by Eileen Wilks
“That’s the other reason I live here,” he said. Apparently the coffee craving wasn’t too strong yet, because he stayed beside her.
“That has to be one of the best views in the city.”
“I think so.”
She tore her gaze from the sea and skyscape and looked around the apartment itself. There was a long, sleek couch covered in a beautiful pale leather . . . and in newspapers, magazines, and books. The dining table was some rich, dark wood. What she could see of it, that is. Everywhere she looked she saw beautiful things. And clutter.
“It’s not as tidy as you’re used to.”
She glanced at him. That wasn’t a hint of a flush riding those elegant cheekbones, was it? “Who would have guessed? You’re a slob.”
He scowled. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s a mess.” She turned and put her arms around his waist, smiling as she laid her head on his shoulder. “But that’s okay. Under the mess it’s a beautiful place.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. The arms he slid around her were hard with tension as well as muscle. He cleared his throat. “So what do you think—could Harry be happy here? There’s lots of room.”
Oh, shit. He wasn’t really talking about Harry. She swallowed. “I don’t know. He couldn’t get outside from here. He’s been on his own a long time. I’m not sure he could adapt to being penned up inside all the time.”
He didn’t say anything, but his body remained tense. Unhappy? Hurt? She tilted her head back to look at his face and found his eyes, dark and grave, waiting to meet hers. “Maybe we could try him here for a little while,” she said. “See how it goes.”
“Good idea.” He used both hands to smooth her hair back from her face and dropped a kiss on her mouth, lingering long enough to make it more of a promise than a peck. “You ready for coffee?”
Her laugh was a trifle shaky. “Sure, why not? Uh—mind if I clear a space on the table?”
“My piles are organized, even if they don’t look like it. Scoot them to the other end, but keep them separate.”
She saw what he meant when she started moving the stacks of papers. This wasn’t the random mess of advertising and charitable solicitations; it was quarterly reports, correspondence, and other business-type debris. “Looks like you need an office,” she said, sitting down and opening Croft’s briefcase.
“I’ve got one. I prefer to work out here.” He set a mug by her elbow and sat across from her. “I do work, you know,” he said dryly. “I manage the Rho’s investments for the clan.”
“You oversee everything?”
“Not all by myself.” He was amused. “I have an excellent assistant, whom you’ll be meeting soon. Also two secretaries and managers for the individual properties. We keep a very expensive accounting firm busy and have a legal firm on retainer.”
“So where is this staff of yours?”
“They’re clan, so they live and work at Clanhome. The last few days haven’t exactly been normal. Usually I spend about half my time there.”
Okay, that made sense. It also underlined how little she really knew about him. Never mind, she told herself. That could wait. It would have to. “Here’s the material on Harlowe,” she said, taking a file from Croft’s briefcase. “We have his social security number, checking account number, that sort of thing. Can you do something with that?”
“Something, yes. What am I looking for?”
“Connections, things that don’t add up, properties he owns. Does he have a house or business in Oceanside, for example, where he met Croft and Karonski? Anything else up that way? We’ve only his word for it that he was coming back from L.A. yesterday.”
“It will take awhile. What will you be doing?”
“Calling a friend to ask a favor. Then I’m going to ride the elevator, maybe take a little walk.” She met his eyes squarely. “We have to know, Rule. We have to find out what the limits of the bond are.”
He took a deep breath, exhaled sharply through his nose. “Of course. And I have to get over the idea that something will happen to you if I let you out of my sight. But wait until my people arrive. If you go too far and keel over, it would be nice if someone was there to catch you.”
TWENTY-SIX
LILY called O’Brien. She thought he might be willing to pass on what he’d learned from Therese’s murder scene, and he was, though first he gave her a hard time about having “gone over to the dark side.” Apparently the whole department knew she was in trouble with the captain but was working with the Feds. Cops were terrible gossips.
He agreed to fax her a copy of his report. She gave him Rule’s fax number, disconnected, and headed for Rule’s home office to wait for the fax. It was every bit as messy as the great room. For some reason that made her smile.
