by Eileen Wilks
“Idealistic, damaged, emotional.”
“Does she have a Gift?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think Cullen ever met her, and I wouldn’t have any way of telling.”
“She lives with her father?”
“No. She moved out when she was seventeen—or was kicked out. The story varies. She’d be twenty now. She dropped out of school and has worked a variety of jobs since, some of them probably intended to get her father’s attention, much as Jason said. She was working as a pole dancer, for example, the last time I saw her. But my impressions are a couple years old. I don’t know where she’s working now.”
“Boyfriends?” If Steve wasn’t her baby’s father, someone else was.
“In the plural, generally. Mariah is quite pretty, with a fragile air that many men find appealing.”
“You don’t.”
“No.” He shot her a grin as he slowed. She couldn’t see anything to slow down for, but she trusted that he had a reason. “I prefer warriors.”
A warrior? Was that how he thought of her? Lily decided she liked that. “Give me your take on Robert Friar.”
“Lupe was right. He hates. But he hates with patience and intelligence. He’s gregarious, but on his own terms—likes to entertain, but always with a goal in mind. He likes to stay in control, both of himself and others. And he likes to win.”
“You’ve met him?”
“We’ve been at a few parties. Political bashes—state, not national.”
“Has Cullen met him?”
“Not precisely met, no. If you want to know if Friar has a Gift, Cullen couldn’t read him.”
“What?” Her head jerked to look at him. “What does that mean?”
“Apparently Friar has some sort of natural shield. Cullen says that may indicate a blocked Gift of the psychic sort—telepathy, empathy, that sort of thing. There was something unusual about Friar’s shield, something that puzzled Cullen. He wasn’t able to explain what that was.”
She frowned, considering. “I need to shake the man’s hand. According to his file, his wife died eight years ago. He’s never remarried. He likes women?”
“He likes them compliant and well-endowed, from what I’ve seen. I believe sex is his weakness.”
“What do you mean? Shit. Hold on a minute.”
Her phone was chiming. It was the ringtone she’d assigned to Martin Croft, who was running the Unit with Ruben gone. She tapped the screen to accept the call. “Yu here.”
“Yes, I am. And you’ve got to stop answering your phone that way. It brings out the worst in me.” Croft’s voice was smooth, but the humor seemed strained. “Have you listened to the news this afternoon?”
“No. Kind of busy here.” Ah, there it was—a small gravel road, well graded, snaking off to the left. Opposite it was a small house with the porch light on. Lupe Valdez’s place, Lily thought, from what the woman had said at the end of that interview. Rule turned onto the gravel road. In the beam of his headlights, she could see that there was a gate across the road, but it had been left open.
Croft wanted an update on her investigation. She complied, wondering about the connection between the news and Hilliard’s death. When she’d finished, Croft said, “So there is reason to suspect magic was involved, even if gado wasn’t. That the tattoo was some kind of spell.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m waiting to hear from Arjenie in research, see if the design is on record as being spell-based.”
“We’ll need that, since your personal ability doesn’t give us admissible evidence. Be cautious in interviewing Friar. He’d like to take a bite out of us.”
Then he told her why he’d called. It wasn’t good news.
Rule spoke as soon as she’d disconnected. “Two days isn’t much time.”
“No.” She drummed her fingers on her phone’s case, unsurprised that he’d heard both sides of the conversation. He usually did.
Croft had told her that another Unit agent, a precog, had played a hunch that hadn’t worked out. That happened; precognition was probably the least consistent Gift. Unfortunately, she’d climbed out on a limb backing her hunch, using her authority to override the local cops in a ham-handed way. As a result, the real culprit had fled the country; the man she’d arrested had had a heart attack in jail; and the press was after blood. Croft was preparing for some congressional critters to use the incident to try to cut back the Unit’s authority.
So he’d given her two days for her investigation. Two days to find concrete evidence that magic was involved in Hilliard’s death, making this a federal crime. With luck, Arjenie’s research would provide that evidence.
But luck was a fickle bitch. Lily didn’t like to count on it.
Rule eased the car to a stop. They hadn’t quite reached their destination, but it lay directly ahead. Looked like Friar went for what Lily called millionaire rustic: two stories of wood and glass; an enormous, staggered veranda; three gables; and steeply pitched roof sections to slough off the snow that so seldom arrived. The exterior was professionally lit and landscaped. The gravel road made a wide curve in front of the house before heading to the back, where presumably there was a garage.
