Tempting Danger (17 page)

She hadn’t expected dogs. It didn’t seem to fit with the wolf thing.

There was no clear line between wilderness and town. No tidy blocks or fences. The modest stucco, timber-frame, or adobe houses seemed to have been plopped down at random, with some on the main street, others peering out from the pines and oaks covering the slopes on each side. They passed a gas station, a small produce market, a café, a laundry, and a general store.

There were people, too. The road split to circle a grassy area a little larger than a football field where several dozen people were gathered. The location for the ceremony she wouldn’t see? Like the guard at the gate, the men she saw mostly wore shorts, period. The women—why hadn’t she expected to see women?—wore shorts, too, though they added shoes and a T-shirt or halter. A couple of them waved; several others simply stared as they drove past.

Farther up the street, a teenage girl sat on the porch steps of a small stucco home, drinking a canned soda. She wore a gauzy dress . . . and had one arm looped casually over the huge, silver-coated wolf panting cheerfully in the heat beside her.

The wolf turned his head to watch as the Mercedes went by.

The Rho’s home was set partway up the slope at the end of the street. It was a sprawling stucco home with a red tile roof—lovely, but hardly a mansion. Not what she expected of a man worth three hundred million. Rule pulled into the curving drive, and she saw the man standing at one corner of the house. He was middle-aged and as nearly naked as everyone else she’d seen.

The blade in his hand was entirely naked. All two or three feet of it. “Good God. What’s he, the palace guard?”

“Something like that.”

Rule pulled to a stop in front of the house. The guard watched them. He didn’t look nearly as friendly as the one at the gate had. “This doesn’t say much for your claim that everyone’s happy not having a vote.”

“You’re unacquainted with the situation.”

“You could fill me in.”

“I don’t know what the Rho wants you to know.”

“And you don’t make decisions like that without consulting him?”

“Not when I’m speaking to the police.” He opened his door.

She started to reach for him. She had no idea what she was going to say, and didn’t have the chance to learn. The door of the house flew open, and a young boy burst out. “Dad! Dad!”

Rule shot out of the car almost as precipitously. He was rounding the hood before Lily got her seat belt undone, his face filled with such a fierce joy that she felt embarrassed, as if she’d intruded.

She climbed out slowly as the two connected, the man grabbing the boy and lifting him off his feet to swing him in a dizzy circle, then settling him on one shoulder as easily as she might sling her purse on a shoulder. The boy had short, straight hair a shade darker than Rule’s, a softer chin, and no beard, but otherwise was a miniature of his father.

Though maybe the resemblance was exaggerated by their identical, beaming expressions.

“So what are you doing out here?” Rule demanded. “What about your lessons?”

“It’s lunch!” he cried, indignant. “Anyway, I finished the spelling, and I know all the states, and Nettie says we’ll do math after.” He grimaced. “I am not looking forward to math, you know.”

“I know. But you’re doing better with division all the time, and you’ve got multiplication dicked. What’s seven times seven?”

“Forty-nine! And you’re
not
supposed to say dicked.”

“I forgot. There’s someone I’d like you to meet,
ma animi.
”

“Yeah?” He looked away from his father’s face, ignoring the guard, and saw Lily. “It’s a girl.” He was surprised.

“A lady,” Rule corrected. “Lily, this is my son, Toby Asteglio. Toby, this is Lily Yu.”

“You?”

“It’s a Chinese name,” she said. “It sounds like the English pronoun, as if I’m always talking about someone else, doesn’t it? But in Chinese it can mean lots of things, depending on how it’s written.”

“Do you talk in Chinese?”

“Sometimes, when I’m with my grandmother.”