According to Max, if Therese had been killed by a telepath rather than a sorcerer, the killer had probably been on the scene. Eyeball range, he said. Without a spell guiding the power, the killer would have needed to see his victim. He could have stood in the doorway and slashed her up without getting blood on himself.
Lily was hoping to find something to back that up. It would be good to know for sure if they were dealing with a rogue sorcerer as well as a mad telepath. Cullen Seabourne, maybe. He could have had his mind messed with. Hadn’t he told Rule not to believe him in that odd message?
But nothing in the crime scene evidence gave her any new ideas. She’d gone over it twice by the time Rule’s people arrived—two brawny young men, including the redhead Lily had encountered twice before. The older man with watchful eyes was Walker. And Crystal, Rule’s assistant, a short, squat, sixtyish woman who looked disconcertingly like a bulldog—heavy jaw, square head, thick lips.
Lily hoped her astonishment didn’t show.
“Glad to meet you,” Crystal said in a gruff voice that suited her face if not her name. She didn’t sound glad. She spared Lily the briefest of glances before returning her attention to Rule. “Nettie wanted me to tell you that she’s making progress with Croft, but Karonski will need to be treated by a coven. Something about the degree of trust involved. Can’t say I understood, but that’s what she said.”
Rule nodded. “I expect we’ll be hearing from their superiors soon. Hopefully they can arrange something with a coven.”
“What do you need me for?” she said briskly, dropping her purse on a chair.
“I’ll show you in a moment, Crystal. First I need to make everyone aware of something. Lily is my Chosen.”
That bulldog face just lit up. She threw her arms around Rule’s waist and hugged him hard. Walker was suddenly at Rule’s side, hugging him around the shoulders. Both young men wore wide grins. “Son of a bitch! ” Sammy cried. “When’s the ceremony?”
“Not for awhile yet,” Rule said dryly. “We’ve a few things to attend to first.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Crystal said. “Oh, sweetie.” She sniffed, patted Rule’s cheek, and turned to Lily, beaming. “Welcome to Nokolai.”
Welcome to—? Stunned, Lily met Rule’s eyes over the woman’s head.
He shook his head slightly and mouthed later. Aloud he said, “You all know about the attack on the Rho. You may also be aware that Nettie is treating two FBI agents whose minds were tampered with. These things are connected. There is a group of people, both human and lupi, who are trying to destroy Nokolai.” That wiped away the grins. “Lily is a target. She’s also the best hope we have for stopping them.”
“They’d target a Chosen?” Sammy said, incredulous.
“The lupi involved may not know she’s a Chosen. The humans would use it against us.”
“What do we need to do?” Walker asked quietly.
“I’ve a map for you to look at. Sammy and Pat, you’ll go with Lily. Crystal is going to help me dig into the finances of one of our enemies.”
LILY had never had bodyguards before. She didn’t like it. “I’m testing the limits of the mate bond,” she said stiffly, pushing the elevator button.
“We need to know how much distance we have.”
Sammy nodded. The other one—Pat—smiled shyly. “I’ve never met a Chosen before.”
“I’ve never been one before,” she said dryly. The elevator doors opened, and she got in, followed by her troops, who took positions between her and the doors.
“I saw a Chosen once,” Pat said as the doors closed. “At the last All-Clans.”
Sammy jabbed Pat with his elbow. “Excuse me, Lily, but we aren’t supposed to talk. It could distract us.”
“Then listen. The people we’re investigating use death magic. Rule says it has a definite smell.”
She couldn’t see their faces, but the sudden stiffness in their bodies suggested shock. Sammy’s voice was steady, though. “It’s supposed to. I’ve never smelled it.”
“I hope you never do. But if you should smell anything rotten—putrefaction, Rule called it—let me know immediately. Don’t—” The dizziness hit so fast she couldn’t finish the sentence. It was worse this time, a sucking vertigo that made her stagger and brace one hand on the wall, bent over. “Dammit. Dammit. What floor was that?”
