Tempting Danger (22 page)

“Holy Mother, what’s he—” That was Mech’s voice, from below. “Get back. Everyone get back. You! Hold it! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

Instinct and the rush of adrenaline said,
Run, get down there quick.
Lily knew better; racing into the middle of a possible shoot-out was a good way to get dead or block another cop’s line of fire.

She couldn’t see what was going on. The stairwell framed an empty stretch of wall at the bottom, so she pulled her gun and eased down the last of the stairs, quick but quiet, trusting her ears to fill her in. Behind her, she heard Phillips doing the same.

“I thought I was expected.”

Rule’s voice. Lily’s heart rate shot up another notch. She lowered her gun and took the last steps even quicker, rounded the wall enclosing the stairwell—and saw Rule standing just inside the door, his arms held away from his sides, his face turned toward someone to her right.

Mech. Who held his Glock in regulation posture, two-handed, aimed at Rule. The uniform at the door had drawn on Rule, too—he stood ahead of him and to his left. And behind Mech—Ginger Harris? What the hell was she doing here?

Lily holstered her gun. Phillips, she noticed, stayed in the stairwell, weapon still held ready. “I told you to expect Turner,” she said to the uniformed officer.

“I let him in. When your sergeant drew, I backed him up.” Gonzales looked uncertain. Two other cops, including his partner, still had their weapons out, but the one with rank didn’t.

Lily turned. “Sergeant Meckle? You have a reason for this? Turner was threatening someone?”

“I’ve got a warrant for him.” Mech’s eyes glittered. “Or will soon. It’s on the way. So is special transport.”

“You’ve got a warrant coming.” She couldn’t believe it. “Before I even got to the scene, you applied for an arrest warrant?”

“You were unavailable.” Mech didn’t take his eyes away from Rule.

“I had my phone with me. I had my goddamn cell phone with me.”

“You were with
him.
”

“So?” She stalked right in front of him. “Put it up. Put it up
now.
”

He moved, trying to keep Rule in his sights. “You should never have been put in charge. You’re not responsible for that. But you’ll be responsible if he gets away.”

Phillips spoke from the stairwell. “Might be a good idea to get out of the line of fire, Detective. Take a look at his eyes.”

Lily turned.

Rule hadn’t moved. His face was calm, expressionless. But his eyes were black. Black all over, with little triangles of white left in the corners . . . like an animal’s. She swallowed. “You okay?”

“I’m in control.” His mild voice was at odds with those beast-swallowed eyes. “But it would be a good idea if your men put their weapons away. I don’t like having guns pointed at me, but I’m not going to Change. That’s what he wants. But it upsets me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “It does upset me to see guns pointed at me.”

Before she could repeat her order, Phillips slid his gun back in the holster. After a second’s pause, his partner did the same.

“What are you doing?” Mech cried. “You’re taking orders from one of them?”

Phillips glanced at him. “Hate to tell you this, but this spot’s too small for shootin’ to do much good. We’re too close. If he wants to take us out, we’re meat.”

“I’ve got special rounds loaded. One of those in the brain—”

“Might stop him, if you hit him with the first shot. Might not. They don’t all react the same, and he’s their prince, so I’d guess he’s one of the tough ones. I’d just as soon not get him twitchy.”

Lily looked at Mech. She didn’t say anything. Just looked.

Slowly his hands lowered. Even more slowly, he holstered his gun. “You’re making a mistake,” he told her. “A big one.”

“I already made it. Jesus.” She shook her head, disgusted. “I
asked
to have you on the case. Consider yourself on report.” She glanced at Phillips. “You drew on him, even though you knew you were too close?”

He sighed, gloomy. “You know how it is. You see someone pull a gun, you just got to pull yours, too.”

No, Lily decided. He’d done it to give Rule multiple targets if he attacked, giving the rest of them more of a chance. Lily wasn’t sure she liked Phillips, but she was beginning to respect him.

