Human Nature (7 page)

She glanced at him. Sounded like he was keeping pretty careful track of Robert Friar. Maybe she should ask to see his file on the man.

But for now…did she play it safe, keep Rule in the car? Or give Friar something to bitch about, knowing he might bitch to the press? “Ammunition be damned.” She slid her phone back in her pocket, clipping it so it wouldn’t fall out. “You say he likes control. I want to rattle his cage, and since I’m short on ammo of my own, you’ll have to do. Pull on up to the door and let’s go have a chat with him.”

The live-in housekeeper answered the door. She was fiftyish, stocky, with dark skin and a lovely Jamaican accent. She led them to an enormous open living area, the sort people usually called a great room.

There were two men in the room. One was tall and thin, midthirties, with even features and sun-bleached hair trimmed close to his skull. His Wranglers and J. Crew shirt seemed to go with the Bronco out front. He looked vaguely familiar.

The other man was shorter, maybe five-ten. He looked husky but fit, Lily thought, especially for a fifty-five-year-old. His jeans were damned sure not Wranglers. His shirt was loose, white, probably a linen blend. No shoes. His hair was black and shaggy with white streaks, and his skin was so deeply tanned he looked Mexican. According to the file, he wasn’t. Both his parents were deceased, but there was one brother, Shawn, who’d been in rehab a couple times. Shawn lived in San Francisco and worked for an IT firm.

Also according to that file, Friar had made his fortune in the dot-com bubble of the nineties and had sold his firm for nineteen million before the bubble burst. He’d kept busy since by playing in the commodities markets, raising horses, and getting involved in right-wing causes, especially those dealing with immigration. When the Supreme Court’s ruling made lupi citizens, he’d dropped his other to-do’s to devote himself to Humans First.

Friar stood near the flagstone-faced fireplace, a snifter in one hand, and dominated the huge room. He turned to face her, his eyes cutting quickly to Rule, then away. “Miss Yu. I was beginning to think you meant to neglect me.”

“Special Agent Yu,” she corrected him, moving forward. “Am I supposed to be surprised that Chief Daly called you?”

His eyebrows climbed. “My, you do jump to conclusions. Turner,” he said, looking directly at Rule. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’d have to throw out the glass afterward, and I abhor waste.”

“Speaking of jumping to conclusions,” Rule said as he kept pace beside her. “I could only contaminate a glass if I were moved to accept your hospitality. I’m not.”

Friar smiled. His eyes were dead cold. He lifted his snifter slightly in a salute.

Lily stopped a few feet from the two men. Before she could speak, Rule brushed her wrist lightly. “Ray,” he said to the tall man in Wranglers, “I’m surprised to see you so far from Sacramento. Lily, I don’t know if you’ve met. This is Ray Evans of the
Sacramento Star
. Ray, Special Agent Lily Yu.”

The man nodded. “Special Agent.”

“Mr. Evans.” Shit, he was a reporter. A shark of a reporter, too. She’d seen his byline on some sensational stuff. He did his research, though, and he wasn’t anyone’s pet. He just went for the blood wherever he scented it.

What was Friar up to? “Don’t you usually cover state government?”

“I cover politics,” he corrected. He had a smooth, warm voice. “This…” He gestured at Rule, then Friar, then her—“shows all the signs of being very interesting, politically. I understand you’re investigating the murder of a lupus, Agent Yu.”

“I have no comment at this time.”

“You might want to change your mind. Otherwise, I’ll go to press with what Robert has told me. Oh, and Chief Daly had a few things to say, too.” He shook his head, his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “I don’t think that man likes you.”

Lily’s lips almost twitched. Evans was good. Get her smiling, get her relaxed, get her talking. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a statement after I’ve interviewed Mr. Friar.”

“Sure. But…” He glanced at the silver watch on his wrist—a pretty nice watch, too, for a guy who drove a ten-year-old car. “I should warn you that I don’t have much time to get my story in. I can wait maybe thirty minutes.”

