Mortal Ties

by Eileen Wilks

  The shooter had carried a .22, and Murray had been trained by Benedict. He knew rounds from a .22 weren’t likely to go through him and hit Beth, so he’d jumped the perp. The two of them had tumbled down a flight of stairs, coming to a stop with one of them passed out, the other one dead.

  The official version might say that the perp had probably broken his neck falling down those stairs, but Lily knew better. Lupi didn’t like to leave threats cluttering up the landscape if they expected to be dead or unconscious shortly, and they were ungodly fast. Murray had broken the man’s neck the instant they collided. “And in a week or so Murray will be strutting around—”

  “A week?” Beth said, eyes widening. “I know they heal fast, but—a week?”

  “He might not be back to normal, but he’ll certainly be up and around and thinking he’s pretty hot stuff. And we’ll let him, because he is. He saved you. But Beth…” Lily smoothed her sister’s hair. “You saved him, too. Probably yourself as well, but definitely Murray. When you repelled the second attacker it gave Patrick the seconds he needed to take out the third guy before he could put more bullets in Murray.”

  Patrick had been outside. He’d given a sharp whistle to warn Murray of suspicious strangers entering the building, but procedure was for him to remain on post unless summoned—which Murray had done, but Patrick wouldn’t have gotten there in time to save Murray if Beth hadn’t been able to stop the man who’d grabbed her.

  “I didn’t repel him,” Beth said flatly. “I flipped him, and he went sailing over the railing. He fell straight down. Lily, he made the most horrible noise when he hit. It wasn’t loud, but it…I keep hearing it.”

  Lily nodded. Beth would remember that sound all her life.

  “I feel horrible when I think about it, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’m not at all sorry I did it, and that doesn’t make sense! And even though I hope that man doesn’t die, that’s really all about me. I don’t want to have killed someone. So I hope he doesn’t die, but not because I really want him to live.”

  “Do you think you’re supposed to?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

  “You do. You think you’re all uprooted, but plenty of you is still rooted nice and deep. You just can’t see that for all the debris.” And that clearly had sailed right past Beth, judging by the confusion on her face. “You think we could sit down for a few minutes?”

  “Sit down? Okay, but that doesn’t…okay.”

  “Come on.” Lily tugged her over to the chairs and they both sat. “Now. You know that I’ve killed.”

  Beth nodded solemnly. “But you’re a cop. That…it was a line-of-duty thing, right?”

  “Do you think cops get a moral pass on killing?” Lily shook her head. “Never mind. I’m not good at putting words to this, but the way it seems to me, everyone is born capable of killing others. That’s hardwired in us the same as loving babies and craving sugary foods. But killing is more dangerous than a sweet tooth, isn’t it? So it gets a pretty universal thumbs-down in human cultures everywhere. That’s necessary and important, but it’s also true that we need for some people to be able to kill, under some circumstances. Cops, once in a while. Soldiers. People like you who get caught in a kill-or-be-killed situation. Problem is, we don’t give them much to go on except stupid shoot ’em up movies where the good guys blast away at the bad guys and everyone cheers. If you think the bad guys aren’t really people, you don’t have to worry about the whole thou-shalt-not-kill bit, do you? So you call them by some name that sets them outside the realm of real people—they’re gooks or weers or whores and…and I just gave you way too much philosophical shit when that isn’t what you need at all, is it?”

  “Probably I’ll want the philosophical shit later,” Beth said apologetically.

  A muffled sound that might have been a chuckle came from the chair across the room, reminding Lily they weren’t alone. When she glanced over her shoulder, Tony looked apologetic, too. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overhear. Beth, is it okay if I talk to you about this?”

  Beth shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Lily could think of a couple of reasons—he was male and lupi, and he didn’t know Beth at all. She doubted he could understand, much less help, but she held her peace. He probably wouldn’t do any harm.

  Tony crossed to them and went down on one knee, putting his eyes more or less level with Beth. He held out both hands. Hesitantly she put hers in them. He squeezed and looked her in the eyes and spoke in his slow, measured way. “Someone tried to hurt or kill you. Maybe you killed him instead. Maybe you hurt him very badly. You are having a hard time with this.” He paused.