All at once she felt shaky. This could have been a blood-bath.
Unused adrenaline,
she told herself.
Ignore it.

A glance around the little vestibule told her Ginger had vanished. The rookie looked worried, Mech stubborn, and Rule . . . his eyes weren’t back to normal yet, but they were headed that way. He gave her a crooked smile, as if he were trying to reassure her.

She wasn’t the one about to be hauled away on a murder charge—a murder she knew he hadn’t committed. Lily walked up to Mech, tight with anger. “Now, Sergeant, maybe you can take a minute to explain why you’ve violated procedure up, down, and sideways, and nearly filled this place with bodies. Or is that your usual technique for interrogating a suspect? You draw on them just in case, never mind who’s in the line of fire?”

“Normal procedures are ineffective against one of
them.
I couldn’t let him get away.”

“Yeah? So you see him running now that no one’s holding a gun on him?”

Mech’s eyes flickered. “I . . . maybe I misjudged.”

“You think?” Lily let all her scorn show. “There’s a few more holes you’ve punched in procedure, too. Like applying for an arrest warrant before you even spoke to the lead on the case.”

“I spoke to the captain. Ma’am.” The
ma’am
was tacked on with barely veiled sarcasm.

“No kidding? And I’m sure you told him I wasn’t aware you’d decided to play Lone Ranger and round up the bad guys all by yourself.”

“Yes, ’ma’am.” That was satisfaction in his voice now. “I did, though not in those words. He agreed that the evidence justified applying for a warrant.”

Without telling her? Lily felt cold. Was it the captain, then? Was Randall the one who’d set Therese Martin up to die? Or were they both in on it?

Getting paranoid here,
she told herself. Conspiracies can do that to a person. “You’re going to fill me in on this evidence now, I guess. Seeing as I’m the lead and all. Be sure to explain why Turner killed the witness who stood between him and possible arrest for Fuentes’s murder.”

“He paid her for that. I’ve got the deposit slip where she put ten thousand in her account, cash, right after she talked to you. She must have threatened him or gotten greedy, become a liability in some way. I’ve also got a witness who places him at the scene at the right time. That’s motive and opportunity. For means—he’s lupus. He
is
the means.”

“You’ve been amazingly busy. Lucky, too, considering she was found only an hour and a half ago. Would that witness be Ginger Harris?”

His gaze flicked toward Rule, then back to Lily. “I need to see if she’s all right.”

“You do that.”

“I’m going to execute that warrant when it arrives.”

“I’m sure you are.” She turned away, sick to her soul. This whole thing was a setup, and Mech was part of it. Either he was dirty or he was so warped by his prejudices it had the same result.

And the captain? Was he bent, too? How could she proceed if she couldn’t trust the captain?

She turned slowly, feeling eyes on her. Rule stood where he’d been throughout, motionless as the predator he was, watching her. When their eyes met, her heart jolted in her chest. Even here, even now, she felt him pulling at her, as if he had a hook in her gut . . . or her groin.

For a second, she hated him.

And that didn’t matter either, she thought, looking away as the steel box on wheels they called special transport pulled up outside. As far as the investigation went, it didn’t matter whether she hated Rule or fucked him. Because it would soon be out of her hands.

Therese Martin had been killed by sorcery, not a werewolf. Murder by magical means was a federal crime. She was going to have to let the Feds have this one.

“WHAT
do you mean, we aren’t going to tell them?”

Randall clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “What do we have? Your
feeling.
Which isn’t evidence, isn’t anything you can even put in a report.”

“I realize we’d have to level with them about my abilities,” Lily said stiffly. “I don’t like that, but there’s no other way.”

“We aren’t obligated to give them a thing that isn’t in your reports. Particularly such subjective information. Wait.” He held up a hand. “You’re convinced of the accuracy of your, uh, impressions. But you said yourself you’ve never experienced sorcery. You don’t know that’s what you picked up.”