“Cool. My friend Manny, he’s teaching me Spanish. His folks talk in it all the time, and I can’t tell what they’re saying, but I know a little. I can count to twenty.
¿Como está usted?
”

“Muy bien, gracias,”
she replied gravely. “
¿Y usted?
”

“You talk Spanish, too! Hey, Dad!” He patted his father’s cheek. “She talks Spanish. Maybe she can teach me so’s I don’t forget, since I have to be here a while. Gammy says you’re nuts for dragging me clear across the country,” he added. “Or if you aren’t, then you’d better get your act together. I don’t think I was supposed to hear that part.”

“Probably not,” Rule said. “However, I’m working at getting my act together.”

“She didn’t mean it bad. She says that a lot. If I forget my homework, she says I’d better get my act together. But I’m glad you haven’t gotten it together, ’cause I get to be here awhile.”

A tall woman with a cloud of frizzy gray hair hanging nearly to her waist stepped out of the house. “Toby, you need to finish your lunch, or Henry will be convinced you’re coming down with something.”

“I’m not sick!”

“You know that, and I know that, but will Henry believe us?” The woman wore running shorts and an athletic bra. Her skin was coppery from heritage as well as sun, and her muscle tone was excellent, making it hard to guess her age. “Hello, Rule. Toby certainly knows the sound of your car. He shot out of the kitchen like we’d lit a fire under him.”

“It’s just sandwiches,” Toby informed his father. “But with Henry’s bread, so they’re good.” He addressed the next to Lily. “He makes it himself. Gammy just buys hers, but Henry makes it. He lets me help sometimes.” Back to Rule. “Are you going to have lunch with me?”

“Ms. Yu might, after speaking with your grandfather,” Rule said. “I can’t, not this time.”

Toby made a face. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You can’t come in. But after the ritual . . . ?”

“I’ll come see you,” Rule said gently. “Work hard on your division, and you and I will go to the creek.” He swung the boy off his shoulder, kissed his forehead, then set him on the ground and swatted his backside lightly. “Go eat.”

Toby didn’t move. The stubborn look on his face reminded her of Rule. “I would
like
to go with you.”

“Yes, you would. But children are not allowed, which you know very well. Now go tend to your duties, and I’ll take care of mine.”

The boy heaved a huge sigh. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Yu. Maybe we can talk Spanish later.”

“Maybe so,” she said, charmed. And feeling guilty. This was not the distant relationship she’d been picturing. “Though I don’t know very much.”

“That’s okay. I don’t, either. Bye!” And he raced into the house at what she suspected was his usual pace: headlong.

Lily flicked a glance at the guard. The others acted like he wasn’t there, but she found it difficult to ignore a man with a sword. Well, a machete, she amended. It was closer to two feet than three. She spoke quietly to Rule. “Your son’s a charmer.”

“I think so, too.” He watched the door Toby had vanished through a moment longer, then turned to her. “I won’t be going in with you, I’m afraid.”

“What’s that about?”

He just shook his head and gestured at the tall woman standing silently nearby. “This is Nettie Two Horses. I imagine she’ll take you to meet the Rho. Nettie, this is Detective Lily Yu. You’re expecting her?”

“I am.” She held out a hand. Lily took it, and received a tingle of magic along with a firm, no-nonsense handshake. Native magic—she’d encountered its like before.

“Rule left off part of the introduction,” the woman went on. “I’m Dr. Two Horses. Not that you’re obliged to call me that. Heaven knows no one around here does.” She had a quick, wide smile. “I don’t suppose I look like a doctor to you.”

“Most doctors don’t wear white lab coats at home.”

“And you’re wondering whether this is home for me. Well, Clanhome is. This house isn’t, but I’ve a patient here.” She grimaced. “A bloody difficult patient.”

Rule smiled wryly. “He’s awake, obviously.”

“And doing well, under the circumstances. But I want him back in Sleep as soon as possible, which means I’d better take Lily to see him right away.”

Rule nodded. “I’ll see you later, then.” He gave Lily a glance she couldn’t read—then touched her cheek. “Be safe.”

She lifted her brows. “Don’t you mean, ‘Be safe,
Detective?
’ ”

He chuckled. Then, instead of getting back into his car, he loped off, moving at an easy run that was pure pleasure to watch.