  Beth nodded.

  “That’s okay. Killing is not supposed to be easy.”

  Beth’s mouth rounded in a silent “oh.” Tension eased out of her shoulders. “You mean I’m supposed to be confused.”

  “You are.”

  “And I should quit thinking I need to figure everything out right away.”

  He chuckled, a rumble so low Lily barely heard it. “Pequita, no one ever gets everything figured out.”

  She smiled back and looked more like herself. Flirty. “Hey, who are you calling ‘little one’?”

  “Almost everyone.”

  Beth laughed. It was a good laugh, and it looked like it surprised her as much as it did Lily.

  Out in the hall someone said, “…give me that look. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m perfectly entitled to go in the—”

  “Deirdre!” Beth sprang up. “That’s Deirdre. I’m in here,” she called hurrying to the door, and a tall skinny blond with enormous hoop earrings and a small butterfly tat on her collarbone sailed into the room. “Beth! I just checked my messages, and I’m so sorry I didn’t check earlier! Are you all right? You look—”

  “I’m good except—”

  “—like you’ve been through the wringer, and I—”

  “—that I’m awful, too, and I’m so glad to see you!”

  The two collided in a hug and just kept talking over, under, and around each other.

  Lily sighed and smiled and stood, suddenly tired. She looked at Tony, who was unwinding his not-quite-seven feet back to standing. She cocked her head and said quietly, “What would you have said to her if she’d said she felt anger or regret instead of confusion?”

  Deep in those brown, bovine eyes a spark of humor glinted. “Same thing. You asked her good questions,” he added in an encouraging way.

  “Then tried to give her my answers instead of waiting for her to find her own.”

  “We always want to fix things for the people who matter. Can’t, mostly, but we want to.”

  “I think you’re going to make a good Rho.”

  “Do you?” He slid her a glance as opaque as any Isen might use. “Even though I don’t think so quick?”

  “The thing Isen does best, the thing the clan needs him for the most, is people. You don’t handle people his way, but your way—” Her phone vibrated. She took it out. “Your way works, too.”

  Her caller was Arjenie. She asked about Beth first. Lily wasn’t sure how she’d heard, but Rule had of course told his Rho, so maybe Isen had called Benedict, who would have told Arjenie. Lily assured her Beth was okay, then they got to the business of the call. Which was basically that Arjenie hadn’t been able to turn up a Hugo in San Francisco that fit Cullen’s description, or a Hugo who’d been through the prison system anywhere in the country who was a good match, and she was out of options to check. Lily grimaced and thanked her and disconnected.

  “This Hugo you’re looking for,” Tony said. “He is here in San Francisco?”

  “He was. We think he still is. Why?”

  “I know people. Those in my clan will know people I don’t. Tell me about him.”

  “He’s a big man—big as in fat, weighs around three hundred, or did five years ago when he hung out at a bar called Rats. At that time he was either bald or sha
ved his head. He’s white, maybe fifty-five years old, and has a tattoo of a lightning bolt on his forehead. He’s got an Air Gift and contacts in the magical community. At one time he was the go-to guy for people who wanted magical items stolen.”

  Tony nodded slowly. “I’ll find him for you.”

  Just like that? Well, Rule had said Tony had lived here a long time. Maybe he wasn’t as young as he looked, after all. Why not let him have a try? “Thank you. He’s one of the few leads we—”

  “Lily,” Beth said, having detangled from her friend, and tugged Deirdre forward. “You know Deirdre, right? And Deirdre, this in Tony, whose last name I’ve forgotten—sorry. Tony, Deirdre Marks.”

  “My pleasure,” Tony said gravely.

  Deirdre’s eyes went big as she looked him up and down. “Wow. I mean…wow.”

  “Lily, I’ve told Deirdre most of it, but I couldn’t remember his name. You know—the sorry son of a bitch who tried to get me who I don’t really want to die, even if he is a sorry son of a bitch. I’ve forgotten his name.”

