Mortal Danger

THIRTEEN

“THERE are three pictures he didn’t send us. Three victims he didn’t want us to know about.”

“We can’t be sure of that.”

Lily cast an impatient glance over her shoulder. Baxter sat at his desk, a scuffed and scarred relic from the fifties that looked out of place in the modern building that housed the FBI’s field office in San Diego. It held a jumble of file folders, a computer, five empty Dr. Pepper cans, and the one he’d just opened.

The man had a serious soda habit. “He killed on the twenty-fifth, the twenty-seventh, the twenty-ninth. No picture of a victim dated the thirty-first, but we’ve got one for the second and fourth of this month, then nothing on the sixth and eighth. Another victim on the tenth, and now Curtis on the twelfth. What does that say to you?”

“That we have a pattern. That doesn’t mean he killed on the missing dates. Something could have interfered with him on those days. Maybe he didn’t find the right type.”

“He does have a type.” She stopped in front of the murder board. There were seven prints pinned to it. Seven photos of women, all of them with light brown hair, all young, all naked. Five lay in beds, like Kim Curtis. One was in an alley, while one stared blindly up into the branches of a tree. None bore any marks of violence.

Seven tidy dead people, hands folded primly on their breasts.

“Why leave us pictures?” she asked. “Why make it easier for us to track him?”

“We haven’t found him yet,” Baxter pointed out. “But yeah, I know what you mean. He handed us a lot of information with those photos.”

They’d beer, taken by a digital camera, which meant the images had data attached. He’d made the disk at Kinko’s, for God’s sake. “We know what camera he used and when he took each of the pictures. We’ve got names and places of death for three of them now—damn Leung’s eyes.”

“I can’t blame him for not realizing the other vie in his territory was a homicide,” Baxter said. “You get a dead hooker, no signs of violence, you don’t say, ‘Hey, I’ll bet some dude with a magic staff sucked the life out of her.’”

“Once Curtis turned up in the same shape, arranged the same way, he knew he’d been wrong about Cynthia Porter. He held back on us until his chief leaned on him.”

“You’ll find that locals do that a lot.”

She exchanged glances with the older man. Baxter knew she’d been one of the locals until very recently. “I didn’t,” she said evenly.

He shrugged.

She and Baxter hadn’t exactly butted heads. MCD’s jurisdiction was clear, and Baxter had put several people at her disposal without complaint. But he’d made it plain he thought her too young and inexperienced to have charge of an investigation of this size.

Lily tended to agree. She wanted Karonski back. She’d told Ruben that when she reported on the increased scope of the investigation. But the imp outbreak was getting worse. There’s been a rash of fires, several accidents, and now a few fatalities. The governor of Virginia was talking about closing businesses, and the outbreak was being touted as the largest in a century. Ruben couldn’t spare Karonski until they located and closed the leak.

They had made some progress. They had IDs now on three of the victims—one in Oceanside, another in Escondido, the third in Temecula, like Curtis. All three had been ruled death by natural causes and would have to be ritually examined. Lily felt a pang of sympathy for the coven from L.A. who’d been given that chore. They seemed competent, though—it had taken them about thirty minutes to confirm that Curtis had been killed by death magic.

Lily had spoken with the Temecula police chief and with three witnesses from the Cactus Corral, including the not-quite-boyfriend. She was waiting on another witness now—the bartender who’d apparently waited on Harlowe. It was his night off, and they hadn’t tracked him down yet.

It was weird, hanging around waiting for others to turn up the witnesses and bring them to her. She was used to being out there hunting them herself, but someone had to coordinate the federal efforts with the local ones. Right now, that was her.

She’d be glad when Croft got here. “If he did have victims on the missing days”—and she believed in her gut that he had—“then he held back those photos for a reason. Why? Were there other victims we don’t know about? The first one we have a picture of is from the twenty-fifth of last month.”

“Eight days after you busted his operation with the Azá. Yeah, I’d like to know what he was doing for that week.”

