Mortal Danger (15 page)

That raised eyebrows. “Uncanny,” Rikard announced.

“Not since Magya of Etorri—”

“Coincidence. It doesn’t mean—”

“A Lu Nuncio with a sensitive Chosen—coincidence?” Con snorted. “Sure, and the Lady’s just having a little joke on us.”

Ben flushed angrily. “So you’re an expert on the Lady’s intentions now?”

“I’m saying it isn’t coincidence. We don’t call our mates ‘Chosen’ because the Lady hands them out at random.”

“Very true,” Randall said, “but we don’t want to jump to conclusions, either.” He turned to Rule, smiling his toothpaste ad smile. He was a handsome man, younger than Rule by a decade, with streaky blond hair, a pianist’s long fingers, and more wiggles than a snake. “You aren’t trying to make us think you’re starring in a rerun of Senn and Magya, are you?”

“Randall.” Rule smiled back gently. “I respect your character too much to try to make you think anything at all.”

That brought grins and a couple of chuckles. Rule took advantage of the moment to begin his tale. It wasn’t their way to shear a story of its personality, turning it into the kind of impersonal report Lily might submit, so this took a while.

There were a few glances at Randall when Rule spoke of the attack on his father—and later, more glances at Cullen, who’d played a heroic part at the end. And when he finished, the questions hit. The first few were easy, but inevitably someone asked about Lily.

“She’s still a cop, yes, but with the FBI now.”

“One of your federal police, you mean?” Ito asked.

“That’s right.” Rule took a deep breath. He couldn’t put this off any longer—it was, after all, why he’d called the circle. “She’s in charge of the hunt for the staff. That’s how I learned today that the government doesn’t intend to destroy it.”

That brought outcries even from those who weren’t wholly convinced the staff existed. Rule gave them a moment before continuing. “Lily has been told to preserve it for study. I don’t know who wants the bloody thing, and it doesn’t matter. We can’t let them have it.”

Even though “they” included Lily.

FIFTEEN

AT ten-fifty-seven, Lily took the elevator down with her eyes closed, leaning against the wall. She was beyond tired, into the lightheaded stage when giggles or tears are equally easily come by.

Probably she should have left earlier. Okay, definitely she should have, but they had so little time—maybe a day. Then Harlowe would kill again.

The good news was that Rule wasn’t around to nag. And the bad news… well, the bad news was that Rule wasn’t around. She’d grown used to curling up with him at night. She’d miss that, at least for the few seconds between getting horizontal and falling asleep.

She got her eyes open and her back straight before the elevator door opened. The building had decent security, a mix of the old and the new—an electronically operated door plus a guard with a sign-in sheet. He teased her about having a “real patient date.” She looked out the heavy glass doors and saw Benedict waiting.

It had been tempting to take a taxi home. Tempting, but stupid. If they made another try at her tonight, she’d lose precious seconds yawning. So she’d sucked it in and done the sensible thing, calling Benedict to let him know she was leaving. Just as she’d been told to do.

Her lips tightened. Rule thought she was being stubborn about needing protection. There was a pinch of that, she admitted as the guard hit the button that unlocked the door. But it was his high-handedness that infuriated her. He’d made a decision for her this morning and then waited all day to spring it on her.

She stepped out into air with barely enough snap to qualify as fall, air that smelled of concrete and car exhaust, yet it perked her up. It hadn’t been groomed and filtered and pimped into a consumable product. It was just air being air.

Or maybe it was stepping from safety into possible danger that quickened her heartbeat. Whatever. She took a second to breathe in, feeling more awake than she had in hours.

“We’re exposed here. It would be best to get to the car.”

She glanced to her right at more than six solid feet of annoyed male. “Hello, Benedict. I’m pretty good, thanks. How are you?”

The smile that touched his mouth looked like an uncommon visitor. “It’s good to see you again. Especially when you aren’t bleeding. Can we go to the car now?”

She sighed. “Sure. Where… wait a minute. That’s
my
car.”

“I drive a Jeep. No doors, no protection.”

“I suppose Rule gave you the keys.”

“You’re pissed.”

“Good guess. Not at you, though.” She fell into step beside him, feeling dwarfed. Rule was tall.- His brother was just plain big—six-four and two-forty, at a guess, and every inch hard enough to bruise yourself on.

They didn’t look alike. Benedict carried the human side of his ancestry on his skin—a coppery color that suggested native blood, as did his silver-shot black hair and dark eyes. He wore jeans with a black T-shirt and a denim jacket that hid his shoulder holster. And he was not, thank God, wearing the scabbard that sheathed the three feet of steel he favored at Clanhome. “What are you carrying?”

“This and that. Main weapon’s a Sig Sauer.”

“I use a Sig, too.”

