Isen nodded slowly. “Very well. I trust your judgment. I’ll make no definite decision yet, but for the time being you will remain my Lu Nuncio. We will use the protocol you suggested, but the parameters must be different. On this side of the country, you are my Lu Nuncio. On Leidolf’s side, you are their Rho.”
“No.”
This time only one eyebrow shot up. “No?”
“If you and I meet on the street and I submit to you, the other clans won’t see your Lu Nuncio submitting. They’ll see Leidolf’s Rho submitting. I can’t agree to that.”
“Who am I speaking to now—my Lu Nuncio, or Leidolf’s Rho?”
“Both. The other clans are uneasy about what they see as Nokolai’s growing power. We don’t want to feed that.”
A grin broke out on Isen’s face, folding up the creases in the way they were meant to go. “You’re good,” he said happily. “You’re damned good. I’ve done well with you. Yes, I agree, with some stipulations to be worked out—but that discussion will take place between the Leidolf Rho and the Nokolai Rho.” His eyes twinkled. “You can put me in touch with him later. Right now I want to embrace my son.”
Isen was a world-class hugger. However much he held himself apart when he was being Rho to Rule’s Lu Nuncio, when he dropped that role and was a father, he brimmed with love, support, and hugs.
When they broke apart Rule was grinning as widely as his father. He braced his feet—and sure enough, here came the clap on the back, hearty enough to stagger the unprepared. “Lily’s good, right?’ Isen said. “And Toby. I can’t wait to see that boy. You’ll bring him to Clanhome soon. Today.”
Isen could have come to Toby, but Rule didn’t suggest it. Today’s meeting was very much the exception. His father seldom left Clanhome—though that might change, with Leidolf no longer a threat. “I will. He’s eager to see you and his Uncle Benedict.” Rule glanced at the silent man still standing guard behind their father. “Speaking of whom—”
Isen squeezed Rule’s arm. “Leave him be. He’s brooding. Always been a hell of a one for a good brood, my Benedict. Leave him be for now.”
Rule looked at his brother’s unrevealing face. “I didn’t expect him to object so strongly to my becoming Leidolf Rho.”
“No, no. He considers that good strategy. It’s getting yourself engaged he has problems with. Now, when do I get to see my grandson? He’ll stay at Clanhome for the rest of the summer,” Isen announced. “Once school starts, well, we’ll see how that works out. But it’s summer still.”
That was all he said about Rule’s upcoming marriage. They walked and talked for another half hour as father and son, arranging for Toby to spend time at Clanhome, if not quite as much as Isen wanted. And Rule’s father didn’t again refer to Rule’s intention to break one of the strongest taboos of his people. When Rule tried to raise the subject, Isen dodged it neatly.
It would have been nice, Rule thought as he headed for his car, if he could trust that silence meant support, or at least a lack of opposition. But this was Isen Turner. By definition, he was up to something.
TWO
Three Weeks Later
SAN Diego slid from July into August like a baker slides a fresh sheet of cookies into the oven—quick and smooth, with the new panful of days set to cook up crisp. The weather experts muttered among themselves about the inversion layer, but no one really knew why the city was experiencing such unprecedented heat. Sales of charcoal and grill supplies were down; alcohol sales were up. So were rapes, domestic violence, suicides, and auto accidents.
And homicides, of course. People were too hot to cook out, but they still killed one another. Lily Yu walked along the hot concrete, carrying her new patent- leather sandals instead of wearing them, and reflected on how odd it felt not to be investigating any of those shootings, stabbings, or beatings.
She stopped short of the sticky red scum baking on the street. Her bare soles weren’t picking up a thing except heat and grit, and she’d crossed the street four times now.
One of the small gaggle of looky-loos cluttering the convenience store parking lot on the corner called out a disrespectful and unlikely suggestion. Lily sighed.
“Hot weather sure brings out the loonies,” the officer standing next to the black-and-white said.
“That it does,” Lily agreed, bending to slip one sandal back on, then the other. Her feet were filthy. She had some wipes in her purse, though, so she could clean them up in a few minutes. “Doesn’t seem to be anything here for me.”
The officer who’d spoken took off his dark blue cap, dragged his forearm across his forehead, and reseated the cap. “Sorry to drag you out in the heat, but we’ve been told to call you people.”
“You did right. I wanted to check out one of these events right after it happened, anyway.” She just hadn’t wanted it to happen today, dammit.
Technically she hadn’t had to respond. It was Saturday; it was after five o’clock—no one would have minded if she’d let this wait until tomorrow. No one but her. It was annoying sometimes, being so meticulous.
Lily looked at the twisted chassis of the little Honda. It had certainly lost the argument with the pickup. “I’ll need to check her car, too. The steering wheel, the dash—all the areas the driver might have been in contact with.”
“Have at it. Guess you have to be thorough.” He shook his head. “Funny job you have, though.”
“Yeah,” she said dryly, and headed for the pleated Honda.
Officer Munoz was short and solid, with a round, cheerful face that his mustache struggled valiantly to dignify. He was also young. Terribly young, to Lily’s eyes . . . which was almost as disconcerting as checking out wacko calls instead of homicides. She wasn’t yet thirty, for God’s sake. Not for another eight months.
No, seven months. Geez. That wasn’t long. She frowned as she skirted the bright red transmission fluid drying on the cement. Then she reached the driver’s door. “Well, shit.”
They’d removed the driver on the other side, for obvious reasons. There was no way Lily would get the door open. She tried anyway.
“Guess you were headed somewhere,” Officer Munoz observed. “With that pretty dress you’re wearing and all.” His face fell. “Shit, I’m not supposed to say that, am I?”
“That’s okay. I’m on my way to a baby shower. I’m one of the hosts.” She tugged harder, but the door wasn’t budging.
“Really?” He brightened as he moved toward the passenger’s side. “My wife is due in January.”
This child had a wife? Lily told herself to get over it, but a new thought intruded. Did Rule ever look at her and think she looked painfully young? There was a lot more of an age difference between the two of them than between her and the earnest young officer. “Congratulations. Boy or girl?”
“She hasn’t had a sonogram yet. I’m sort of hoping for a boy, but you know, as long as it’s healthy . . .” He yanked open the passenger door. “This one works.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Only she’d have to crawl across the front seat if she got in that way, and she had not dressed for this occasion. She glanced down at her cream-colored trapeze dress with pretty bronze bands at the neckline and hem. She’d bought it especially for today.
At least it was loose. Maybe she could climb across and still leave Officer Munoz uninformed about the color of her panties.