Maybe hiding out in hell. Lily hadn’t mentioned that possibility to Baxter. Not only was it outlandish enough to make him doubt everything else she said, but it came from a source she couldn’t reveal.

“We’ll have another victim soon,” Baxter was saying,

“if you’re right about the staff and him having to feed it. I hope to God you’re wrong, but I’m not counting on it.”

She knew it. She knew it, and the certainty ate at her gut. “It keeps coming back to these pictures. Why take them? Why give them to us? Why did he want or need us to know so much?”

“He might not have known how much he was giving us. Lots of people aren’t computer savvy. I’d never heard of that EXIT data before, myself.”

“EXIF,” Lily corrected absently, frowning at the map pinned to one end of the long bulletin board. They only had three vies identified so far, not enough to establish a definite pattern. But those three seemed to lead them north, away from San Diego. “Even if you didn’t know the terminology, you’d have found out, wouldn’t you? Before sharing your trophy photos with the FBI, you’d have made sure the images didn’t give away more than you wanted them to.”

Baxter smiled sourly. “Can’t count on Harlowe being as bright as me.”

“He’s bright enough.” Lily had spent enough hours learning about the man, getting to know him through the eyes of others, to be sure of that.

“The whizzes in profiling think he craves recognition. He was outwitting us, but that wasn’t enough. He had to be sure we knew how clever he was.”

“Maybe.” Lily drummed her fingers once on the desk. “No, dammit, it doesn’t fit. It just doesn’t fit with the man he was before—ambitious, amoral, but not a serial killer, and damn good at taking care of his own hide. Something’s changed, or we’re reading this wrong.”

The door opened. “Maybe he’s decided he’s invincible,” Rule said. He held a flat cardboard box that gave off wonderful aromas—pepperoni and pizza sauce. “That he can’t be caught or killed.”

“What the hell,” Baxter said. “You listening at the door?”

Lily frowned. Usually Rule took care not to make the humans around him uncomfortable. Maybe he was tired.

“I have good hearing.” Rule walked up to the desk and put down the carton. “It’s nearly eight o’clock, and I’m hungry. I thought you might like a couple of slices. I’m hoping,” he said, glancing at Lily, “to share the rest with my lady.”

My lady. Only Rule could say something like that and make it sound normal. “It would be handy if Harlowe cherished delusions of invincibility, but Cullen said that Helen was the one who took risks. Harlowe was more cautious.”

“That was when Helen held the staff. Harlowe has it now.”

“You think it changes the user’s personality?”

“I think we’ve got lots of guesses and very little knowledge. I also think it’s suppertime. There’s a break room down the hall where we could take however much of this Baxter can spare us.”

Baxter had already off-loaded three slices. “Go on, go on. The Bureau can survive without you for a few minutes.”

The break room was only four doors away and deserted at this hour. “Where’s Cynna?” Rule asked.

“There’s nothing for her to use to Find Harlowe, so she’s helping another team. Parental kidnapping. She was pretty sure she could Find the boy.” Lily ripped off a few paper towels to serve as both plates and napkins. “What was that ‘my lady’ bit about?”

Rule was feeding coins into the vending machine. He smiled at her over his shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

“It sounds…” Like the way he referred to his goddess, but Lily didn’t want to go there. “Medieval. As if you’re about to hop on your charger and go lance someone.”

“I’ll skip the charger. Horses don’t tolerate us well.” He brought two cans of soda to the table—Diet Coke for her, the straight stuff for himself. “Baxter’s unusually comfortable with my presence.”

“I explained that you’re a civilian consult.”

“It’s more than that. Usually there’s some sort of threat response, either fear or aggression or both. It’s a visceral thing, not under conscious control. He mostly ignores me. That’s rare.”

She could believe that. Rule was hard to overlook. “He’s got a touch of… well, otherness. It’s too faint for me to identify, but there’s something there. I’m guessing he’s got a witch, maybe even someone of the Blood, in his ancestry. That might make him more tolerant than most.” The smell was making her mouth water. She retrieved a slice and bit in.

