Randall.”

  He and Croft exchanged one of those looks. Croft spoke. “You’ve worked with the man. Your opinion is part of the picture. But we want more than your opinions. We want you to continue with your investigation—only for us.”

  “You mean . . .” Her mouth was suddenly dry. She licked her lips. “You want to recruit me right this minute. Sign me up, and I can keep the investigation. Both of them, really—Fuentes and Martin—since they’re linked.”

  “That’s right. You’d be working with Abel and me.”

  “Don’t you have to run me? A security check, deep background . . . oh,” she said, reading their faces. “You already have.”

  “We haven’t got the deep background check yet,” Croft said. “Just the basics.”

  The basics would be enough. Twenty years was a long time, but it had been in the papers. She looked at the two men—one dark, urbane, and smiling, the other rumpled and pushy. They knew, and they weren’t asking questions. That was a mark in their favor.

  Karonski was leaning toward her again. She could almost feel him pushing at her, willing her to agree. “We don’t
just want you because you’re a sensitive, though God knows that’s important. We need someone who can’t be fooled by magic. Lately there’s been—”

  “Abel,” Croft said, giving him a warning look.

  Surprisingly, it was Rule who finished Karonski’s sentence. “An increase in the number of magical crimes committed?” he suggested. “More odd reports coming in. Reports of unlikely or inexplicable events.”

  Croft gave him a hard look. “What do you know about it?”

  “Not enough. Was a banshee sighted in Texas?”

  The two agents exchanged a glance. “I’ll need to know your source, Turner,” Croft said. “But we can discuss that later.”

  Karonski turned back to Lily. “We need you because you’re a sensitive, yeah. But you’re also a cop, a good one. Not many Gifted go into law enforcement. There are still laws on the books in several states prohibiting it, for one thing.”

  “Not to mention federal regulations,” Lily said dryly. “Yet here you are.”

  “We don’t operate under the same regs as the rest of the Bureau,” Croft said. “That’s one reason we don’t advertise our existence.”

  “The point is,” Karonski said, “you’re already trained. We need you on this one because you know the case, the city, the people involved. And you’ve got one hell of an in with the lupus community.” He glanced at Rule and waggled his eyebrows.

  “And you don’t have a problem with that?” she demanded. “You come here, find Rule running tame in my place, and you don’t question my involvement with him? My judgment?”

  Croft spread his hands. “As I understand it, you had little choice. Which is another reason to consider our offer. You might have some difficulty explaining a necessary association with Turner to your superiors on the police force. We’ll be glad to work around whatever, um, special requirements are necessary.”

  Her head swung toward Rule. “You told them?”

  But he was looking at Croft with that peculiar, threatening stillness. “The existence of the Chosen isn’t known outside the clans.”