An elderly, mud-spattered Bronco was parked directly out front. It didn’t look like a rich man’s car, not even as an off-the-road toy. “Help usually parks out of sight. You think Friar has company?”
“Friar has a live-in housekeeper who parks in the five-bay garage out back. That isn’t her car, or one of his. You still want me to come in? My presence in the investigation may give him ammunition.”
She glanced at him. Sounded like he was keeping pretty careful track of Robert Friar. Maybe she should ask to see his file on the man.
But for now…did she play it safe, keep Rule in the car? Or give Friar something to bitch about, knowing he might bitch to the press? “Ammunition be damned.” She slid her phone back in her pocket, clipping it so it wouldn’t fall out. “You say he likes control. I want to rattle his cage, and since I’m short on ammo of my own, you’ll have to do. Pull on up to the door and let’s go have a chat with him.”
The live-in housekeeper answered the door. She was fiftyish, stocky, with dark skin and a lovely Jamaican accent. She led them to an enormous open living area, the sort people usually called a great room.
There were two men in the room. One was tall and thin, midthirties, with even features and sun-bleached hair trimmed close to his skull. His Wranglers and J. Crew shirt seemed to go with the Bronco out front. He looked vaguely familiar.
The other man was shorter, maybe five-ten. He looked husky but fit, Lily thought, especially for a fifty-five-year-old. His jeans were damned sure not Wranglers. His shirt was loose, white, probably a linen blend. No shoes. His hair was black and shaggy with white streaks, and his skin was so deeply tanned he looked Mexican. According to the file, he wasn’t. Both his parents were deceased, but there was one brother, Shawn, who’d been in rehab a couple times. Shawn lived in San Francisco and worked for an IT firm.
Also according to that file, Friar had made his fortune in the dot-com bubble of the nineties and had sold his firm for nineteen million before the bubble burst. He’d kept busy since by playing in the commodities markets, raising horses, and getting involved in right-wing causes, especially those dealing with immigration. When the Supreme Court’s ruling made lupi citizens, he’d dropped his other to-do’s to devote himself to Humans First.
Friar stood near the flagstone-faced fireplace, a snifter in one hand, and dominated the huge room. He turned to face her, his eyes cutting quickly to Rule, then away. “Miss Yu. I was beginning to think you meant to neglect me.”
“Special Agent Yu,” she corrected him, moving forward. “Am I supposed to be surprised that Chief Daly called you?”
His eyebrows climbed. “My, you do jump to conclusions. Turner,” he said, looking directly at Rule. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’d have to throw out the glass afterward, and I abhor waste.”
“Speaking of jumping to conclusions,” Rule said as he kept pace beside her. “I could only contaminate a glass if I were moved to accept your hospitality. I’m not.”
Friar smiled. His eyes were dead cold. He lifted his snifter slightly in a salute.
Lily stopped a few feet from the two men. Before she could speak, Rule brushed her wrist lightly. “Ray,” he said to the tall man in Wranglers, “I’m surprised to see you so far from Sacramento. Lily, I don’t know if you’ve met. This is Ray Evans of the Sacramento Star. Ray, Special Agent Lily Yu.”
The man nodded. “Special Agent.”
“Mr. Evans.” Shit, he was a reporter. A shark of a reporter, too. She’d seen his byline on some sensational stuff. He did his research, though, and he wasn’t anyone’s pet. He just went for the blood wherever he scented it.
What was Friar up to? “Don’t you usually cover state government?”
“I cover politics,” he corrected. He had a smooth, warm voice. “This…” He gestured at Rule, then Friar, then her—“shows all the signs of being very interesting, politically. I understand you’re investigating the murder of a lupus, Agent Yu.”
“I have no comment at this time.”
“You might want to change your mind. Otherwise, I’ll go to press with what Robert has told me. Oh, and Chief Daly had a few things to say, too.” He shook his head, his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “I don’t think that man likes you.”
Lily’s lips almost twitched. Evans was good. Get her smiling, get her relaxed, get her talking. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a statement after I’ve interviewed Mr. Friar.”
“Sure. But…” He glanced at the silver watch on his wrist—a pretty nice watch, too, for a guy who drove a ten-year-old car. “I should warn you that I don’t have much time to get my story in. I can wait maybe thirty minutes.”
“I don’t structure an investigation around your deadlines.” She looked at Friar. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Friar. We need to step into another room.”
