“Yeah.” He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “Which was strengthened when Hayes put pressure on Ruben to close the investigation and declare Rule dead.”
“I’m not getting the connection,” Cynna said.
“You should. If Hayes is corrupted—” Karonksi interrupted himself. “That’s a big if, of course. He might have done one of his damned cost-benefit analyses and decided it was cheaper to write off Rule. He could be clean himself but getting pressure from others who aren’t. But if he is corrupted, he didn’t make the decision. The demon did.”
Lily’s head hurt. She rubbed her temples. “And this hypothetical demon doesn’t want anyone looking for Rule?”
“Either the demon… or the demon’s master.”
Cynna made a small sound.
Karonski looked at her, sympathy softening his eyes. “That makes the most sense, doesn’t it? More than assuming the rules have changed. A true master could put a demon in contact with ordinary humans.”
“You haven’t brought me in on it.” Her voice was tight, her eyes turbulent. “I’m the one person who could Find her, and you haven’t brought me in.”
“Ruben wanted to. The Secret Service refused.”
She looked away and then nodded.
“Which brings me to the other reason I’m here.” He drained the last of his coffee and put the empty mug on the table. “Just in case any of you are thinking of doing something colossally dumb, like crossing into hell without official sanction, you should know that the Secret Service’s chief suspect is Jiri Asmahani… Cynna’s old teacher. This isn’t a good time to renew that acquaintance.”
There wasn’t much to say after that. Karonski stood, told them all he’d see them later, and then paused in front of Lily. She didn’t get up. Or speak. He stood in front of her for a long moment, looking tired and sad and like he wanted to say something. But in the end he shook his head, bent and patted her shoulder, and left.
He took about every last drop of hope with him.
Take the next step, she’d been telling herself. What did you do when you ran out of steps?
Even if she’d been willing to endanger an investigation into the demonic control of highly placed national officials, there was a chance Cynna’s old teacher was behind the official ban on looking for Rule. She wasn’t likely to change her mind just because Cynna said pretty please.
Karonski wasn’t going to help them open a hellgate. Cullen didn’t know how.
God, she was tired. She closed her eyes and thought about keeping them closed. Just not opening them ever again. She heard Cullen push to his feet and start pacing, muttering to himself. It sounded like Latin.
“Cynna,” she asked without opening her eyes. “Is there any chance you could summon the demon who took Rule? Force it to take us to him, or bring him back?”
“No.” She sounded miserable. “I don’t have enough of its names.”
“Okay.” Cullen took a deep breath, let it out. “We’ve run out of other options.”
That startled her eyes open. “Other options? As in, you have one I don’t know about?”
“You know about it. Sort of.” He stopped in front of her. “It’s a long shot, but the only shot we’ve got left. You said the Rhej wanted to talk to you.”
Baffled, she nodded.
“That’s what you should do, then. Go talk to the Rhej.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
CULLEN wouldn’t explain. He wouldn’t tell her why talking to the clan’s historian or priestess or whatever might help. He wouldn’t even tell her the woman’s name. It was customary, he said, for the Rhej to choose who would receive her name, and she was never referred to outside her presence by anything but her title.
He had the jitters. He kept pacing, but when she asked why the idea of talking to the Rhej made him nervous he raised his brows, astonished, and told her he was a jumpy fellow. He’d thought she knew that.
So she took a shower.
She was careful. Getting her burn infected wouldn’t help her or Rule or anyone, so she kept her bandages dry. But she needed the shower. She craved water, the feel and sound of it, and the notion, however foolish, that she could wash away some portion of last night.
She used Rule’s shampoo. Standing there with her hair lathered and the water beating on her feet, she suddenly understood why she’d needed this shower.
The sobs hit fast, and they hit hard. She put her back to the side of the shower stall and slid down until she was sitting on the hard tiles, head back, hands hanging limp between her knees, suds dripping on her shoulders. And wept.
No one, not even Cullen, would be able to hear her. She couldn’t hear herself. It was safe to let go, let the pain and helplessness wash up through her in huge, terrible waves.
The weeping ended more gradually than it had begun. She was still leaking slightly when she stood and carefully rinsed her hair. She washed her face and underarms, looked at her razor, shook her head, and shut off the water without shaving.
She wasn’t sure she felt any better, but maybe giving in to tears now would keep them from sneaking up on her later.
The mirror was fogged. She didn’t bother to clean it, combing her hair out quickly. It could dry on its own this time. In the bedroom, she pulled on her bra and a pair of bikini panties and then grabbed a plain silk sheath she seldom wore. Her burn would be happier now, with nothing touching it. She folded up Cynna’s things and took a breath.
Time to pull herself back together. Or fake it. She opened the door.
Cullen had stopped pacing. He stood at the window, frowning out the parking lot.
“Where’s Cynna?” she asked.
“Went to pick up some lunch for us. Harry left with her. At least he went out. I doubt he’s headed for Sub Express.” He turned. His frown deepened. He started toward her.
Lunch. She’d eat, of course. However little she wanted to. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought of anything else to try.”
“No.” He stopped, standing a little too close. “You’ve been crying.”
“Shit. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be tactful? I know it isn’t your strong point, but at your age you should have some grasp of the basics.”
“Crying’s okay. I hear it reduces stress.” He reached up and took one wet strand of hair between his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb. “There are other ways to de-stress.”
“Tell me you didn’t mean that the way it sounds.”
His mouth kicked up at one side in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m making you an offer you’re free to refuse.”
She jerked her head away and stepped back. “God. I can’t believe this. Rule’s missing and you’re—”
“Offering to help you feel better for a little while. No permanent cure, but physical ease benefits the mind, too.”
“Is sex on demand your notion of comfort?”
“Yes.”
She’d been sarcastic. He was serious.
“Rule wouldn’t object, you know, or feel hurt. Not under the circumstances.”
“I would.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll admit I don’t get the guilt thing. I assume that’s what’s put that look on your face? Rather as if you’d stepped in a pile of dog doo, which I must say is not the usual reaction. If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“—just let me know. But if you think sex would make things worse for you, then we won’t go there.”
“Good.”
“I’m not lusting after you, you know. Except in a general way, because you do have—”
“We aren’t going there, remember?”
“Right.” He turned back to the window. “Have you reached a decision?”
For a second she thought he was still talking about having sex, which was stupid. He’d rattled her. “How do I go about setting up a meeting with the Rhej?”