“Good choice. I wanted to bring my SAW, but there was a chance someone would check out the car. I wouldn’t be much use to you if I got locked up.”

“SAW… Squad Automatic Weapon. You’re talking about a machine gun.”

He nodded. “Good stopping power.”

“I’ve more to be grateful for than I’d realized.”

They reached her Toyota. He claimed the driver’s side before she could, so Lily got in on the passenger side, frowning. “I could drive. My reflexes are almost as good as yours.” She took after Grandmother that way.

“Almost as good a Rule’s, maybe.” He started the car. “Not mine.”

She looked at him, wondering just how fast he was. Lily had seen him in action once, but he’d been a wolf at the time—one of several—and she’d been busy getting shot and shooting back. Aside from Rule, she hadn’t known which wolf was which. So she felt a certain professional curiosity about Benedict’s abilities. What would he be like in a fight in his human form?

Not that she wanted to find out tonight. She fastened her seatbelt. “Rule told me once you should have been Lu Nuncio. Not just because you’re older than him, either. He thinks you’re a better fighter.”

Benedict made a small, impatient sound. “I thought he’d outgrown that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am a better fighter. That doesn’t make me a better Lu Nuncio.”

“The Lu Nuncio defends the Rho and answers any formal challenges, right? Fighting’s a big part of the job description.”

“He’s also the heir. The one who will eventually be Rho. Rule will lead our people far better than I could.”

“So you don’t feel skipped over or slighted?”

He was silent for so long she wondered if she’d offended him. But when she glanced at him, he seemed to be thinking, though his eyes remained watchful, keeping track of the cars ahead, beside, and behind them.
Cop eyes
, she thought. It was odd to find them in someone who’d been on the other side of the law most of his life, until the law changed.

Finally, as he accelerated into the traffic on 1-15, he said, “You’re thinking about Mick. He wanted to be Rho. I never have. When our father named Rule heir, Mick was angry. I was relieved.”

It was Lily’s turn to fall silent. The twinned ribbons of taillights seemed to draw them along, just one more bead on a string. Her eyes grew heavy. She leaned her head against the headrest… then jerked it up again. She’d been close to drifting off.

I trust him
, she thought, startled. Somewhere inside, she’d decided Benedict could be counted on to watch out for both of them. This wasn’t like her, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Unlike Rule—or most of the other people she knew, for that matter—Benedict didn’t have the radio on or a CD playing. Maybe he was listening for danger as well as watching. So they drove on through the crowded city night in silence, with only the glow of the dash lights to smudge the interior darkness, leaving more to be guessed at than revealed.

Why had she asked about his feelings? No doubt he had the usual assortment, but he kept them so far out of sight she wasn’t sure he knew any more about them than she did. He wasn’t likely to open up to her.

Yet instinct prompted her to believe him. There was something reassuring about Benedict, something oddly peaceful. He seemed so at rest within himself.

Not her. Now that she’d stopped doing, stopped talking, the discomforts of a healing body spoke all too loudly. She shifted, trying to find the best way to rest her shoulder, and then shifted again. And her mind was anything but quiet.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d like to ask you something, but it might be rude by your standards.”

“Our standards aren’t that different from yours.”

“Maybe it’s just plain rude, then. It’s… about your daughter.”

He gave her a quick glance. “Rule told you.”

“Just tonight, yeah. And last night I learned about the, ah… the age thing. I’m still trying to get it sorted out.”

“Shook you up.” It was a simple observation, lacking either sympathy or judgment. “What did you want to know about Nettie?”

“Was her mother your Chosen?”

“No.” The hitch between that flat answer and his next words was brief, a fraction of a breath. “I met Claire when Nettie was twelve. We didn’t have children together.”

A dozen more questions pressed at Lily. She was pretty sure Benedict’s Chosen had died, but she didn’t know how or how long ago. She wanted to know what happened when one partner in a mate bond died. How did it affect the one who remained?

She wanted to know more personal things, too. Had he loved Claire? Had they been friends as well as lovers? What had been the limits of their bond? Had they ever had their abilities cross over the way she and Rule had?

Lily was used to asking deeply personal questions, often at a time when feelings were raw. But this wasn’t an investigation, and Benedict’s reserve went deep. “Thank you for telling me,” she said at last.

There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “That was all you wanted to know?”

“No, but—”

Her cell phone rang. She reached into her bag and thumbed it on. “Yes?”

“Lily Yu?” said an unfamiliar male voice.

She frowned. Very few people had this number. “Who is this?”

He chuckled, a pleasantly masculine sound. “I suppose we haven’t spoken before. I’m Patrick Harlowe.”

Exhaustion evaporated in a white-hot rush. She sat up straight. “Thoughtful of you to call. I’ve been looking for you.”