“Perhaps.” He sat and removed a slice, the warm cheese stretching in a long string. “Your sister had a civil ceremony, not a religious one.”

She blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“Weren’t you thinking that ‘my lady’ sounds a lot like the Lady?”

“Have you picked up a telepathy Gift?”

“No, you make me work for whatever insights I can come up with. Is it specifically my beliefs that bother you, or religion in general?”

She resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. “I just think that sort of thing is private. It makes me uncomfortable when people wear their beliefs out in public.”

“Like underwear, you mean.”

She grinned. “Maybe.”

“I’m wondering if that’s a personal opinion or one your family shares.”

There were mushrooms on the pizza. Lily didn’t exactly hate mushrooms, but she didn’t exactly like them, either. She picked one off. “Family, I guess. The religious wars were mostly over by the time I was six, but we’re talking an armed truce with occasional skirmishes, not real peace.”

“They are of different faiths?”

“Mother’s a twice-a-year Christian—Easter and Christmas. My father was raised Buddhist, but I’m not sure how much it really matters to him. You’d think they could have compromised, since they aren’t especially devout, but…” She shrugged her good shoulder. Her pizza was getting cold, so she bit in.

“You would have gotten used to avoiding the whole subject, then, to avoid conflict in your family.” He nodded. “Did you stop thinking about it, too?”

Pretty much. Lily picked off more mushrooms, not looking up. “I went through the usual questioning period in my teens. You know—why are we here, what does it all mean, that sort of thing. It seemed like everyone had a different answer, and no way to back it up.”

“You wanted evidence. Proof.”

“What’s wrong with that? If we’re talking about stuff as important as the meaning of life, shouldn’t we want to something concrete to hang our theories on?”

“Nothing wrong living in a fact-based reality. But science, as good as it is with how, isn’t equipped to deal with why.”

As far as she could tell, no one was much good at dealing with the why, but that didn’t stop them from thinking they’d locked truth up all nice and tidy. Lily frowned and took another bite, hoping he’d take the hint and drop the subject.

Rule laid his hand over hers. “I’m trying to understand you, not convert you.”

Okay. She said that with a little nod because her mouth was full. He wanted to know where she stood, faith-wise, because that sort of thing mattered to him.

It must matter to her, too, or it wouldn’t make her so uncomfortable.

That thought was disconcerting enough that she finished her slice in silence.

Rule seemed all right with that, not pushing for conversation while they ate. That was one of the great things about him, she thought. She wasn’t entertainment for him. He didn’t need her to make him laugh or bolster his ego or to figure him out so he wouldn’t have to. A lot of men who said they were looking for a relationship really wanted a combination sex buddy, therapist, and mirror.

Maybe he’d looked for those things, too, when he was younger.

A little bump of discomfort poked her, like being elbowed in the side when there was no one around. She didn’t like thinking about his age. Tough, she told herself. She might as well get over it. He wasn’t going to grow younger.

One of the things bugging her, she realized, was that there was just plain more of him that she knew nothing about. About twenty years’ worth. Maybe she should ask Cynna what he’d been like twelve years ago, when they were an item.

“What?” he said, wiping his hands on a paper towel.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were looking at me with big questions in your eyes.”

She had a suspicion Rule wouldn’t like her and Cynna comparing notes. “It’s nice, being able to sit together without feeling that I need to jump your bones.”

He grinned. “I’m crushed. But perhaps what you’re feeling mostly is exhaustion. You had a rough day yesterday, and not enough sleep.”

“I’m okay.” For another couple of hours, anyway. “And you know what I mean. The mate bond has eased off, hasn’t it? We can be farther apart now. A lot farther.” There’d been a time when she couldn’t let as much as a block separate them. “It feels good to be near you, but it’s more of a half-a-beer buzz, not the whole six-pack.”

“Did you chug six-packs in college? Somehow I can’t picture it.”

