Tempting Danger (32 page)

“What happened, Lily?”

“We were abducted.”

His breath sucked in. For a moment, his fingers tightened hard enough to hurt.

“He was a friendly man.” It was like presenting a report, wasn’t it? She’d written up cases every bit as bad, and worse. “He reminded me of Santa Claus, only without the beard. Grandfatherly. He just started talking to us, teasing us about not being in school. At first I wouldn’t answer. I told Sarah we weren’t supposed to talk to strangers. So she asked him his name, then she introduced him and me and said we weren’t strangers anymore. She thought that was terribly clever.”

Her feet stopped. She stared out at the gulls swooping low over the shifting blues of the water. This was where she always stopped, the point she couldn’t go beyond, not out loud. There was pressure in her chest, as if all the words were backed up there, pressing, all but cutting off her breath.

Rule moved behind her and began to rub her arms gently. Up and down, up and down. The repetitive touch soothed her physically. She grew aware of him standing there, just behind her. Not touching, not asking questions or making her deal with his shock, his feelings. Just there.

He had her back. And the words came tumbling out. “He got us to go with him to his car. He didn’t try to talk us into getting in. That would have scared us. He said he needed help getting his picnic stuff to the beach, and we were helpful little girls. We went with him. We didn’t think about the trunk, that it could be dangerous.

“He hit her. I saw that and tried to get away. I don’t remember him hitting me. I don’t remember that, but I woke up in his trunk. My head hurt, and I’d thrown up. I tasted it in my mouth. Sarah was crying. The car would turn, and we’d bump into each other, but we couldn’t see each other. It was so dark. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like all that dark was sucking the air right out of you—” Her breath caught now, remembering.

“Breathe now.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Breathe now, Lily. You’re safe.”

He was wrong. There was no safety. But his arms felt good. She leaned back against him and, after a moment, continued quietly. “He drove around until night, when he took us to his house. Sarah was a pink-and-white little girl with pretty blonde hair. Her bad luck. He tied me up, saved me for later. But I was there. I was in the room when he raped her.”

A shudder went through Rule’s body.

“I don’t think he meant to kill her. He looked so surprised.” That was one of the worst parts, for some reason. The surprise on his face when Sarah stopped moving, when her legs stopped kicking and her eyes bulged open, unblinking. He’d choked her, but he couldn’t seem to connect what he’d done with her being dead. “It scared him. He wanted me to agree it had been an accident. I did. I agreed with everything he said.”

Rule rested his chin on the top of her head. He was wrapped all around her now, and it helped. It helped. He didn’t speak, and that helped, too. For a few moments she stood there and let comfort seep into her body from his. “I was lucky,” she said at last. “I didn’t know it then, but someone had seen him put us in his trunk. A jogger. She got the license plate number. The police had been looking for his car for hours. They found it just in time . . . for me. Not for Sarah.”

She swallowed. “He didn’t rape me. The officer who spotted the plates called it in, but he didn’t wait. He broke the door down. He came in alone, against regs. He said later he’d had a feeling that he couldn’t wait for backup. He was a patrolman, only a few years on the force. His name was Frederick Randall.”

“Hell.”

“Yeah.” Her voice wobbled. She got it steady again. “That’s why I had to go to Internal Affairs. I couldn’t be sure I was seeing him clearly, because of our history. But he feels betrayed. I hurt him.”

“You said he’s a cop all the way down. That means putting the job first. That’s what you did. He’ll see that, sooner or later.”

“Maybe.” She wasn’t sure. Maybe because she wasn’t sure she could forgive Randall for having doubted her. “Ginger was right, you know. I did join the police to feel safer. When you know in your blood and bones that there really are monsters, you want to do what you can to get them locked up. And you want as many others on your side fighting those monsters as you can get.”

He was so close she heard it when he swallowed. “You chose to work homicide.”

“Murder doesn’t just destroy one person. It sends out shock waves that hurt so many. . . . It broke something inside Ginger. She was a pain when she was eleven, but lots of girls that age are a pain. Especially to their little sisters and their sisters’ friends. But she wasn’t all twisted up the way she is now.”

“You warned her. You offered as much help as you could.”

She didn’t speak. A jogger thudded past between them and the sea. His dog, a big black Lab, loped alongside him in violation of the No Pets signs. The dog’s tongue lolled happily.

“What’s it like?” she asked quietly, watching the dog. “To be a wolf, I mean. Do you think and feel as a wolf?”
Do you feel safe then? Knowing you’re stronger, faster, able to heal almost anything that’s done to you?

“The wolf is always with the human, and the human is always with the wolf. I’m myself in both forms, though not exactly the same self. Are you still yourself when you sleep? When you dream?”

“I see what you mean.” She turned her head slightly so she could breathe him in. His scent settled her.

He hadn’t answered her unspoken question, but it was a stupid question. No one was safe. All too often, though, the monsters who had hurt his people had worn badges. “Is it a problem for you, me being a cop?”

“A complication.” His voice was wry. “Lily?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to him?”

It was the only question he’d asked. She took a slow breath. The pressure in her chest was gone. “He was on death row for thirteen years. Lots of appeals. They finally executed him.”

“We handle things differently in the clans, but I guess your system worked. Eventually.”

“There are reasons for appeals. The law doesn’t always get it right. But he was locked up all that time. He didn’t grab any more little girls.”

He was silent. She let herself rest against him a little longer. It hadn’t been so bad, telling him. He’d made it go easier than she’d expected . . . or maybe that had been the mate bond, tricking her into trusting him.

At the moment, it didn’t seem to matter. She felt . . . clearer. As if telling her story had let it settle into the past a bit more. Lily turned her head, looking up into his eyes. “Ready to go chase monsters?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“The Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe.”