“I don’t structure an investigation around your deadlines.” She looked at Friar. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Friar. We need to step into another room.”

“Actually, we don’t.” He picked up a thin folder from the end table nearby. “This statement should answer your questions. I’ve signed it, with two witnesses—Ray was kind enough to serve that function.”

She glanced at the reporter. “And did you read what you were signing?”

He smiled. “I have a copy.”

Friar’s smile was thin and basted with gloat. “My lawyer assisted me in preparing the statement. He also witnessed my signature, as you’ll see. If you have any questions after reading it, you may ask them with my lawyer present. Call my secretary for an appointment.”

“Most people don’t request a lawyer unless they have a guilty conscience.” She took the folder from him, but couldn’t manage to brush his fingers with hers. Was he avoiding contact on purpose? Her Gift wasn’t widely known, but it wasn’t a secret. Not anymore.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust you.” He sipped his brandy, meeting her eyes over the rim of the glass. His irises were as close to true black as human eyes get—in other words, not as black as Rule’s eyes turned when he was fighting the Change. “You brought this Turner creature into my house. You allow him into your body. What is that, if not bestiality? You make him part of your investigation. That certainly looks like bias, evidence of the unnatural hold he has over you.” He sipped again, smiling.

“Now, that wasn’t nice.” He didn’t have enough wrinkles, she decided. A few around the eyes, but his skin was too taut. That much sun over the years made sags and wrinkles on Anglo skin. She bet he’d had work done. Rule hadn’t mentioned vanity when he described Friar, but that’s what she saw. “I have to ask myself why you’re going out of your way to insult me.”

“I’m being true to my beliefs, nothing more. I’ve cooperated by giving you that signed statement because I have a great reverence for the law, but that’s all I’m giving you tonight. I’m asking you to leave now.”

She could push it. She knew it, he knew it. But that’s what he wanted. Maybe he was hoping that if he was rude enough, uncooperative enough, she’d haul him in. That would make a great headline. Short of that, Ray could get in some good lines about FBI harassment if she pushed too hard.

Of course, Friar also wanted her to back down, because then he’d won. Rule was right. The man liked to win. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Friar.” She looked at Ray Evans. “For the record, I am investigating the possibility that magic was involved in the death of Steve Hilliard.”

Then she met Rule’s eyes, gave a nod, and started for the door with him beside her.

Evans used his long legs to keep up with them. “What makes you think there was magic involved? Wasn’t his throat slashed?”

“That’s all you’re getting. Oh, one more thing, Mr. Friar.” She paused, turning back to face him. “Does your daughter know you’ve sicced the press on her?”

She hadn’t looked in the file. She didn’t know for sure he’d thrown his daughter under the bus, so to speak. But her guess struck home. For the first time, emotion touched his face—a quick tightening around his eyes, his mouth.

“I have no daughter,” he said.

THE
next morning, Lily rushed through her shower, blew enough hot air at her hair to have it mostly dry, and left the bathroom wearing a skimpy hotel towel.

In the end, they hadn’t gone to Rule’s place. The hour’s drive back and forth from San Diego didn’t make sense—as she should have known from the first. They’d gotten a room at Del Cielo’s only chain hotel, a Holiday Inn, where one of Rule’s clan had brought his car. That gave Lily time to go over the police reports—which had finally been faxed to the Unit’s main office in D.C., then forwarded to Lily via email.

Rule was already dressed. He sat at a small table by the window, his laptop open and humming. “Our friend Ray wrote an interesting article,” he said. “Not the slant I expected, or the type of bias I imagine Friar was hoping for.” Then he looked up from the screen. His eyes darkened. “Well,” he said, standing, “that’s a lovely sight.”

“Forget it,” she said briskly, heading for the entertainment unit, in whose drawers she’d stashed her underwear last night. Lily always unpacked. Suitcases were so untidy. “I need coffee. Do I smell coffee?”