  Lily didn’t smile except inside, where relief broke out in a grin. “Robert. His name is Robert Clampett, but on the street he goes by Little Mo.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THREE-PLUS hours later, Little Mo had made it through surgery. The doctors put his chances at around fifty percent, but they’d go up if he made it through the night. Beth was at the hotel in a small but luxurious room on their floor. Her friend Deirdre had opted to stay there with her tonight, which sort of negated the don’t-put-your-friends-in-danger argument, but at least they were guarded.

  Murray was at Laban Clanhome. It was on a small ranch outside the city, much closer than Nokolai Clanhome—the ranch where the black dragon picked up his payment for overflying San Francisco once a week, in fact. This was one of the ways Laban had benefited from its association with Nokolai. The government paid them handsomely for providing Sam a cow or three. Housing Murray gave Laban another opportunity to regain face.

  Tony was somewhere in San Francisco, presumably looking for Hugo. Rule was back at the hotel, and Lily was headed there.

  “Did you eat?” Rule asked.

  “I ordered in for everyone. Bad enough I kept them late. Didn’t have to keep them hungry, too. You ate, too, right?”

  “It’s nine thirty-five.” Meaning of course he’d eaten. Rule never let himself get too hungry, and his metabolism insisted on plenty of fuel. “Pizza or hamburgers?”

  “Hamburgers.”

  “Extra pickles for yours.”

  She smiled. “Right. See you in ten.” She disconnected.

  “More like fifteen, in this traffic,” Scott said. He was driving. Lily sat up front with him; Mike and Todd were in the back. As squad leader, Scott probably should have been at the hotel, but she hadn’t argued when Rule wanted to send him and the others with her. She knew he trusted Scott the most. Rule had a real problem with the two of them splitting up when she might be targeted.

  But he’d needed to stay at the hospital until Murray could be moved, and Lily couldn’t wait there with him. In the hours since she dropped her sister off at the hotel she’d talked to her father, Ruben, Grandmother, and the agent monitoring the taps on Jasper Machek’s various phone lines. Nothing of note there. Next she’d sat in on the SFPD interview with the man who’d probably given Little Mo and the rest their orders—Robert “Peep” Holland. The nickname was a reference to his first arrest. At the downy age of fifteen he’d been booked as a Peeping Tom, but he’d probably been planning a robbery, judging by his subsequent career. After that, she’d needed to brief Bergman and her people, and that had turned into a brainstorming session.

  The interview with Peep had been brief and unproductive. Not Detective Jones’s fault. Peep had been around the block so many times he’d mapped out each crack in the sidewalk. He had no idea what they were talking about and he wanted his lawyer.

  The session with Bergman and her people had gone better. Lily had needed to tell them about Jasper Machek’s unofficially missing lover, the theft of the prototype, and Robert Friar’s possible connection to both. She followed that with a rundown on Robert Friar—what was known, what was suspected, how his Gifts worked. Of course, they should have known that already. Friar might be officially presumed dead, but there were “watch for” bulletins out on him all over the country. But unGifted cops sometimes glazed over about magical shit. They didn’t understand it, wanted it to go away, and so they tuned out.

  They would be treating the attack on Beth as an attempted kidnapping, and the disappearances of Sean Friar and Adam King as suspected kidnappings.

  Why kidnappings? That was the ten-thousand-dollar question, and they didn’t come up with any answers. Murder was a hell of a lot easier. Even with a good team to handle the snatch itself—and Little Mo’s bunch were competent; they’d have succeeded if they hadn’t been up against lupi—you had to keep your hostage alive, locked up, and hidden. Holding multiple people hostage for several days compounded the difficulty. Why would Friar do that?

  Lily didn’t think he was. Neither did Bergman. Chances were that Sean Friar and Adam King were already dead, but maybe not. They had no idea what Friar’s game plan was, so maybe he needed them alive. In any event, they had to proceed as if the hostages were still around to be rescued.

  At the end of the briefing Lily had turned to Special Agent Bergman and said, “This is a Unit case, both because of Friar’s probable involvement and because of the prototype. But we’ve got two kidnappings and one attempt, and you’ve got ten times my experience with that sort of thing. You know your people and you know the city. What do you want to do?”

