Tempting Danger (13 page)

“One more thing, Ms. Martin. Have you spoken to anyone about seeing that man arrive at the playground?”

She snorted. “Hell, no. Think I’m an idiot? Around here, you shoot off your mouth, you get in trouble.”

“That’s good. Just keep thinking that way. What about your friend—the one who called you? Did you tell her?”

“Just said I might have some business, then hung up. She don’t know who it was.”

Lily stood. “Thank you for your cooperation. Officer Phillips will bring you a statement to sign so you don’t have to go to the station house. I’m sure you don’t want anyone to know you’ve spoken with us. I don’t, either.”

Lily gave Phillips a few instructions—he’d follow up with the friend, get that confirmed, and make sure she didn’t know anything. Then she left.

She checked her watch as she started back down the stairs. Twelve-oh-five. Plenty of time to make it to Bishop’s. She was looking forward to the look on Turner’s face when—

Her cell phone rang. She fished it out. “Detective Yu.”

“This is Rule.”

Oh, she wished her heartbeat hadn’t done that skip-jump thing. She spoke sharply. “Yes?”

“I deeply regret this, but I can’t make lunch. Some clan business requires my attention. Can we get together about two-thirty?”

“I’ve an appointment at three.” Lily stepped onto the sidewalk. Dammit, she was not disappointed.

“What about dinner, then?”

“What about four-thirty? We don’t have to eat while you tell me about lupi.”

“Why not, though? We both eat. You can ask questions about lupi pertinent to your investigation, and I’ll have the opportunity to hit on you again.”

The laugh was out before she could stop it. Oh, he was dangerous, all right. “This isn’t social.”

“You’re free to continue thinking that.” He hesitated. “There’s a chance I can get you into Clanhome, if you’re interested. There would be conditions.”

“I’m interested.” For years, most people had thought the Nokolai enclave outside the city belonged to a nutty, pseudo-religious group who didn’t allow outsiders on their land. Though the clan had come out of the closet after the Supreme Court ruling, they remained unwelcoming—and outside the city limits. A city cop didn’t stand much chance of getting a toe across their boundaries without a warrant.

“We can discuss it over dinner.”

“All right. I’ll be working late. Eight-thirty okay?”

“What does that mean?”

He chuckled. “So suspicious. Eight-thirty is fine.”

“At Bishop’s,” she reminded him.

“At Bishop’s. Be safe,” he said and disconnected.

Be safe?
She frowned at the phone in her hand. One of her instructors at the academy had ended every lesson with a similar phrase, but she’d never heard a civilian use it. They used to say it on that cop show, too. . . . What was the name of it? Maybe Turner had been a fan.

The idea of a lupus prince hooked on a television cop show had her grinning as she finished descending the stairs. Enough about Turner, she told herself as she headed for her car. There was another man she needed to know better: Carlos Fuentes. He’d arrived at the playground shortly after 9:49. But why had he gone there? Who had he met? And how had he really felt about his wife’s affair?

One of the last people to speak with Fuentes before he died was the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. So her next stop was the Church of the Faithful. She could eat on the way.

 

 

“WHAT
do you mean, he can’t talk to me?”

The pudgy little man was upset. “I didn’t say that. Oh, no. The Most Reverend will certainly talk to you, Detective, but he isn’t here right now. He had to go to our Mother Temple in Los Angeles. He should be back tomorrow.” He smiled at her hopefully.

“Tomorrow.” Lily frowned. When was Turner planning to get her into Clanhome? Her gut was telling her she might find some answers there. This was beginning to look like some kind of lupi-against-lupi deal, for all that the victim had been human. “What time?”

“In the evening, I think. Father Hidalgo will be handling the morning services.”

“You have two fathers?”

“Two priests,” he corrected her. “There are several degrees of priesthood—father, reverend father, most reverend, holy, and the most holy, who’s rather like our Pope.” He beamed at her. “He’s in England normally, but he’s been visiting our new Mother Temple. That’s why the Most Reverend Patrick had to be away.”

“That’s a lot of structure for such a new religion.” And were all the priests male? In a religion centered around a female deity, that seemed odd.

“No, no, the church isn’t new. Well, it’s new to America, but the faith has been around a long time, a very long time. It originated in Egypt in . . . oh, my, I’m not good with dates. The Second Dynasty? We were dreadfully persecuted during the Middle Ages.” He shook his head. “We had to go underground. That’s why you won’t have heard about us, but the rituals weren’t lost. Not entirely. Many of them can be traced back for thousands of years.”

The battier the cult, Lily thought, the more they liked to claim an ancient lineage. And there was nothing like a little persecution—preferably in the past—to lend their beliefs a certain cachet. “You seem pretty knowledgeable. Maybe you could help me out, answer a few questions.”

His smile faltered. “I don’t see what I could tell you. I knew Carlos, but not well.”

“You spoke to him Thursday night.”

“Briefly.” He was unhappy. “I told your officer that.”

“I just need to confirm a few things, get some background.” She gave him a trust-me smile. “You know how it is. I have to be able to answer anything my superior might throw at me.”

He nodded, but doubtfully. “I suppose we could use the secretary’s office.”

They were in what she assumed was the sanctuary, though it looked rather like the bank lobby it used to be, only with pews. “You don’t have an office?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head, smiling again as he started toward the back of the building. “I’m just a lay brother. A carpenter—or was. Retired now, you know, so I help out, but I’ve no official status.”

“Did you do some of the work here?”

“I did.” His face shone.

“Used to be a bank, right?”