“I got drunk once. I didn’t like it.” Why people courted that complete loss of control she couldn’t fathom. “What about you?”

“It’s difficult for a lupus to get drunk. Our bodies regard alcohol as a toxin and clear it from our systems too quickly for us to become intoxicated.”

“That could be handy… unless you really want to be drunk.”

His grin flashed, quick and bright as a lightning stroke. “I did, yes, at that age. I wanted to see what it was like. I was as stupid as most boys, thinking ourselves adult once we pass a legal age marker.”

She had a hard time picturing Rule in college. Had he gone out for sports? Been studious or wild? Had he had friends? Human friends, she supposed she meant. People not in the clans. “Does your father have pictures from when you were young? A kid or a teenager, I mean. I’d like to see them.”

He tilted his head, surprised. “Henry has several albums. I’m sure he’d share them with you, if you asked.”

Henry? Who… oh. “Your father’s houseman or cook or whatever. He keeps the family pictures?”

“Henry has been part of my family for many years. He helped raised me.”

Rule hadn’t sprung from his father’s seed alone, but she couldn’t remember him ever referring to a second parent. That gaping absence warned her to go lightly. “You never mention your mother.”

“You might say that I’ve had many mothers. Our people make much of children.”

Okay, he wanted that door shut. She’d go along for now. This wasn’t the best time for such personal stuff, anyway. “I guess Nettie was one of those motherly…” Her voice drifted off as realization struck. “Or not. She, uh, must be your age, or close to it. You probably played together.”

“Ah… the gray hair is misleading. Nettie’s only forty-four.” He hesitated. “She’s my niece.”

“Your… niece?”

He nodded. “She was raised with her mother’s people but came to Clanhome to stay with Benedict most summers.”

Nettie looked older than Rule. She looked older than her own father. What did it do to families when half of them—the female half—aged so much faster than the others? “How old is Benedict?”

“Sixty-four.”

God. He did look older than Rule, but she’d have guessed him at about forty. Yet he had another eighty or more years ahead of him, while his daughter… “Damn,” she said softly. “He’ll watch her get old. And she’ll never see him as an old man.”

“It isn’t easy for one of us to have a daughter when he’s young.”

A sudden thought struck her. “Is that why you don’t marry—why lupi don’t believe in marriage? You couldn’t keep your secret from a wife. She’d age and you wouldn’t, at least not as much. And she’d die. That would be hard.”

Rule’s face was all mask, no expression. “That’s part of it.”

“I’ll get old and die before you will.” There, she’d said it. Her heart beat unsteadily.

“Possibly.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “If you live to twice the human lifespan, that’s a hundred and fifty or more. I might get eighty-five or ninety years, if I stay healthy. So when I’m eighty and creaky, you’ll be a lively one-oh-six.”

“Sometimes a Chosen ages more like one of us. Not always. We don’t know why.”

He didn’t know if he’d lose her while he still had years and years left. Not knowing… that could be as hard to handle as despair. She touched his hand.

He gripped hers suddenly, as if he knew her thoughts. As if he’d keep her young by force of will. After a moment his grip eased. He gave his head a little shake and released her hand. “I’ve enough to worry about in the present without tackling what-ifs that are years away. Most immediately, I’m afraid I’ve some clan business to take care of tonight.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“The Rho has decided to call for an All-Clan.” He began brushing the crumbs from the pizza into his palm and then dumped them in the box. “I’m needed to make some of the contacts.”

“What’s an All-Clan? Some kind of gathering of the clans?”

“Yes. It’s held roughly every seven years. The last one was only two years ago, so we aren’t due for one yet. But there are mechanisms for calling an All-Clan in an emergency. The Rho believes we’re facing just that.”

“Because of Her, you mean. The goddess. She has it in for lupi.”

“That’s right. We’ve already passed the word about Her, of course, but it’s easy to disbelieve such a tale.”

“So what does your father hope to accomplish? Does he think you’ll be able to convince more of your people there’s a real threat?”