“He’s beautiful in motion, isn’t he?” the woman beside her said. “They all are. I’ve never tired of watching them.”

Lily made a noncommittal noise, embarrassed that she’d been caught staring. “I didn’t realize Isen Turner was ill. I hope it’s nothing serious?”

“Serious enough, but he’s not ill. Come, let’s go inside. I’ll explain some of it, but you’ll need to save most of your questions for Isen.” She started for the house.

Lily spared one last glance at the man with the oversize knife, then followed. “I didn’t realize Rule’s son was visiting.”

“Mmm. Tell me, should I call you Detective? Or Lily?”

Meaning she wanted to know what it meant that Rule had touched Lily’s cheek. Well, so did Lily. “I’m here as part of an investigation.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would it make you uncomfortable to remove your shoes when you step inside? It’s custom here.”

“Not at all.” Though in fact it made her feel a little weird, mirroring as it did the practice at Grandmother’s.

Just inside the door Lily paused, taking a quick look around as she bent to slip off the flats she’d worn with her linen suit. The entry hall was large, tiled, with a skylight. It ended in French doors, left open, that led to an atrium. Doorways opened off both sides; one led into a dining room, the other a hall.

There was a shoe rack next to the door.
Déjà vu all over again,
Lily thought, straightening. The tiles were cool to her bare feet. Magic brushed her soles faintly, a fuzzy hum similar to what she’d felt at the murder scene.

Lupus magic. Which Rule seemed to lack. She faced her guide. “If Mr. Turner isn’t ill, then he’s been injured.”

“That’s right. Since you’re a police officer, I’m hoping you aren’t squeamish.”

“Traffic patrol generally cures any tendency toward squeamishness.”

“I can see that it might. Like working the ER, perhaps. But you’re a detective now?”

“I am. Homicide.”

Her eyebrows commented on that, but she didn’t ask the questions Lily expected. Instead, she started for the hallway on the right. “Lupi heal better when their wounds are left uncovered, and, as you may have noticed, they lack body modesty. Isen isn’t bandaged or clothed, and he isn’t pretty to look at right now. He’s regrown the skin and some of the muscle over the abdominal injury, but—”

“Wait a minute. He’s got a gut wound, and he isn’t in the hospital?”

Nettie paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Lupi generally hate hospitals. There are reasons for the Rho to remain here, and he’s well cared for, though shock remains a danger. Which is why I keep him in Sleep as much as possible.”

“When and how was he attacked?”

That sudden smile flashed over the other woman’s face. “You’re quick. Save your questions for Isen, though.”

“All right. But this one’s for you. You’ve used that phrase, ‘in Sleep,’ a couple times now. What does it mean?”

“A healing trance. It aids healing in almost anyone, but lupi benefit from it to an extreme degree, since they naturally heal so quickly. It virtually eliminates the possibility of shock.” She started walking again, heading for the paneled wooden door at the end of the hall.

“You’re a touch healer of some sort, I take it.”

“I took my degree in conventional medicine in Boston, and trained in shamanic practices under my uncle.”

Lily nodded. Shamanic practices meant earth magic, which fit with what she’d picked up when they shook hands. She was surprised to find a trained shaman here, though. Native healers were hot these days, especially with the Hollywood crowd, but not many of them left the reservations. Even fewer cross-trained in Western medicine. “You practice here at Clanhome?”

“Here and in Rio Bravo. I consult elsewhere sometimes. This is it,” she said, and rapped on the door, then pushed it open.

Over six feet of solid male muscle blocked the doorway. This one wore cutoffs and had one of the most impressive chests she’d ever seen. That chest was smooth and hairless, and crossed by a leather strap.

Equally impressive was the machete he held as if he might want to skewer the next person to walk through the door.

“BENEDICT,”
Nettie Two Horses said, exasperated. “Move.”