“That’s right.” He glanced around with proprietorial pride. “Built in 1932, but it was empty for years. We take pride in the restoration we’ve done here. The building was in dreadful shape, truly dreadful.”

“Mmm.” Took a lot of money to restore an old building. This one was small, as banks go, but it still seemed an odd choice for a church. But apparently the Church of the Faithful wasn’t hurting for money.

As it turned out, the chubby lay brother and retired carpenter really didn’t have much to tell her. He confirmed that Fuentes had been at the church Thursday night—he’d seen him arrive—but not to rehearse with the choir. He’d been closeted with the most reverend fellow, receiving some private counseling.

Tomorrow, she promised herself as she unlocked her car, she’d talk to the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. Tonight . . . her lips curved up. Tonight she’d have dinner with Rule Turner. She was looking forward to seeing his face when he walked into Bishop’s.

RULE
knew he’d been set up before he’d been in the place ten seconds.

Bishop’s was more bar than restaurant, with all the ambiance of a locker room. Photographs in cheap plastic frames hung on paneling from the seventies. The wooden booths lining the narrow room looked as if they’d been through a couple of minor wars and would still be around after the next one. The place smelled of fried fish, hamburgers, and hostility.

As Rule made his way to the back of the room, heads turned. Conversations paused. Being watched was nothing new, but the expressionless gazes that tracked him weren’t the reaction he usually received.

Bishop’s was a cop hangout.

Lily Yu sat at the next-to-last booth on the left. She wore an icy yellow jacket with a black tee and slacks. The jacket, he knew, hid a shoulder holster. No jewelry. Her hair—shoulder-length, lustrous, as black as the inside of his eyelids on a moonless night—hung loose.

He wanted to run his fingers through it. To nuzzle her neck beneath that shining curtain and soak up her scent.

Fat chance. That didn’t keep his heart from pounding as he slid into the booth across from her. He could feel the wanting in his fingertips, a tactile need for her. He smiled crookedly. “Maybe I will behave. There are a lot of guns in this room.”

Amusement lit her eyes, that fugitive humor he’d glimpsed before. It gave him hope. The Lady knew he needed some.

“You guessing about the guns?” she asked.

“Gun oil has a distinctive scent.”

She nodded. “It’s weird to think you’re getting information all the time that’s not available to me. Just how sensitive is your sense of smell when you’re . . . well, like you are now?”

“Not as good as when I’m four-footed. Then, the air has weight and texture, and scent moves through me like a shifting tapestry.”

“You miss it.”

“Yes. It’s been awhile.”

It was the sort of place where the flatware comes wrapped in a skimpy paper napkin. Lily unwrapped hers, giving the task more attention than it rated. “I’ve heard that lupi
have
to Change every so often. That you can only put it off so long, and the full moon . . . damn.”

The young woman who’d glided up to their booth wore baggy jeans that hung low, showing off her belly button ring. Her hair was short, as was her T-shirt. Her nipples were hard. She held an order pad, and she smelled excited—and frightened. “I’m Sharon,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “What can I get you?”

Automatically his smile gentled. “Hamburger, rare, made with two patties. Serve it dry, please. Is your coffee any good?”

“It’s okay. I’ll make some fresh,” she promised.

“Thank you. Lily?” He quirked a brow at her.

“I think you mean ‘Detective Yu.’ ” She looked at the waitress. “I’ll have a hamburger, too, but make mine well done with extra pickles. Lots of extra pickles. And coffee, blond.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.” She stared at Rule a moment longer before giving a little sigh and hurrying off.

“You feeling more welcome now?” Lily asked dryly.

“As welcome as a man can be when he’s having dinner with a lovely woman under the eyes of a couple dozen of her big brothers.”

She chuckled. “Testosterone practically drips off the wall in this place, doesn’t it? But you’re from a male-dominated culture. Ought to feel normal.”

“Lupi are male, yes. But our culture isn’t male-centric. We treasure women.”

“Funny, that’s what the men say who lock their women up in purdah.”

“It’s not like that.” He studied her a moment. There was something different about her tonight. More relaxed. That was exactly what he wanted, but he’d expected to have to work for it. “It must have been difficult for you, succeeding in a field that, ah, drips testosterone. You would have had to prove yourself over and over.”

“They want to know you’ve got their backs, that’s all. You know what it takes to really join the gang? Get in a fight.” She shook her head, amused. “One good knock-down-drag-out, and you’re one of the guys.”

He went still. “You’ve fought? Hand-to-hand?”

“You can’t always avoid it, though I . . . you’ve got a funny look on your face.”

She was so small. Tough in spirit, physically fit, but no match for nine out of ten men. “I’ve a strong protective instinct. All lupi do. We see Deity as essentially female.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “The Great Mother, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

“Who probably doesn’t need big, strong males to protect her.”

His lips twitched. “Point taken.”

“I’ve been talking to some other people who worship a female deity. Supposedly her name is too sacred to be spoken except by priests consecrated to her service.”

“Talking in connection with your investigation?”

She ignored that. “They’re the Church of the Faithful, officially, but like to call themselves the Azá. It’s supposedly from some ancient language—Babylonian or something. Ever hear of them?”

“Can’t say that I have.” He spread his own napkin in his lap. “You said you were interested in seeing Clanhome.”

“I am.”

“There will be a ceremony tomorrow that I must attend. I believe I can arrange for you to accompany me.” She had to be there, of course. At least, she had to be close to Clanhome, or he wouldn’t be able to attend, either.

“You’re the heir, the crown prince. How much arranging does it take?”

He shook his head. “My position is . . . you’d call it high-status. And that counts among lupi, certainly. But I’ve no real authority. That rests with the Rho.”