“I never try to guess what Isen intends,” Rule said dryly. “But one of his goals is certainly to persuade the doubters that the threat is real. That She is active in our realm again.”

Lily frowned, tapping one finger against the table. Rule had said once that the lupi had been created to fight this goddess. Whether that was true or not, he believed it. So, apparently, did most lupi—even Cullen, who wasn’t one to take much on faith. “What will it mean if the other clans believe you? What will they do?”

Rule hesitated, his dark eyes troubled. “Thranga,” he said at last. “Perhaps.”

“Well, now I understand completely. If you…”

Rule’s head turned, alerting her that he’d heard something. A second later she did, too—footsteps.

Baxter appeared in the doorway. “Hastings tracked down the bartender at his girlfriend’s place and is bringing him up. I told him we’d use my office. Might put the man more at ease than one of the interrogation rooms.” He eyed the pizza box. “Any leftovers?”

“Nope.” Lily pushed her chair back. “I’ll be right there.”

Baxter nodded and headed back down the hall. Lily took the empty pizza box to the trash can. They were out of time—again. There never seemed to be enough time for the questions that mattered.

Still, she could hit one of them. “What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid?”

“You ask the oddest things.”

“I watched Sesame Street. Was that on when you were little?”

“No, I was a Mouseketeer.”

“A Mouseketeer.” A grin spread across her face. “Really? Did you have the hat?”

“I don’t remember. No, I don’t think I did.” He came to her and put his hand on her good shoulder. “You’ll be here awhile longer, I take it.”

“Looks like. I tell you what. If it will make you feel better, I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.” Lily was pleased with herself. Who said she couldn’t compromise?

The twist to his mouth didn’t look happy. ‘“I expect my meeting to last awhile. I’m likely to be later than you will be.”

“Okay. If you need to take your car, I’ll get a ride.”

“I can’t leave unless you’ll accept another guard in my place.”

“Rule.” Don’t overreact, she told herself. Naturally he worried, with the way she’d been targeted. “I’m not claiming to be invulnerable, but I am a good shot. I can get myself home just fine.”

“A gun is little defense if you’re asleep when an attack comes.”

She glanced at the hall. Was that the elevator? “You sleep, too.”

“Sentry sleep is different.”

“What’s that? No, wait, I don’t have time for explanations. I need to get back.”

“Indulge me a moment first. I’ll keep this brief.” He took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her.

That was another great thing about him, she thought after he stepped back and she could think again. When he kissed, he gave it his complete attention. Maybe she’d been wrong about that “half-a-beer” analogy. “Remind me to ask you about sentry sleep.”

“All right. Benedict’s waiting in the parking lot to give you a ride when you’re ready.”

“What?”

“He thought it best to wait for you outside the building so he didn’t have to disarm. He agrees about the value of bullets where demons are concerned.”

“That’s gratifying, but—”

“You might call downstairs and let the guard know so he doesn’t think Benedict is lurking outside so he can bomb the building or something.” He turned to go.

“Wait! Wait a minute! I didn”t say I’d let him play bodyguard.“

“Play?” Rule paused in the doorway, smiling. “You say that, yet you’ve met my brother.”

She stared at him, unamused.

He sighed. “Lily, the Rho uses bodyguards. It doesn’t diminish him.”

“The Rho agrees to use them. I didn’t agree to a damned thing.”

“But you aren’t stupid, so you will. Besides, you’ll need a ride home. Why not use Benedict? He’s here.”

“He’s here because you arranged it. You didn’t ask me.” She heard voices in the hall—the bartender, complaining about having his night off interrupted, and one of the agents soothing him.

“You’ve been busy. I took the liberty of entering Benedict’s cell phone number on your phone’s speed dial—number twelve. If you’ll let him know when you’re ready to leave, he’ll be ready.”

Which meant he’d planned this hours and hours ago, when she’d handed him her phone to call Cullen. Then sprung it on her at the last minute. “Dammit, I have to go. But we are going to talk about this.”

He smiled. “Of course. Until later, nadia.”