by Eileen Wilks
“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 eggs 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 hid
ing 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.”
“You aren’t.” Unblinking blue eyes met Lily’s. “This is so odd. Well.” She held out a hand. “Let’s get this out of the way first, okay? Then you can ask me questions.”
Lily’s eyebrows lifted, but she wouldn’t turn down a chance to get information. She had to stretch to reach the young woman’s hand.
Mariah’s clasp was surprisingly firm. The magic coating her skin made Lily think of a sun-warmed pond, the kind with a silty bottom your toes squished into.
A distinctive magic. A familiar one. Lily’s heart ached for the young woman on the other end of the couch. “Did Steve know about your Gift?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. I don’t speak of it, you see, not ever.” Her smile was small and sad. “My father trained me well. He said it was for my own good, that people would hate me if they found out. I knew better, of course. He was harsh because he despised and feared me. He feared what people would think of him if they knew, too. You’d think I could set that training aside, knowing it was false, but…” She shrugged. “It was quite difficult to take your hand.”
“You knew that I’m a sensitive. You wanted me to k
now you’re an empath.” Empathy was one of the most burdensome Gifts. The only one worse was telepathy—conventional wisdom had it that all telepaths were insane. But empaths who managed to function well in a world crowded with people were usually partly blocked. Mariah’s Gift wasn’t blocked at all.
“Yes. It’s strange to have you know. It’s even stranger to sit here with you and not have any idea what you’re feeling, but I like it. You’re…soothing to me. I didn’t think you would be,” she confessed. “I thought you might remind me of my father now that he’s shielded, but it isn’t the same at all.”
“Your father wasn’t always shielded?”
“Oh, no. I think he got someone to do that, to put a shield on him, because he was afraid of me. Adele says that isn’t possible, that he must have done it himself somehow, but it was just suddenly there one day. Wouldn’t it have to grow a little at a time if it came from him?”
“I don’t know. How long ago was this?”
“Three years. No, almost four now. That’s when I moved out. He didn’t do it—didn’t get the shield—to help me, but it did. Once he was shielded I didn’t have to…” She faltered, running her fingertips nervously over the bead in her eyebrow. “Didn’t have to do what he said anymore.”
Lily didn’t have to be an empath to hear the pain in that statement. “Why did you want me to know about your Gift?”
“I have something to ask you. But even before Steve—before he was killed, I wanted to meet you. Steve kept up with Rule, so when you and Rule got together, Steve talked about you being a sensitive. Plus I’ve read about you. You and Rule. I’m fascinated by…Your face looks funny. I can’t tell what you’re feeling, but I think I’m bothering you somehow.”
“I’m a little uncomfortable with your curiosity.”
Mariah nodded. “That’s how Rule felt about me, too. Uncomfortable. Well, he also felt sad because I was a big mess back when we met, so he was very kind and careful, but he’s got a strong sense of privacy, doesn’t he? Maybe you do, too. I think on some level he sensed I could intrude on his privacy. I don’t mean to, you know.”