“You do.” He was right behind her now. “But I know an even better way to wake up.”

She bent to open the drawer. “We had some first-class bestiality last night. That’ll just have to hold you until…oh.” Her voice went soft.

Three more pairs of new panties were jumbled up with those she’d packed. Hot pink lace. Chocolate brown satin. And pinstriped—teensy thin silver stripes on charcoal. She smiled as she pulled out the last one. “Just the thing for a professional woman.”

His arms went around her from behind. “Happy birthday to me.”

She turned her head, smiling. His face was so close…“Your birthday isn’t until November.”

“I’m celebrating early.” He nibbled at her neck.

She sighed. “I’m afraid not. I don’t have time, not with that deadline Croft handed me. I have to get dressed.”

“I know.”

“That’s hard to do unless you let go.”

“You’re creative. I’m sure you’ll think of…damn.” He let go. “I ordered breakfast. That will be it.”

She hadn’t heard anything, but a second later someone knocked on the door. “Don’t let them in,” she warned, hurriedly stepping into the new panties. He flashed a grin over his shoulder as he unfastened the privacy lock. “But I wouldn’t have to tip if…ah.” He stood so that his body blocked the opening. “Ray. Not a good time.”

“I’m here with a warning.”

“I’m listening.”

Lily scrambled into her clothes as Evans spoke. Apparently the hotel lobby was hip-deep in reporters—most notably the crews from two TV stations.

“That’s quite a turnout,” Rule said. “Slow news day?”

“Partly. Also, I wrote one hell of a good story, and the chief of police here is shooting off his mouth—talking about how Agent Yu is abusing her authority, how she’s shacking up with you. His words, not mine. The TV folks are after a shot of the two of you leaving your hotel room together, or at least a shot of the two of you in the hotel.”

“That’s a compelling visual, from their point of view. I’ll have to see if I can come up with an equally interesting one for the press conference I can see I’ll be giving soon. Thanks for the tip.”

“Can I come in? They’re going to find the right person to bribe soon to get your room number. I’d rather not be talking here in the hall when they do.”

“And how did you get my room number?” Rule asked.

“Sheer, unadulterated charm. Also a cousin with a friend who works here.”

Lily answered as she stepped into her flats. “It’s okay by me, with two conditions.” She’d long ago opted for easy with her work clothes, and owned a lot of black pants, black tees, and jackets in various colors. Made getting dressed in the morning a snap, even before coffee. She grabbed a jacket from the closet with one hand—blue, as it turned out—and the damp towel from the floor with the other.

“And those would be…?” Evans said.

Rule glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned as she tossed the towel into the bathroom and pulled the door closed. She was shrugging into her jacket as she moved to the door. “First, what’s said is off the record unless we agree otherwise. Second, I get to shake your hand.”

His hesitation was brief, but enough to confirm her guess. “Off the record works, and I have no objection to taking the hand of a lovely woman.”

Rule moved aside, opening the door wider. Lily stepped up, holding out her hand. Evans took it.

Lily smiled as she released his hand. She did so enjoy being right. “In case you’ve ever wondered, your Gift isn’t the only reason you appeal to people. I find you likeable, and your Gift doesn’t work on me.”

Another hesitation, then a small smile. “Good to know.”

Rule glanced at her.

“Charisma Gift,” she said, moving aside so Evans could enter. “Not scary strong, but enough to make him good at his job. People want to tell him things.” She looked at the reporter again. “Rule is the only one I’ll tell. Your Gift is your business. It won’t go into my official report.”

“That’s even better to know.” He came into the room, glancing around. “I smell coffee.”

“And I haven’t had any yet, but if there’s any left after I get a cup, you’re welcome to it.” Lily went to the vanity area, where a small Mr. Coffee waited. “You’re in luck. There’s almost a full pot, and I think it’s Rule’s blend, not the hotel stuff.” She poured two cups.

Evans accepted the mug, glancing at Rule. “You have your own blend?”