“So I understand.” He had one of those rich voices that invested everything he said with significance and a hint of intimacy. Like a televangelist, she thought, or someone selling kitchen gadgets on a late-night infomercial. “Haven’t had much luck, have you?”

“Not so far.”
Keep him talking
. She’d play whatever game he had in mind and keep him talking. People always gave up more than they realized if you could keep them talking. “How’d you get this number, anyway?”

“The same way I’ve learned so many interesting things recently—from One who is almost omniscient. I imagine you’d find that handy, in your job,” he added. “Being able to watch or listen to anyone you wanted.”

“That I would. But ‘almost’ means that She isn’t omniscient, doesn’t it? She can’t watch lupi. Or me. And She can’t talk to you directly.” Could She? God, if the staff really had made Harlowe telepathic, able to get instructions and information directly from Her—

“Pretty sure of that, are you?” He might have been a favorite uncle indulging a pert niece. “But you’re correct in this case. She isn’t quite omniscient. As this call illustrates, however, we’ve found ways to work around those few limits She possesses. But the telephone is limiting, too, isn’t it? So much more pleasant to become acquainted in person.”

“You’d like to do lunch?” Lily kept her voice dry. “Gee, let me check my calendar.”

“Lunch won’t work for me.” There was laughter in his voice now. He was enjoying himself. “How about right now? It’s a bit late, but my schedule is so full these days.”

Lily glanced at Benedict. His face was wiped clean of everything but focus.

Of course. He was listening to Harlowe, too. “I’m free tonight. Where shall we meet?”

“You’ll have to come to me, I’m afraid. And I must insist that you don’t tell anyone. No one at all, Lily—other than your driver, of course.”

He knew someone was driving her? Lily looked at Benedict. She could still subvocalize, even if she couldn’t hear it anymore: “
Are we being followed
?”

He shook his head.

“That goes for your driver, too. No phone calls. If anyone finds out about our little rendezvous I’ll be hurt, and I’m afraid I don’t react well when my feelings are hurt. And I
will
know, Lily.” His voice dropped. “The One I serve may not be able to watch you directly, but She doesn’t have to. She can observe the others—any and all the others—you might be tempted to call. Like your associates at the FBI, or the police… or even your family.”

Lily’s nape was suddenly clammy, as if someone had touched it with a cold, damp cloth. “So where do we meet?”

“I’ll give you directions in a moment. First, there’s someone here who’d like to speak with you.”

“Wait—”

But he’d passed the phone to someone else. Someone whose voice struck Lily dumb and blind with fear.

“Lily?” Beth Yu spoke in her usual quick, lighthearted way. “Patrick wanted me to reassure you that I’m all right.

I’m not sure why. Really, I don’t even know why he wanted to come here—this is
so
not my kind of place. But it’s all right, you know. Patrick said so. He’ll take care of me.“

The candles had burned halfway down. They’d discussed much and settled little, and it was almost time for Cullen to leave for his second performance.

Not that he had to dance anymore. Not for money, at least, and Rule had expected him to quit when the Rho put him on retainer for the clan—“like a damned lawyer,” Cullen had said. But he continued to do two shows a night, two days a week. He’d told Rule he was hanging on to the part-time gig because the extra money helped.

Perhaps he believed that. Rule didn’t. Cullen had never been much interested in money, seeing it mostly as a means to acquire the scraps of paper that were real treasure to him—bits of old spellbooks and such. No, Rule had to believe that dance gave Cullen something he needed.

At the moment, though, it was a confounded nuisance. “We’ll need to wind this up soon,” he said when he was able to get a word in. “Remember to be cautious about what you discuss after the circle is broken.” There would be a number of meetings after this one, he was sure—less formal, but maybe more meaningful.

“I still don’t know what you want.” Ben was cranky. “What is it you want us to do? It’s all very well to talk about doing battle with Her, but She’s not here.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Rule said promptly, “and your noses to the ground. See if what I’ve said about the realms shifting, bringing changes, matches with what your clan is experiencing. I told you about the banshee sighting in Texas, for example.”

“Possible sighting,” Javiero corrected. “But I checked into it, and the stories of the witnesses hold up.”

“What’s happening in your own territories?” Rule asked. “Send word back about anything you learn that’s unusual. Try to find out what others of the Blood might know or guess, too. You, Ben, might send word to the trolls, see if they’re aware of any changes.” Ben’s clan was based in Scandinavia, which possessed the only remaining troll population of any size.

“Trolls.” Ben snorted. “You ever tried talking to one? Might as well talk to a tree.”

“Speaking of talking to trees,” someone said, “I’ll volunteer to check with the dryads.”

That sally earned several grins and chuckles. Dryads were notoriously shy… and notoriously amorous, if you could overcome their timidity.

Ito shook his head. “I don’t know dryads or trolls, but I know trees. With trees, you don’t talk. You listen.”