“It fits,” she insisted. “All ‘subjective information’ aside, it fits. It’s such an obvious frame! There’s no trace of blood anywhere except by the body and at the sink, so we’d think he washed up. The deposit slip Mech found—we don’t have a thing tying it to Turner. Anyone could have put that money in. Then there’s the wolf hair. She couldn’t have pulled it out herself. They left it there.”

“Listen to yourself for a minute.” He was plainly exasperated. “Mech said you’d become biased, entranced by this lupus prince. I didn’t believe him, but—”

“Mech’s got a hate thing going about lupi. I didn’t realize that before, but it was obvious at the scene.”

He slapped his desk. “And
you
would rather decide that a fellow officer is guilty than that werewolf! You’re postulating a conspiracy, and not just that, but one involving this department.
And
a murder committed at a distance through sorcery. That just isn’t possible.”

“It’s been done. The historical record—”

“Before the Purge! That’s four hundred years ago!” He leaned forward. “Let me make myself clear. I am not going to subject this department to a witch hunt by a pair of glory-seeking federal agents. And that’s what would happen. They’d be looking at us—even at me—for a suspect. Or had that escaped your conspiracy-ridden mind?”

“No, sir,” she said woodenly. “That hadn’t escaped me. Though it’s possible one of the FBI agents did it, it’s more likely someone in this department tipped off Therese’s killer.”

His mouth tightened. “Get out.”

“Sir—”

“Out!” He glared at her. “I’m not removing you from the case, but I’m close to it. Go on. Go get your head straight.”

She left. She stopped at her office long enough to jam the FBI file and a couple more reports in her tote, then headed for the elevator.

“Hey!” Brady called as she passed through the bullpen. “What’s with you and Mech? You got it in for him?”

She didn’t slow down. “My report’s on file. You want to know what happened, read it.”

Brady scowled at her. “Why are you making trouble for him? He didn’t make a pass. Not Mech.”

T.J. shook his head. “Try to think about something other than sex, boy. It’ll be hard, but try. Lily . . .”

She paused, met his eyes.

“You take care now.”

Her smile flickered. “Right.”

At least T.J. didn’t hate her, she thought as she slung her tote in the backseat of her car. Yet. If she kept pushing, though, against the captain’s orders . . . but Captain Randall was
wrong.

Either that, or he was dirty. She couldn’t make herself believe that, but she couldn’t dismiss it, either. He’d had reasons for what he’d done—not good ones, in her opinion. But plausible.

She sent her car shooting backward out of her space, yanked the wheel, shifted, and hit the accelerator hard enough to burn rubber. The captain was right about one thing. She needed to get her head straight.

Fifteen minutes later she slammed the car door shut and started up the path to Grandmother’s house. She rang the bell.

“Lily.” Li Qin smiled. “How lovely to see you again. Please come in.”

Lily shook her head. “Not today, thank you. I just wanted to let you know I was here and would be working in the garden awhile.”

“Of course,” Li Qin said, as if Lily often dropped by in the middle of a workday to pull weeds. “I hope you will allow me to bring you some refreshment. Tea or a cool drink?”

“Perhaps later? I’m not fit company right now.” She managed to take her leave politely, then hurried along the flagstone path to the back of the house where the toolshed waited.

Five minutes later, she was in the native plants area west of the house, destroying invaders. The blue oak that anchored the space made salt-and-pepper shade, a shifting, dappled world. A strong breeze blew from the west. Lily knelt in the dirt in her linen slacks, uncaring of the damage she did them. She dug her trowel into the dry ground, loosened the roots beneath a clump of grass, and yanked it out with her other hand.

Twenty years ago, after Sarah Harris died and Lily didn’t, Grandmother had taken Lily to a section of her yard and told her to get rid of all the grass. She’d had so much fear and hate in her then. Therapy hadn’t done much good. How could a therapist help a child who won’t talk?