“Not one made just for me, no. But I usually travel with some I’ve ground myself. Organic, dark roast.”

“He’s picky. Works out well for me—I get great coffee.” Lily at last got her first swallow of coffee. She kept her eyes on Evans. “You want to tell us why you’re really here?”

“Obviously, to persuade you to say something on the record.”

“I’m more persuadable if you level with me.”

“Have you read my story?”

“I have,” Rule said. “Which is why I didn’t object to Lily’s invitation. I’d say you’re fair—more so than Friar may like—despite your own bias.”

“What bias is that?”

“You want Congress to limit the authority granted Unit agents after the Turning. I’m wondering why.”

“Backlash.” Evans paused, sipped. “This is damned good coffee, by the way. It’s already started, the murmurs against the Gifted. It’ll get worse before it gets better. Congress overstepped when it granted such broad powers to a unit comprised of Gifted agents. If they acknowledge that now, before the backlash deepens, it will protect the Unit.”

“Maybe,” Lily said, “but you didn’t answer my question.”

Evans’s eyebrows went up. “Not interested in politics, even when it’s your Unit at stake?”

Rule answered before she could. “When Lily’s on a case, she does the job. Right now you’re only interesting because you may affect the case.”

Evans pulled out a notebook. “Can I quote you?”

Rule looked at Lily. She shrugged. “On that one thing, yes. So what do you want, Evans? Unless you plan to persuade me to kick Daly’s ass and make headlines for the good of all Gifted everywhere, I don’t see why you’re here.”

“Humans First. That’s the real story. I’ve been cultivating Friar for months, and it’s working—he called me when he wanted a reporter to give you two a hard time. You’ve read that statement of his by now.”

“Of course.”

“He’s alibied up, down, and sideways for the night Hilliard was killed. What he doesn’t mention is that while he was at a party in San Diego with about a hundred other people, a couple of his lieutenants were here in Del Cielo. One of them lives in Texas, the other in northern California.”

“You think they killed for him?”

“I think they’re capable of it. The two men I’m speaking of are Armand Jones and Paul Chittenden. They stayed here that night, checked out the next day.”

Now that was interesting. “Who’s your source?”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I’m not about to lose him or her as a source.”

Fair enough. “I’ve got an address for Jones. Chittenden wasn’t mentioned in my file.”

“He’s a recent promotion. Here.” He pulled out his Black-Berry, scrolled around till he found the contact info, then jotted it in his notebook and handed her the sheet of paper.

There was a knock on the door. Rule moved to it, stood quietly, then said, “This time it really is breakfast. I smell sausage.”

“I’ll leave you to your meal,” Evans said, taking a last swig of coffee before setting the mug down. “Just one more thing. I hear there will be a meeting of the local branch of Humans First tonight.” He smiled slyly. “I may be parked near the entrance to Friar’s place. Be interesting to see who attends.”

“Is that so?” Lily smiled. Time for some payback—of both kinds. “You might want to keep an eye out for Chief Daly. I hear he’s a member. Certainly explains why he’s so worked up about my personal life, doesn’t it?”

Evans’s eyebrows went up. “That so? Who’s your source?”

“Uh-uh,” she said, and shook her head just as he had. “And you didn’t hear that from me. You can use it, but I get to be an anonymous source.”

He grinned, gave Rule a lazy salute, and left.

“I like Ray,” Rule said after tipping the waiter who’d unloaded their food, “but now I’m wondering if that’s me, or his Gift.”

“I liked him, too. Don’t trust him, of course.” She piled scrambled eggs on her plate. “Not that I think he lied, exactly. But he has an agenda. That may be just what he said, plus a good dose of ambition, but we don’t know yet.”

“True. What’s on your agenda today?” Rule added the rest of the eggs to his plate, which already held half a dozen sausage patties. “I’ve a suggestion. Why don’t we split up? I can have a little chat with the press, distract them from you.”