TWENTY-THREE

BUT
Harlowe wasn’t at the church. Lily had hoped the same helpful little man would be there—and would remember her as a police detective, so she didn’t have to make any unnecessary explanations. But he wasn’t, and the secretary regarded her request to speak with the church’s leader with deep suspicion. They didn’t learn much from her.

They tried his house with an equal lack of success. Frustrated, Lily glared at the door—Spanish style, hand-carved, and very old. It suited the four-thousand-foot stucco home. “The Rev lives well, doesn’t he?”

“Religion has been good to him,” Rule agreed. “What now?”

“The neighbors. Then lunch.”

Two of Harlowe’s neighbors were home. They spoke of a man who fit the house—urbane, upper middle-class, at ease in social gatherings. The first woman didn’t like him much, though she didn’t say so; the older couple both thought highly of him.

She and Rule were eating seafood tacos when her cell phone rang. “Yu here.”

“Lily?” It was Ginger’s voice, high and frightened. “Could you come over here? I’m at home and I—I think someone’s watching me.”

“Have you called it in?”

“You mean the police? No! No, I can’t—some of them are in it.
You
know who I mean. I need you to come right away.”

“We’ll be right there.”

“Hurry.” She hung up.

Lily explained quickly to Rule, grabbed her purse, and headed for the car.

Ginger’s apartment was on the other side of the city. They were halfway there when her cell phone rang again. This time it was Karonski.

“I turned up some interesting connections between the Church of the Faithful and the little church your Sergeant Meckle attends. We’re leaving now to have a chat with Harlowe.”

“Good luck. I struck out at the church and his home.” There was a moment’s silence. “Right,” she said, rubbing her neck. “I should have checked in with you first. I’m still thinking this one’s mine. Sorry. We’re headed for Ginger Harris’s apartment,” she said, conscientiously filling him in this time. “She thinks someone’s watching her.”

“I was going to ask you to join us for the meet with Harlowe.”

“You mean you got hold of him?”

“Reached him on his cell phone. He’s driving back from L.A. We’re meeting him in Oceanside in twenty minutes.”

“Damn.” Lily wanted in on that interview, but Ginger might be in real trouble—or spooked enough to cough up a few more facts. “Guess I’ll have to read your report.”

He chuckled. “I’ll fill you in. I’ve left a key for you at the front desk here. If you finish up before we do, let yourselves in, get comfortable. Order anything you like, as long as it’s coffee.” He disconnected.

IT
was nearly five when they left Ginger’s. She’d been drinking. It didn’t bring out her best side. She’d alternated between abusing them for putting her in danger and begging them to stay there and protect her.

They hadn’t found any sign of a watcher.

“What do you think?” Lily said as she climbed back in the car. “Was she for real, or was she playing us?”

“I don’t know. Ginger is a good liar, but I don’t think she can make herself smell scared.” He started the car. “She’s frightened, but her watcher could be the product of guilt and alcohol.”

Lily was uneasy. “I wish she’d agreed to a safe house. Not that I have the authority to arrange one, but Croft could. Maybe we should stick around, keep an eye on her place.”

“Neither of us can protect her from sorcery. As she pointed out, a safe house wouldn’t, either.”

“Yes, but . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Something’s not adding up.” She couldn’t put her finger on what was bothering her, though.

“You want to give Karonski a call and see if it’s too late to join them?”

Oh, yeah. But . . . “If they’re still talking, it could throw things off for us to show up this far into things. I’m going to pretend I’m a grown-up and know how to let someone else run with the ball once in awhile.”

“Where, then?”

“Karonski mentioned coffee. Let’s head to their hotel and see if caffeine will wake up a few of my brain cells. I need to think.”

RULE
decided he’d had too many unpalatable cups of coffee in the last few days. He stopped at a small speciality food store and bought coffee beans, a grinder, and a French press. Lily seemed torn between amusement and exasperation until he pointed out that he wanted to have decent coffee at her place, too. Then she fell silent, no doubt brooding over the way he’d been forced on her.

Between that stop and the traffic, the other two beat them there. Croft and Karonski were on the tenth floor of a hotel that specialized in suites for business travelers. The small sitting room was pleasant enough in its generic fashion, with the usual amenities, including a round table with four chairs. An improvement over the conferencing arrangements at Lily’s apartment, he thought with a smile.

The hotel’s housekeeping services left something to be desired, however. As soon as he stepped inside he noticed a faint, unwholesome odor. Nothing the humans with him would be aware of, he thought. A dead mouse in the closet, perhaps.

“How’d it go?” Lily asked. “And what’s the connection between Mech’s church and the Church of the Faithful?”

“There isn’t one,” Karonski said gloomily. “We had it wrong.”

Rule went to the table and began taking out his purchases. “Who wants a decent cup of coffee?”

“Ah—none for me.” Karonski had an odd look on his face. Sheepish.

Croft frowned at Karonski. “What my partner is avoiding saying is that we’ve been barking up the wrong tree. There’s no connection between the Azá and the killings.”

Lily stopped dead. “What do you mean, we’re barking up the wrong tree? You talked with this Most Reverend guy for a few minutes, and he persuaded you that he and his entire organization are lily pure?”

Croft looked annoyed. “A certain degree of coincidence
does
occur, you know. I’m afraid we jumped to conclusions.”

“Coincidence!” Lily looked ready to bust something. Maybe Croft’s nose. “Of course they’re connected. Finding out how is what police work’s all about.”

Croft just shook his head. “We’ve come at this all wrong.”

Rule spoke before Lily could incur charges for slugging a federal agent. “Harlowe was the last one to speak with Fuentes, I understand. What did he say about that?”