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.
8
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.”