  Bergman had taken off like a racehorse given its head. She was quick, she was precise, and she knew her stuff. In five minutes she’d outlined a course of action that included liaising with the locals on the attempt on Beth—one of Bergman’s men had worked with Detective Jones and had a good relationship with her; bringing Carrie Ann Rucker back for a second round of questions; putting more people on Sean Friar’s disappearance to find out when, where, and how he’d been snatched; and finding out what Peep was afraid of. “We can’t sweat him with threats of prosecution,” she said. “Prison’s his home away from home. We need to know what scares him and use that.”

  She also wanted to look for matches to the attempt on Beth because “those assholes knew what they were doing. This wasn’t their first tango, but nothing in their priors suggests that kind of expertise. I think they had help.” And she wanted to put a tap on Jasper Machek’s phone.

  “Help…as in training?” Lily nodded thoughtfully. “Well worth checking out. The tap’s in place as of two hours ago. I’ll see that you get transcripts. You’re in charge of investigating the kidnappings.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Drummond demanded.

  He’d faded in to join them in a misty-white-cloud sort of way when Lily began the briefing. Now he was fully formed, floating, and fuming.

  It was really hard not to react.

  Bergman spoke levelly. “It’s a Unit case.”

  “Yes, it is, and you’ll report to me, but you don’t need me to tell you how to tie your shoes.”

  Drummond glared down at her. “No, I can do that! Dammit, Yu, with me to help, you can handle this just fine.”

  “Set things up,” Lily went on briskly to Bergman, “keep things moving, keep me informed. If your people get anything—anything at all—that gives a tug on Robert Friar’s whereabouts, call me that instant. Do not attempt him yourself.”

  Drummond announced that she was a goddamned idiot.

  Bergman nodded, still wary. “That’s standing orders for Friar. ‘Contact Unit Twelve immediately. Do not attempt to apprehend.’ ”

  “I’m underlining it. This is not about territory or who gets the collar.”

  “I’m not territorial.”

  Sure she was, but Lily didn’t have a problem with that. “Robert Friar can’t be handled without magi
cal protections that your people don’t have, and I can’t give them.” She paused to glance around the small conference table at the four agents other than Bergman…

  Drummond sank to floor level and stomped silently up to Lily. “Dammit, you need to listen to me! Investigations like this are what I do, and I’m damn good at what I do. If you can’t handle an investigation this big, let me help so—”

  Shut up!

  He looked startled—and did. That disconcerted her as much as his yelling had. Lily hoped her reaction didn’t show as she finished her visual circuit of everyone present—everyone but Drummond. “Everyone clear on that? Okay. What do you need that you don’t have?”

  Bergman snorted. “A dozen senior agents, a car that doesn’t stall out when I try to go over fifty, and a vacation in the Bahamas.”

  “Can’t help with the vacation. Do you have an immediate need for a dozen senior agents, or was that number just for ha-ha?”

  Bergman’s eyes narrowed. “You can get me a dozen senior agents?”

  “To get Robert Friar? Damn straight. I can pull in the army if I need them, but I’d better really, deeply need them. How many senior agents do you really, deeply need?”

  Bergman went silent, her eyes unfocused. She was taking time to come up with a real number. Lily appreciated that. “Three seniors, three juniors,” she said at last. “I can put the three seniors to work right away, and the juniors can handle some of the grunt work.”

  “How fast do you need them?” Lily glanced at her watch. It was after ten in D.C. “I don’t want to wake Ida up if I don’t have to.” Lily could make the calls herself, but in a nonemergency situation it was better to let Ruben’s secretary handle things. She’d pull in agents in a way that didn’t disrupt their current workload too badly.

  Bergman smiled slowly. “How about by noon tomorrow?”

  “Works.” Lily made a few notes, talking as she wrote. “While you handle the heavy load, I’m going to be coming at this from another angle—the prototype. If we knew who wanted it so damn bad and why, we’d have a better idea who the players are.” She looked up. “If no one here’s going to miss their kid’s birthday or an anniversary or something, I’d like to order in some food and bat this around while we eat.”