“I’ll take you up on that. I’ve got too many places to be today to waste time digging out from a press huddle.” She ate absently, her mind turning over possibilities. “I need to see the place where the body was found, but at least I’ve seen the photos now, so that can wait a little longer. So…Mariah or Adele?” She tapped her fork against her plate. “Mariah first. Maybe I can catch her before the press batters her too badly.”

Rule had finished his eggs while she wasn’t paying attention. He poured more coffee from the carafe that had arrived with the food. “Surely you want to check out those two men Evans told you about. Jones and Chittenden.”

“I’ll do a run on them, sure, and will see if I can confirm what Evans said about them staying here. But they aren’t my first priority.”

“Why not?” he asked sharply.

“My first priority is determining whether I have jurisdiction, remember?”

“The tattoo proves magic was involved.”

“The tattoo proves someone used magic to apply a tattoo. It suggests a lot more, but doesn’t prove it. Not unless Arjenie can tell me those symbols translate as ‘kill this guy.’”

“That can be sorted out later. Clearly Friar is behind this.”

“No,” she said slowly, “that isn’t clear. Hate isn’t enough. Hilliard lived here for years. Why kill him now?”

“There’s a baby,” Rule said tersely. “It isn’t Steve’s, but Friar doesn’t know that. I don’t imagine he’s happy with having what he believes is a lupus grandson.”

“I repeat, why now? The baby is four months old. I can come up with possible motives, like if Steve found something out Friar didn’t want spread around. But that leaves some big holes in the fabric. What’s the tattoo for? Friar might condone killing, but would he condone using magic? Would one of his lieutenants be Gifted?”

“You won’t know until you check.”

“True, but it doesn’t feel right. Why did Steve meet with his killer in that out-of-the-way spot?”

He shoved his chair back. “He could have been tricked, lured there.”

She tipped her head back to watch as he began pacing. He was tied tight all of a sudden. “Maybe. That’s all I’ve got right now, lots of maybes. But if Steve knew something dangerous about Friar, wouldn’t he have passed it on to his Rho right away, rather than jaunting off to this deserted spot for whatever reason?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I suppose he would, if he understood it was important.”

“And once the bad guy got him there, how did he immobilize Steve? If it was wolfbane, that means Steve was relaxed enough to eat or drink something the killer gave him. Surely he wouldn’t be that comfortable with one of Friar’s lieutenants.”

“For God’s sake, Lily, they could get around that. Those men are from out of town. Steve probably didn’t know they were in Humans First.” He waved a hand, brushing that off. “We can figure out how they tricked him later. You’re getting hung up on minutiae.”

Yesterday she’d wanted him to quit hiding behind all that damned pleasantness. Looked like her wish had come true. “That’s how I build a case. Minutiae. Though I like to call it motive, means, and opportunity, and right now, they aren’t adding up.”

“What if he wasn’t killed there? They could have killed him elsewhere and dumped the body where it wouldn’t be found right away. It was their bad luck someone decided to hike that trail when he did.”

“Look, I’m not crossing Friar or his men off the list, but we can’t make the evidence fit what we want. We have to go where it points.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “As for where he was killed, I know you haven’t seen the crime scene photos—” She’d made sure of that. She’d shared the written reports with Rule, but he didn’t need to see pictures of his friend’s corpse—“but they support the idea that he was killed where his body was found.”

“Where’s the blood?” Rule demanded. “If his throat was slashed there, why wasn’t the ground soaked in blood?”

She stared at him, her stomach clenching sickly. “I didn’t tell you that. I didn’t tell you there wasn’t much blood at the scene.”

Another impatient gesture. “I don’t need to be shielded. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need to be shielded. I know what death looks like. I checked out the photos this morning before you were up, and there isn’t enough blood.”

“Shit. Shit. You can’t do that. Those files are password-protected.”

“I’ve lived with you for months now. Of course I’ve seen you enter your password. That’s not the point. If there wasn’t enough blood, why—”