“Second.” Sammy’s hand was under her elbow, steadying her. “Are you all right?”
“Wobbly.”
The elevator stopped. Sammy turned to face front again, keeping his hand on her arm, as the doors opened . . . on three men in dark suits. Two of them stood with professional readiness.
The third wasn’t standing at all. He was in a wheelchair. He was thin—wasted, really—with a narrow face and hooked nose. “Ah—Detective Yu,” he said in a light, clear tenor voice. “Excellent. I’m Ruben Brooks. I believe you have my men.”
“Ah . . . not with me.” She tried to straighten but had to lean on Sammy when the world grayed out. She tried the subvocalizing thing. “Sammy, you smell anything nasty?”
He paused, then shook his head.
All right, then.
“Are you ill?” Brooks asked.
“I’ll be fine in a few minutes. I have to head back up, though. Not trying to get away or anything,” she assured him. “Just have to get back.”
“I think you’ve misunderstood. I’m not arresting you. I’m here to place my unit at your disposal.”
THERE were a few moments of confusion. Brooks’s bodyguards didn’t want to leave him, Lily’s pair didn’t want to leave her, and they wouldn’t all fit in the elevator at the same time.
Lily wasn’t much help, since she was fading in and out. She ended up riding with Brooks, Sammy, and one of the FBI types, a tall, blond man. By the time they passed the third floor, she was fine.
“Fascinating,” Brooks said. “There’s quite a sharp boundary, isn’t there?”
She glanced at the silent blond man, frowning. “It seems your men filled you in thoroughly.”
“Were you not in the habit of keeping your superior officer fully informed?”
“Not about some things, no. Unverifiable evidence didn’t go in my reports, and I didn’t include anything orally that wasn’t pertinent. I don’t out people.”
He nodded. “Understandable. After we’ve worked together awhile, I believe you’ll trust me with such information.”
“I haven’t agreed—”
“Ah, here we are,” he said as the elevator stopped. “After you.”
His motorized chair followed her down the short hall. When she reached Rule’s door, she didn’t have to use the key he’d given her—he opened it. She walked straight into his arms.
It wasn’t professional, but it was necessary. She needed to feel his heart beating, needed the pressure of his body against hers. After a moment, though, self-consciousness had her pulling away. “This is Ruben Brooks,” she said. “I don’t know the other one’s name. Gentlemen, Rule Turner.”
Rule glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She nodded slightly.
“Come in, won’t you?” he said, smiling as he stepped back. “Would you care for coffee?”
“CROFT called you from Clanhome?” Lily said a few minutes later, surprised. “I didn’t realize he was—well, awake.”
“Dr. Two Horses allowed him out of Sleep long enough to—ah, thank you.” Brooks accepted the mug Rule handed him. “Long enough to report, so I am reasonably up to date on your situation.”
“How is he?”
“Doing well, though Dr. Two Horses wishes his mind to be at complete rest for a few days, which means being in Sleep most of the time. Karonski is being kept sedated until a coven can be flown out here. His Gift and religious beliefs make treating him more complicated.”
“You arrived very quickly,” Rule said quietly, sitting on the back of Lily’s chair and stroking her hair. After their brief test of the mate bond’s boundary, they needed physical contact.
“I was already en route when he called. When Croft and Karonski didn’t return on time, I had a feeling I would be needed.”
Lily’s eyebrows rose. “Karonski said you were a precog.”
“Yes.” He sipped his coffee. “This is excellent. Precognition is the least reliable of the Gifts, of course, but this was an exceptionally strong feeling. It didn’t carry much in the way of information with it, unfortunately, but Croft’s call from Clanhome remedied that. So now you see why I need to place the unit in your hands for the time being.”
“Actually—no, I don’t. I lack the experience, the training. . . . I’m a good detective. I am not qualified to run a top-secret FBI unit I hadn’t even heard about until a few days ago.”