“Actually, we don’t.” He picked up a thin folder from the end table nearby. “This statement should answer your questions. I’ve signed it, with two witnesses—Ray was kind enough to serve that function.”
She glanced at the reporter. “And did you read what you were signing?”
He smiled. “I have a copy.”
Friar’s smile was thin and basted with gloat. “My lawyer assisted me in preparing the statement. He also witnessed my signature, as you’ll see. If you have any questions after reading it, you may ask them with my lawyer present. Call my secretary for an appointment.”
“Most people don’t request a lawyer unless they have a guilty conscience.” She took the folder from him, but couldn’t manage to brush his fingers with hers. Was he avoiding contact on purpose? Her Gift wasn’t widely known, but it wasn’t a secret. Not anymore.
“I’m afraid I don’t trust you.” He sipped his brandy, meeting her eyes over the rim of the glass. His irises were as close to true black as human eyes get—in other words, not as black as Rule’s eyes turned when he was fighting the Change. “You brought this Turner creature into my house. You allow him into your body. What is that, if not bestiality? You make him part of your investigation. That certainly looks like bias, evidence of the unnatural hold he has over you.” He sipped again, smiling.
“Now, that wasn’t nice.” He didn’t have enough wrinkles, she decided. A few around the eyes, but his skin was too taut. That much sun over the years made sags and wrinkles on Anglo skin. She bet he’d had work done. Rule hadn’t mentioned vanity when he described Friar, but that’s what she saw. “I have to ask myself why you’re going out of your way to insult me.”
“I’m being true to my beliefs, nothing more. I’ve cooperated by giving you that signed statement because I have a great reverence for the law, but that’s all I’m giving you tonight. I’m asking you to leave now.”
She could push it. She knew it, he knew it. But that’s what he wanted. Maybe he was hoping that if he was rude enough, uncooperative enough, she’d haul him in. That would make a great headline. Short of that, Ray could get in some good lines about FBI harassment if she pushed too hard.
Of course, Friar also wanted her to back down, because then he’d won. Rule was right. The man liked to win. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Friar.” She looked at Ray Evans. “For the record, I am investigating the possibility that magic was involved in the death of Steve Hilliard.”
Then she met Rule’s eyes, gave a nod, and started for the door with him beside her.
Evans used his long legs to keep up with them. “What makes you think there was magic involved? Wasn’t his throat slashed?”
“That’s all you’re getting. Oh, one more thing, Mr. Friar.” She paused, turning back to face him. “Does your daughter know you’ve sicced the press on her?”
She hadn’t looked in the file. She didn’t know for sure he’d thrown his daughter under the bus, so to speak. But her guess struck home. For the first time, emotion touched his face—a quick tightening around his eyes, his mouth.
“I have no daughter,” he said.
8
THE next morning, Lily rushed through her shower, blew enough hot air at her hair to have it mostly dry, and left the bathroom wearing a skimpy hotel towel.
In the end, they hadn’t gone to Rule’s place. The hour’s drive back and forth from San Diego didn’t make sense—as she should have known from the first. They’d gotten a room at Del Cielo’s only chain hotel, a Holiday Inn, where one of Rule’s clan had brought his car. That gave Lily time to go over the police reports—which had finally been faxed to the Unit’s main office in D.C., then forwarded to Lily via email.
Rule was already dressed. He sat at a small table by the window, his laptop open and humming. “Our friend Ray wrote an interesting article,” he said. “Not the slant I expected, or the type of bias I imagine Friar was hoping for.” Then he looked up from the screen. His eyes darkened. “Well,” he said, standing, “that’s a lovely sight.”
“Forget it,” she said briskly, heading for the entertainment unit, in whose drawers she’d stashed her underwear last night. Lily always unpacked. Suitcases were so untidy. “I need coffee. Do I smell coffee?”
“You do.” He was right behind her now. “But I know an even better way to wake up.”
She bent to open the drawer. “We had some first-class bestiality last night. That’ll just have to hold you until…oh.” Her voice went soft.
Three more pairs of new panties were jumbled up with those she’d packed. Hot pink lace. Chocolate brown satin. And pinstriped—teensy thin silver stripes on charcoal. She smiled as she pulled out the last one. “Just the thing for a professional woman.”
His arms went around her from behind. “Happy birthday to me.”
She turned her head, smiling. His face was so close…“Your birthday isn’t until November.”
“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.”