“But you’re the only one who can,” he said gently. “Though I fully expect to contribute my skills and knowledge, the person in charge must be one whom we know, at all times, has not been interfered with.”
“The lupi,” she said desperately. “They can smell the presence of death magic, so they’ll be able to tell us if someone’s head has been messed with.”
“Can they? That will be handy. But it will only work in person. Orders must sometimes be given over the telephone.”
Lily wasn’t sure how it happened, except that Ruben Brooks was the most soft-spoken, polite steamroller she’d ever met. Fifteen minutes after meeting him, she took an oath to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
“Are you sure this is legit?” she asked afterward. “I thought agents had to go through training.”
“You will have to go to Quantico at some point, but this is quite legal. The President has granted me the authority to swear in agents at my discretion, waiving the usual requirements.”
The President? Lily felt dizzy, and it wasn’t the mate bond this time.
“Now,” he said, glancing around at the lot of them, “I would appreciate a report, if you don’t mind.”
Lily nodded. “All right, and when I’m finished, I’d like you to contribute your skills and knowledge. And maybe a map expert and the authority to look into a few bank accounts.”
THINGS picked up speed after that. Brooks detailed one of his men to handle the paperwork for obtaining any court orders Rule and Crystal needed. A top-of-the-line computer mapping system was on its way, along with an expert to work with Walker on identifying Cullen’s crude drawing.
You might even say he took charge, Lily thought, amused. Not that he issued any orders, but everyone pretty much hopped to implement his polite suggestions.
With the immediate needs taken care of, Lily called a conference of two. She sat on the end of the couch nearest Brooks’s chair and leaned forward. “I don’t know enough about federal laws. Now that Croft’s going to able to testify, we’ve got enough on Harlowe to pick him up for questioning. But I’m damned if I know what to charge him with. Obstructing justice?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Legislators seldom pass laws covering impossible crimes, and no one knew investigators’ minds could be altered this way. I conferred briefly with the U.S. attorney for this region on my way here. He’s not eager to prosecute any charge short of murder by
magical means or conspiracy to commit murder by magical means.”
Lily suspected “not eager” was a euphemism. “Okay, so my question is, do we get anything from arresting him now? Or do we get enough to outweigh the risks?”
“Why don’t you go over your reasoning with me?”
“The way I see it, we don’t know enough yet. If he’s our hypothetical telepath, arresting him on a lesser charge might be worth it. But if he isn’t and we pick him up, the rest of his crowd is likely to go into hiding. Including the telepath or sorcerer or whatever, and that’s who we have to get.”
“I thought you were fairly confident of your informant’s information. You believe a sorcerer might be involved?”
“My . . . oh, yeah.” She’d described Max as someone with wide experience and knowledge of magical systems who preferred to remain anonymous. Pushing to her feet, she began to pace back and forth. “I don’t know. Simplest is often right, and simplest would be if there’s just one big bad guy, a telepath with some kind of tool like my consult suggested. But it’s still possible that a sorcerer’s involved. Not as likely, maybe, but possible.”
He nodded. “It’s reasonable to plan for various possibilities.”
“Right. But it has me spooked,” she admitted. “I don’t know the procedures for safely apprehending and neutralizing a sorcerer. If there are any.” To her knowledge, it hadn’t been tried since the Purge—and that had been a bloody and terrible business. Mostly they’d just killed those suspected of sorcery.
“As far as I know, there aren’t,” he said calmly. “Some theories hold that truly holy men and women cannot be affected by sorcery because spiritual energies are of a higher order than temporal or magical energies. Even if that is true, however, I don’t believe the FBI employs any holy persons.”
It took her a moment to see past the deadpan delivery to the twinkle in his eyes. She stopped pacing and said dryly, “I don’t think the SDPD does, either.”
“The historical record indicates that all sorcerers are not created equal. There are degrees of mastery. However, I think we must assume that if a sorcerer is involved—even one with a relatively minor ability in those arts—arresting him or her is likely to involve casualties on our part. The use of deadly force may be necessary.”
